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uzumaki-rebellion · 8 days ago

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Spinning the Block Part 1

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Officer Jessica "Jess" Sims

Warning(s): 18+, Angst, Mentions of Racial Tension.

Summary: Jess Sims attempts to pay her respects.

Word count: 3.2K

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"Turned into an inconvenience

You only want me when convenient

I know that I could probably block you

But for some reason, I wanna see you

And you know I give a damn about you

You got me sittin' here thinkin' about you

And how your name triggers all my emotions

Into my eyes, into an ocean"

Normani – "Insomnia"

Jessica Sims knew in her heart she had no right to be at Michael Simmons' mother's house.

She'd driven an hour from Shelby Springs into Greenwood carrying a homemade lemon pound cake in the passenger side of her slate gray Dodge Durango. Her mother's recipe had her SUV smelling like fresh butter, sugar, and citrus.

The closer she got to the neighboring town, the tighter her fingers gripped the steering wheel, worrying if she'd see Terry Richmond again. He'd been on her mind for weeks…haunting her. She lost sleep and her nerves were so bad she had to get a prescription for sleeping pills just to function daily. Jess tried every home remedy from chamomile tea to a glass of warm milk before bed to fight insomnia.

Nothing worked.

Each night she crawled between cool sheets and stared at her bedroom ceiling, wishing things were different. Wishing she'd done things differently. Terry's smoldering sea-green eyes always came into focus, taunting her, preventing much needed rest.

When he walked into her police station to file a robbery complaint, she'd believed her department ran a tight ship. Her training had taught her to be fair but firm in following the law by the books. Chief Sandy Burnne had been her mentor, the one who recruited her straight from the police academy. She planned her law enforcement career while in college, joining the police academy a year after graduation. Her family wasn't too keen on the idea, preferring she use the hard-earned sociology degree to get a regular job and start a family like her older brothers. Jess had other plans. She wanted to be the first Black female police chief in Shelby Springs.

Wielding a badge and a gun allowed her to protect her own community. She had a certain charmed way of speaking to people that let them know not to test her, but that she'd hear them out with their problems whether they were in the wrong or right. Her excellent reputation around those parts gave her access to places that would unnerve the average person. She grew up a tomboy running around hunting with her father and brothers, physically fighting anyone who crossed her. She abhorred a bully, and that caused her problems with some of her colleagues that used their badge to sling their dicks around. Jess didn't go along to get along, but she picked her battles carefully to achieve her long-term goal: to run the department herself one day.

Men tested her all the time, and she did her job ignoring the micro and macro aggressions. Chief Burnne always had her back despite the cracker ways he tried to keep under wraps. He came from an era of uneducated Cajun rednecks filling up the department. Nowadays, there were more cops coming onto the force with education, melanin, and sometimes a vagina. A lot of old-school men didn't like that. Chief Burnne didn't either, but he accepted her and showed Jess respect when she did her job well. She impressed him, and he took her under his wing. She never revealed her goals to have his job in the future. Staying quiet, observant, and efficient worked to her advantage. Chief Burnne opened up more that way, spilling his tips on how to handle the job and people his way.

That is…until Terry Richmond showed up.

Jess misread his intentions from the start.

The second he strode into the office, she sensed a cockiness in him that smoldered beneath the surface. Most Black men in Shelby Springs were older and paunchy from a sedentary lifestyle and good Country Cookin', or lean youngsters with hustler's dreams of getting away from small town life. Terry was built strong and muscular, like a brick shithouse. He carried himself different. Spoke with controlled diction. He was a country boy for sure, but one that didn't work around Shelby Springs. She would've noticed his striking looks at the bars or cookouts broadcasting that he was living mighty fine. Employment was good with the new petrochemical plant ten miles away, and the Black community she lived in thrived with folks making good money, something that hadn't happened in over thirty years. Black folks, especially the men, being flush with cash and a pride about themselves irritated the white community. Negroes were acting a little too uppity lately. Buying new cars and scooping up property. Getting their homes built from scratch. Purchasing big fishing boats to use on Lake Tremblay. Sending their kids to college.

Tensions erupted in bars, public gatherings, and even football games at the local high school whenever white and Black people mingled in the same spaces. That's where Jess worked her magic. If she caught word of trouble brewing, she'd make a phone call to family and friends, giving a warning about police sweeps and rednecks making a commotion. The community grapevine activated and her people acted accordingly to stay far from trouble.

When it was her time to do patrols, Jess stayed visible in the white areas a lot. Her paternal great-granddaddy Adelore Seraphin was a fiery white Cajun who never married her great-grandmother, so she never gave their only child, Jess's granddaddy, his surname. The Sims family were proud Black Cajuns who turned their nose up at white trash. Adelore was considered trash because he wouldn't divorce his wife to marry Zema Sims. There was something about her Paw Paw's wife not giving him a divorce on account of them being Catholic. Granny Zema was an African Methodist and didn't give a damn about what Catholics thought about divorce. Paw Paw left that white lady and built Granny Zema a house to show that he was for real about building a life and family with her. So that's what they did. The white wife kept the marriage title, but Granny Zema kept the man.

It was a scandal, and as far as her Paw Paw was concerned, his only issue was that he didn't want that other woman to get part of his pension. She never did because she died before him, a bitter alcoholic, still screaming about the Black bitch that stole her husband. Technically, Granny Zema didn't steal him. She had him first, but back in their time, they couldn't get married because of miscegenation laws. So they broke up and Paw Paw married the white woman…and lived miserably. He started tipping out and one thing led to another. Jess's granddaddy, Hebert Sims, was born.

Jess's connection to Adelore Seraphin meant she had white Cajun relatives all up and down Shelby Springs. The kin on that side, who knew the family tree had an extra dark branch, tolerated Jess when she made patrols or answered calls of domestic disturbances in that section of town. Nothing on her screamed Seraphin except for her eyes. She had Paw Paw's discerning eyes. So did her daddy. She moved in the world like a Sims, but them pale kinfolk recognized her as the great-granddaughter of that trouble-making Seraphin behind her back. That gave Jess intimate knowledge of how outsiders perceived the proud, flourishing Black community. Trouble.

So when Terry Richmond rode his fine ass into Shelby Springs, he was already a problem before Lann clipped him with the police cruiser.

When he sat down in front of her while she typed in his descriptions of who robbed him, his tone was confident. His demeanor crafty. She was shocked that he recorded their conversation, equally shocked by Chief Burnne's sudden aggression toward him. Lann was an asshole to everyone, overcompensating for some deep-rooted male insecurity. Her first thought was that the Chief might've known something about Terry that she didn't, and she expected to be filled in on the matter. Drug couriers were a thing within small towns, and it wasn't above suspicion that drug runners would use a decoy disguise to pretend they were regular citizens going about their day. She went back and forth in her mind about Terry's reason for carrying so much cash in a backpack on a bike. It looked and sounded suspicious, especially with the drug busts they'd done a few months previously on the bridge during a police chase. She had picked up her own distant white kin at his house, the run-down place full of meth and illegal fentanyl. Opioid use was up. Drug dealers were racking up millions transporting that cash economy and product moving across state lines in Louisiana grew. Chief Burnne's own nephew had died of a drug overdose ten years ago, so anything that had a whiff of drug activity got his hackles up.

That was the hard line story they fed Jess for five years as she accepted civil forfeitures as a necessary part of police work. Portions of white and Black men from Shelby Springs and other bordering towns thrived in the drug trade. Sex trafficking, too. Her department prided itself on breaking the supply chain.

It had all been a lie.

Chief Burnne's lie. His department…his rules.

Jess had been inadvertently complicit.

A rule follower, and a staunch believer in the church of right and wrong, she turned a blind eye to activity that should've raised suspicions. Instead, she quietly looked out for her people on the domestic front, dousing potential flames of racist attacks, especially with all the MAGA crowd flaunting their bigotry and jealousy. Jess was more worried about racist attacks happening. Red necks were openly riding around in trucks carrying lynching ropes with right-wing slogans for bumper stickers. The south was always going to be the south, and America was always going to be America…the United Racists of America.

Jess literally couldn't be bothered if suspicious men passing through town carrying ridiculous amounts of cash got hemmed up. She damn well wouldn't coddle grown ass Black men if they got busted for doing crimes. Her daddy instilled in her a strong bullshit detector for her dealings with that.

"Sweetheart, Black men have to decide for themselves if they want to do right in the world. Black women can't keep the cape on forever, or come running with mops and brooms to clean up their messes. If Black women can get up every day and build up their community in the same terrible conditions as us, then they gotta stop babying these men who tear it down. There's no excuse for a Black man not wanting better for himself or his people. We done come too damn far to be the new terrorists against our own women and children."

Jess listened well. Applied it to Terry.

Something in her gut knew something wasn't right, but she didn't want to put herself out for some stranger who might've been tearing people's lives apart transporting thirty-six thousand dollars in cash. Black people always suffered the most with drug addiction and drug crime because of generational poverty and the predators who took advantage of that. Terry could've been lying to cover his ass for a drug cartel. She didn't know him, didn't know who his people were. He came into her life that day and turned it upside down. The only silver lining she clung to in the end was that she saved his life twice. Once when Officer McGill almost blasted him with a rifle when Terry dragged Marston behind a cruiser to safety. Jess slammed her hand on the weapon. McGill looked shell-shocked by the turn of events. She felt the same. Her boss had shot a fellow officer and made a speech to them all about how he would cover it up. If Chief Burnne harmed a white man that easily, he wouldn't blink twice before taking her out. The second time was when she carried out a PIT maneuver and knocked Burnne away from Terry, providing his last escape. The death of his cousin and the treatment he received in Shelby Springs were irredeemable. All she hoped for was peace in her own mind that she acted on the right side of judgement.

Jess followed her SUV's navigation system and pulled onto a street full of cars parked everywhere. She passed by Rosa Simmons' single family brick house with a large manicured lawn. Mourners milled about the front and the entrance door was wide open. After all the legal and medical inquiries, along with the criminal investigation, it took the Simmons' family three weeks to get Mike's body returned for burial.

She parked two blocks away and smoothed out her most subdued black sheath dress. It was plain and appropriate for the occasion. She carried the pound cake in a round Tupperware container and listened to her kitten heels click-clack on the narrow sidewalk. Her stomach churned, nearing the home.

"Hi..hello…hiya doin'?" she said, passing people she didn't know on the walkway to the house.

Heads nodded at her with sorrowful eyes and stooped body postures. The atmosphere inside the modest home was thick with heartache. Jess contemplated doing a pivot right back outside, but an older woman in her fifties with short-clipped hair sitting on a recliner noticed her.

Mike's mother, Rosa.

"My condolences, Mrs. Simmons," Jess whispered.

She didn't want to bring attention to herself and stepped forward, past a throng of people carrying plates of sliced ham, potato salad, and baked beans.

"Thank you for coming…oh you brought something, how thoughtful."

Rosa stood up.

"I can take that," Rosa said.

"Ma'am, I can put it with the other food."

"Mm-hmm, yes, the dining room table is right back there. Did you go to school with my Michael?"

"No, ma'am. I knew him from somewhere else. I'll put this away."

"Okay, baby. Fix yourself a plate while you're in there."

"Thank you."

Jess's eyes darted away and took in the other mourners. Her heart thumped a triple rhythm. It was best to put the cake on a table and leave. The stress of feeling like a traitor to her own wore on her nerves.

Delicious odors of soul food guided her nose to the dining room. The dining table could've buckled under the weight of so much food. Folks old and young helped themselves to fried chicken, crawfish, turnip greens, gooey macaroni and cheese, and a pot filled with smoked chiltlins.

She pushed a crock pot of brown gravy aside to make room for her cake next to a half-eaten sweet potato pie.

"Who let this woman in here?!"

A light brown woman with soft, shoulder-length curls glared at Jess, her lips curled into an angry snarl. Everyone looked at Jess curiously, wondering what was going on.

"Mama! Who let this dirty cop into our house?"

Rosa rushed into the dining room. Jess held out her hands.

"I just wanted to give my condolences—"

"You're the reason my brother is dead! Who let her in? Who?!" Mike's sister screamed.

The anguish in her voice brought tears to Jess's eyes.

"I'm sorry…everyone, I'm sorry…Mrs. Simmons…"

In her peripheral, Jess noticed Terry coming from a back room wearing a dark suit. She ran away as fast as her kitten heels could carry her. She knocked into people and brushed past other family members on her way out the door.

"Jess!"

Terry's deep baritone called to her, and she pumped her legs faster. Reaching the car, she fumbled for her key fob and unlocked the SUV. She jumped in and Terry banged on her window.

"I'm sorry I came. I didn't mean to upset your family," she said, starting her vehicle.

"Roll down your window."

His commanding eyes stared right through her. She rolled her window down partially. Wiping tears away from her cheeks, she faced her front window, unable to look at him.

"I know it wasn't easy for you to come here."

She shook her head, and a violent sob choked her throat.

"Listen…give me your number. I'd like to speak with you about all of this… at a better time—"

"No…this was a mistake…I'm sorry…I have to go—"

"Fucking bitch!"

Mike's sister threw Jess's cake on the car. The Tupperware container burst open and the pound cake crumbled all over the hood.

"Livia! Stop!"

Terry walked toward his cousin, and she ran from him toward the sidewalk. Other family members had followed them to watch the scene. Jess's stomach sank to the floor of her car.

"You did this to Mike! You goddamn greedy cops sent my brother to die and I fucking hate you! Get outta here, you murdering bitch!"

Livia picked up a heavy rock and threw it at the passenger side window, fracturing the tempered glass. Terry lifted his cousin up by the waist and carried her away. Jess drove off quickly. Cake crumbs fell away from her hood and she screeched her tires with a hasty exit.

She didn't hold back on crying, allowing her tears to wash away the shame and embarrassment.

Back in Shelby Springs, she paced the floors inside her house, drinking whiskey, and pondering her fate. Mike's burial was only the start of her troubles. Next came a lawsuit Terry filed against her department. It would probably finally bankrupt them like the last legal settlement they paid almost did. With the dashcam evidence, plus her, Summer, and Marston's testimony, Terry was sure to win a large payout. Her career was in jeopardy, and their department possibly disbanded.

She downed a half glass of Uncle Nearest whiskey and looked at her black dress. The audacity of her showing up in Greenwood thinking she could dip in and out without consequences.

Jess had to face her part in Terry's life being traumatized forever. Losing her job was a small price to pay for his lifetime of pain.

She leaned her head against her living room window in the dark and watched a swarm of fireflies do a light dance outside. Her grandfather used to say seeing fireflies brought good luck. Jess desperately needed that to be true.

Crawling into bed with her dress still on, Jess stared at her ceiling again, semi-drunk and all cried out. She thought about Terry calling out her name and running after her. He didn't sound mean or angry when he spoke to her briefly. Asking for her number surprised Jess, because…why? What could they talk about that would fix the wide valley between them? Maybe he wanted to yell at her too, get his justified anger off his chest. She deserved it.

Jess curled into the fetal position and thought of Terry. Even in mourning, he looked handsome in his suit. For the first time in weeks, she fell into a deep sleep without having to use medication.

Part 2 HERE.

Masterlist.

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#Terry Richmond X Black Reader #terry richmond #rebel ridge #terry richmond fanfiction #rebel ridge fanfiction #Terry x Black Full-Sized Heroine #Terry Richmond x Jess Sims #Terry Richmond x Officer Jess Sims #terry richmond smut #Uzumaki Rebellion #Spinning the Block

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bellaxgiornata · 1 year ago

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It's been awhile since I've written one of these dialogues, but here y'all go. As usual, it's below the cut, friends! (And I almost lost it after I had it all written so I am thanking whatever in the universe helped me save it 🙌🏻).

Matt, irritated: Was this really necessary, guys?

Frank, roughly clapping Matt on the shoulder: Yeah. It was. You've been hoggin' all Bella's attention for weeks now, Red. It got old hearin' about you all the time real fast.

Mikey: And she did say she wanted some help to stop thinkin' 'bout ya. Now she can.

Matt, straining against the restraints: But did you need to tie me to a chair? You don't think this is too far?

Frank, grinning: I kinda like it. Would be better if I taped your damn mouth shut, though.

Mikey, glancing at Frank: Ya don't think tyin' him to a chair is goin' to give her more ideas 'bout him though, do ya? 'Cause she has been thinkin' 'bout, well, usin' rope in a smut fic lately.

Frank, looking unsure: No it--it's just gonna keep him from tryin' to convince her to watch Daredevil again. And to stop writing so much for him. That's all.

Matt, sighing: Look, you guys are missing the bigger picture here.

Mikey, focusing back on Matt: Which is...?

Matt: If she's focused on me, she won't be writing for all those other guys. That weird vampire and that grumpy zombie killer. And that other Irishman who keeps shooting us cocky smirks over there because he knows she's thinking about him.

Frank, eyes narrowing at Matt: Yeah, but then she only writes for you. So nice try, Red, but it ain't happenin'.

Mikey, gesturing to Frank: I'm with him on this. She's written enough for your arse.

Frank, glancing at the other men sitting on the couch behind them with a disturbed expression: Though it is gettin' real goddamn weird how most of you look the damn same.

Daryl, glaring at Frank: Don't look at me like that. I look nothin' like the rest of these assholes. And I'd rather not be stuck here with any of y'all dumbasses. Rather fight a herd of walkers than listen to you three always fightin' like some weird married couple.

Matt, frowning: We do not.

Owen, nodding: You definitely do.

Henry: It's quite exhausting to listen to, actually.

Frank, angry: Well no one asked for any of your opinions!

Mikey, pinching the bridge of his nose: For the love o' God don't lump me in with these two.

#bella hears fictional characters #its quite loud here #matt murdock #frank castle #michael kinsella #daryl dixon #owen sleater #henry eat locals

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allzelemonz · 2 years ago

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Priorities: Micah Bell X Male Reader

Pronouns: None Mentioned, Reader referred to as ‘boy’ Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: M/Near sexual encounter Warnings: Micah Bell is his own warning, Dutch is a dad, Bill is annoyed as usual, Guarma is its own warning, mentions of slavery Summary: Seeing Micah with his shirt undone brings on something that’s been building since you met him. The timing isn’t great though.

To say Guarma is hostile is an understatement. If it’s not the slavers, it’s the sun. The heat and the burn is a slow death, most would prefer being shot. Arthur’s face is a solid red. He’s burnt the worst, but everyone is so hot that they might as well be cooking over a fire. The attire isn’t helpful either. All of you were wearing suits to blend in with the city for the heist. Now half of the clothes are shed in favor of avoiding heat stroke. With Dutch working to retrieve Javier, Arthur helping the locals, and Bill stomping around grumbling about nothing, you’re left to the quiet of camp with Micah.

Micah who has unbuttoned his dress shirt to alleviate the heat and looks more like a washed up sailor than a gunslinger. Before the bank heist, you’d seen him in his suit. The white and gold reflected his taste, it was like he’d been placed in a different world. You’d been far too busy to stare, too much happened and far too fast. But now there’s not much to do. Micah is standing, leaning against an old column, with a rifle in his hands. Dutch told him to guard, so he is. You have nothing to do except look over the rifle you were given and steal the occasional glance at Micah. You’ve never seen him without a shirt, and this is likely the closest you’ll get. He’s not built like a lot of the men in the gang, his stomach protrudes a bit and the hair on his chest is a light blond. Even with the sea salt in his hair and the ever-reddening skin from the sun, he’s handsome.

“These damn bugs!” Bill yells, stomping into the camp. “I’m gettin’ eaten alive!”

Micah lets his head lull back against the stone. “Shut up, Bill.”

“I have been scouting, Mister Bell. Doing actual work instead a’ sittin’ around doin’ God knows what!”

“He’s guarding the camp, Bill.” You sigh, putting down your half-cleaned rifle.

“Oh, sure!” Bill stomps over to you. “And you’ been starin’ at him for hours. Get over yourself, all high and mighty just ‘cause you pulled me outta the water!”

You tense for a minute, Bill sold you out, but then you refocus on putting him in his place. “If you get any louder, you’ll tell those slavers were we are and you’ll a lot more than bugs to worry about.”

“You ain’t better than me.” Bill says through gritted teeth before stomping away.

His superiority complex has become much more evident here, only taking orders from Dutch and only working when Dutch is around to see. Everyone in the group has their problems, but Bill has been getting worse since the job went bad.

“Starin’, huh?” Micah says, his head tilting to look at you.

“Bill’s losing it in the heat.” You turn back to your rifle, continuing its cleaning.

Micah chuckles. “It ain’t the heat.”

He stands upright, turning to face you. He watches for a moment as you run a rag over the rifle, his eyes on the motions of your hands. Then he leans his rifle against the wall and comes closer. You’re sitting on one of the makeshift beds and you can see him from the corner of your eye.

He leans down, close to your face. “I got ya all hot n’ bothered, cowpoke?”

You swallow what little spit is in your mouth as the heat in your body spreads. Your hands grip your rifle a little tighter and you try not to look at him as he chuckles. He reaches out and pushes the rifle down until you let it go and it lays flat on the cot. You stiffen as his eyes wander from the rifle and to your hands resting in your lap.

“Hell of a time ta be thinkin’ like that.” He says, tilting his head to catch your eyes. “Maybe it’s you that’s losin’ it in the heat.”

You glance at him. He’s not as close as he feels. The heat must be playing tricks, just not to your mind. Still, it’s closer than you’ve ever been. You can see the scar that crosses his chin, the dark circles under his eyes, and the frosty blue irises that brightens his face. Even with the peeling sunburn taking over his skin, he makes your heart rate pick up and the air not quite reach your lungs. When he meets your eyes you can feel the skip in your chest and a tightening in your stomach.

Then he leans in, connecting your lips. His are chapped, yours are too from the heat and dehydration. He puts his hand on your cheek as he tilts his head a little more and presses more into it. You return the pressure, a hand resting over the one he has on your cheek.

“You have gotta be kiddin’ me!”

You pull away from each other, turning your heads to look at Bill.

“Fuck off, Williamson.” Micah says, turning back to you.

His thumb strokes your cheek lightly as his eyes look over your face. Then he kisses you again, pressing even harder against you.

Bill groans. “I thought you was supposed to be guardin’ camp!”

Micah ignores him, his other hand slowly moving your shirt up to rest on the bare skin above your ribs. You can hear the faint grumbles and footsteps as Bill storms off. Timidly, you reach out and rest your hand against Micah’s bare chest. The heat on his skin against your fingers is only half from the sunburn. He pulls away about an inch, just enough to see your eyes.

“That’s it, cowpoke?” He chuckles. “Sexy without a shirt, am I?”

You hold his gaze and let your hand run over his skin and down to his stomach. “You’re usually sexy, Micah.”

He presses his lips to yours again, his hand moving to the back of your neck to hold you in place. He slowly pushes you back onto the cot, breaking the kiss to move the rifle onto the floor, then returning with more force. You settle your hands on his sides, under his shirt, as he leans over you and grips at your hair.

“Oh, come on, boys!” Dutch yells.

Micah groans as he stands. You follow, looking at Dutch standing there with his hands on his hips. He looks like a disappointed father, he usually looks like a disappointed father but this time it’s a little different.

“You pick now?” Dutch sighs. “All that pinin’ and you pick now? With Javier gone, all of us stranded, and you pick now?”

Behind him you can see Bill in the trees and plans of murder swim through your head.

“Sorry, boss.” Micah sighs, clearing his throat.

Dutch puts his hands up. “Now I am happy that I ain’t gonna have to deal with the tension anymore, but can it wait until we’re home?”

You nod, not quite able to meet your boss’ eyes.

“Good.” Dutch sighs. “Now I am gonna go and get Javier. Micah, actually guard the camp this time.” He turns to Bill. “And mind your own damn business, Mister Williamson.”

“Sure thing, boss. I was-”

“Why don’t you go see if our generous hosts need any assistance, Bill.” Dutch waves him off.

Bill huffs and wanders away.

“Mind the camp, boys.” Dutch says firmly.

The look he gives you makes you feel like a teenager being scolded for sneaking your boyfriend into your room.

Micah nods. “Will do, boss.”

Dutch gives you both one last ‘disappointed father’ stare before he departs, leaving you and Micah alone again. You stand there for a moment, an odd energy between you. Then Micah turns and pulls you close again, his hand resting on your cheek. He kisses you softly, not as needy as before.

“We ain’t done, cowpoke.” He says, resting his forehead against yours.

You stand there for a moment, eyes half closed and just resting against each other. Then Micah pulls away and saunters back to his post, picking up his rifle and leaning against the wall. You pick up your rifle and sit back on the cot, continuing the cleaning process and stealing the occasional glance. Sometimes you’ll catch him doing the same and your eyes will linger for a second.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #micah bell #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption x male reader #micah bell x reader #micah bell x male reader #x reader #x male reader

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tllgrrl · 1 year ago

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Winter Shortbread Parts 1 & 2 by @tllgrrl aka Nefertiri Jones

Fleurdelouve SarahBucky Month 2023 | Week 3, Day 3 - College Professors AU/Coffeeshop AU | Sarah Wilson x James “Bucky” Barnes and a few OCs | Rating: SFW

* * * * * * * * * *

Sarah Wilson and James “Bucky” Barnes both are college professors.

He teaches Political Science and Labor Law on one side of the sprawling campus. On the other side, she teaches Mechanical Engineering and she’s also a Faculty Advisor for a study group in African-American Literature with an emphasis on Black Women authors.

People never guess the two of them are Professors because the misconception is that “Professor” means Old White Man.

Without fail, at the beginning of the school year, some undergrad who didn’t know, would try to flirt, thinking maybe she was one of them until they found out that she was actually one of their teachers.

“Well,” her friends would laugh, “you know what they say!”

“Yeah girl. Even we can’t tell how old we really are!”

Once she wore a head wrap, which sparked a rumor that she was West African royalty studying in America. Even when she was wearing an LSU t-shirt and jeans, many people agreed.

And him? Fellow members of the Law Faculty call him “Professor GQ”.

“How can someone who looks like that be serious?” one of them grumbles, watching him walk across the campus mall.

“Yeah! He’s just wearing jeans, a t-shirt, motorcycle boots and a sport jacket. A sport jacket! Who looks hot in a sport jacket?!”

“Professor Barnes,” Professor Daniels drawled, then proceeded to drain her water bottle after he walked by.

(Gulping down his water, Dr. Trudeau agreed.)

***

Part 1–Going Up

Sarah hurried up the steps to the relatively new building, impressed by its modern nod to the original architecture, and the original stained glass that was installed in a window at the top of the entrance, but she didn’t have time to admire the design.

She’d taught at the school for 4 years but this was the first time she’d been in this building. She never really had a reason to be there. Her stomping grounds were on the other side of the campus.

The signage indicated that the elevators were to the left, and as she headed down the hallway her phone started to ring.

It was her BFF, Eartha.

“Hey, girl! What’s up? Waitaminute—

Hi! Hold the elevator!! Just a—no! No!! Just a second! Please wait! Please?? Oh, shhhhoot!”

Eartha heard what sounded like papers rustling, and her friend using her Professional Indoor Voice.

“Damn. What an asshole—I mean—jerk. He wouldn’t even hold the elevator.”

[“What?? For real?!”]

“I was right there! I had to pick up a couple of pages that slid out of my folder.”

[“Another one with no home training. Child, men these days. Hold on. What are you wearing?”]

“What am I—? Jeans, Docs, blazer. Fake Pearls. The latest rags from the Underpaid Professor Autumn 2025 Lookbook. Nothing special. Why?”

[“Girl, shut up. You even look runway and red carpet in jeans and work boots, but…are you wearing one of those t-shirts?”]

“What? What t-shirts?”

[“You know what I'm talking about.”]

“I’m wearing my List of Black Women Authors tee.”

[“Hm. Okay, but you know why I asked, don’t you.”]

“I Ain’t Thinkin ‘Bout You is a song lyric! Not a sign saying don’t hold the elevator for me, I’m good, sir.”

[“Yeah, you and the Beehive know that.”]

“That’s right. Blame a sister’s clothes!” she giggled. “ I’m not trying to send Hey! I’m available messages with my t-shirts…like you.”

[“What?! Stop lyin’! I’m juicy is a song lyric, too!”]

They both laugh as Sarah noticed the elevator approaching her floor.

“Let me go. The elevator’s coming and I need to put my student brain on for this class I’m auditing.”

[“Okay. I just called to let you know that I had a cancellation and I can fit you in for Saturday morning if you’re still interested?”]

“Yes! Put me in! I need to get these braids taken out. The end of the year’s coming and I’m ready for a New Year, New Me cut.”

[“Well, okay, now!! I’ll see you Saturday morning. And I’m going to want to hear if the professor is hot.”]

“Girl, Bye!!” she laughs, ending the call and tossing her phone into her purse.

*ding* “Ground floor,” a soft voice says as the next elevator door opens.

She stepped inside and the door was almost completely closed before she hears—

“HOLD ON! Ow! Please? Ow!”

She throws her hand between the doors, breaks the beam just in time, and a man slides in.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

She’s seen him before, at the coffee shop not far from campus. He’s usually near the front of the line as she’s arriving.

Tall. Taller than her. Once, he turned to leave the counter with his order, and she saw his eyes. Grey. Like overcast skies. He’d seen her too and it looked like he wanted to stop, then his phone rang, and hers did too.

She wasn’t trying to stare, but as he walked past she noticed his build, and his smooth sort of loping gait.

And like her, he seemed to have a penchant for interesting t-shirts.

It became a sort of habit for both of them to look for each other when they stopped by the coffee shop on the way to campus during the week. Just to see what t-shirt the other one was wearing, of course.

(At least that’s what they told themselves.)

And now, he was standing there in the elevator, juggling his backpack and gingerly holding a to-go cup from Congo Square Coffeehouse and Bakery, where she usually stops on the way to work.

He’s got the cup in his right hand, and is trying to negotiate the left bag strap so he can slip the hot drink into his gloved left hand as quickly as possible because there’s no protective sleeve on the cup.

“Here…” she offers, reaching over, taking the cup, placing it on her palm, and holding it around the rim of the cap. “Let me take that while you get your…bag…”

“Oh! Hey, thanks! Be careful. It’s hot.”

“No, I got it. I do this a lot.”

He slipped the backpack securely onto his shoulder.

“Thanks, again,” he grinned an apology . “Just a second…I know I have a…”

He patted his jacket, quickly reached into a pocket, and with a small flourish pulled out a coffee cup sleeve.

“I prob’ly have a couple down in the bottom of my backpack, too, but I was kinda in a hurry tryna make it ta class on time.”

(Sounds like a local, but a little too fast for a yat. What’s this Yankee doing down here? I wonder if he’s in the class I’m taking…)

He takes the cup and slips the sleeve onto it. “Got it. My hand an’ I both thank you.”

He’d seen her before at Congo Square Coffeehouse, the unofficial campus coffeeshop that’s a few blocks from the university.

He was intrigued from the first time he saw her: tall, almost his height. Something regal about her high cheekbones, the beautiful eyes.

And, like him, she liked to wear interesting t-shirts.

He’s usually almost next in line by the time she’s walking into the shop, and he’d thought of keeping an eye out for her next time. Maybe offer to let her cut in front of him. Maybe start a conversation.

{Who’m I kidding? She probably wouldn’t want to—}

Now, here she is in the same elevator, keeping him from receiving what surely would be a serious coffee injury.

{She really is beautiful. Don’t stare.}

“You’re welcome. If you don’t mind, I have a question. I…don’t mean to pry, and you really don’t have to answer…”

“Okay…” he chuckled, mentally steeling himself. He also slipped the now shielded cup into his right hand and habitually lowered his gloved hand while at the same time was keenly listening to and enjoying her soft Southern Louisiana accent.

“I just wanted to know… are you from around here or from New York?”

“Am I…oh! Yeah! New York. Brooklyn, actually. I thought you were going to…was it the t-shirt that gave me away?”

“No. The accent. Your t-shirt, however…”

Well, now she had an excuse to actually look at his chest, which she was trying so hard not to stare at ever since he got onto the elevator.

“Dodgers,” he smiled, pulling a side of his jacket open with his freehand, giving her a better view.

“Oh…my…” she whispered, as she noticed how the t-shirt was fitted just enough to where she could tell that there was a sculpted chest and abs under the fabric. She also saw the outline of what looked like military dog tags.

Then she snapped out of it.

“I mean, right! Of course! L.A. Dodgers!”

(Sarah! Act like you have some decorum up in here. Damn!)

“Brooklyn Dodgers. They were from Brooklyn, first. Moved out West in 1957, before the ‘58 season.”

“Won the World Series again the next year, 1959.”

“Well…yeah. How did you—?“

“Larry Sherry pitched them into that win," she said. “Got the MVP.”

“You…do you like baseball?”

“Kind of a fan. My grandfather and my Daddy were big fans, so I grew up watching with them.”

“Really? Who’s your team?”

“The Giants. San Francisco.”

“Rats.”

“What?”

“I guess I can’t ask you if you’d like to grab a coffee sometime. Well…grab another coffee that is,” his mouth quirking into a sideways grin that made her spend too much time looking at his lips. “Or maybe…I don’t know…dinner.”

“Yeah, no,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t be seen out and about with a—“

“Oh, I completely understand—“

“Dodger fan.”

She smiled, and his heart did a flip that hadnothing to do with caffeine.

“Yeah…” his mile-wide smile answering hers, “…the scandal.”

{Marry me.}

*ding* “Ground floor.”

“What?” they both said in unison, staring at the elevator operating panel.

“I forgot to push the button,” he said sheepishly.

“Looks like I did too.”

“And now I’m officially late for my class.”

“You still have time. I’m sure the professor won’t mind—“

“I’m the professor,” he shrugged.

“Oh! Well…good thing you’re fine. I mean, you’re good then! I, on the other hand, am officially late for a class I’m auditing.

“Don’t worry. You’re fine, too. I mean, I’ll vouch for you. I’m Professor Barnes. James Barnes.

If I might ask, what’s the class?”

“Labor Law. Taught by—um—“

She looks at the piece of paper on top of her folder, then looks back at him.

It doesn’t seem possible that his smile got wider, but it did.

“I’ll be glad to write you a note…with…my phone number.”

“Well. Pleased to meet you, Professor Barnes. I’m Professor Wilson. Sarah Wilson.”

When they shake hands, neither is in a hurry to let go.

“Professor Wilson? You teach…here?”

“I’m usually on the other side of campus.”

“I’m always over here. What’s your field?”

“Engineering. Right now I’m teaching classes on Ethics as it relates to Mechanical Engineering. Yes, that’s a class.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Professor Wilson. You can call me James.

I hope you don’t mind if I sit in on one of your classes.”

“Any time, James. And you can call me Sarah.”

“Sarah…”

*ding* “Fifth floor. Please watch your step.”

* * * * *

Part 2 - Order Up!

***2 weeks later, Saturday morning***

It’s Big Game Day at the university, and driving past the shop, she could tell by the crowd out front waiting to get in that it was already slammed.

“They just opened an hour ago. It’s gonna be a long weekend,” she said to herself.

She pulled into the parking space behind the shop, grabbed her purse and hastily walked in through the employees entrance of Congo Square Coffee.

“Hey-hey!”

“Good morning!”

“There she is! How’re you doin’, Babygirl?”

“I’m good, Titi Bernie! You?”

The older woman gives her a hug and kiss on the cheek.

“Busy and happy to be here! Let me look at you! Haven’t seen you in months. You look good, Sarah. I just hope you’re not running yourself ragged, teaching and running a business.”

“I’m making it work, Titi. Don’t worry. I’m doing fine. And thanks for coming in before the game. I know you want to get together with your sorors.”

“Don’t worry about that. They’ll be there when I get there. I worked here enough years to know how it is on Game Day. I’d’ve been mad if you didn’t call me!” They hug again, and for a second Sarah thinks about her Mama, Titi Bernice’s sister.

“Now, let me get out there. These children are ‘bout to be overwhelmed.” Her face beams as she heads out to the front counter. “Charles?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Check the tables, would you, baby? I see some people leaving.”

“Sure will!”!

Sarah looks out into the shop and sees that all the tables are occupied, some people are waiting for tables to free up, the line is almost out the door, and the mood is a party with almost everybody wearing some combination of purple, gold and black.

The aromas of brewing coffee and fresh-baked goods, and the sound of the espresso machine, coffee grinder, the bustling crew, customers chatting (some even singing along with the playlist) make for a festive atmosphere. And the music mix of NOLA Jazz, Neo-Soul, and uptempo Blues is invigorating and soothing. Familiar.

Sounds and smells she grew up on, from infancy to teens to now adulthood.

She puts her bag in the desk drawer, grabs her apron off of the chair, ties it on and looks up at the photo over the door.

It’s Mama and Daddy, taken on the opening day of the shop.

Under that photo is a framed $5 bill, and under that bill is an old Polaroid picture of a fishing boat with the names “Paul and Darlene” on the side.

“Hey, Mama. Hey, Daddy. Ansamn toujou.”

She takes a breath. In for 3 seconds, out for 4. Opens the door, and it's on:

“I need some shortbread cookies, please,” a voice calls from the front counter.

“On the way!” she answers, and pulls a tray of fresh cookies off the rack. She carefully arranges them on a clean plate and carries them out to the display case.

“Hey, y’all! Dee, fresh shortbread on deck!”

She hears applause from some of the customers and it makes her happy.

“One Americano and a decaf latte, please! Thanks, Sar!”

“Americano and decaf latte, coming up! Ayyyy, Sarah! Sak pase?”

“Ale byen, Bobby! Hi Char, here’s the shortbread. How’s it going? Oh! Hi, ma’am. May I help you? 3 of these? Good choice! I love these! I’ll bag them and get them to Dee, she’ll take your coffee order and ring you up. Thanks!”

“You see this?” Charlotta nods at the crowd. She’s petite, light brown-skin with green eyes and a shock of purple hair, dyed especially for Game Day.

“It’s been like this since we opened the doors this morning! By the way, the new cookies are running out the door. You have another hit. Maybe we should make them year ‘round.”

“Really. Huh. I’ll think about it. Depends on how reliable the source is for the ginger. It’s from a small farm in South Af—“

“Coffee to-go, order up! Hey, Prof! Can you—?”

“Got it!” She takes the cup to the pick-up window, reads the name and calls out, “Bucky? Bucky, your order’s ready!”

She turns back to Char for the next order and catches her cutting her eyes over at Roberto, who’s making another coffee order.

The both of them are snickering.

“Yo, Bobby. You see this one?” Char tilts her head to Sarah.

“You know I do, Char.”

“What? Did y’all just prank me with that name? Oh, come on! Bucky? Is this what we’re doing today?”

“You know him? That blue-eyed, tall drink o’water over there.”

“Because he’s lookin’ at you like knows you. Or maybe wants to.”

They both laughed. Out loud now.

“What? Who are you two talking about?”

Char and Bobby, eyebrows raised, are looking at her, then over her shoulder past her, so she turns back to the pick-up counter, and there’s Professor Barnes. He gives her a little 3 finger wave like he’s happy to see her and hopes she feels the same way about seeing him. He can see by her smile that she is.

She takes a napkin, places a couple of shortbread cookies on it, glares at her two friends, and softly says “He teaches a law class I’m taking. I’ll only be a minute. Konpòte ‘w, okay? Behave yourselves.”

Then she fixes her face, and walks back to the pick-up counter.

“This is a nice surprise. Welcome back to Congo Square Coffeehouse, Professor Barnes. You’re not usually here on Saturdays.”

“Good morning, Professor Wilson. Yeah, this really is a pleasant surprise. I’m meeting some friends over at the stadium for the game. I’m early so I…let’s just say I’m now adding a cuppa the best coffee I’ve ever had to my post-Saturday morning run routine.

By the way,” he holds up the cup, “I’m Bucky. Kind of a nickname people know me by. But like I said, you can call me by my given name. James.”

She realizes that she missed seeing his name on the cup when they were in the elevator, because of the little cardboard shield.

“Really. Well…I’m glad you like what we have to offer enough to keep coming back.

We roast and grind our own coffee beans, and our baked goods come from my Mama’s and Grandmama’s recipes that I put my own spin on.”

{Brains, beauty, baseball, and baking? Am I dreaming?}

She placed the napkin holding the cookies on the lid of his coffee cup.

“A lagniappe. Our newest treat. I call it Winter Shortbread. I hope you like it. By the way, why do you want me to call you James?”

“I like the way you say it.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Glossary - Haitian Creole

Sak pase? What’s up?

Ale byen. Going well.

Ansamn, toujou Together, always

Konpòte ‘w Behave yourselves.

Louisiana French

lagniappe a little something extra or for free.

* * * * * * * * * *

1) Working Title

2) There’s possibly a moodboard/graphic/thing for this later.

3) Last, but never least: A thousand Thanks for reading my nonsense!

* * * * * * * * * *

Posted over on The AO3 as Winter Shortbread.

#working title #sarah wilson #bucky barnes #sarahbucky #buckysarah #sarah x bucky #bucky x sarah #sarah wilson x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x sarah wilson #fleur de louve #fleurdelouve month 2023 #fleurdelouvemonth #fleurdelouve #prompt: college professors #fluff #sorry not sorry

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howlingday · 2 years ago

Note

What about Cowboy/Bounty Hunter Jaune meets Ruby? Idk what story that'll bring but it's just something about Cowboy Jaune x Ruby that intrigues me. (Lancaster)

As for Jaune's weapon of choice he has 2 Schofield revolvers, a Lever Action Rifle with a scope (made by Ruby and gives him sniping lessons) and Crocea Mors for melee.

"Rose..." Jaune growled as he stopped whittling his tree branch to watch the bounty hunter walk up the dirt trail to his shack. "You finally come fer mah head, Red Dog?"

"Not this time, Arc." Ruby said as she drew closer. "Got a job for an outlaw."

"A job?" He spit on the ground. "I ain't yer hound dog, Rose. Those days are over." He went back to whittling. " 'Less, a'course, you can get the law to look past me bein' a murderer."

"I don't see a murderer, Jaune. I never have." Ruby stepped closer. "The only reason you're being hunted is because Watts was friends with Schnee."

"Well, if Schnee controls the law, I want nothin' to do with it." He stopped whittling, then looked past Ruby. "No posse?"

"They don't know I'm here." Ruby said. "Too busy on patrol for the White Fang, which is why I'm here."

"The White Fang?" Jaune looked like she had slapped him in the face. "You're not thinkin'-"

"I am." Ruby replied. "And I need you to help me."

"No." Jaune tossed away his branch and stood up, walking around the house. "No way."

"We need you, Jaune!" Ruby followed.

"What you need is a miracle." Jaune stamped up to his shed.

"And that's you!" Ruby said, catching up to him. "We need someone they don't recognize as the law."

"I'm still human."

"But you ain't the law!"

"And I ain't goin' to be again!" Jaune turned on his heel and got in Ruby's face. "I've seen the kinda men the White Fang got. Oh, they're a cowardly bunch, but they ain't stupid. Once they see me, I'm as good as dead." He turned back to the shed. "Like I should've been."

"No, you shouldn't." Ruby replied. "What happened in Fall Gulch-"

"Got Ren stuck in bed, and Nora almost killed." He shuddered. "An' Pyrrha-"

"...I know." Ruby looked away, before steeling herself and pushing past Jaune. "But that's why we need you, Jaune. So we don't let a thing like Fall Gulch happen again." She opened the door. "Look, just give me five-"

"GIT DOWN!"

Jaune swung Ruby to his chest as he twisted to cover her from the blast. The instant he saw the tripwire, he knew who figured out who was responsible, but was confirmed when he heard the beastly howls.

"White Fang!" Ruby shouted.

"Git to the house!" The two ran inside, their heads low as they heard the growling and snarling get closer. Jaune shut and locked the door as bullets whizzed through the flimsier wood. "Got damned animals!"

Jaune rushed to the couch as Ruby stayed under the table. He pulled out a box from underneath and opened it. Quickly grabbing his pistols, he kicked the box to Ruby. Remaining inside was his old rifle.

"All I got is twenty rounds!" Jaune shouted. "Make 'em count!"

Buleets shattered glass and splintered wood as the two loaded and cocked their weapons. Soon, the firing ceased, and the two looked out the windows.

Coming close were men and women wearing white masks and black cloaks, coats, and ponchos.

"Must be crazy." Jaune said.

"To be messing with us?" Ruby smirked.

"To be wearing black." Jaune answered. "Damn near noon, and they're cookin' 'live out there."

"Well, they're about to get a few holes." Ruby held the rifle up. "That oughtta cool 'em off." Jaune quirked a brow at her. "Y'know, like a vent? In a steam plant? It relievs pressure, and, uh..." Ruby trailed off.

"You are one strange girl, Ruby." Jaune said, as he cocked his pistol. "But a hell of a shot."

"If I help you, will you help me?"Ruby asked.

"They blew up mah shed and shot at me." He growled. "If you weren't here, I'd be doin' it myself by now."

#rwby #rwby au #jaune arc #ruby rose #west of lancaster au #lancaster

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kuroimarzipan · 3 years ago

Text

FFXIV Black OC Week Day 2: “Who are their friends and family?”

“It’s good of ye t’always be visiting yer sister like this between yer adventures, but why don’t ye ever bring any of yer scion friends along? D’they not want t’see me cause I ‘ent join their little club too? I live right next to the beach n’ everything, ye’d think at least one of ‘em’d be keen.”

“I mean, at least two of them can’t swim, but that’s not why! Y’know most of them are scholarly types... They’re all over the place now looking into something or the other...“

“Aye, that’s true. Even me bleedin’ wife is too busy in Mor Dhona with Tataru t’come home n’ share a good meal late-- wait, who can’t fuckin’ swim?”

“Alphinaud... and Urianger, actually. Back when we were on the First, Urianger actually tried to cast a spell to walk on water instead, and well... It didn’t exactly work. Fell right in. Plop!”

“Bahahahah! And after a show like that, ye still slept with him. Wow.”

“Roeh!”

“What, I ‘ent wrong! Ye got weird taste in men, Niuwyb.”

“Like you can talk! Last I saw Curious Gorge, your girlfriend had just about sent him flying a malm high for some reason or another.”

“...Ye got me there. Well, they’re jus’ like that, y’know. Ehh... How ‘bout the other scions, then? Th’ lil’ lalafellin woman with that yellow coat? Coulda invited her.”

“Krile? She’s working with G’raha back in Sharlayan to rebuild the Students of Baldesion. She likes a good gossip over tea every now and then, but she’s had her hands full lately... G’raha too, before you ask.”

“The redhead miqo’te that’s keen on ye? Damn, I woulda poked fun at him fer it too.”

“I’d call that a bullet dodged for him, then.”

“Hah! Hrm, if those two’re busy... What about Thancred? I’ll never forget th’ day I came by after th’ mess with Leviathan and th’ man was surrounded. Bleedin’ hilarious, that was! I’d been meanin’ ter take him along drinkin’ again sometime.”

“He’s out in Labyrinthos with Urianger, helping out the Lopporits. So, unless you want your house full of them, it might have to wait...”

“I mean...”

“No.”

“Aye, fair... And the twins? Yer about t’ tell me they’re halfway ‘cross th’ world, ‘ent ye.”

“Funny you should say that! They actually returned to Garlemald to assist in recovery efforts. So, literally halfway across the world, yeah.”

“Eh? On purpose? They went back t’ that bleedin’ godsforsaken snowy hell? Ye couldn’t pay me a million gil t’go back there! I did m’job and came right back home!”

“Maybe you shoulda rugged up a bit better? They did tell you it was going to be even colder than Coerthas...”

“Bah. Okay. Twins’re busy. Freezin’ their hindquarters off. How ‘bout Estinien? Surely he’s got nothin’ better t’do.”

“He’s in Thavnair, helping out Vrtra.”

“And he’s prolly melting his arse off! Shouldn’t ye be supervising yer man, though? Heard he’s absolute shite with money.”

“He’ll be fine. I think. Probably.”

“Ye sound so very sure of that... Thal’s balls, I’m runnin’ out of people t’ask about now... Y’shtola? Tell yer girlfriend she should come back n’ visit Limsa Lominsa for old times’ sake!”

“I doubt Shtola’s going anywhere anytime soon... She’s buried in research again over at Matoya’s place. I’m not about to pry her away from that unless it’s something really urgent.”

“Me sister not bringing any of her friends or her lovers t’ visit is urgent! I’m getting bored! All I got right now is bleedin’ paperwork!”

"Is it really that bad? At least it’s not like when most of them were stuck on the First. If I recall, you almost burnt down your kitc--”

“I have no fuckin’ idea what yer on about w' that. Never happened. Yer gonna tell me where Ysayle is now, and we’re not t’speak of that again.”

“Hah! Well, seeing as you’re so insistent! She went with Sandrine and Sonje to Anyx Trine to talk to the dragons about what we saw in Ultima Thule. Sandrine seemed especially insistent on getting info from them, which is unsurprising.”

“Dravania, huh...Y’know what I’m thinkin’? Maybe I should take a holiday too. Been a minute since I was last ‘n Tailfeather. ‘m due for a good fishing trip, and it’ll be good ter see Marcechamp and lil’ Deftarm again.”

“Oh, I ran into Deftarm a while back! He was helping with deliveries for the construction in Ishgard. Working hard, as always.”

“I’m proud of th’ lil’ guy... Went from stealing gysahl greens to bein’ a full fledged adventurer. Awh, shite, I really should visit.”

"Hah, then after all that fuss you made, you’re going to travel too?”

“I weren’t makin’ a fuss, were I? Jus’ bein nosy about yer friends.”

#ffxiv black oc week #ffxiv #roegadyn #roe #niuwyb #6.0 spoilers #i ended up spending a few hrs typing this up and now its too late to edit screenshots so these are just unedited ones lmao #warning im a roleplayer not a writer so this is all just dialogue lol #oh also when i say spoilers i mean yea literally talking about whats going on post msq #honestly i could keep going w this but I GOTS TO SLEEP....

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drabbles-mc · 4 years ago

Note

Wait I just read the head canon of the “spider in the shower” scenario and they were AMAZING. So spot on😭. I am here to put in a request for this but for the Mayans and if you want to/have time for the rest of the SOA boys. I just loved it soooo much 🥺 you write so well for these characters!!!

Ask and you shall receive! For those wondering, Here is the original Spider in the Shower HC for the SOA boys.

HC for the Mayans Men under the cut! These are a little different set-up-wise since as far as we know the Mayans clubhouse doesn't have dorms. So these all take place in houses or apartments or whatever you picture these boys living in

Bishop:

- he heard you scream and came running from the other end of the house, banging on the bathroom door, “Sweetheart, you alright? Open up!” The two-second delay between him saying that and you unlocking the door felt like an eternity to him. He never heard you scream like that before

- when he walked in he expected to see blood everywhere, or something completely shattered and broken. But nothing seemed out of place. The only thing that seemed off was you, sitting up on the sink counter dripping water while staring at the bathtub.

- “What’s going on?” he looks around the bathroom but can’t for the life of him figure out what’s wrong. He grabs a towel and drapes it around your shoulders as he follows your line of sight.

- “Why the fuck is there a spider in our shower?” you look up at him.

- he wasn’t used to you asking questions so aggressively. He made a mental note that spiders were a tense topic for you. He could only shrug in response before saying, “I didn’t send out invites, you know. Don’t look at me like that,” you could see that he was trying not to smile and failing miserably.

- “Will you kill it, please?” your tone switched from annoyed to pleading. He chuckled as he peered behind the shower curtain, “You sure you don’t want me to just catch him and put him outside?” You raised your eyebrows, “And give him the chance to come back? No fucking way.”

- he didn’t say anything else as he took his boot off and smack it against the wall, effectively putting the spider out of commission. You stayed on the sink out of the way as he grabbed a tissue and cleaned up the mess, throwing the spider in the trash

- he scooped you up off the sink counter and walked you back to your shared bedroom, hiding his laughter by pressing his lips against your bare shoulder. He set you down on the bed and threw you one of his old t-shirts to put on. The two of you looked at each other in silence for a few moments before you finally spoke up, “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this.” He laughed as he collapsed on the bed next to you, “I won’t...for now.”

Angel:

- he thought that he was in for a sexy time in the shower with you. He was eagerly slipping out of his jeans and tank top as he watched you hop into the shower, disappearing behind the curtain.

- he peeled off his socks and was getting ready to hop in the shower behind you when the sound of your scream filled the tiny space at his house. He didn't even have time to try and register what was going on as you leapt out of the shower, water still running, and slamming into him. You sent both of you crashing into the sink counter

- “Fuck, Y/N, what’s the matter with you?” he was rubbing his hip where it had just gotten jammed into the corner of the counter

- “There’s a spider in there!” He looked at you, not completely surprised, “So you gotta bodyslam me? C’mon, querida, it can’t be that scary. It’s way smaller than you.” You narrowed your eyes at him, “Then you go kill it!”

- he scoffs, reaching and shutting the water off before peeling the curtain back, “Maybe I will.” He does his signature, cocky little head shake that drives you nuts when it’s directed at you.

- he holds his hand out behind him, “Gimme a tissue.” You set one in his hand, eagerly watching over his shoulder as he catches and crushes the spider inside the tissue. He turns back to you, a proud smirk on his face, “See? All taken care of.” He tosses it in the toilet and flushes it away.

- Once it’s gone for good, he reaches and turns the shower back on. His expression changes completely when he turns back around to you and sees you pulling your rode on. “Where you goin’, querida?” he looks so genuinely confused.

- you shake your head, “I’m not getting back in that fucking shower tonight. Have fun.” You don’t give him the chance to try and change your mind and you can hear him groaning behind you as he shuts the shower back off again, admitting defeat.

Coco:

- swings the door open with an amount of force that you’d never seen, baseball bat in his hand, “Who the fuck is in here?!” he looks frantically around the bathroom, trying to locate whoever it was that made you scream like that.

- it took a second before he noticed that you were standing to the side of him, tucking yourself neatly into the corner of your bathroom. He saw the way your hair was still dripping and quickly looked you over to make sure that you were physically okay.

- “What happened?” his hand was still gripping the baseball bat tightly. You pointed to the shower, “There’s a spider in the shower...”

- he couldn't pretend that he wasn’t confused, “Alright. And?” You scoffed, “What do you mean and?” He shrugged, “I mean and what the fuck made you scream like that? It bite you or somethin’?” You sighed, “No! It didn’t bite me. I just...I don’t want a spider in the shower with me, Coco! You gotta kill it!”

- his grip on the bat finally loosened up a bit. He shook his head, “You had me thinkin’ there was a murderer in here or some shit. You can’t kill it yourself?” You flashed him your best puppy-dog eyes, “C’mon, Coco, please?” He tilted his head slightly, “Whatchu gonna do if this happens when I’m not here?”

- you sighed. You should’ve known that it wasn’t going to be an easy thing with him. The man put holes in people’s heads on a semi-regular basis for the club without question, but asking him to squash a bug was going to spark a philosophical discussion.

- “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Please, Coco, I don’t wanna do it.” It was evident in his eyes that he was contemplating leaving you to deal with the problem on your own. But he was soft for you and couldn't follow through on it. With a sigh, he climbed into the tub and stomped the spider with no hesitation before washing it down the drain.

- he kissed your forehead, “Next time you gotta do it. Survival of the fittest, Ma.” You rolled your eyes, “My knight in shining armor.” He turned around and flashed you the cocky smile that made you weak in the knees every time, “Damn right.”

EZ:

- the sound of your yell filled the entirety of the small trailer. He jumped up off the bed and made his way to the small pocket of space that passed for his bathroom and was instantly bombarded by you running into him. The front of his shirt instantly became soaked, absorbing all the water from your body.

- “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he gripped you gently but firmly by the outsides of your arms. You shook your head, “This trailer is not big enough for the three of us, Ezekiel.” His eyebrows furrowed, “Three of us?” You nodded, “Yea. You, me, and your hairy eight-legged friend in there,” you gestured towards the bathroom.

- that was when he realized what happened. He smiled down at you before he thought better of it and you pushed his chest, “It’s not funny!” He nodded, forcing a serious expression as he held his hands up in surrender, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

- “Want me to take care of it?” the smirk was already reappearing on his face. You huff, “No, I want the three of us to learn how to live in harmony together.”

- “I know you’re being sarcastic,” he chuckled as he shuffled past you to get to the bathroom, “But that would make for a good story.”

- you were shaking your head as you grabbed one of his shirts to wear, sitting down on the bed as you watched him try to maneuver around in the small space to kill the spider.

- “Sorry, buddy,” EZ spoke to the creature as he got ready to squash it with a tissue, “but she said that we can’t be friends.” You rolled your eyes, “You’re not about to make me feel bad about this, EZ.”

- he reemerged from the bathroom, tossing the tissue into the garbage can, “Sounds like a guilty conscience, to me.” You grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, “You’re the worst.” He laughed as he peeled off his now-soaked shirt, “Is that any way to thank the guy who just saved you?”

- you pressed your lips into a thin line, staying silent for a moment before grabbing the other pillow and throwing it at him, “Thank you.”

Creeper:

- 100% comes running into the bathroom with his shotgun in his hand after he hears you scream

- has never heard you express that kind of fear before and definitely think that someone was hiding in the shower and had a knife to your throat or something

- when he sees you perched up on the closed toilet lid he is confused to say the least. Your hair is dripping and you hadn’t even bothered to grab a towel when you jumped out of the shower

- still not completely sure what’s going on, he refuses to completely set down his gun, instead letting it dangle by his side as he looks you over, “Hey, Mama, what’s going on in here?”

- not getting up from your perch, you point to the shower, “You gotta kill it, Neron.”

- “Kill what?” he rips the curtain back but doesn’t see anything at first

- you point aggressively towards the corner of the shower where all the body wash and shampoo bottles are stacked, “The spider!”

- “The spider?” he fights back a laugh as he rests the shotgun across his shoulders, arms dangling over it, “You screaming like that over a spider?”

- “Will you kill it already?!”

- he hands you a towel to wrap around your shoulder, chuckling as he sets his gun down outside the bathroom door. You try to tell him that he might still need the gun and he laughs before stepping into the tub to locate and kill the spider.

- very nicely, he asks you to get off the toilet so he can flush it away down the toilet. You jump up, standing at the very edge of the doorway as you watch him flush it away. He shuts the toilet lid and turns back to you, an amused smile on his face

- “Didn’t know you were afraid of spiders, baby,” he walks over and hugs you, kissing the soaking wet hair on top of your head, “I’ll keep a closer eye out for them.”

- “You better,” you grumble as you lean into his chest, “Or I’m gonna start using the shotgun.”

Hank:

- does not want to burst into the bathroom while you’re in there, feeling like he’s invading your privacy despite the fact that you screamed for him hardly a moment before

- gently knocked on the door and you responded with what he could only describe as a bark as you told him to get in the bathroom now

- once he was halfway inside the door, you pulled him completely in by his hand. He was trying not to stare at you but it was difficult to pry his eyes away from you, not used to seeing you standing around so exposed, and drenched from your shower

- “You gotta kill it, Hank.”

- he raised his eyebrows, “Kill it? Kill what?” You nod towards the shower, “There’s a spider in the shower!”

- all the tension that he was previously holding in his shoulders disappeared. He remembered at one point you’d mentioned that you hated spiders, but he didn't think that you really hated them that much. He knew how much you loved your long, hot showers.

- “I thought you were hurt, Y/N,” he was trying to sound bothered but you could see the smile fighting its way onto his face.

- “Um,” you scoff, “I could’ve been hurt. That thing is the size of a small dog.”

- he chuckled and shook his head, “Alright, alright,” he gently ushered you through the doorway, “Go get changed and I’ll take care of it for you,” he watched you walk towards the bedroom, “Better call the dog warden just in case!”

Taza:

- he heard you calling for him and had no idea what to expect. You weren’t the type to yell across the house for things that you needed.

- when he got to the bathroom, you were standing outside the doorway, towel lazily wrapped around you as you stood and waited for him. With every passing second he became more confused.

- once you told him that there was a spider in the shower and you couldn't go back in the bathroom until it was dead, a smile took over his face and he couldn't help but to laugh

- Che “Catch & Release” Romero

- you were upset that he was going to give the spider a chance to come back and try again to ambush you in the shower, but you knew it was an argument that you weren’t going to win with him.

- within a minute he had it trapped in a cup, covering the opening with his hand as he walked it back through the house to release it.

- he came back to find you sitting cross-legged on the bed, still wrapped in your towel. He tried to sit next to you but you pulled away from him, scooting farther down the bed.

- “What is it, mi amor? Hm?” there was a small, knowing smile on his face as he asked you the question. You huffed, “I don’t want you to touch me with your spider hands!”

- he laughed, “I only touched it with this hand,” he held up his right hand before reaching to caress your face with his left, “So this hand is still safe for you.”

Gilly:

- is under the impression that you are being dramatic about something when you call him into the bathroom for an emergency

- he walks in all cocky, expecting you to have some weird, little favor to ask of him

- he wasn’t thinking that he was going to open the door and nearly cause you to fall over in the process. He catches you, but barely, your dripping skin sliding in his grip.

- “Fuck, what happened in here?” he saw the water all over the floor where you jumped out of the shower

- “You have a spider in your shower!” you pointed frantically. He shook his head, as if he should’ve known that it would be something like that, “So? Shoot it with the showerhead.”

- you give him an offended look, “You shoot it with the showerhead! I don’t want to be anywhere near that thing.” He laughed and pulled the curtain to the side and looked around for the creature in question.

- gets halfway through some smartass remark before seeing the spider and jumping back himself, “Fuck!”

- your fear would be momentarily outweighed by the satisfaction of seeing Gilly eat his words. You cross your arms over your bare chest, “Just shoot it with the showerhead, baby.”

- you can’t hear too clearly what he’s saying as he grumbles, sliding the boot off of his foot before slamming it down on the floor of the shower, crushing the bug in the process. He would deny it if anyone asked him about it after the fact, but you definitely heard him let out a sigh of relief once he lifted up the boot and saw that the spider was dead

Riz:

- is full of worry as he rushes to the bathroom

- he walks in and sees you standing, leaning back against the sink counter, water dripping off your body onto the floor. His initial instinct is to try and take care of you, grabbing a towel and trying to wrap it around your shoulders.

- “You gotta kill the spider, Riz,” you were completely ignoring the soft gestures he was trying to give you.

- “Wh-what?” he was thoroughly confused, still trying to drape the towel around your shoulders. You grabbed the towel from him, breaking his singular concentration, “There’s a spider in your shower, Riz. You gotta kill it.”

- “Is that what made you scream?” he gently wiped some of the water off of your cheek, “It’ll probably leave you alone if you wanna finish your shower, hermosa.” You turn and look at him, dumbfounded, “Do you...do you shower when you know there’s a spider in there with you?” He shrugged, “We just don’t bother each other.”

- you couldn't believe what you were hearing, “How long have you known there’s a spider in there?” He could sense that he was in hot water already but he couldn't force himself to lie to you, “I mean, I don’t know if it’s always the same spider but--” You couldn't listen to any more of what he was about to say, “Kill it, Michael. Please.”

- he grabbed a second towel and threw it down on the floor to soak up some of the water that you’d dragged out of the shower with you, “Okay, okay. Whatever you want, querida. Go dry off, I’ll take care of the spider.”

- as much as you wanted to be as far away from the spider as possible, you stayed, “I wanna make sure you actually get rid of it.” He chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he reached and shut the shower off. He saw it crawling up onto the lip of the tub and with one smooth motion he crushed it underneath the toe of his boot.

- “All better?” he turned back to you. You tapped your finger against his chest, “No more letting bugs be guests in our shower. I’ll leave. I’ll move out.”

Bonus- Nestor (because i love him):

- he swung the door open and was met with the sight of you standing on top of the closed toilet lid. Instantly he felt like whatever the situation was, was above his paygrade. The shower was still running and water was all over the floor.

- he held his hands out to help you down, “Get down from there. You’re gonna fall and crack your skull.”

- “Better than letting that thing in there kill me!” it was dramatic, but you didn't care. His brows furrowed in confusion, “What thing? Where?” You pointed to the shower, “There’s a spider in the shower, Nes!”

- the expression on his face let you know that he felt that it was far too early in the morning to be dealing with this level of nonsense. He ran his hands down his face before holding them out to you again, “Please get down off the toilet, Y/N.” You shook your head, “Not until you kill the spider.”

- with a deep sigh, he turned the water off in the shower and pulled the curtain to the side. He scanned the tub for a minute before finally finding the threat. He wouldn't admit it to you, but he understood why it freaked you out--it was a big fucking spider.

- not thinking better of it, he picked your slide up off the floor and slammed it down onto the spider, crushing it on the bottom of your shoe. You whined, “Why’d you have to use my shoe?” He turned back to you, his expression painfully neutral, “The spider is dead, isn’t it?” he held his hands out yet again, “Now please get down from there.”

- you placed your hands in his and let him help you down, instantly wrapping your legs around his waist so that he was forced to hold you. It got a laugh out of the both of you as he caught you, holding you up with ease.

- “You owe me new slides, you know,” you chuckled as he carried you to the bedroom. He laughed, “Only if you promise not to climb on the toilet anymore.”

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seasonschange-butpeopledont · 4 years ago

Text

The Last of Us: Part II

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader / Santiago “Pope” Garcia x F!Reader

Warnings: Language, threats of violence, guns, blood and injury, a post-zombie apocalypse world ripped straight out of The Last of Us, first aid medical stuff (kind of?)

Word Count: 1,644

Author’s Note: The Triple Frontier Zombie Apocalypse AU no one asked for.

Summary: After Frankie is injured, the boys find themselves in need of your help.

Part I - Taglist Form - Masterlist - Part III

The gunshots outside your window set heart racing. Not an entirely uncommon sound in the world you lived in now, but the quiet of the last few days had given you the illusion of peace.

That fantasy was promptly shattered when a large blonde man kicked your door in, covered in blood and carrying a metal pipe as a weapon.

“Get him inside!” He ordered, speaking to someone you could not yet see. You’d been hiding behind the counter of the bar since the shots rang out, but it wouldn’t be long before these strangers discovered you there. Careful not to move too suddenly and make the old wooden floors creak under the shift of your weight, you craned your neck to peek around the corner.

You watched two more men follow behind the first, carrying an unconscious man through the doorway. The metallic scent of blood hit you immediately. Someone had been injured.

“Goddamnit,” The youngest blonde swore. “Where the hell did they come from?”

“Must have been following us,” One of the men reasoned. “Caught Fish in the back.”

“You thinkin’ they were hunters?”

“Nah,” The first man shook his head. “That was amateur. Probably just desperate for some supplies.”

“Right, and we aren’t?” The young blonde snorted. “This whole fuckin’ plan was stupid. Never should have come this far into the city.”

“C’mon, Benny, quit complaining and help me move that jukebox in the corner. We’ve gotta barricade this door.”

“With noise like that, we’ll be lucky if a damn horde ain’t at our doorstep in a few minutes,” The man, Benny, you presumed, grumbled as he began pushing the heavy machine across the floor. “Fuckin’ scavengers.”

The third man was knelt on the ground, assessing the unconscious man’s wounds.

“How bad is it?” The first man called.

“I’ve seen worse,” He replied, placing his hands against the wound and applying pressure as best he could. He looked around the room in search of supplies, his gaze landing on the bar top. You shrank back, but you knew it was useless. He was on his feet and heading towards the place where you hid in the blink of an eye.

When he came around the counter, he spotted you immediately, still crouched down on the floor. He was shorter than the rest of the group, with tan skin and greying curls. There was a fierceness in his eyes that told you he meant business.

“Looks like we’ve got company, boys,” He called.

You were ill-prepared for the confrontation, clutching the neck of a broken bottle as a makeshift weapon. If it came down to it, you doubted it would do you any good. You weren’t much of a fighter.

“You know anything about this?” He demanded, unholstering his weapon and training it on you. He pointed to the injured man with his free hand.

“What? No, I– I don’t know anything,” You shook your head, fumbling for a defense, caught off guard by how absurd the accusation seemed to you. “You broke into my bar, remember?”

“Could be a trap. You sure you don’t have a buddy in the back that’s about to come shoot at us?” He countered evenly, the gun in his hands lowering slightly so that it was no longer pointed between your eyes.

“If I was planning a robbery, don’t you think I’d be armed with something a little better than,” You paused, looking at the label of the bottle in your hand, “Peppermint schnapps?”

At this, the man raised an eyebrow and looked towards his companions, seeming to ask for their assessment of the situation. The two men flanked him, watching you carefully.

“She ain’t gonna hurt anybody,” The young blonde spoke up. Benny, you remembered. “Look at her, Pope. Poor thing’s scared to death.”

You glared at him, clearly indignant at his observation. The man with the gun nodded finally, holstering the weapon before retreating towards the injured man to check on him once more.

The older blonde stepped in, holding out a hand to help you up off of the floor. You accepted it, pulling yourself to your feet. “Hey there,” He said with a calmness in his voice as he introduced himself, “I’m Will, and that’s my brother, Benny. Over there, that’s Pope– He’s a little spooked right now, so you’ll have to forgive his manners.”

He pointed towards the man they’d dragged into the building, currently sitting on the floor with his back against one of the booths by the front wall. Pope was beside him, pressing a bloodied shirt against the wound at his friend’s shoulder. “And that’s Catfish. Look, we aren’t here to cause any trouble, but we could really use your help.”

You gave him your name in a voice just above a whisper, your attention held by the wounded man. He wore a hat that shadowed his face, but something about his slumped figure tugged at your heart. His friends clearly cared about him deeply. That wasn’t something you came by often in this world, not anymore. These days, it was every man for himself.

Your grip on the bottle loosened, and you put it away. “I have a first aid kit upstairs,” You informed them, turning back to Will and Benny. “I’ll go get it for you. There’s some clean dish rags under the sink to help stop the bleeding.”

Relief washed over Will’s face. “Thank you,” He told you, his sincerity clear in his tone.

“Mind if we take this?” Benny asked you, holding up a bottle of whiskey. “I think it’s going to take a little more than those tiny antiseptic wipes to get that thing good and clean.”

“Go ahead,” You confirmed, heading towards the store room to grab the first aid kit off the shelf. Back in the bar, you could hear muffled groans of pain as the men poured the liquor to sterilize the wound. The agonizing sound went straight to your heart, making your stomach twist painfully. It’s been months, but you didn’t think you’d ever acclimate to the suffering you’d witnessed since the beginning of the outbreak.

“Thanks,” Pope murmured when you returned, handing the first aid kit to him. Benny and Will had taken up arms by the door, watching through the cracks in the boarded up windows for any signs of oncoming hordes.

“Mind putting pressure on that for me?” He requested, taking his hands off of the wound to sift through your meager medical supplies. Your hands replaced his, pressing down on Catfish’s shoulder. His breath was coming out in short, even puffs. The bleeding seemed to be slowing, and a thin layer of sweat covered his face, dampening the hair that curled against his forehead. If the situation were different, you might have found him handsome.

You looked back to Pope, watching him work. His eyes were focused on threading the needle to begin stitching, and you discovered that his fingers were trembling. It surprised you; these didn’t seem like the type of men who cracked under pressure. This Catfish fellow must have meant a lot to them.

“Is he going to be okay?” You inquired softly. Pope swallowed hard, nodding slowly.

“I think so. The bullet went straight through. If we can stitch it up, it’ll be fine, as long as there’s no infection. We should probably think about getting some food in him soon.”

“That’s good,” You replied, trying to keep your tone optimistic. Infection was as big of a threat as anything these days, but you thought you thought he stood a good chance. A bottle of whiskey and some clean bandages were still miles better than the field medicine most people received.

When Pope failed to thread the needle for the third time, you held out your hand to him expectantly. “Let me take over. I used to do a lot of sewing with my grandmother. Steady hands.”

You offered him a reassuring smile, and he reluctantly relinquished the needle and thread to you.

“Have you been here long?” He asked absentmindedly, sitting back on his heels as you worked. Your eyebrows drew together in concentration.

“A while. The bar is pretty well stocked, all things considered.” You got the thread through the eye easily, carefully securing it before nudging Pope’s hands aside. You removed the dish rag and took out one of the antiseptic wipes, clearing away some of the remaining blood before you set to work on stitching the wound closed.

“Riding out the apocalypse at the bar,” Pope snorted softly. “Sounds like a nice plan. Wish I would have thought of that one.”

“I used to live in the apartment upstairs, actually, before everything…” You trailed off, not eager to rehash the beginning of the end. “Well, you know what happened. When the QZ fell apart a few months later, I didn’t really know where else to go, so I ended up back here. I guess the owners of this place didn’t make it, but it seemed safe enough and there are plenty of supplies, if you don't mind beer nuts and pretzels. I’ve been hiding out here ever since.”

“Really? All by yourself?” He frowned. You seem to hesitate, swallowing a lump in your throat before answering.

“Believe it or not, you and your friends are the first people I’ve spoken to in about two months.”

“No kidding?”

You shook your head. It was a lonely existence you led these days, so different to the one you had when the city was full of life.

“That’s too bad,” Pope told you, unable to ignore the pit that formed in his stomach when he noticed the sadness in your eyes. “I don’t think we made the best first impression.

“That’s okay. It’s nice to meet you, Pope,” You said softly, trying off the final stitch. “Even under the circumstances.”

General Taglist: @theravenreads @marshmallowtraver @computeringturtle @pascalisthepunkest @supernaturalcat7 @maythxthirstbxwithyou @artsymaddie

Pedro Characters Taglist: @coldlilheart @fuck-goes-on

Frankie Morales Taglist: @freeshavocadoooo @fangirl-of-randomness @darnitdraco

#frankie morales x reader #santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales x reader #frankie morales #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #frankie morales x you #santiago garcia x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #francisco catfish morales

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sweet-by-and-by · 3 years ago

Text

First Kiss- Rarepair Week Day 1

summary: Mary-Beth is forever nose-deep in a romance novel, daydreaming of knights and lords and ladies in kind. Tilly is determined to help her see the story that's right in front of her. pairing: Mary-Beth Gaskill x Tilly Jackson a/n: An already late entry for Rarepair Week! Give me the AU where Tilly and Mary-Beth run away and grow old together in some cabin far away pls ❤️

AO3

The relentless sun of Lemoyne beat down on the awning, casting hot shadows on the girls’ tent. While the shade was a welcome respite, it did little to ease the discomfort of the humidity that hung thick in the air.

“I swear, I never thought I’d feel heat like this once I linked up with Dutch. I’ll take deserts any day over this soupy air!” Tilly complained, huffing as she scrubbed some filthy shirt against the washboard. Much to her dismay, she was Grimshaw’s favourite choice for laundry duty. It was either her ability to get out any stain, or Karen’s distinct lack of effort when it was her turn in the washbasin.

“At least we ain’t freezin’ to death on top of those mountains,” Karen remarked, wincing from the sharp prick of her needle poking through her mending.

Tilly grunted in response, standing to pin the now clean shirt on the clothesline. “At this point I’m almost missin’ those mountains. If it ain’t the smell of those awful sweaty men, it’s the damn dust in their shirts! This water has no business being so red after this little washing.”

Their conversation was interrupted by shouts from John, beckoning for Karen to take over on guard duty. She perked up at his call, a smile growing wide as she abandoned her sewing and bolted towards her posting.

“You’ll get it all done, you always do!” Karen called over her shoulder as she passed off. Tilly frowned at the lack of remorse in her voice, though she couldn’t blame Karen. Even standing guard in the hot sun would be better than mending all afternoon.

“You best take over for her before Grimshaw notices,” Tilly said, nudging Mary-Beth beside her. She was perched on a crate, nose deep in a book. The motion startled her, making her jump slightly as she was pulled from her thoughts.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, looking frazzled as she returned to reality, “Is it Karen’s turn on guard duty already?”

Tilly smiled at Mary-Beth’s expression, shaking her head to clear her thoughts of how adorable she looked. Mary-Beth picked up Karen’s mending, thrown haphazardly on the endless pile of shirts and pants to be fixed.

“I have no clue why Grimshaw even gets her to do this,” Mary-Beth tutted, examining Karen’s work. “Her stitches are more fit for a wound than anything wearable!”

Tilly chuckled in agreement, returning to her washing to focus herself. They worked side by side, slowly making their way through the afternoon’s chores.

“So what you been reading?” Tilly asked, sneaking a quick peek at Mary-Beth. Her hair was pulled back in her usual half bun, her curls slowly dissipating from the humidity. The sight of her lips pursed as she worked away had Tilly looking down quickly, thoughts running away from her as she wondered what they would feel like against her own.

“Oh, just the usual,” Mary-Beth replied, still focused on her sewing. “Some silly romance where the big strong hero whisks his Princess away.”

“Sounds enthralling,” Tilly chuckled.

“It can be! This one’s about a servant girl who falls in love with the Earl, who desperately wishes he could leave his title behind and run away with her. It’s a story I’ve read a thousand times, but it gives me the chills every time! Ain’t it just the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard? Someone wanting to give up a life of riches and luxury just to be with you?”

“That’s ‘cause these rich Earls ain’t never lived without those luxuries. I give him one week of scrubbing his own shirts before he runs back to his mansion with his tail between his legs,” Tilly scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Sometimes you have to leave the details for real life,” Mary-Beth retorted, smiling to herself, “even if it means looking past some things.”

Tilly hesitated for a moment, unsure of herself. “What keeps you reading those things if you think they’re so silly?” she asked.

“I think it’s the idea behind the silliness,” she said thoughtfully. “Sometimes they’re wrapped up in some ridiculous circumstance, but the thought that someone out there cares for you enough to cross oceans or abandon their riches? Well, I guess I just want to believe that a love like that can be real. I know you and Karen laugh at me for always reading these, but they make our dull days seem so much more promising.”

“Of course it could be,” Tilly said. She frowned at the woman’s response, leaving her washing to sitting back on her heels and look up at the brunette.

“Just not for us, huh?” Mary-Beth joked, her tone forcefully light as she dismissed her ideas. “Who would love some poor little thief like me?”

“I do,” Tilly blurted, the words rushing out before she could stop herself. Her face fell when realization hit her, and she felt her face grow hot in embarrassment. She opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it close lest she say anything else.

Mary-Beth straightened in response, her gaze rising to meet Tilly’s. Their eyes locked, surprise colouring both of their faces. Mary-Beth flushed a deep red to the tips of her ears, breaking Tilly’s stare to flutter her gaze down at her book.

“Besides,” Tilly said, voice tight as she collected herself, “even if we do sometimes tease you for ‘em, we turn right around and read them ourselves.”

“You do?” Mary-Beth asked shyly.

“Sometimes,” Tilly admitted. “It makes you so happy, even though you feel so stupid for not thinkin’ it’s stupid!”

Mary-Beth laughed, her face splitting into a smile as the sound chimed like bells. “It’s such nonsense! And this one is particularly idiotic.”

“Do you think...I could borrow it when you’re done?” Tilly asked, turning shy.

“Of course!” Mary-Beth answered.

“Just...don’t tell Karen.”

Mary-Beth sunk to her knees where Tilly was perched by the washbin, setting her book aside as she reached out. She slipped her hand into Tilly’s, the softness of her skin making Tilly feel warm.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Mary-Beth assured. Her eyes sparkled even in the shade, her emerald green irises shining with glee.

She pulled her hand away, stopping when Tilly squeezed softly. Fingertips grazed against calloused palms, worn from long days of work but still soft and delicate.

“And for what it’s worth, I think you’ll find your big strong hero to whisk you away,” Tilly blushed, forcing herself to hold Mary-Beth’s gaze.

“I’m not so sure I need one,” Mary-Beth said, holding Tilly’s hand tight. “I think there might be somethin’ even better sittin’ right in front of me.”

Tilly’s heart swelled, the response making her brave. Before she could think, she found herself leaning in.

Mary-Beth’s lips parted in a silent “O”, her eyebrows raising to her hairline as Tilly leaned close. Their lips met, the soft graze of skin against skin left them both wanting more. Mary-Beth returned the kiss, reaching up to pull Tilly close with a hand on the back of her neck.

The sound of Copper barking shocked them back into reality, both girls stiffening as they came back to. They pulled apart quickly, feeling exposed and embarrassed. Tilly fussed with her skirts while Mary-Beth grabbed her book from the ground, clutching it to her chest.

They looked at each other nervously, unable to contain their smiles even so. Mary-Beth looked around anxiously, searching for signs that they had been caught. No one seemed to be looking their way, and the two girls eased slightly though their hearts still hammered away.

Mary-Beth took Tilly's hand once more, squeezing again in silent assurance. Neither wished to be the first to move.

With the understanding that they would figure this out later hanging wordlessly between them, they reluctantly returned to their chores before Grimshaw could scold them. A long afternoon of secret smiles and hushed giggles lay ahead.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #mary beth gaskill #marybeth gaskill #tilly jackson #mary beth gaskill/tilly jackson #tillybeth #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #rarepair #rarepair week #my fic

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carewyncromwell · 3 years ago

Photo

“There's somethin' in the wind, I can feel it blowin' in: It's comin' in softly on the wings of a bomb... There's somethin' in the wind, I can feel it blowin' in: It's comin' in hotly and it's comin' in strong... Lately I've been thinkin' it's just someone else's job to care -- Who am I to sympathize when no one gave a damn? I've been thinkin' it's just someone else's job to care -- Who am I to wanna try? But change is a powerful thing...people are powerful beings...”

~“Change” by Lana Del Rey

x~x~x~x

I was totally inspired by this rockin’ coat and decided to draw some Reincarnation-AU!Batticus, specifically during the events of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and Half-Blood Prince. (Grim’s look is very slightly based on this -- because Atticus @cursebreakerfarrier is the OG Academia fashion icon. 🥰💙)

At this point in Bat and Grim’s second lives as Robert Bellamy and Atticus Lestrange, the two seventh-year Ravenclaws (and, the following year, Ravenclaw alumni) have solved the mystery of their past lives and are now roommates sharing a dinky little flat in London. Atticus has miraculously landed an internship at the Ministry of Magic, specifically in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, while Robert’s an apprentice at the apothecary in Diagon Alley over winter, spring, and summer break to earn enough money to help pay the rent.

When Cedric Diggory died in their sixth year, though, Bat was thoroughly unconvinced by the Ministry’s cover-story that it was a tragic “accident,” and -- upon colliding with Dolores Umbridge at Hogwarts in their seventh year -- was pretty soundly convinced that the Ministry was covering things up. Grim, for his part, had his misgivings about the Ministry’s version of events, but being the Lawful Good person he was, he had a bit more trouble expressing those doubts, especially now that he was on the way to joining the Department of Magical Law Enforcement himself. Sensing Grim’s inner conflict on the matter and not wanting to put him in the position where he’d have to choose between his friendship with Bat or his family and future, Bat made the decision to not tell Grim when he -- despite his intense personal dislike and distrust of Albus Dumbledore -- nonetheless chose to join the Order of the Phoenix. After all, in all of his lives, Bat is a soldier, and he couldn’t in good conscience not fight back against Voldemort and the Death Eaters, just as he did against Grindelwald so many years ago.

From the start, however, Grim got a bad feeling Bat was keeping something from him. In early January 1996, while on an assignment with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Grim ended up coming across Bat, who was likewise on an assignment for the Order in hooded black robes with white trim not unlike his old British Redcoat uniform and a high turtleneck-like collar that hid the lower half of his face. Even if he was very anxious and didn’t understand what was going on at all, Grim covertly covered Bat as he fled before the Aurors could discover him and -- upon rushing back to their apartment -- helped Bat with the injuries he’d sustained. It was only that that Bat finally came clean to Grim about his alignment...and he also, having just been made aware of the Azkaban break-out, offered to leave their apartment to Grim and move out.

“My alignment with Potter and Dumbledore already endangers your livelihood. But if your family’s out on the streets now, then that means Voldemort has gotten strong enough that soon he’ll be bold enough to act out in the open. And once that happens...well, then it’ll be open season on Muggle-borns like me. Your ancestry protects you, Grim -- your family name would protect you from people like Him. Associating with mine would put you in the cross-hairs -- ”

But, of course, Grim stubbornly shot this down.

“You seem to have forgotten that in our previous lives, you already tried to ward me off from helping you once by talking about how dangerous it’d be for me. And trust me, you’re no more persuasive in making me abandon you now than you were then.”

“This is different -- ”

“Perhaps it is, but the result is not. I am not going to kick you out -- nor am I leaving you.”

“Grim, if things get worse, I won’t be able to protect you from the Death Eaters -- ”

“ -- then it’s a good thing I’m more than capable of protecting myself!”

“I know you are -- but they’ll try to force you to join them or die, Grim. At least if you distance yourself from me, you might be able to slip under the radar -- not draw so much attention. If you’re with me, then they’ll target you just as fiercely.”

“Well, then, we’ll just have to fight them off together, won’t we?”

“Grim...”

“Bat...I already lost you once. I do not intend to lose you again. ...You...mean far too much to me. You must know that.”

“...I do. ...I do know...Atticus.”

The occasion was one of the few times Bat has ever been serious enough to call Grim by his full name. It was also followed by one of the two men’s very first kisses, and one of their deepest.

As the War went on, Bat would continue to go on covert, mysterious missions for the Order, often coming back to his and Grim’s apartment nursing wounds that Grim would help him patch up with healing potions and spells. One particular injury, which left an array of terrible vein scars down Bat’s arm, had been the result of a Dark curse chucked at him by Atticus’s relative Rodolphus Lestrange. Meanwhile Atticus would do his best to help Bat how he could through his work at the Ministry, both under Fudge and even more so under Rufus Scrimgeour. Although one worked within the law and the other often worked outside of it, they both had the same goal in mind -- to fight evil however they could, in the hopes of circumventing the Death Eaters’ growing thirst for control over the Wizarding World.

#hphl #hogwarts legacy #golden era #reincarnation!au #bartholomew varney #atticus grimsley #other people's mcs #my art #voldemort #order of the phoenix #albus dumbledore #cornelius fudge #rufus scrimgeour

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carbo-ships · 3 years ago

Text

Anniversary

It's September 15th, which means that Soldagand and I have been dating for a full year. So uhhhhhhhhh I wrote this. This story makes references to the day we started dating, so it may help to read that one first -> [Masquerade]. Full story under the cut.

[Soldagand x Carly Masterlist]

With uncharacteristic nerves, Soldagand had made his way to the local blacksmith's shop one August morning. Alf and two of his apprentices were just beginning work outside the little forge. Sol caught the man's eye as he approached.

"Ah, Soldagand!" Alf greeted him warmly. "To what do I owe this pleasant surprise? Does that armor of yours need repairs already?"

"No, no, that's holdin' up just fine," Sol assured him. "This is... well, a special request."

"Special request?" Noticing the dryad's flushed cheeks, Alf grinned. "Alright. You have my attention. Come, we'll talk inside." He relayed a few instructions to one of his apprentices before leading Soldagand into the small building.

Alf sat at an old wooden table littered with tools and motioned for Soldagand to join him. "Now, what has brought you here, my friend?”

"Well, y'know I've had... a lil thing goin' on with that mage over at Fort Hume for quite a while now, and..." He cleared his throat nervously as he took his seat. "Our anniversary's comin' up, and I know that's important to humans."

"It sounds as if this is more than just a 'little thing'," the blacksmith teased.

"Yeah. It is."

"I see. And what is it you'd like from me?"

Soldagand sighed. "I was thinkin' promise rings. For both of us. I wanna prove to her that I'm serious about this."

"Oh, Soldagand," the man cooed, a sappy look on his face. "It is quite a romantic gesture—and one I would be more than happy to assist you with. I don't suppose you know her ring size?"

"I'll find out the next time I see her," Sol shrugged. "I've got a couple tricks up my sleeve."

"Ah, is this to be a surprise?"

"I'd like it to be."

"How sweet! Well, let's brainstorm a bit, shall we? Tell me about her."

"About Carly?" Sol clarified.

"Yes, about this woman you're so enamored with,” Alf chuckled. “I want to make something that suits her."

Sol shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "W-Well, she, uh..." His face was turning red again. "She's this tiny lil human, about yea high. Sweet as can be. She acts all tough, but she's soft. Tenderhearted. She's cried over me more times than I can count and it breaks my heart. But she's a mage, and good at it—especially for one her age. Brilliant, really. And she loves me more than I deserve. She and I have been through a lot. And she’s so damn cute. She’s got those big doe eyes, gorgeous curls, freckles across her cheeks… But I’m rambling. What is it you wanted to know?”

The blacksmith couldn’t help but laugh. "Thirty years I've known you, and I've never seen you like this."

Soldagand groaned. "I know. She's got me wrapped around her little finger."

"Do you see marriage in your future?"

The dryad flinched. "It's… It's complicated. But that's what this is about. No matter what happens down the road, I need her to know that I love her now. I can’t let her doubt that.”

The two men spent another few minutes discussing specifics until both were satisfied. Alf shook Soldagand’s hand. "Well, I will begin drafting some designs, and you work on getting that measurement. And let me go ahead and get yours while you're here."

--------------

September 15th had finally arrived. It was the night of the annual masquerade. The night had gone much like last year. Soldagand and Carly were both dressed in their finest, ornate masks failing to hide their beaming smiles as they waltzed in each other’s arms. Just like the previous year, Soldagand slowly guided them away from the center of the room until they found themselves at the entrance to the balcony. His hand slid to the small of her back. She knew he wanted to speak with her alone.

They again stepped out into the night, settled on the stone bench with their backs to the party, and silently removed their masks.

“Darlin’?” Soldagand started, gently taking her hand in his.

“Hmm?” She gazed up at him with a dreamy look in her eyes.

He took a deep breath. It was time. “We--dryads, I mean--aren’t usually into this sort of thing, but… well, it’s come to my attention that today is our anniversary, sweetheart.”

The young woman’s face was already turning red, and she couldn’t keep his gaze. "Yeah, I, um, I didn't want to pressure you into anything so I didn't bring it up. I know you guys don’t usually celebrate those.”

“Are you familiar with the concept of a promise ring?”

Her eyes went wide and she couldn't make a sound.

He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Well… I, uh… Here.” His right hand briefly disappeared into his jacket, and he took her left hand in his. "Let this always be a reminder of my devotion to you."

His right hand reemerged and slipped a thin silver band onto her fourth finger. “Happy anniversary, Carly. I love you.”

Her eyes started to well with tears, and Soldagand would have panicked if not for the beaming smile on her face. He grinned as she threw her arms around him and hid her face in his shoulder.

When he pulled away, he wiped the tears of joy from her cheeks. “You didn’t even look at it!” he chuckled. “D’you have any idea how hard it was to guess your ring size?”

Carly released him to actually admire the ring on her finger. The silver ring was adorned with the silhouettes of three small pine trees that grew out of the band and towards her knuckle. “I love it,” she said quietly, her heart still racing.

“The blacksmith in town helped me design both of ‘em,” Soldagand explained, satisfied with her response. “I was worried it was a little too on the nose, but--”

“Both?” she interrupted.

“Oh, right--” He reached back into his jacket then slid a thick silver ring onto his own finger. The same three silhouettes were cut out of his band. The two rings would likely fit together like puzzle pieces if met at the correct angle. “There. A matching set."

"You— I— Oh, Soldagand—" She grabbed him by his lapels and kissed him.

[prev] / [next]

=================

STORY TAGLIST: @kalliopi-ships @goodhairclub @ycimiya

let me know if you want to be added or removed!

#carbo writes #selfship #self ship

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lu-undy · 3 years ago

Text

Un-alone, Chapter 19

Follow this link!

“C’mon Marty, we gotta go.”

The German Shepherd brought the stick he had found back to Mundy and sat down, his eyes pleading.

“Alright, last throw and then we gotta hit the road otherwise we’ll never get there before the sun sets, ok?”

“Woof!” The dog went to his four paws in a flash and wagged his tail frantically.

“Alright, go!” Mundy threw the stick on the parking lot of the hotel and the dog ran to fetch it.

“Micky, you’re ready, son?”

“Yeah, oh, let me help you, Uncle Phil.” Mundy went to his uncle and helped him hop on his seat in the car.

“Ah, thank you, son, that’s perfect… Thanks.”

“It’s nothin’, here, gimme your cane, I’ll put it behind ya.”

“Micky, you sure you didn’t forget anythin’ in the hotel?” Caroline popped out of reception and into the parking lot.

“I slept in me van, Mum, you should ask Uncle Phil. “

“Phil?”

“Nah, we’re fine, c'mon Carrie!”

“Alright, alright.”

There were another few hours of driving and the landscape changed as the family neared the coast. Mundy followed his mother and uncle driving the car in front of him and soon, Marty became restless on his seat.

“Recognise the place, mate?”

The dog barked enthusiastically, his tail wagging against the passenger’s seat. He was turning left and right.

“Yeah, you know it, good boy… Oh, that’s where Mum’s parkin’, hm… Guess I'll have to park on the sidewalk… Here… There we go."

A few hours later, all their belongings were moved inside Philip's vacation house. The family had had dinner and Philip was on the sofa, following whatever game was on that night with Marty laying beside him.

"Thanks for helpin' me with the dishes, Micky."

Caroline and her son were in the kitchen. She was washing and he was rinsing.

"You're welcome, Mum."

"I'm sure a few days with the sea breeze will help Phil as much as it will you." She said and Mundy raised an eyebrow.

"What d'you mean?"

"Y'know…" Caroline cast a glance at the kitchen door and saw that it was open. She quickly rinsed her hands and went to close it before resuming her position next to Mundy. "Your breakup…?" She hesitantly added and Mundy nodded, not because he agreed, but because he remembered. His mother was thinking that the reason why he was avoiding talking about his feelings, was because he had broken up with a woman and his heart was aching...

Well, aching his heart was.

Not because of a heartbreak, Mundy simply felt like in the end he would be alone because he had nothing to offer, nothing but road trips, hunting animals, people, puttin ghis supposed loved on in danger through that and oh, yeah, a very poor ability to actually talk to people, verbalise what he felt outside of the confines of his own head…

He sighed.

“I don’t wanna pry or anythin’ but uh…” Caroline’s voice pulled the Aussie out of his daydream. “When we were in New Mexico, had you found someone else? I mean, we’ve travelled pretty far and uh…”

“Mum.” Mundy stopped her yet could not look her in the eye. Each time he did, a voice screamed in his head “Liar! Liar! Tell her! Tell her you prefer blokes over sheilas! She doesn’t deserve you lie to her! You’re the worst son she could ever have and it’s all your fault! You’re breaking her heart!”

Mundy screwed his eyes shut and shook his head to shake those thoughts away.

“No… No I hadn’t, and even if I had, I don’t care.” He put the plate he had in his hand down and left the kitchen. Soon after, Caroline heard the very familiar sound of the van’s engine rumbling away, and sighed.

The Aussie drove first to let his frustration out, and when it did pass, he started paying attention to his surroundings. It was all new afterall… He realised that it was what all the beach cities must look like: restaurants, nightclubs, theme parks for families.

Families.

Huh. Mundy shook his head. He would have loved to have one of his one, someone to go home to, someone to hold, to feel the warmth of. And he had nothing against a sheila and a few kids, he really didn’t. He just had a slight preference for men, that was true; that, and there was the issue with his job too.

“God damn it…” He sighed.

Being paid to put bullets in things was hard enough on himself, he didn’t want to put that burden on anyone else with him. And sometimes those things weren’t just beasts, they were people too… The truth was that Mundy was a paid killer, a mercenary, jumping from contract to contract. When someone needed some lead in their head, he was called in, and more recently, it was even the officials who called to him for his extraordinary tracking abilities. Mundy could find anyone and anything, as long as it had blood pumping in its veins.

He had thought about quitting, multiple times at that. But then what would he do? Farming with his parents? He was already helping them out from time to time and he didn’t like the idea of taking too much responsibility on the farm. At the end of the day, he didn’t want his parents to think that he wanted to take over, the farm was way too big a responsibility for him, especially alone.

Eventually, Mundy parked somewhere, it was a free parking lot. He lowered his window, just a bit, for some fresh air, and he leaned back on his seat, closing his eyes. He dreamt. He dreamt of a man, the man who will make his days flip upside down, a man who would understand him and somehow, manage to bear him through his muteness, through his silence and hardest of all, through his difficulty to express what he felt.

Mundy could of course partake in a little exercise of introspection, as he was doing right now; It was practically a compulsory hobby. Anytime he felt low, he would look into himself, as if he didn’t know why, or as if that particular time the answer would be different. Nah, in truth, Mundy just didn’t know what else he could do but think about his misery on his own. The hard part, and the step that he never took was to take everything he knew about himself, about what frustrated him or made him happy, extracting all of that from his insides to bring it outside, for someone to hear. Even his mother was unaware of half the things he was thinking.

Maybe that was one of the issues he could address as opposed to focusing on dreaming about a man he hadn’t met yet? Maybe that was the “easy” thing to fix and maybe fixing it would bring him some peace?

Mundy opened his eyes and it was night time. He looked around him to see that the city was still busy, even if it was winter now there, the beach still attracted quite a lot of people.

"Right." He started the engine and headed back home.

When he entered the house, Marty came to the door to greet him.

"Hey, Marty, yeah, you're good boy… Oh? Marty, leave my hand alone. Marty-? Alright, alright, I'll follow ya…"

The German Shepherd led the Aussie to the door of his uncle's bedroom.

"He must be asleep, Marty, you'll see him tomor-"

"Come in, Micky." Phil said from the inside and Mundy pushed the door.

"Sorry, Uncle Phil, it's Marty. I don't know why he pulled my hand all the way here."

"It's fine, Micky, I asked him to. Marty, shut the door, boy."

The dog pushed the door until it clicked shut.

"He's a very clever dog." Mundy said.

"Yeah, I got him cause he was too soft to work with us drug sniffin'."

"Oh, I see."

"C'mere and have a seat, Micky." Philip was in his bed. He scooted to free some space for Mundy to sit at his side. “I wanted to have a chat with you, y’know, only men kinda talk…”

The Aussie sighed.

“See? Your Mum’s all worried about ya. Now, I told her you’re one big man and you know what you’re doin’, she shouldn’t meddle in your business.”

"But?" Mundy anticipated.

"But she told me things, see?"

"What did she tell you?"

"That you got yourself a woman and for some reason, you ain't together anymore, and that's why you're all sad and in your own world."

"Pfff…" Mundy sighed and shook his head.

"Now, boy, these things do happen all the time, y'know. It ain't necessarily bad. If anythin', it's better to go each your way if you're not meant together."

"Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“Believe me, Micky. Besides, young and handsome as you are, I’m sure you’ll find someone else quick enough, eh?”

“Yeah… I wish…”

“Son?” Phil was confused. He expected to see his nephew in a better mood after a little chat, but Mundy looked worse. “What is it…?”

“Nothin’. I’ll let you sleep now, g’night, Uncle Phil.”

And as usual, Mundy disappeared, leaving his uncle confused as to what he was thinking. The Aussie's mind was as impenetrable as Buckingham Palace itself or the White House…

The next morning, Mundy found his mother and his uncle chatting in the kitchen when he woke up.

"Micky, we were thinkin' of havin' a walk by the beach. Your uncle's physio says it's good for him to walk a bit more now, and we reckon Marty's gonna love it." Caroline said. "You wanna come with us?"

"Sure. I'll just have some coffee before we go." Mundy took a seat at the breakfast table.

"You wrap your neck in a scarf, yeah?" Caroline poured him some coffee. "It's cold outside. And we should get you a beanie, it's gettin' really cold now."

"My hat's fine, Mum."

"It's fine until you catch a cold and then who's gonna have to take care of a big baby with a running nose…?" Caroline asked and Mundy smiled.

"Alright, we'll get some beanies for everyone then." Mundy smiled and took a sip of his coffee. Marty came to the Aussie. "Hey Marty." Mundy patted his head and the dog wagged his tail enthusiastically.

"Right," Phil said and stood up. "I'll go and put on somethin' decent…"

"I brought your thick winter jacket, Phil, you'll find it in your big bag." Caroline said.

"Carrie, I'm not yer son!"

"Uncle Phil, don't even try, even Dad can't tell her anythin' about that…" Mundy said.

"Right, woman, I'll do it your way…" Phil left the kitchen, leaving mother and son alone.

"I had your dad on the phone yesterday." Caroline said.

"Oh, how's he doin'?"

"Same old," She answered and finished her coffee. "He's alright, the chickens and geese aren't missin' us too much apparently."

"Is he managin' on his own to take them to the market?"

"Yeah, he says it's fine. Jimmy comes to lend a hand on the weekends."

"Ah, that's nice of him."

"He sometimes comes after school when he feels like it." Caroline said and Mundy nodded. "His parents encourage him to work with us during the holidays."

"He's only a kid though, can't have him be there full-time I guess." Mundy said.

"Yeah, nah, you're right. His parents told me he wasn't doing so good at school, so they try to give him a bit of work to do. We talked with them a lot. Jimmy's learnin' fast and he likes it at the farm."

"Wanna hire him when he finishes school?"

"Your dad and I are thinkin' about it." Caroline said and nodded to herself. "We aren't getting any younger and it'd be good to leave the farm to someone… Now, we know you like it but not to the point of workin' full time there."

Mundy lowered his head.

"Yeah… I wish it was all different." Mundy took the last gulp of his coffee and left, not giving his mother any chance to ask him what he meant.

The Aussie put some warm clothes on and kept thinking. He wished it was all different. He wished he had been better at school and right now he would have had an office job, nice nine to five kind of routine, a car, a house of his own, a sheila and a few kids…

He could also have liked farming more, and then he would have taken the responsibility of his parent's farm after them. The business would stay in the family and Mike and Caroline wouldn't feel like a lifelong effort of taking care of chickens and geese went down the drain…

Mundy could have not preferred men or liked them at all. That way, it would surely have been a thousand times easier to find someone to settle with. He himself was very shy but females sometimes went to talk to him, hit on him even, but men? Never, or so rarely…

"Hm."

Mundy took Marty's tennis balls with him and went to get the dog on the leash.

"Marty? C'mere, big boy, we need to put you on the leash."

Marty rose from his bed and trotted to Mundy before he sat down in front of him.

"We're gonna go for a walk, Marty."

The dog's ears pricked up and his tail wagged faster.

"Oh, you got that, didn't you? You clever boy…"

Caroline and Philip joined him in the living-room.

"You boys have everythin' you need?"

"Yeah." Both Philip and Mundy agreed.

"Then let's go."

They left the house and walked only a few minutes before reaching the sand.

"You live very close to the beach, Uncle Phil."

"Yeah, got that house a long time ago. There weren't that many tourists and everything was so much cheaper…!" The old man was holding on to his sister's arm to walk. "Now, everythin's so painfully expensive… Oh, you can get Marty off the leash, let the boy enjoy the beach."

"Sure, c'mere Marty." Mundy took a second to undo the leash and took the tennis ball from his pocket. As soon as the dog saw it, he started barking eagerly. "Alright, alright, catch this!" Mundy threw the ball far away in the sand and Marty ran after it at full speed.

"He likes the exercise, this dog." Phil said.

"Course he does." Caroline answered. "Back when the farm was bigger we had a couple of dogs, they kept the chickens safe in the nights. They're very smart, eh."

"So smart we get them to join the police…!'' Phil answered. "That's what Marty was supposed to do, but even as early as a puppy, he was way too gentle and soft, wasn't bad at the obedience stuff, but no predatory instincts whatsoever in this boy. He could have ended drug sniffin', but he wasn't very enthusiastic about it either, so I took him in."

"You did well." Caroline said and Marty came back with the ball, he gave it to Mundy who threw it away again.

The three of them were walking in the sand, along the shore. The air was salty with the proximity of the sea and the breeze was icy but through that, they all breathed some better air. Besides, Marty was loving the large space to play fetch.

"Y'all should come back with Mike in the summer." Phil resumed his speech. "The sun shines beautifully, the water's lovely and this part of the beach isn't as touristy as the rest."

"And who would take care of the farm?" Caroline asked rhetorically.

"You could hire up some folks for summer. I'm sure there are plenty of young people who'd be happy to feed chickens and sell them before college starts again." Phil answered.

"Yeah… We always say we'd do that with Mike but it never happens in the end."

Marty came back, dropped the ball in Mundy's hand and went to run towards the water. He got his legs wet, jumped on the froth coming to him, trying to bite it, and ran back to Mundy for more playtime.

"Why'd you never do it?" Phil asked his sister.

"Cause we have no reason to not take care of the farm… We like it."

"Have you ever been on a holiday, Carrie?"

"O'course I have!"

"Your honeymoon doesn't count." Phil added and Caroline sighed.

"Phil…"

"You haven't, have you? I'm not judgin', Carrie, just saying. I was like you, eh? No holiday on duty. But now, with my bad leg, I've learnt to take some time off and it's not bad."

"Yeah… I reckon you're right but uh…"

"Feelin' bad for the chickens and geese?"

Marty came back again and Mundy threw the ball for him. He then dusted his hands off of the sand and put them in his pockets.

His parents had never taken a bit of holiday since forever. They cared a lot about their farm and it would surely feel weird for them to stop. Mundy understood it in the sense that if he had been asked to stop hunting completely, he would feel lost.

Well, he had been asked to stop completely, and multiple times at that. His parents weren't supporting his choice of profession, and Mundy's father grew more and more keen on his son taking over the farm. As Mundy grew into hunting more and more, Mike's frustration with the realisation that his son had other plans than taking the family business grew too. Father and son weren't on the best terms and tried to keep their disagreements away from Caroline, but she was far from stupid and knew that she was the only reason that Mundy and Mike still talked.

"I'm just sayin', Carrie. If you wanna come back come summer time with Mike and Micky, I can give you the house for a few weeks." Phil went on.

"That's very nice of you, Phil." Caroline answered.

Their voices were a blur on which Mundy was writing his thoughts. He took a deep breath of sea breeze and looked around him. There were a few people here and there, a few happy dogs enjoying their outing as much as Marty was. Mundy's eye lingered on the occasional couples. He had passed the age to feel jealousy towards them, or even envy. What he felt was the bitter punch of knowing that there had been no one so far who had made a positive difference to his days, no one with whom he could have a decent bit of conversations, no one who had seen in him more than a hunting vagabond, and a promise for an assorted, nomadic adventure. A trip with a starting line but no arrival.

Mundy sighed.

Looking back at the past and seeing the emptiness that all of Mundy’s previous encounters left was one thing, the bitterness of it was one thing, but what really hurt was that stubborn glimmer of hope that he could not shake off, however hard he tried. And God knew how he tried, he tried to look at the facts: a man with a man was unthinkable enough, a man with him, the loner, the socially awkward, ever stammering, unable to communicate his feelings to even his mother, a mess of an almost forty-year-old man.

Oh he wished. He wished he could open himself wide open and scoop that hope out of him because in truth, that was what was killing him. That part of him that believed that one day, he would open his van’s door to see a pair of masculine eyes full of love, loving him as much as he did them…

God, why did he have to bear the double sentence of preferring men over women and hoping to find one…?

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

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babbushka · 4 years ago

Text

Biting Dust - Ch. 1

Life ain’t too easy for a woman, ‘specially not a woman on the run like you. With a bounty on your head and gunpowder in your nose, you’ve grown adjusted to a life of solitude away from the hustle and bustle of civilization. That is, until you meet one particular man who’s got a face you’d only ever seen in your dreams – or on wanted posters. And when he offers you a proposition that sounds too good to be true, well. You don’t think your life will ever be the same again...

Outlaw!Kylo Ren x Reader

Tumblr Masterlist | Available on AO3

5.5k ; Warnings: Mentions of murder, hanging, arson.

-----------------

You wonder, sometimes. Wonder how it all turned out like this, how this was the life you now led. You wonder if you could go back and do anything over, if you’d do anything different. Sometimes you don’t do so much wondering, there ain’t the time when you’re on the run with sheriffs at your back; but times like this, with nothing but the uncharted desert sprawling out in front of you, all you could do was wonder.

Something wisps up into your eyes and you cringe as you scrub it out -- sand, stinging and coarse. Nothing but sand, as far as the eye could see. You really fucking hate sand, you think, as the rising sun carries on up into the sky, bringing with it a gentle enough breeze that makes your horse, Agnes, toss her mane in delight. She whinnies softly, and you pet the back of her neck as she does, trudging through the sand after a long night of riding, a long night straight through the desert.

“Almost there,” You reassure her, “Shouldn’t be too much farther now.”

You’d robbed a bank the day before, and damn it all that had proven to be a poor enough decision. Ain’t no money in the bank, nothing at all, nothing but a whole group of cowardly men who were quick to whistle for the dogs that went bitin’ at your ankles.

They paid for that offense against you, had paid with their lives.

If only they had had any money for you to take with you, as you sped off into the night, not daring to stop until you had put enough distance between you and the men with steel.

Now, you don’t even have robbing on your mind. No, you think as Agnes chuffs and complains about the tiredness in her hooves, you’d settle for something as simple as a cool and dry bed, a hot bath, maybe enough time to clean your clothes and have a bite to eat before you’re off again.

A bed, bath, and crust of bread which you were looking forward to in the next town over. Robbing that bank hadn’t been entirely useless after-all, you use the morning sunlight to figure out this chicken-scratch cartography off the map you’d quickly grabbed before dashing out of the blazing bank, flames engulfing everyone and everything inside it as you make your escape.

“If we did this right, we should be there before the sun comes up over the canyons.” You tell her.

She only chuffs again, and you know that she too will be looking forward to a soak in a lake somewhere to wash the blood off her hide.

If you weren’t so damn tired, you might appreciate the view. The marbling of the earth around you as the sun begins to shine down on the many layers, millions of years in the making, should be breathtaking. The all-encompassing orange and reds, the slight hints of purple, the occasional dappling of yellow speak to a world ancient, as old as time.

It really puts into perspective, this whole thing, your whole life. See, dammit there you go thinkin’ again, wondering again. You clench your jaw and urge Agnes forward a little further, knowing she really can’t take much more before needing a rest. You know, but still you ask her gently to keep on moving, because the sooner you get into town, the sooner the both of you can rest.

“I think…I think that’s it, just up ahead.” You say softly to the old gal, patting her shoulder encouragingly. “You did it, thank you, thank you Aggie.”

Your horse catches wind of the scent of something, something that excites her, and suddenly she’s bolting in the direction of the town, of the piece of civilization that you can just barely see. There’s civilization of some sort, that’s for sure, you can see the little specs of buildings out in the distance. There’s many of them, which is good, really good. It doesn’t look as big as a trading post, but that’s okay – there’s less of a chance that anyone would know who you are.

You hold on tight as Agnes gallops through the canyons, falcons flying overhead, their shadow blurring past on the sandy ground as the wind whips through your hair. You feel elated, feel like you could fly, just like those falcons, flying and soaring straight to salvation in the form of a sheltered room and a drink of water.

Your canteen isn’t empty, but anything left you have will go to Agnes. She can’t tell you when she’s so thirsty she’s half to death, so you don’t ever let her get close. Your last sip of water was two days ago, and you know you can hold out a little longer, will drink the bathwater if you have to, but Agnes does more hard work and so she gets the water.

None of that matters, because Agnes is sprinting, and you’re reminded of why she’s called the fastest Beast in the West. Huge plumes of sand kickback as her hooves dig into the earth, bringing you closer closer closer to the town, at a speed which will no doubt raise suspicion, will no doubt cause unwanted attention.

“Not so fast there girl!” You calm her down, “I know, I’m excited too, but not so fast! They’ll start shootin’ at us!”

That seems to make enough sense to her, because her breakneck pace reduces down to a trot pretty quickly. Your hair is tangled and in your mouth and eyes, your hat nearly flung straight off your head, but all is well. Nothing had fallen out of the knapsacks on the saddle, and the entrance of the town is only a few more hundred feet away.

“Woahh, stop for a minute.” You command her, tugging on the reigns ever so slightly. She looks over her shoulder at you, and you know you’ve spent too much time alone when you can begin to read the annoyed look in her eye. “Just a minute, I need to change.”

Hopping down from Agnes, you take her by the reigns and guide her behind a large wide stone which juts out into the air some couple dozen feet. You’re just past the edge of the canyons now, but you’re thankful for these little hidey spots, because they’re the perfect cover for swapping out clothing.

Clothing was crucial a lot of the time, for you to go through the world unnoticed. It wasn’t all that common for outlaws to have more than one set of something, and you use that to your advantage, stripping down completely naked right there in the middle of the desert. Stuffing the blood-stained and filthy riding clothes into one of the knapsacks, you exchange that for a beautifully clean and well maintained dress and undergarments. It wasn’t fancy like some high society woman might have, but this particular shade of blue cotton looked nice on your skin tone.

It reminds you of your old life, how you would wear something like this damn near every day, not just on special occasions where a disguise was necessary. The cotton was blue and the cut was perfectly flattering. The high neck concealed some unsavory scars, and the puffed sleeves accentuated your frame. There was some frilly detailing around the chest which you thought was a nice touch, but most of all, it buttoned down the front instead of down the back, which was nothing short of a lifesaver, when you had to dress all by yourself.

Over a clean pair of undergarments and petticoat this dress goes, and back up onto Agnes you climb, your transformation complete. You now look nothing like a filthy sharp-shootin’ bank lootin’ outlaw, instead you look like…well, something far more innocent than that.

If you can just keep your head down and stay out of the way for the rest of the day, not bother anyone and leave first thing a morning from now, you’ll be on to bigger and better adventures. Nevermind that your entire life feels like running away from something instead of towards something, nevermind.

“Show time Aggie.” You tell her, nudging her hindquarters with your boots once more.

-----------------

The layout of the town is as basic as they come, which you appreciate. Two long strips of main buildings on either side of a dirt road, beautiful wooden structures some two stories high. Some of them have got signs hanging from the porch denotin’ that that’s the general store, that there’s the post office. Some others have their names painted on the window, letting you know that there’s the bathhouse and over yonder there’s the armory.

No bank, you notice.

What you do notice, is the large saloon right at the end of the road, a culdesac of sorts, and you are sure that you hear the heavens open up and shine down on you, angels singing, because there’s a small sign that proudly announces vacancies. The building is huge, three stories tall and framed with the most beautiful wooden support beams with decorative carving. There’s music coming from inside, distant strumming of guitars and harmonicas that seem cheerful and jovial, and you’re glad that this town isn’t immediately hostile.

While you’re busy trying not to weep of relief that you’ll have a relatively safe spot to lay your head, a spot to let Agnes rest, the townsfolk are busy noticing you. They must not get many visitors round these parts, because everyone you pass stops in their tracks and stares.

They don’t exactly look unfriendly, just confused, as if they’d never seen a lone woman ride into town before – and maybe they haven’t. Oh well, you think with the hint of a smile as you tip your hat to a little girl with beautifully thick and long braids down her back, you can only hope to be an inspiration.

There’s men bargaining about something who stop and turn to you, women who drop baskets of bread as you pass. The children which laugh and play round polished bronze statues in the courtyard all halt and whisper amongst themselves, wondering who you are, what you could want, why you’ve come.

You just smile at them, show them all you mean no harm, knowing that this is their home, and you’re only passing through. This seems to appease the adults, but the children with their wide-eyed curiosity aren’t so satisfied. You try not to chuckle as parents have to steer their sons and daughters away from the road to keep them from rushing straight up to you and asking a million questions.

“You rest here, eat up.” You whisper to Agnes when you finally approach the end of the road, hopping off her back as elegantly as possible, leading her to a covered set of posts and a trough of water and feed, tying up her rope so she can’t go wanderin’ anywhere – not that she would.

With a deep breath of courage, knowing that your gun was hidden safely inside a makeshift pocket in the dress, should you need it, you push through the double swinging doors of the saloon.

All at once, the music, the chatter, the jovial laughter and clinking of glasses grinds to a screeching halt, as every patron of the bar stops and turns towards you. You can feel the weight of their stares, but you hold your ground, keep your chin up.

“Sorry to disturb,” You clear your throat there in the doorway, “But is this where a lady might be able to rent a room for the night?”

At the question, the saloon deems you to not be a threat at all, and you can practically taste the way the tension in the air dissolves. A lady looking for a room wasn’t nearly that interesting, not compared to a winning hand of cards, or the dregs of a beer, and you’re glad for it.

“Up the stairs.” The elderly bartender smiles at you real friendly-like as he shines some glasses.

“Thank you kindly.” Your curtsey is rusty, and your entire body aches from the exceptionally long journey, but you ignore the protest of your sore joints as your botos carry you over to the staircase and you ascend up away from the bar.

The second floor lobby of the saloon looks like a proper hotel, which surprises you. There’s a woman at a front desk just beyond the stairs, and she sure seems excited to see you. She’s a portly woman with greying hair plaited nicely in braids that rest along her chest, but she’s got a sharp glimmer to her eye, a glimmer you can appreciate.

“Well hello there! You lookin’ for a room?” She calls over to you, beckons you towards the front desk.

You take your hat off and hold it between your two hands, your own hair twisted and pinned into the messiest bun you’d ever done just so it didn’t look such a wreck from the long ride. You walk over to the desk and are more than grateful when she offers you a cup of crisp cool water.

“Yes ma’am, I am, my name is Mary Elizabeth Sampson,” You lie, “I saw the sign out front and was hopin’ that them vacancies might still be around.”

You try your best to not slam back the water the second the glass is in your hand, instead you bring it up to your lips in a measured sip, savoring the way the clean smooth taste of it travels in rivulets down your throat. You would never take this for granted, water.

Never in a hundred years would you not be eternally thankful for this elixir of life. The old woman at the desk smiles at you with a slight amusement, for she must know how badly you want to chug it. Instead of saying anything about it though, she pulls out a thick book and opens it up onto the desk, flips to the first blank slot.

“You’re in luck – we’re a fair price and good for it. Beds cleaned every day, breakfast lunch and dinner brought right up to you if you’d like from the bar downstairs. We’ve even got a hot bath out back, although that’s an extra price.” She says it so casually that you nearly miss it, but there ain’t no denying the way you choke in your excitement at the luxury of this place.

“How much would one night, meals and a bath cost, altogether?” You wipe water off your chin with the back of your hand, lick it off straight from your dirty knuckles, heart thrumming in your chest.

Were you dreaming? This place sounded like damn near a dream, you can’t help but think. It’s got everything you had asked for, and seemed nice enough to boot. You know your purse is light, you’ve only got five gold dollars to your name since the bank last night proved to be a bust. You’re hoping beyond hope that she doesn’t take your last coin – but you know that you’d give it to her if you had to.

“Altogether you’re lookin’ at about a buck fifty.” She replies, relieving you immensely. She points out the prices of the amenities on a piece of paper she pulls out from behind the desk so you know she’s not just high-ballin’ you, “Fifty cents for the room, buck for food and bath. You won’t find a fairer price around.”

“Do you happen t’have change? I’ve only got solid coins, I’m afraid.” You’re quick to show that that’s acceptable, more than acceptable, as you reach into your other pocket – the one that doesn’t have the gun – for a little drawstring purse.

You pull out two dollars, try not to think about how light your purse becomes from it, and slide it across the desk. The old woman clamps her teeth around the coins to make sure they’re good, and is very pleasantly surprised when she sees that they are.

“I sure do, here’s the key to your room, it’ll just be down the hall and to the left.” She hands you the leftover fifty cents, and an old iron key from a series of hooks up on the wall. You gratefully accept both items, and return the glass to her, now empty of every last drop of water, prompting her to say, “You know, it’s funny. I’ve been runnin’ this hotel for ten years and I ain’t never had two customers in two days. Is there some sorta movement happenin’ ‘cross the West?”

Your eyebrows shoot up at that, at there being another stranger. No wonder they had all stopped and stared so dramatically, you think. The townsfolk might think there must be something going on, to have two visitors so close together. You shrug in earnest though, trying to be as non-descript as possible, not give anything away one way or the other.

“I think there’s always going to be some sorta movement, but anything specific I can’t say for sure.” Your answer is open enough that the woman catches on and chuckles, waves you off and begins to step away from the desk, off back to do who knows what.

“I won’t keep ya, it’s so early you must’ve ridden through the night. I’ll bring breakfast up shortly, you just go on and get comfortable.” She says, and you nod in thanks before --

“Oh! Oh – wait, before you go, my horse, I’ve got a horse. Is there an extra charge to groom and board her for the night? She’s out eatin’ from the trough right now, I don’t want to go skippin’ out on any bills.” You rush back to the desk, and with all your commotion, the old woman can’t help but laugh.

“No Miss Sampson, we’ll take care of her for free. You go on and rest now.” She’s firm and kind, and you’re grateful for it.

In fact, you’re grateful enough that when she’s out of sight beyond the desk, you reach over and open the drawer where she took your payment, and you drop the change she had given you back into the little slot she’d taken it from, a silent thanks for the kindness, and lack of questions.

As you turn away for the final time to head towards your room, you stop cold in your tracks.

For up on the wall is a series of wanted posters, all printed and hung up recently, thick black ink letters boasting grand rewards.

Among them, your heart thuds a little bit quicker in your chest, is your name.

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE

(Y/N) ‘ANGEL EYES’ (L/N)

MURDERESS – ARSONIST – BANK ROBBERY

REWARD - $25,000

The image of your face is crudely drawn, so much so that you barely recognize yourself. They didn’t get a single one of your features right – but who could blame them. You never left any witnesses, never left anyone alive. Still, it’s enough that your name is up there, your real name.

Slightly above your wanted poster, is a poster you’ve seen damn near everywhere. Part of you is proud, proud that you’re movin’ on up the hierarchy of danger, as it were. You recall the days where Sheriffs were advertising only a couple hundred bucks for your head. Now you were a whole quarter of a hundred grand, which surely had to mean something, some sort of stepping on up in the criminal world.

The poster above yours though, now that man was a legend.

PROCLOMATION OF THE GOVERNOR OF KANSAS

REWARD FOR THE CAPTURE OF EXPRESS AND TRAIN ROBBERS

GANG HEADED BY NOTORIOUS MURDERER

KYLO REN

$100,000

Kylo Ren, now that was a name. And what a name for such an outlaw! He was well known all across the desert, in every canyon and mountain, every cliffside and town and trading post had his face slapped up on the walls.

Well, not his face.

No one had ever seen his face. Unlike you, he frequently left witnesses, people to tell the story of the chaos that took place that day, people to spur on the legends of his greatness. He was a train robber, one of the meanest around. They said he was a Pony Express boy back in the day, and had dodged death at nearly every turn. Seems as though he turned a page and started dealing out blows rather than taking them, him and his notorious gang who call themselves the Knights of Ren, like somethin’ out of a medieval fairy tale.

The photo on the poster, despite not showing anything other than a black bandana and a blind eye, seems to stare straight through to your soul.

You wonder if you’ll ever get up there, get up to $100,000. It doesn’t do to dwell though, and you know that if that old woman were to come back and see you staring she might get suspicious, so you just move along.

-----------------

The room isn’t much more than four walls and a bed, but you don’t care – this is the first time you’ve seen a bed in weeks, possibly in months. Losing track of the days was a bad habit of yours, but everything begins to blend in together when you’re out there, out in the desert. All you have are sun ups when the heat is so stifling as it ripples in waves across the sand, and the sun downs with the venomous critters that’ll kill you dead if they manage to get a hold of you.

Slipping off your shoes, you tuck yourself under the sheets and let your eyes close. It feels good, this. Feels good to not have to worry about imminent danger. You’re here tucked up, Agnes is out enjoying fresh water and food, and though your stomach rumbles, you know that eventually breakfast is on its way.

It mustn’t be any later than ten in the morning, but you’re sure you could sleep the whole day away anyway. It’d do you good, would keep you out of the way. Hopefully the folks around would forget about you entirely, and there’d be no trouble.

The door knocks then, and you suppress a groan as you get back out from the covers, and go to open the door. On the other side is the woman, holding a wooden tray with a bowl of steaming hot porridge, johnnycakes, and a fresh brewed mug of coffee.

“Sorry to disturb, I just wanted to get this to ya while it was still hot.” She says, and you invite her in by opening up the door a little further. “The stable boys are givin’ your horse a good wash right now, she’ll be boarded up in the stable right on the side, should you want to ride her ‘round at some point in the day.”

“Thank you ever so kindly, but I think she and I’ll just catch up on some much needed sleep.” You gratefully accept the tray, put it right on the edge of the bed where it won’t be disturbed. The food smells delicious, better than anything you’d had in weeks, and you can’t wait to dig in.

The old woman regards you for a moment, and while you’re turned away from her, she says ever so softly,

“Is it a man?”

Your hands still just as you go to pick up the coffee, and you sigh.

“Pardon?” You ask, turning to face her slowly, knowing exactly what she means but needing to play dumb enough so that she doesn’t know that you know.

“What you’re runnin’ from. Is it a man?” She asks again.

You sit down on the bed, warming your palms with the mug.

Casting a glance out the window, you see the townspeople milling about in the street, all going along with their daily business. Once upon a time, that was you. It feels like an eon ago, and it might as well be, because you know that you can never return to a life like that, a life like the one you watch from your window. Never again.

She’s still standing there, and you don’t want to be rude, so you swallow your pent-up feelings and simply shrug sheepishly.

“That obvious, ain’t it?” You put on a façade of shyness, even though it’s not really a lie, not really.

“No.” The old woman huffs out a little laugh, putting her hands on her hips and surprising you by saying, “I’ve just been in your position, and I know kindness don’t come often.”

“The visitor who came through yesterday…” You suddenly grow curious, “What were they like? Are they still here?”

She waves you off though, probably thinking you’re insinuating that a man might be following you now. And that may very well be true, very well could be the case. You burned that bank down to the ground but that doesn’t mean someone could’ve sniffed out your trail and was headed straight for you. The woman shakes her head reassuringly, and your curiosity both grows and lessens.

“Nah Miss he’s long gone. Sheriff had him dealt with when he caught him trying to steal one of the horses out of the sheriff’s own stable, if you can believe it!” She chuckled, making your eyebrows shoot up.

“When you say ‘dealt with’..?” You trail off, wondering what kind of people these were.

“Oh well hanged of course. They don’t hang horse thieves where you’re from?” She asks you as if such an idea were unheard of to her.

That’s very interesting, you think. Very interesting indeed, such a sharp punishment for a crime that didn’t even happen. Most towns would have given the poor guy a trial, but he was only here for less than a day before hanged? Maybe these folks weren’t as friendly as you had assumed.

That’ll teach you to assume, you know the old saying.

“They rarely punish the folks who deserve it, where I’m from.” You say quietly, and the old woman gets the hint.

“I won’t ask where that is, but do you mind me askin’ where you’re headed?” She moves towards the door and you figure why the hell not, tell the truth for once.

“Colorado, much like everyone else it would seem.” You say, say out loud this dream you’ve had for so many months, “Hopin’ to get lucky and strike some gold before it turns into another mess like California.”

She’s pleased with that answer for whatever reason, and she gives you a knowing smile.

“I wish you luck with that, Miss Sampson, I really do.” She nods in the direction of the tray, where the porridge and sticky sweet pancakes are still nice and piping hot. “Enjoy your breakfast, take a bath. I’ll leave lunch outside your door and knock in case you’re asleep.”

With that, she’s gone, and you raise your armpit to see just how badly you smell to encourage – oh shit, you think, your whole face scrunching up after taking a whiff. Awful, is the conclusion, you smell awful. So badly that you almost lose your appetite from it, something that makes you laugh because it catches you so off-guard.

That woman had more patience than you could ever imagine, waiting so long to say anything about it, the stench, and that only makes you laugh harder, for you haven’t had a moment to laugh like this in a long long time.

-----------------

With food in your belly, and after a long soak and scrub in the boiling hot tub out back, you sleep. You sleep the whole day away, sleep and let your dreams wander to simpler times, kinder times.

Your mind conjures up images of beautiful farmlands, cattle and gently baaing sheep. Numbers and letters dance behind your eyelids, midnight swims in the lake rush over your skin. It’s a good dream for once, a pleasant dream, not like the nightmares that typically plague you. Nothing like the flames which engulf your vision, or the booming laughter which turns to screams or or or --

“Speak of the goddamned devil --!” you gasp awake, your dreams ruined in an instant.

Bolting straight up, you’re disoriented for a moment, reaching for the gun in your pocket before sighing and recognizing this as the little hotel room. There is no danger here, you try and calm yourself down, try and stop the racing of your heart, but the cold sweat that’s shocked you awake grows clammy on your skin and you have to gulp down air.

The room is buttery golden, from the light of the setting sun which streams through the glass pane window. You quickly get out of bed and rush to the window, rush to see if anyone’s come, if they’re calling to run you out of town the way they did that attempted horse thief.

“I can’t stay.” You realize out loud, sighing into your hand as you rub your forehead, willing the spotted visions to blink away. You’d slept just about seven hours, which is probably more than the whole week’s worth of sleep combined, and you’d gotten your money’s worth of food and bath – plus they’d taken care of Agnes for you.

All of this justification runs through your head as you gather up your meager belongings and step into your boots. You twist your hair out of your face and open the front door, ready to place the key on the knob and slip out the back while everyone is at supper.

At your feet is another tray, a bowl of beans and a generous cut of beef along with a tear of bread and dried fruit.

You sigh, looking longingly down at it. Well, you think, better to not let the food spoil. Scarfing down the hot beans and the meat, you wrap the fruits and bread up in a cloth napkin and store it in your pocket. It’ll be a fine addition to the collection of foods you have packed in Agnes’ saddle, and you’re sure the addition will come in handy, not knowing of another town for many miles ahead.

You picked the perfect timing it would seem, because the saloon is empty, all the patrons at home for a home cooked meal with their families, and no one is around to see you head down towards the stable.

Agnes is happy to see you, as always. Her coat is shiny and white, she looks almost pearlescent so clean as this. Guilt pangs in your chest, you wish she could be so clean all the time. When you make it to Colorado and form your new life there, you decide you’re going to get yourself some land and let her spend the rest of her days grazing in peace.

“Ready to go gal?” You smile sadly, petting through her silky smooth mane.

She only whinnies softly, and without much more ado, you lead her out of the stable, and ride off into the sunset, on your way to the next stop en route to the Rockies.

-----------------

On the outskirts of town, as the sky blazes beautiful oranges and reds, purples around the edges of the horizon and not a single cloud to be seen, you think about the old woman, you never got her name.

You can’t go back now, can’t go back to thank her more for her hospitality, her understanding. Who knows, you think to yourself, maybe you’ll see her again one day. Maybe you won’t, but life had a funny way of working out, didn’t it?

Up ahead, you see a poor soul hanging from a great big tree, his horse standing underneath it. That must be the thief, you reckon, the one the Sheriff was not too kind to. Goosebumps shiver up your spine, and you do your best to avoid looking at him out of respect. You knew that if you were strung up, you wouldn’t want any ogling eyes, so you simply urge Agnes to go a little faster, hoping that you might simply pass him and continue on.

You wonder if that might’ve been your fate, had you stayed. Perhaps that Sheriff would’ve gotten wind of the bank from the town over, might’ve warned him about any newcomers, might’ve warned him about you. You’ll be far out into the canyons by then, should that happen, you know. You know, and you just do your best to keep your head down, trying to let this man have some semblance of dignity.

Until that is, that poor soul doesn’t seem so poor at all, because as you grow closer, the moment he catches sight of you, you can hear the booming baritone of a voice shout across the desert,

“Hey! Over here! Hey!”

And you think in shock, that this man ain’t poor, he’s got to be the luckiest sonofabitch you’d ever seen in your life – because somehow, against all odds, he ain’t dead.

-----------------

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#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren fanfic #reader insert #x reader #adam driver #adam driver character #my writing #historical au #western au #biting dust

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nahimjustaworm · 4 years ago

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These Hands Can’t Hold His Heart

BakuDeku Fanfic

By WorminaWall on AO3

30k

9 Chapters - Completed

Angst | Pining | Time Skips | Eventual Happy Ending

Rated M

Chapter One

Bakugou is no stranger to pain.

Given his Quirk, pain is a part of his DNA. His climb to the top of his third year class has come with plenty of scrapes and bruises and he’s familiar with hurting other people. Pain, in varying degrees, from varying people, has been part of his life since he was a child. He likes to think that he’s pretty good at tolerating it. He’s not some fucking crybaby who can’t take a punch. He can handle it, and he can hide it. He’s gotten good at hiding it- years of practice helps with that- so much so that he sometimes forgets he feels pain at all.

Sometimes, though, that pain bubbles up in unexpected moments and knocks him off guard. It’s not like any pain he’s ever experienced before, but he’s familiar with it. It doesn’t come in the form of a punch, or a blast, or anything of the sort. Its weapon is shy laughs, determined eyes, freckled cheeks and crooked fingers. A sideways glance. A voice saying a name he has no right being called anymore. The pain of this doesn’t cut him like a knife, it’s not sharp and quick, it emerges from inside his chest, an innate part of him, squeezing his insides until he feels like he can’t breathe. Sometimes it only lasts for a moment, once the glance has been broken, or the freckles turn away. Sometimes it lasts into the night, where he’s laying on his bed, curled up on his side, clutching around his body like he wants to crush that dull ache out of him or help it finish him off.

Bakugou is no stranger to pain.

He doesn’t know if it’s easier now- nearly three years of living in close proximity, two years of them sorting their shit out, one year of a mutual pact to try being “friends” again. The verdict is out on whether or not he prefers this to their constant fights and outward intolerance of each other. It’s taken them what seems like a lifetime to go back to being able to stand next to each other without starting an argument.

There are times where he thinks he preferred the way it was. The times when Deku smiles after Katsuki says something funny, or when he’s the first person the other tells when he’s figured out a new move, or when his shoulder brushes up against his own when they’re sitting on the couch.

There are also times where he’s convinced that what they are now is better. The times when Deku’s smile makes his eyes crinkle after he says something funny, or how excited he gets when he tells him he’s figured out a new move, or when his shoulder brushes up against his own when they’re sitting on the couch.

Hate is an easier emotion to fake than love is to feel.

-----

Everything is going fine until it’s not. Katsuki’s been hiding the pain that has buried its roots inside him for years, but he’s forgotten that pain like this is a disease and other people carry it too. Hell, he’s the one that sowed it.

Moments of weakness unearth buried memories- trauma reveals trauma. They’re only a few months into being Pro-Heroes, and after everything that’s happened to them, they forget that this world is still new to them. They forget until one day Deku’s staring frozen at the spot where a living, breathing human just was two seconds ago and now they’re not. Katsuki’s not there to see it happen- he works in a different district- but he hears the news report about civilian casualties where Deku is and knows that the other is not okay.

Deku comes stumbling into his apartment later that night, uniform still on, gore and dust still covering him.

“What the hell, Deku?” He says, the usual heat not there in his voice. He stands up, ready to force the other to go home and take a damn shower, when the look in those green eyes locks him in place. They’re unfocused, unseeing, haunted. He’s never seen them look like that before.

“You should have let me do it,” he mumbles, voice hoarse. Katsuki winces slightly at the sound of it.

“Do what, what are you talking-”

“The roof. You should’ve let me jump.” Katsuki’s blood runs cold. He’s buried that memory so far inside him that the feeling of it resurfacing is enough to knock the wind out of him. Words he never meant to say ringing inside his head again.

“Why’re you bringing that up now?” He asks, voice weaker than he’s heard it in a long time. They’ve put a lot of things behind them, an unspoken agreement when they decided they’d try being friends again. Ever since that day, they hadn’t talked about it.

“How can I call myself a hero if I let that happen to that woman. How can I ever be worthy of All Might’s power when I can’t even save someone right in front of me?!” He’s looking up at him now, frantic, like a wounded animal. He’s clutching his chest so tightly that Bakugou can practically feel the bite of Deku’s nails on his own skin. “You shouldn’t have ever saved me- I’m not the hero that All Might thought I was! You were right, why did you have to-”

Izuku’s cut short when Katsuki yanks him into a crushing hug.

“Don’t fucking say that.” He hears Izuku inhale a shaking breath to protest, but continues. “You’re only human, not even All Might could save everyone every single time.”

“One for All was wasted on me.” He grips onto the back of Katsuki’s shirt as his tears flow freely. “I’m worthless.”

His voice is so small, like they’re back in middle school again. He hates it, it’s like a slap to the face, a testament to the person he was, the person that planted the seed of doubt inside his childhood friend’s head and tended to it so carefully and meticulously until it blossomed into something ugly.

“This isn’t your fault. It happens to every Pro.”

“I’m not just any person, Kacchan! I’m his successor, I’m supposed to save everyone, how can anyone believe in me if I’ve fucked up this fast!” He’s practically screaming, but it’s muffled by Katsuki’s shirt.

“There wasn’t anything you could do- no, shut up. I know people say that when they’re tryin’ to bullshit you, but I'm not a fucking liar. I saw the footage, you were hit with a binding Quirk. You were lucky you weren’t hit by debris too.” Izuku flinches at that, no doubt replaying the scene in his head. Katsuki tightens his grip, not realizing what he's doing. “Go take a fucking shower.”

He releases his hold, but keeps one hand on his shoulder. For an instant he’s being taken back to a familiar position in an empty classroom.

“All Might's never had any regrets choosing you. And you need to stop thinkin’ you’ve got to do this all on your own.” He removes his hand and straightens up. “Go take a shower. I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

“Y-you don’t mind…?” You don’t mind me being here right now? You don’t mind me being in your space unannounced, despite how many times you’ve pushed me away, despite how many times I’ve had doors slammed in my face? All this goes unsaid, but he knows the other is thinking it. Nothing is going to make him stop thinking that things haven’t completely changed- no matter how many times they do this.

“You think I’m going to send you out looking like that, nerd? The press would go ape shit.”

Izuku smiles meekly. “Thanks, Kacchan.”

After he’s clean they lie on the bed next to each other, staring blankly at the ceiling, and Katsuki feels that crushing weight on his chest again. He’s good at hiding it, but that doesn’t mean it ever goes away.

“Kacchan, why did you do it?” He knows what he’s inferring, he had hoped the other would let it go. It’s just a reminder that there’s this void between them still, this gaping hole where the past should be but he ripped it to shred years ago when he had said those unforgivable words and now the hole is bleeding out again or maybe it never cauterized in the first place-

“You know why,” is his response. The weight of those words is crushing- the implications damning, and he knows that deep down Izuku knows what the connotation is.

The shorter boy- man? Are they men now?- hums his reply. They lie there, their hands mere inches away from each other. They used to hold hands. When did they stop? Who initiated their last gentle contact? He knows the answer to that.

“Why do you keep coming back to me?” He whispers finally, almost hoping the other is already asleep. This question doesn’t mean the same thing it did their first year at U.A.

“You know why.”

Silence envelops them like an old friend.

----

The first year goes by and before he knows it he’s sitting on Shitty Hair’s couch with a cup of something in his hand, half listening to Sero go on about a villain fight he had earlier that week. Most of former class 3-A is here- Katsuki isn’t really keeping track- only knowing that a particular green haired nerd doesn’t seem to have arrived yet. He’s got his elbow on the arm of the chair, chin casually propped up in his hand, eyes slowly surveying the little party Mina’s gathered together. He doesn't know how exactly he ended up here- there was a bribe involved he thinks- but the alcohol is making his head fuzzy and he’s just grateful tomorrow is his day off.

“You know, you’ve sure mellowed out since we met.” Kirishima plops down next to him, drink sloshing around in his cup.

“The fuck are you sayin'?” He grumbles into his palm. Shitty Hair just laughs.

“See, if I would have said anything like that two years ago I would’ve gotten blasted in the face.”

“Too many witnesses,” he replies. They both know it’s a lame excuse- Katsuki’s never given a shit what other people think of him. Well, most other people.

“Yeah okay.” He grins at him. “I’m just saying, before you would have never agreed to come to a party with all of these ‘extras’. I’m really glad you’re here.”

“‘M gettin’ more booze,” is his reply, and he slightly stumbles his way into the kitchen where a makeshift bar has been set up. He’s just finished making his “cocktail”, if it could be called that, when he hears him.

“Sorry I’m late guys.” Katsuki’s not looking over at him yet, but he just knows he’s bashfully rubbing the back of his head. “I just got off my shift.”

He hears Round Face bumble on about something to him, and suddenly he feels nauseated. He wants to back out, change his mind about coming, make up some excuse about needing to leave, fake a villain attack, do something that removes him from this room that’s suddenly shrunk in size. He’s no coward, but the alcohol is muddying up his brain, settling uncomfortably in his stomach, and he doesn’t trust himself to act in his best interest.

He’s considering just escaping out the hallway window when he hears, “Kacchan!” spoken from across the room.

“Excuse me,” he politely says to his friend, his eyes crinkling in the way that makes Katsuki want to punch something. He approaches the other with a smile so genuine Katsuki is sure something's going to get punched now. “I didn’t think you were going to show up!”

He’s not sure how to reply. He calculates the answers in his head, formulating his options, knowing that the easiest is anger or irritation, but the default isn’t what he should choose. He wants to be defensive- he sure doesn’t want to admit the real reason he showed up to be surrounded by a bunch of people he doesn’t give a fuck about.

“N-not that I’m not happy you’re here! I’m glad you showed up! I’m just surprised because Kacchan usually avoids large groups of people, and he hasn’t been in contact with many of us since graduation. It’s interesting that he decided to come today, though maybe because it’s a special occasion and he wants to-”

“Oi, you’re mumbling.”

“Sorry.” He smiles shyly and scratches his cheek. “It’s… it’s nice to see you.”

Pain.

Chest tightening, breath faltering, palms sweating, throat closing- pain, why is there nothing but pain when I see you I can’t stand this pain anymore just stay the fuck away from me so I don’t feel this way I can’t do it-

He downs the rest of his drink. “Yeah, whatever.”

He doesn’t know why he stays. He should have left the moment he had the chance- he shouldn’t’ve come in the first place. He’s screaming at himself inside his head, but his body is moving on its own- he’s pouring more drinks, he’s sitting on the couch, he’s leaning in to conversations he has no right stealing, he’s laughing, he’s stumbling outside with him, he’s walking down the sidewalk, grabbing a scarred arm, pushing his body against the door, fumbling keys, stripping clothes, grabbing at hair, and why the fuck are you doing this you need to stop this why aren’t you listening you fucking idiot how could you do this?!

When he wakes in the morning he instantly runs to the bathroom to retch. Despite purging his insides, he still feels rotted out. He’s pathetic and disgusting and unworthy and selfish and he wants nothing more than to lay on the forest floor and let the moss feast on his rot.

Deku is already gone.

Read the completed fic here >

#bakudeku #bkdk #ktdk #katsudeku #AO3 fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

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