#language learning summary but just for Irish | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

uzumaki-rebellion · 2 months ago

Text

In Your Arms Tonight by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie Moore

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Unprotected Sex, Adult Language, Speculative Elements

Summary: Annie has been asked by her estranged husband Smoke to provide hot food for the opening of his new juke joint in Clarksdale. After seven years apart, their passion and love for each other hasn't waned, but Smoke learns the hard way that leaving his wife alone for a long stretch of time doesn't mean other suitors haven't been chomping at the bit to be with her in his absence.

Word count: 7.2K

youtube

"Somebody take me

In your arms tonight, alright

Somebody take me

In your arms tonight…"

Miles Caton – "I Lied to You"

Oh, he was mad.

Big mad.

Full lips all bunched up in a pout. Eyes more narrow than a sewing needle stitching a hemline back in her house. Fingers gripping the rolled tobacco cigarette tight.

Annie Moore watched her estranged husband Elijah "Smoke" Moore pretend to act unbothered on the second-floor, looking down at the mighty fine juke joint he and his twin Stack cobbled together in a day.

That big nigga was fuming up there, all on account of Beau Willie approaching her for a plate of fried catfish, and her mama's red rice recipe carried all the way over from Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

There was plenty of fish to fry, pots of greens to stir, fried potatoes to season, and plenty of people to buy plates and eat them in Club Juke.

Annie wiped her brow with a folded towel next to the fryers and pretended not to notice her man hawking her from above. She gave Beau Willie two big slices of white bread with hot sauce, and pointed out the Irish beer, and Italian wine available to purchase with it. Her best friends Millie and Alberta helped cook and serve, and they all tapped their feet to the music swirling throughout the transformed sawmill. Two of Millie's older daughters stood nearby, watching and learning, and every now and then, the women would let them cook a batch of fish and sell some plates. Grace Chow the grocery store owner, also helped serve and sell liquor while gossiping with them.

"That man keep starin' at you, he gonna have his eyes fallin' outta his head," Millie whispered.

Grace giggled. Annie rolled her eyes and popped the cap of Beau Willie's beer with a bottle opener for him. Handed him the drink.

"There ya go, Beau Willie. You enjoy all that and come back for more when you ready," she said.

"You know I'll be back for your cookin', Annie. Every time," Beau Willie said with a voice deeper than the Mississippi River.

Brawny and handsome, Beau Willie worked the cotton fields like most of the colored people inside the juke. He was her first boyfriend. The first boy to ever kiss her.

Delta Slim belted out some tunes on his harmonica and tickled the piano keys, and Lloyd Allen played the lead guitar. The dancing crowd added the extra percussive beats. Preacher Boy Sammie stood next to the legend and played along with his guitar respectfully, not trying to outplay his elders, just keeping the rhythm steady with his strumming. A fiddler and two sibling banjo players waited offside for their turn to perform.

Annie served a few more plates and propped herself next to Grace against the counter filled with liquor bottles and high-priced hooch. She rightfully assumed Smoke and Stack stole all that shit. Smoke came to her house with pockets so fat and full of cash that she knew he'd been up to no good again. Wasn't no need to question or fuss with him about his criminality. He was going to do what he wanted.

A soft shiver went up her spine.

Lord, that man put it on her earlier that day! Twice. It was like old times with them. Argue and fight, and then fuck the disagreement away.

An undercurrent of disappointment simmered in her blood for his abandonment of their marriage after the loss of their baby. He begged her to run off to Arkansas with him after they robbed several banks in Clarksdale, and she refused to leave their baby behind in the ground they buried her in. That gravesite was holy, and she didn't want to leave her kin behind either. Smoke grew bitter about his pain. Selah, their baby girl, had meant everything to him. He couldn't wait to be a father and the first time he held her, the tears wouldn't stop flowing. They never stopped flowing after her death.

Annie did all she could when Selah grew sick. Asked every ancestor she knew by name and then some for help, wrung her hands with High John the Conqueror root as she beseeched God to grant her one holy favor: save her daughter from a too soon homegoing.

It wrecked Smoke.

He turned bitter, surly, and prone to drinking all day and night. The resentment in his eyes when she could cure ailments in other people, but not her own child, festered like an infection full of pus in his spirit. He said not one word to her, even though she sensed that negative energy clinging to him.

Her sorrow buried itself in her chest and she stumbled around each day numb for many months. They were not good to each other. He got it in his head to leave, like going away would banish Selah from their collective memory. She cursed him out. Beat her hands on his chest. How could he up and leave their child? Who was going to take care of her grave? Talk to her? Let her know they loved her beyond the veil of life?

He didn't skip off in the night when he left. That big gorgeous man looked Annie straight in her face and told her he couldn't stay. If he did, he feared he would turn into his father. A sullen, abusive man.

"Go on then," she said, "You scared to handle your feelings like a man, then leave. I'll stay and honor her and make a life with this pain."

He winced, and she turned her back on him, prepared an herbal remedy for a customer who was due to come by that day.

Smoke left her.

She had the community's support and sympathy. Built a business using the conjuring and medicinal skills she learned from her grandmother and Smoke's mother, Taiwo, both Hoodoo women. Taiwo nurtured her growth of knowledge until her passing two years ago. Annie stayed rooted in her power and fierce determination to keep her people thriving in Clarksdale.

She snuck a sip of the good hooch and squeezed her eyes shut from the burn that scorched her throat.

"Ooh, wee! That is some strong corn liquor," Annie gasped, patting her chest.

Millie cackled and sipped it like a pro, the moonshine sliding down her gullet like water.

"I don't know how you do that," Annie said with wonderment on her face.

"Y'all can't be drinking up the supply," Smoke said.

Annie jumped at the sound of her husband's voice. He'd moved in stealth down from the top floor to the main one. Grace wandered off to check on her husband, Bo.

"You ain't paying enough to be worried about me taking a drink when I want one," Annie joked.

"Thought I paid you in other ways that ain't got nothing to do with cash money," he teased, sliding his tongue across his top lip.

Millie smirked and lifted freshly cooked fish from the fryers and dumped them on some paper to drain. Annie wiped her hands and called one of the teen-aged girls over from the back to take over her spot.

"Where you going?" he asked.

"Going to mingle and let people know we got a hot batch ready. Why you stressing me?"

"As long as you're doing that and not flirting with customers."

"Flirting with who?"

Annie put a hand on her hip. Eyed him up and down.

Smoke glanced around. The crowd wasn't paying attention to him.

"Summa these menfolk might have some amorous intentions toward you that they shouldn't," he said.

She slanted her head and waited for him to continue. He snuck a glimpse of her chest. Annie wore her good bra tonight. Her breasts sat high like mountain peaks and looked voluptuous in her new velvet green dress with the few sparkly sequins she sewed into it. She gave enough cleavage with her beads falling down the center of her breasts guiding inquisitive eyes to the Promised Land. Green was Smoke's favorite color on her. Every man watched her work the floor all evening looking like a Hoodoo queen.

Her heavy hips and high riding backside cast spells on other men as she passed them by, and that worried Smoke in that sexually charged environment. Just because they made love hours ago didn't mean he had her safely tucked in his pocket. And he knew that. He'd been gone much too long to think other men hadn't plotted to scoop her up. It was one thing for her to be out of sight/out of mind while he was up north and not faced with other suitors pursuing her. Quite another to witness it full on in person. That's why he chased the back of her dress every chance he got when she went to wandering in the juke.

His reconciliation with her was still tenuous. By his facial expression, she knew he was having flashbacks of sticking his thick dick in her deep, gushy pussy, and he worried that some other man would dare to wet his dick in it, too. It kept him on his toes. Territorial. He'd already shot two men who tried to steal his liquor when he first arrived in town. If a man tried stealing his wife's pussy…there'd be a funeral in the morning.

Smoke didn't answer her question any further about flirting and cut his eyes away from her face. She slunk around him, draped her arms across his shoulders from the side, and stared up into the brown eyes he once gave their baby girl.

"What you worried about, Elijah?" she purred playfully.

"Ah, woman, get on and handle your business."

He tried to act nonchalant, but his eyes darted back and forth to clock anybody waiting to approach her when she moved away from him.

She kissed his cheek and sauntered off, glancing back to catch him watching her. Sure enough, three other men did the same, grinning at the seductive way she swung her hips. They looked elsewhere when Smoke turned their way, going in the opposite direction of her.

"How you folks doing? We got some fresh fish hot and ready. Some Creole potato salad, too! Don't be shy about getting seconds or thirds…hey Earline! I love that dress on you! Shake it, sis! Casper, let some other fellas get a chance to dance with her…hey Ora Lee! I ain't seen you out in a long time, girl!"

Annie circled the extensive building interior. Smoke's twin brushed past her on swift legs with Mary tailing him in her expensive pale satin dress. The juke stayed turned up, with Delta Slim leading the charge. People drank, ate, and had a damn good time.

Smoke stayed watching her, and she decided to ruffle his feathers.

"Oscar, don't you owe me a dance?"

She tapped a man's shoulder, and he showed all his teeth, so happy to hold her hand and swing her out on the floor. Her left arm casually rested on his slim shoulders, and he loved the feel of her near him.

"Aw, Miss Annie, I been waiting all night for a chance to dance with you."

He was only a couple of years older than her, searching for a wife, and he'd been pestering her to go out even though she told him she was still married…for seven years straight. With no word from Smoke, she started keeping company with Oscar briefly two years ago, but the bones she threw after their third picnic date told her they were not evenly yoked. They also told her Smoke wasn't dead. And if he wasn't dead, he was bound to come home someday. She let Oscar down easy, but he never gave up hope. He dated around, but yearned for her still. It showed in the way he held her while they danced. Annie kept it short and chaste.

"Thank you," she said.

"Why you running off, Annie? You think I'm scared of that runaway husband that showed up out the blue?"

She grinned.

"I got more fish to cook and some money to make," she said.

"Don't be shy coming my way again," he said, winking at her.

His buddy had a different idea.

"Nigga, you oughta be scared. Them Smokestack twins ain't to be tested if you want to stay healthy. You ain't hear about them fellas that tried to steal from Smoke today?" his buddy said.

Annie slipped away from the conversation and checked on Smoke, who still stood up high overlooking the railing. Lips poked out again, but he wasn't taking the bait.

She returned to her post after using the privy outside and washing her hands. Stack's trickster self found himself caught in the middle of a heated conversation within a circle of young women who didn't look happy with him.

"What I miss?" Annie said.

Alberta nodded over toward Mary, who sipped a glass of wine at the far end of the food table, watching Stack like he'd vanish into thin air if she didn't keep her eyes glued to him.

"Stack called those ladies field bitches, and they heard Mary say she'd beat up every one of them over him," Alberta said.

"Oh, Lord," Annie sighed.

One woman wagged her finger in Stack's face and spoke loud enough for Mary to hear.

"Her mama was a field bitch too!"

Millie went over to help get the argument under control. Stack looked somewhat remorseful, but maybe it was because the darker Black women were lighting his ass up. They didn't play that shit.

Alberta inched closer and lowered her voice.

"You see that gal right there? The one fussing the most? She's Grace Latimer's niece. Her sister Jessie left town seven months after Stack left. He was messing with her and Mary at the same time. They say she had two of his babies. Twin girls. Her people carried her off to Pittsburgh and got her married up quick. They were too scared to confront Stack about it. Now that's a rumor, so don't go telling folks you heard that from me."

Annie studied the young woman cursing Stack out.

"Does he know he has children by Jessie?" Annie said.

"Like he would care if it's true. He a rolling stone, that one. I wouldn't be surprised if he got a heap of babies all over the states the way he sweet talks women out they drawers."

Annie glanced over at Mary again. She stayed watching her great love with twisted lips and heat in her eyes. Annie felt bad for her. It made her wonder about Smoke. Were there babies out there in Chicago with his last name attached to them? No, she would've known. Felt it. Her small bag of bones would've told her as well. She prayed for that man to come back home safe, and he did. Took him a long time, but she had him back for herself.

Stack smoothed over the argument, apologized, let the women have free drinks on him, and they rolled their eyes and went about their business partying. He shuffled away to join the rougher men gambling with their Chinese guests in a back room, his gold-rimmed teeth gleaming. Mary huffed loudly, then flounced off into the crowd.

"Whew, I don't want that kinda love coming after me," Millie said, "She sticking to him like a haint in the graveyard."

"She shouldn't even be here," Alberta interjected. "He keeps telling her to go, but she won't leave. What if that sheriff come 'round here to check this place out and they see her? Ain't enough bribery money in this world to keep them crackas from killing him or us if they think she white. Her too. God rest her mama's soul, but she ain't doing us no good being here," Alberta said.

"She knows, but she don't care," Millie said.

Annie fixed plates quietly.

"Annie, maybe you should talk to her. She listens to you. She your play cousin anyway," Millie said.

"Ain't nothing I can say to her that will change her mind. Y'all know I'm married to Stack's other half. I loves me some Smoke, so I know what she's feeling inside. Can't explain it to y'all what it's like being in love with a Moore man. They cut from a different cloth."

"Oh, so they be up in them guts having y'all speaking tongues then," Millie teased.

Annie guffawed and grabbed onto her friend's arm to hush her. The women laughed together and Annie sighed afterward.

"All they got is this one night," Annie said. "We're safe enough in here with our people. Stack gotta decide what he gonna do with her on his own is all I'm saying. I'll talk to her in a little bit. But we got work to do."

Annie supervised the cooking, fanned herself, and chatted up the patrons buying liquor. She couldn't stop grinning at everything and everybody. The festive atmosphere hadn't been in Clarksdale like that for years. People needed the release from toiling in the fields and their troubles.

She took another walk to cool off. The sweat between her breasts and thighs got to her. She fanned herself down in a corner and gazed at the dance floor where folks stomped feet and threw hands up in the air.

The scent of tobacco wafted near her nose.

Smoke found his way next to her. He handed her a small mason jar half-filled with wine. He held another for himself.

"For a job well done," he said.

They clinked the jars together, and she sipped the white wine. He did the same after tossing his cigarette. The sweet liquid tasted good. Not too dry, nor overly sweet.

"You look beautiful, Annie. I meant to tell you that before we got here…but we got busy and…"

"Thank you," she said.

He took their empty jars away and handed them to a young man walking past and asked him to drop them off over at the liquor table to be washed.

"Would you like to dance, Mrs. Moore?" he asked her.

"I would love to, Mr. Moore."

A faint perceptible smile turned up one side of his mouth. She delighted in the rare sight of seeing his dimples. One would think only Stack had them with the lack of smiles Smoke gave freely. So stingy.

He threaded his fingers with hers and purposely walked to the center so everyone would see they were together. The strut in his step gave away his pride at having her by his side. If other men didn't take the obvious hint that she was back with her husband, the gun openly displayed on Smoke's side would deter them.

When he pulled her in close for a down home slow drag, her breasts rested on his wide chest where they were meant to be. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and those muscular ones of his circled her waist. He'd taken off his tweed jacket and the heat from him gripped around her as tight as his arms. They rocked their bodies together and his eyes latched onto hers.

Smoke didn't need words to speak what he felt. He snaked his hips and pressed into her tight.

Love looked right into her eyes through him. So raw and intimate. She almost had to turn away from his intense gaze.

"Baby, you're the finest woman in here," he whispered in her ear.

He let the tip of his tongue swipe the shell of her ear and spoke her name slowly, like an incantation. The hair of his mustache tickled her face the way she remembered, and he rubbed on her Rubenesque shape. Smoke loved him some full-figured women and although she had been a slender teenager when they first met at a church revival gathering, he took one look at her mother and saw the future of what Annie would become. It probably helped that she'd grown plump round titties already, but he'd zeroed in on her like a hummingbird to nectar.

His prediction came true. She filled out in the hips and rump. Her breasts turned buxom. He became an ass man and a lover of big tits.

Smoke liked how snug they were against him in that moment because his dick already poked at her through his trousers. She slid a hand down and palmed that third leg.

"Hey, now," he said, looking around.

"You think your dick the only one hard out here?" she said.

He lowered his hand on her waist and slapped her ass.

"Play around with me, woman, and I'm liable to take you in a room upstairs and bend you over again. You want me to make another big mess inside you?"

Annie covered his mouth with her hand, shushing him.

He pulled it away.

"What? You can talk dirty to me, but I can't give it right back to ya?"

She threw back her head and beamed, feeling tingles all over from the raspy tone of his voice. He gently placed his lips on her neck and sucked on it while stroking her bare arms. His fingertips ignited her flesh and when he finally kissed her, she didn't hesitate to slide her tongue against his. Her heart thumped with the excitement of their lips touching and fired off sparks everywhere on her body. When the man started lifting and separating her ass cheeks, kneading them like he had biscuits to make, she had to shut him down, or else he'd take her right there on the dance floor.

"I gotta get back to work, Elijah—"

"Mmm hmmm."

She pulled his hands away from her backside reluctantly. He slapped her rump again playfully.

"When we get back home, I'll get them big legs around me again," he teased.

He grabbed onto his dick and showed her the bulge ready for her. She waved a hand to shoo him away, but he held her from behind and pressed his temple against hers, swaying to the music. He gently tugged on the soft abundance of her belly and held it while putting his tongue in her ear again.

"You my woman, understand? My wife."

"Yes."

He patted her rump, and she meandered over to the food, playing with her protective haint blue beads, and giving herself time to collect her thoughts about Smoke. She grinned until her cheeks hurt; her husband's touches still lingered over the skin of her arms and midsection.

"Love looks good on you, Annie," Millie said.

Annie patted her friend's hand and calculated the amount of food left to cook. Plates were moving, but the liquor not as quick while folks danced. They would have to lower prices on the booze. Smoke wouldn't like that. The man wanted to make a profit, not break even…or worse. Surveying the crowd, if Club Juke could maintain its current capacity week after week, they would be alright.

She checked the trays of uncooked fish left. Not enough. Millie and Alberta noticed it, too. There was a tub of extra fish on ice in Smoke's truck.

"We need to get the rest from the truck…Hampton, come help me bring the fish in," Annie asked a young man standing idly by the table watching the dancing.

"I can get it for you, Annie," Beau Willie said.

He tossed a bottle of Irish beer into a waste bin.

"That's alright Beau Willie, Hamp can help me—"

"I got it," he said.

He headed out the side door, and Annie followed. She paused at the door's threshold and glanced over her shoulder. Smoke and Stack spoke to each other on the landing of the stairs leading to the second level.

She slipped outside and the balmy fall air felt hot and sticky on her skin.

"The truck's over there," she said, pointing.

He ambled over and she followed behind him.

A crow sat on the truck. Annie stared at it. The bird's eye shine announced its presence. It was odd to see a lone crow like that at night. Normally they did communal roosting hidden away. They preferred safety in numbers, and the anomaly of seeing one crow wide awake and watching her sent Annie's intuition into overdrive.

A pale white moon attracted her attention, and she turned to look at Club Juke in its entirety, surrounded by dense trees. The music bubbled out from it, and so did all the laughter inside. They were isolated from everyone in Clarksdale. The sawmill was the perfect property to buy.

The crow kept watching her.

It stretched its wings with a couple of loud flaps and then settled into observing her and Beau Willie. She touched her beads. The crow seemed familiar to her, like from some dream she had recently, one that woke her up in the middle of the night panting. Smoke had been in the dream with her. It had been so real that she could smell his skin and the cigarette smoke on his clothes. The crow spoke to her like a friend in that dream and told her not to worry. Her man was coming home soon.

Annie shook her head. Focused on the task at hand.

"It's up in there, Beau Willie," she said.

He pulled the tarp back and climbed onto the truck. He picked up the heavy tub of fish Smoke bought from Bo Chow and left it on the edge before jumping down on the ground.

"Thank you for helping me," she said.

"No problem, Annie. Always happy to help."

Beau Willie peered at her with softness in his deep-set eyes. Recently widowed, he cared for his four young children with his mother's help. His grown face still held the boyish charm she fell for as a teenager.

"Annie, can I ask you something personal?"

"What?"

"Is he staying for good this time?"

Annie wiped the back of her neck and turned to head back. He clasped her hand and held her in place.

"I'm not tryin' to be disrespectful to your husband. We both know who he is and what he does. You deserve better, Annie. Someone who won't run out on you when things get tough or even when bad things happen. I loved you first. He stole you from me—"

"Nobody stole me, Beau Willie."

"Then why him? Huh?"

"You and I were so young when we dated. You had plenty of girlfriends after me and married a good woman—"

"They weren't you, Annie. I've had you in my heart for a long time. If he doesn't stay this time like he didn't before…then give me a chance to rekindle us. I can give you a family already. I work hard…look after my kin. I ain't never stopped loving you. Even when you chose him over me, I held you here…"

He touched his heart.

"He's my husband. What you want, Beau Willie, is what I caint give. Maybe…maybe if Smoke never came back…maybe if he'd been killed or thrown in prison and stuck on a chain gang for life…maybe if something like that happened…our bond would be broken. But that man is a part of me and planted so deep in my soul that there ain't nothin' that you or any other man in that juke can say to change my mind different. I would walk through hell with him. Do you hear me?"

"He already put you through hell, Annie. Left you all alone, for all those years—"

"But he back now," she said, shifting her weight onto one foot.

She hated Beau Willie in that instant. He had the audacity to bring out the niggling twinges of doubt into her mind about Smoke.

The click of a revolver behind them snapped them to attention.

"You heard her, Beau Willie. I'm back now. I suggest you take that fish into the juke and stay the fuck away from my wife," Smoke said.

Beau Willie blinked rapidly and stepped back from her.

"No need to have that out, Smoke," Beau Willie said.

"Why not? I come outside and see another man propositioning my wife to leave me, and what am I supposed to do? Let that shit fly? I should blast holes in you right now, but I got a business to run. Pick that fish up, nigga, and go."

Beau Willie glared at Smoke. He didn't dare look at Annie again. Smoke aimed the gun at the man's head.

"I can take you out clean or painful. Your choice," Smoke said.

Beau Willie lifted the metal tub of iced fish and trudged back into the juke.

Smoke holstered his gun and faced Annie.

They stared at one another in silence.

"How much you hear?" she asked.

"Everything."

Her tongue worried the roof of her mouth as her eyes welled up.

"You really staying, right?" she said.

"You let that nigga get in your head?"

Annie closed her eyes. Tilted her head back slightly so no tears would fall.

"I'm staying," he reassured her.

She nodded her head once, afraid the knots in her stomach would find a way to take root in her chest.

"You believe me, dontcha, baby?"

"Like you told me back at my place. I believe what I can see," she said.

She left him outside and returned to the makeshift kitchen to oversee the cleaning of the fish. Smoke did his rounds on the floor, and she fought the anxiety of worrying about him and his plans. Her grandmother always told her people showed you who they were, and she could believe in what Smoke did. Not what he said.

Delta Slim beckoned for Sammie to take center stage with pride in his voice. The young man was finally getting his chance to sing.

"Tell them who you are…" Delta Slim said.

Sammie shyly and sweetly introduced himself, and Annie couldn't help but smile at how precious he was to the Moore family. He was her family, too, and he glanced at her briefly. She nodded her head for him to show the world his gifts and Sammie started singing something he never shared before and the hairs on her neck and arms raised up.

Immediately, a tunnel vision warped her reality and Annie pushed out her breath to keep herself from having a panic attack and passing out.

Sammie.

His guitar.

Annie stared at the walls as Sammie wailed out the blues with Delta Slim perched on stage like a proud Poppa. She could see the people shouting and encouraging Sammie to let loose, and when he held a long note, his voice ripped through the ceiling and Annie sensed there were more people in the sawmill than the ones she could physically see. Some unseen entity darted past her skin, touching her like bird wings fluttering in the air. High above, perched on a rafter, the crow from outside gazed down at her. The surge of power in the room engulfed the entire juke.

Smoke looked in her direction, just as shocked by the music and Sammie's voice and also by the triumphant way the people danced. Grace and Bo also twirled in time to the blues music that wrapped everyone in a cloak of revelry and freedom to be who they be.

Annie gasped, wildly overstimulated by the unseen. She touched the top of her head, feeling the sensation of an overwhelming presence.

It freed her.

She locked eyes with Smoke far across the room and he strode forward, zigzagging through the crowd on a direct path to her. The weight of Sammie's music slowed everything in her mind down and her husband's movement seemed even slower. She moved from around the counter and lunged for him, pushing through sweaty people, needing to get to her man.

Smoke reached for her, and she cradled his face.

"I need you. Here with me," she said.

"I ain't going nowhere."

Their lips crashed together, tongues battling to subdue the other in a frenetic exchange of energy and desire. He entwined their fingers and pulled her through the crowd, heading for the stairs. The music had risen to a crescendo that vibrated on her skin with an intensity that should've burst into flames.

Smoke pulled her up the stairs and into a room that he used for himself, that he planned to make his office if the juke proved profitable. He slammed the door shut behind them.

He spun her around and helped her take off her dress, unhooked her bra, and pushed her onto an old cot covered in a coarse blanket. Smoke undressed quickly, and the music rose through the floor.

"Somebody take me…in your arms tonight…!"

Sammies mature voice thundered below them.

The only thing Smoke had on was the mojo bag she made for him and his metal dog tags from the war. His dick pointed at her and dripped pre-cum. He barely gave her time to pull off her panties before his erection parted her slick labia and sank into her.

"Oh…Jesus!" Annie shouted.

Her man was down in that bottom.

He cradled her breasts and stretched his mouth around her areola, sucking to his heart's content. She wrapped her thighs around him and he gave her more of the deep dick she'd been craving for seven years.

"This is my pussy," mumbled into her ear.

The weight of him smothered her in scorching heat and his steady heartbeat.

He dropped to his knees and spread her legs, licking his wide tongue against her labia, giving extra tender care to her clit. Daddy was hungry and made her a sopping wet mess. He took his time until there was nearly a puddle under her.

"Turn over," he said, helping her move into the position wanted.

She placed herself on her hands and knees. He plunged his tongue inside her entrance and she squealed. Rubbing on her ass, he stood and inserted that thickness between his legs back into her, grunting and cussing up a storm. Her pussy felt exquisite to him by the sounds he moaned out. She was as hot and gushy as he wanted. He angled himself so he could watch her titties hang and smack together with each powerful thrust. Annie was so wet that her pussy sounded like it was having its own conversation taking his dick in the small room.

He climbed on the cot with Annie and pulled her onto her knees. She spread her thighs wide. He took back shots, holding her arms behind her, and Annie's tits bounced like crazy, forcing throaty moans from him. The pounding of the rhythm below them matched the pounding Smoke gave her pussy. The frenzy of his dick going in and out pulled lustful cries of pleasure from her lips. He palmed her breasts and rolled his fingers across her big nipples.

"You coulda been getting this pussy all the time," she said.

He clutched onto her tits, squeezing them, before gripping her arms tight, delighting in her titties shaking and arousing him more.

Annie squeezed her walls around his girth and he shouted her name.

"Pussy so good…Annie…"

She took control and pulled away from him.

"Whatchu doing? I need that shit…" he gasped.

She pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him. Her thighs spread and wedged against his hips. Her breasts rested on his chest. He fondled them and stared up at her.

"I love you, Elijah. I never stopped loving you. All these years…I never once wanted any man the way I wanted you."

He thrust up, and she snapped her eyes closed. He stretched her like no other, and it felt incredible.

"Elijah…"

He thumbed her clit, allowing the slick wetness from her pubic hairs to coat the button every man wanted to push on her since Smoke had been away. She lowered her head and kissed him. His lips were so fluffy and soft against her mouth. The taste of her pussy there pleased him. He licked his lips as she tasted herself.

"I love you…hear me, woman? I love you. Don't let one of these niggas get killed tryna take you from me."

"No one can take me from you."

"You sure?"

She stopped moving.

"You think I'd want anyone else?"

She spread her hands on the wide planes of his chest. Traced two fingers down the path below his belly button of soft hairs that led to the wild pubic bush surrounding his dick.

He didn't answer, trusting the sincerity in her eyes.

"All I ever wanted was you…just you, Elijah. And when you left me…"

He lifted himself to face her and held his hands around her waist and backside.

"Shhh…shhh. Don't cry, Annie. Baby, please…I don't ever want to make you cry again. I promise."

He kissed away each teardrop that fell from her eyes. The soft pecks built up her confidence in him and she breathed easier. His voice stayed soft.

"I told you I missed you and wanted to be with you…I also want us to try for a baby again. Build our family," he said.

"You do?"

"Yes. That is…if you want that, too."

She hugged him tight.

"I do…I do!"

She wept so hard her eyes blurred. Smoke gave her one of his rare smiles, and her heart nearly burst with joy.

Annie rocked on him, pleasuring herself and him. Smoke held her breasts and sucked on her nipples.

"Oh…damn…Elijah…you're making me…oh Jesus!"

Annie came hard, and it rocked her world. Smoke massaged her breasts and watched her face transform with the rapturous climax. He grazed his teeth across a nipple and she shuddered, exalting in the sensations cascading all across her skin.

"We can try for a baby right now," he said.

He flipped her back over onto the small cot and she yelped as he tossed her legs over his biceps.

"Will you let me put another baby in you, Annie?"

"I sure will," she gasped, nearly out of breath.

His dimples melted her. He got down to business, too. Touching her skin all over, kissing her throat and whispering words of love in her ear. He licked on her nipples and stared at her fullness.

"Touching you is like touching the beauty of the night sky, Annie. You my jewel…my most precious thing in this world. Without you…I ain't fit to live."

"Hush now…"

"Nah, I want you to hear me."

"I want you to show me."

He grinned and pumped that thickness into her slowly, letting her feel every inch. Her mouth parted, and he pressed his forehead against hers.

"Ooh…Elijah…baby…"

Her pants came faster, and the groans from him aroused her to new heights. He hunched over her and every muscle flexed for her. Their sweat mingled and his strokes curled her toes. He lowered her legs and thumbed her clit, watching his dick go in and out. His lips poked out and his face carried a serious expression.

She recognized that look.

He was about to cum.

"Annie…baby…I'm getting close…"

She fondled her own breasts, and it created more tension for him. His eyes darted from her pussy to her tits. The way his eyes narrowed, she knew it was going to be a big load.

"Annie!"

"Yes!"

"I'm cummin'!"

He threw his head back and roared her name, his thumb faithfully rubbing her clit until she spilled over into a new release. His dick throbbed inside her and she matched the pulses squeezing her walls around him to milk every drop of cum.

"Fuckkkk!"

His hoarse cry drowned out her whimpers of pleasure. Her pussy kept throbbing around him until the last surge of her orgasm quieted down enough where she could move again.

"Elijah?"

His eyes watered. Tears fell down on her. The tone of his voice trembled.

"I'm sorry, baby…for everything…"

"My love…it's okay…you're here with me…we're here together," she said.

"I can't give you back those seven years…"

"Shhh…stay with me here…in this moment… in the right now."

He twisted his head to the side in shame. She pulled it back to look at her.

"We here," she said

He kissed her forehead.

Smoke snuggled around her until they were in a tight spoon together. He played with a breast and listened to her breathing calm down. The music below them kept going and Annie didn't want to leave his arms ever again. She shifted her position, and Smoke rested his head on her breasts. Stroking his hair gently, she snatched that tiny moment of peace for themselves, forgetting about everything and everybody in the juke.

Annie cleaned herself up as best she could with the buckets of water Smoke brought up from a well out behind the juke. No one paid attention to him or questioned why he needed to tote water and clean rags upstairs. He cleaned himself up, too, and they rejoined the dancing below.

She floated.

Making love to him grounded her and pushed away any doubt.

He was going to stay with her.

She hoped they had conceived a little one. Lord knows he put enough semen in her over the course of a day to open a whorehouse. She laughed at the thought.

Smoke made his rounds, checking in on everything before he slipped his hand over hers to dance one more time.

She nuzzled her face against his cheek, pulling an open smile from his face. It was such a shock that even Delta Slim had to look twice to make sure it was real.

She hooked her arms around her husband's neck, swayed with him in time to the music and their own internal rhythm. Part of his mojo bag peeked out from his vest. She touched it. Early that morning, she had fed it, prayed over it, recharged it with her love and that of her ancestors to protect him.

"Blood of my blood…bone of my bone…," she whispered.

"You putting a root on me, woman? I told you… I'm home for good. Forever," he said.

"Forever ever?" she teased.

"For always."

"Ashe," she affirmed.

"What that mean again?"

"And so it is."

"I like that."

"Me too."

"Annie?"

"Yes, Elijah?"

"I love you."

He kissed her softly. Kissed life back into her.

The music played on, and for a few hours, it did seem like forever.

A.N.:

Wanted to put out a short Smoke/Annie fic to practice getting Annie's voice for another fic. I plan to write more about these two. How they met. Had their first child etc. This short is connected to my "Choose One" longer fic. You may recognize a speculative figure lurking in the story if you've started reading "Choose One." Enjoy!

Taglist:

@marley1773

@amethyst09

@mitruscity

@readingaddict1290

@issimplyaamazinggg

@eyeknowmywrites

@kitesatforestp

@fd-writes

@soufcakmistress

@cherrystainedlipsbaby

@tclaybon

@thadelightfulone

@allhailqueennel

@bartierbakarimobisson

@cpwtwot

@shookmcgookqueen

@yoyolovesbucky

@raysunshine78

@the-illlestt

@terrablaze514

@l-auteuse

@amirra88

@jimizwidow

@janelledarling

@chaneajoyyy

@sweetestdream92

@purple-apricots

@blackpinup22

@hennessystevens-udaku

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade

@bugngiz

@stariamrry

@honeytoffee

@meilintheempressofdreams

@tyees

@eye-raq

@writerbee-ffs

@chocolatedream30

@childishgambinaa

@mygirlrenee

@thewaysheis��awkward

@tchallasbabymama

@lahuttor

@goodieyaya

@post-woke

@soufcakmistress

@yomiloo

@goddessofthundathighs

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes

@retroxvailles

@cydneyrenee4

@nizzle-mo

@cecereads209

@childishgambinaax

@gopaperless

@bombshellbre95

@tchallasbabymama

@musicisme333

@sister-winter73

@nccu-rnc

@sj206260358

@blmcd57110

@griot-of-wakanda

@xsweetdellzx

@nayaesworld

@carlakeks

@anaiyaflys143

@klutzylaena

@christinabae

@writerbee-ffs

@novahreign

@cosmicautomatonshark

@thedondada05

@wheresthecaptaincrunch

@pocahunatt

@blackgaladriel

@chrisevansmentee

@@nebulamilkyway

#smoke x annie #sinners fanfiction #sinners movie #michael b. jordan #wunmi mosaku #Elijah “Smoke” Moore #Hoodoo Annie Moore #smoke and stack #smokestack twins #sinners 2025

662 notes · View notes

cherrycranes · 7 months ago

Text

Religious Experience (Damien O'Donovan x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Damien O'Donovan x Fem!Reader Summary: You had always been in love with Damien, and now that he's about to leave, he decides to show you just how much he loves you too with God Himself as his witness. Word count: 4,060 Contents: (Minors DNI). Some fluff, reader is 20, Damien 24. praise & body worship, unprotected sex, cum eating. BLASPHEMY, lots of it. If you're catholic please just refrain from reading this I warn you. As a former catholic, I poured all my religious knowledge (and disrespect) here. Author's notes: My usual collab with my dear @fuckiingloser. Mandatory "english is not my first language" disclaimer. Pinterest moodboard at the end so you can visualize! Stream "Experiencia Religiosa" by Enrique Iglesias, the inspiration behind this fic title lol.

Ever since you could remember you had always had feelings for Damien, the handsome, slightly older neighbor boy who was friends with your older brother. Getting him out of your little head was impossible. Everywhere you went, you saw him. Around town, at church every sunday morning, in the open fields when you returned from school or even in between the fog of your dreams. It could have been just a silly little girl crush had it not transpired into your young adult years.

It was your 19th birthday about a year and a few months ago. By that time, your well established infatuation with Damien had learned how to hide in the depths of your heart, convinced that it might just never be. Still, something finally happened, something that made you see stars and feel heat in places nobody had reached yet.

After your birthday party had ended, and all your friends were making their way home, you and Damien shared a soft, passionate kiss in the barn, born from an impulse or maybe a secret desire. You felt like you were dreaming. Damien was as gentle and sweet as you had always imagined, even more so. He kissed you like you were made from the most delicate fine china, and you would have melted in his arms and told him everything you had always felt for him, had your brother not interrupted you by calling his name. After this brief encounter, nothing else happened. You even started to doubt it ever happened at all. You and Damien just saw each other occasionally on the streets and shared a couple of smiles and waves, and sometimes a few flirty comments, but nothing more.

You were 20 now, and Damien was set to leave for England in less than 3 days to go work and study in one of the best hospitals in the world, something he’d always dreamed of. Leaving your small irish town behind to pursue bigger and better things in life. And sadly, it also meant that you were going to be left behind too…

Sitting on your usual spot next to your family in the sunday mass, you couldn't help but feel Damien’s eyes burning into you. The O’Donovans always sat on the bench behind yours, and you were used to Damien’s presence there, quite often right behind you. But that day it felt… different…

You slowly turned around to look, and sure enough, Damien’s pale blue eyes connected with yours. He gave you a soft little smile that made you blush and immediately face forward again, trying so hard to concentrate on the Father’s words and failing miserably.

The rest of the mass, you felt Damien’s eyes on you, and not even the presence of Jesus Christ himself would have been able to prevent the thoughts that started to flood your mind… And the feelings that caressed you insides like a lick of fire.

During the sign of the peace, when you had to shake hands with everybody around your seat, you felt less than holy when it was time to shake Damien’s. His body heat lingered on you, his gentleness made you drift back to the one kiss you shared, and his beautiful eyes made you tingle and blush once more. The mass ended not long after.

All the families congregated outside the church to talk before leaving to head home. You were hanging by the steps, waiting for your parents to finish their chit chat with some neighbors, when you suddenly felt a hand touching your shoulder.

“Hiya..” Damien said with his warm voice and with a gleam on his crystal blue eyes.

“Hi, Damien…” You whispered with a shy little smile, your head still reeling.

“You look pretty…” Oh, he could have killed you with that. More heat traveled to your face when you noticed his eyes roaming over you. “Couldn't help but stare…”

“Thanks… You look handsome...” You struggled to reply, your ability to speak almost gone at the sight of his gentle smirk and his elegant dark blue suit that made him look even more mature and dreamy.

“My new suit for my new job…” Damien stepped a little closer to you, looking down into your eyes only a few inches from your face. “You know i leave soon…” he started again after an awkward pause and you nodded, a wave of sadness washed over the fire, reminding you once more that he was leaving everything behind, you included.

“Yes, I know. Can’t believe you’re finally getting away from here like you always dreamed.” The sweet excitement in your voice was mostly just a facade, of course you were glad he was going to live his dreams, but the possibility of never seeing him again twisted your guts. Damien smiled, looking down at his feet silently for a second before making eye contact with you again.

“It's not the only dream I have that hasn’t come true yet…” He whispered, his hand reaching out to graze yours softly. People shuffled by you but, at that moment, the entire earth was just you and him. Time slowed down and his touch left goosebumps on your skin.

“W-what do you mean?…” Your heart fluttered a bit, slight confusion clouded your mind as his eyes bore into yours. His hand came up to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, and you were almost certain he was going to finally address what had been going on between you for over a year now, when suddenly, you heard your mother calling your name…

“Meet me here tonight, around 8pm…” Damien whispered with a hint of urgency, his eyes checking towards your family. “Back entrance…”

“I promise…” You whispered, your mum walking up to you and politely greeting Damien before reminding you your father was waiting.

“Bye, Damien…” You had to say, intrigued by the prospects of the clandestine meeting. As you reluctantly left, you gave him a little smile and a wave that he returned.

The rest of the day was filled with overthinking from your part. You suspected something but you couldn't be certain of anything. Still, you trusted him, and as soon as 8 pm neared, you managed to slip out of the house and rode your bike to the church, hiding it in the trees and making your way around the back. There was Damien, still suited, leaning against the church backdoor, lost in thought. His beautiful gaze rose from the ground and met yours the second he heard you coming, and a lovely smile grew upon his rosy lips.

“You came…” He whispered, pulling you into a warm, protective hug, with your head gently laid on his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around you.

“Of course…” You whispered into the fabric of his vest, taking in his scent for a moment before pulling back to look into his eyes. The cold autumn wind blew and caused you to shiver ever so slightly, Damien noticed right away and, with his charming smile, pulled out a key ring from his pocket.

“Seán’s an altar boy this year… He gave me the keys…” The metal jingled quietly in Damien’s hands, and without much struggle, he found the key to the backdoor and opened it for you. He ushered you inside the dark yet familiar empty church. The darkened faces of Mother Mary and Saint Patrick stared at you from their dim candlelit spots. The full moon shone beautifully through the stained glass art, where several more saints looked at you with neutral expressions. Saint Thomas, Saint John, Saint Matthew and all the other names you had forgotten about for being so busy thinking about Damien during mass, neither of them judged you for being here. They just radiated in color and stared from their high spots.

“What did you wanna say?” Your whisper broke the silence, Damien’s hand made its way on top of yours in an act that momentarily made you fear he was going to break bad news to you. The flames of the candles flickered on his pale blue eyes, he released a soft breath before finally speaking.

“Well… I just wanted to tell you the truth… The truth about how I feel for you…” Damien squeezed your hand gently, he could almost feel your pulse quickening. “How I’ve felt since we were kids… It's always been you…”

It was a soft, gentle and very much awaited for confession. It felt like the saints above you had finally had mercy on your heart. Your gaze softened and the butterflies in your stomach reproduced en masse. If this had been just a dream, you would have spent the rest of your life asleep in hopes to dream it again.

“Ever since that kiss in the barn last year… I haven’t stopped thinking about wanting to do it again… And now that I'm leaving, I just knew I had to tell you how I feel…” Oh, but this was real. Very real. You could feel the warmth of his hands and the reverberation of his voice as he confessed. You could feel your eyes widening and your heart beating madly, ready to burst with his next words.

“When I come home this time next year… I want to marry you… Right here in this church.” This much happiness had never filled your chest before, you almost died and miraculously resurrected for all the saints to see. His confession was everything you ever wanted. “It’s you… It’s always been you…”

In between your overjoyment, you could tell he was a little nervous, just as afraid to lose you as you were afraid of losing him. You eased his fears with a gentle smile and a squeeze to his hand that he reciprocated immediately.

“I love you, Damien… I've loved you for a long time…” You confessed, your voice soft and so dear to him. “I've thought about that kiss every single day too...”

His beautiful eyes softened and he came much closer to you, holding your hand near his beating chest.

“I just want to show you how much I care before I leave…” He said sincerely. “I had to kiss you again, taste your lips one last time before I left… Something both of us can remember when i’m away..”

He leaned closer, and you didn’t think about it for a second. Your soft lips met him halfway in a gentle, innocent kiss that made his hand come up to touch your cheek in adoration. You were his precious love, the woman he wanted to marry, the only one he wanted and desired… Carefully, his other hand tested the feeling of your thigh over your skirt, just gently, before pulling back a little.

“Is this okay?” He asked softly.

“Yes, Damien… I want you… I want all of you…” You allowed yourself to admit after so long, the colorful lights of the stained glass windows colored your face in different hues, all matched the love in your eyes and the growing, unspoken desire between the two of you.

Another kiss followed, this time much more needier and too sinful for the sacred ground you were on. His hands held the small of your back and desired to go lower, his warm tongue licked your lower lip in search of entrance and you obliged happily. The candles had now been overshadowed by your burning passion. Something notoriously stirred in Damien’s trousers and something dampened between your skirt, and without much consideration for the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, you decided to take action.

“I want you to be my first… I want to make love to you before you go…” His breath hitched a bit at your words and his eyes widened. No more words were needed. Another searing kiss followed, his hand held the back of your head with gentleness and caressed you with reverence. Your tongues melted together with an obscene sticky sound that was followed by a groan of his.

His hand reached up to rub your breast over your sweater, giving it a soft squeeze. You moaned softly into the kiss, every nerve ending of your wet cunt reacting sweetly to him. Damien chuckled softly against your lips before pulling away.

“Love the little noises you make… Need to hear more…” He smiled against your lips, before going in for another sensual kiss. His alabaster teeth nipped at your bottom lip gently, teasing just how much he wanted to devour you.

“You know… I've touched myself thinking about you..” You admitted without even really thinking. The colors of the stained glass mimicking the heat that rushed to your cheeks when you realized what you had just blurted out. Damien loved it, however. His smirk grew wider and his hand moved to gently squeeze your thigh and the fabric covering it.

“Is that so?” He growled softly, his cock twitching at your words. “Show me…please…” He whispered, his eyes traced every feature of yours as his strong hand traced every detail of your clothed thigh. With a gentle bite to your own lip, you discarded every bit of catholic guilt and fear of divine punishment in favor of your own desires. God forgive you both for breaking the sixth commandment in His very house, but two people this in love could never be sinful.

Slowly, you sat yourself up on the white marble altar, the intricate decor and golden crucifix behind you crowning you like the angel you were to Damien’s eyes. You pulled your skirt up around your waist, showing him your white cotton underwear and soft thighs. His gaze stayed glued to you as you moved your hand towards your covered clit, your index fingertip giving you both just what you wanted. You moaned softly, teasing yourself. A glance down towards his trousers allowed you to find an aching tent in there, and a glance up towards his chest made you see just how heavy his breathing had gotten.

Damien’s eyes flickered adoringly over you when you slipped your hand under the waistband of your panties and ran a finger between your sticky folds, letting out a series of sweet little moans that were like music to his ears.

He leaned forward, drawn in by you. He hooked his fingers on the side of your underwear and slowly pulled them off you, needing to see everything like he needed air. The fabric now laid on the altar steps and your glistening pussy was exposed for him, all the saints on the windows and God Himself to see.

“Every part of you is so beautiful…” Damien whispered with lust and love filled words.

You smiled, your finger sliding down and gently slipping inside your pretty and eager cunt to give it careful pumps in and out. Slick covered all the way down to your knuckle, and Damien’s mouth watered.

“Holy fuck… You are unbelievable..” He whispered, eyes full of amazement. You let out a series of little whines and moans for every praise he gave. Confidence filled you and desire burnt through you. Your finger kept teasing you physically and him mentally.

“Damien…” You moaned softly. “Want you inside…”

No more sweet begging needed, Damien’s hand immediately went to the button of his trousers and as quick as a flicker of the candle lights his pants were pulled down to his thighs. The tent in his underwear was painfully obvious. Your cunt throbbed around your finger at the sight.

After a second or more of your pussy soaking and squeezing your moving finger, Damien pulled his boxers down, his hard cock bobbing free with its head sticky with beads of precum. Like the moonlight that bathed the town, Damien loomed over you, parting your legs with his hands and gently grabbing your wrist. You whimpered at the loss of your finger inside your aching cunt.

“My turn…” He whispered gently, blue eyes admiring the glistening slick on your index and how it reflected the dim lights. A little grinning devil inside you coaxed you to hold it up to him and offer him a taste. He smirked and gave in to the temptation, sucking your finger clean with eyes closed and with a satisfied hum. His tongue moved around it for every last bit of your taste, and when none was left, he pulled it out of his mouth slowly.

“You taste like heaven…” He whispered with a smile, a mischievous giggle left your lips at the humor of it all. The crucified golden Jesus above you would have rolled his metallic eyes at you two had they not been closed. But even then, He would have understood.

Needily, you watched Damien’s hand guiding his cock towards your folds and tapping the tip a few times against them. You whimpered from the anticipation alone.

“Ready for me, love?” He whispered and you nodded, feeling more sure now than ever before.

His eyes fell to his cock and, carefully, he positioned himself at your entrance. A soft gasp escaped your lips and he pushed into you, finding you warm, wet, tight and so delicious. He went in slowly, savoring you, each hand laid on the marble altar on each side of your hips. His handsome face contorted in loving pleasure was inches away from yours when he finally pushed all the way in.

Your arms snaked around him, holding him as close to you as possible. He let you adjust to his size, sweet little moans telling him just how well you were taking him in.

“You feel so good around me…I love you…” Damien whispered adoringly, and your heart did a jump that competed to be much more intense than the feeling of your little cunt. Hearing those words from him did everything to make you feel… Well, truly blessed.

After a minute of your folds adjusting to him, he started to move, his hips slowly pumping back and forth and setting a perfect passionate pace. You moaned with a pretty sound that resonated within the church walls like a choir, all the discomfort gone and replaced with pleasure.

“Oh my God….” You blasphemed, looking right into his eyes. His hot breath caressed your face like his hands would, his needy groan met your lips quickly, your mouth granting his tongue entrance like your wet pussy had granted entrance to his cock.

Damien devoured your mouth with a hard, wet kiss. His hips pistoned a bit faster and harder into you, hitting spots no finger of yours could ever reach. You both moaned into each other's mouths, your fingernails clawed into his shirt and back and held you tight.

In search for air, he pulled away from your lips but kept fucking you into the warming marble, your face twisted in delicious extasy for him. The colors on the windows reflected over your bodies so beautifully, convincing you that God did not mind if His house was used for something like this.

“God, you are just perfect… Your pretty pussy, pretty face… pretty body.” Damien panted as his hips continued to move into you, truly and dedicatedly making love to you.

“My perfect girl…” He cooed before burying his face into the crevice of your neck, leaving hot kisses on the skin. “I’m not gonna last much longer… You feel too good..” He groaned into your neck, nipping at it a bit. Of all sins he was committing on that altar, lying was not one of them. His hip thrusts did get a little sloppier, his release came closer and closer each second and his kisses to your neck became much more desperate, as if he tried to ground himself.

You moaned at the feeling, overwhelmed by the sheer realization that all your dreams and fantasies had come true. The man you had always loved and thought about daily for years was on the brink of an orgasm in your sweet little cunt and giving you pleasure.

He moved away from the skin of your neck and looked into your eyes, his almost rolled back but he fought for control.

“Jesus, I’m gonna come…” He whined a bit, his thrusts getting slower by the second, and before you both knew it, and perhaps as a little punishment by Christ Himself for using his name in such a filthy sentence, Damien actually came. His eyes squeezed shut and everything spilled deep in your cunt just as quick as it had started.

He gently lowered his forehead to yours, the last bits of his thick cum seeping out of his cock with a few more pulsations, leaving him out of breath.

“Woah…” He whispered in disbelief after a minute of basking in the afterglow of his orgasm. “I’ve never felt anything that intense in my life…” He admitted, nuzzling his nose against yours and making you smile. A soft kiss followed suit along with a loving caress to your cheek.

“It felt so good when you finished inside me.” Shyness had no place in you now that his cum was dripping out of you, but it still managed to make its way into your voice. He found it absolutely adorable.

“Same for me..” He admitted. Carefully, he pulled back, his now softened cock out of you. He groaned at the sight of himself covered in both of you, he spread your legs open just to get a good look at what he had done to you.

“Oh…” He breathed out, admiring your puffy cunt and the way his semen dripped out of you and tainted the marble surface “Jesus…” Damien was marveled, Jesus nailed up high probably wasn’t. Still, something stirred in Damien, and the way he licked his lips foreshadowed just what it was.

“What's wrong?” You whispered, unease finding you again.

“Nothing… I've just never seen something so erotic… My cum dripping out of you… Looks unreal…” Damien was still out of breath, his cock twitched and threatened to get hard again just from the sight. His words,while flattering and loved, made you realize just how exposed you were. Suddenly, the detailed eyes of all the glass art apostles were very much pointed towards you. Looking at Damien was the only thing that reassured you of just how beautiful and right this was.

Without another word, Damien he leaned his head down, arms hooking around your thighs as he dived into your pussy. You gasped loudly, his tongue swiped easily across your leaking hole. You heard and felt him groan at the taste of both of you mixed together on his tongue.

Your hand immediately found his soft brown hair, gripping it for leverage as you arched your back into his mouth. Obscene, sinful slurping sounds came from him, and moans came from you. Nothing could have ever prepared you for this, it was maddening.

He hummed into your pussy, communion happening right between your thighs as he devoured your flesh and drank you both. He was like a starved man, and your pussy was the purest manna.

“Damien… Oh-oh my God…” Blasphemies poured from your lips in the form of lovely cries, your eyes were on the vaulted ceiling as if the hand of God had torn the skies open in front of you. It was the first time in this very church that you actually felt a religious experience.

Damien’s tongue slowed down a bit, moving slowly against you before stopping and slowly pulling back. He looked at you, his face completely flushed and so proud of himself.

“Woah…” You whispered, completely astonished.

“Just looked so good… And we had to clean you up anyway, baby…” He whispered sensually, his hand softly rubbed your inner thigh and he leaned in for one last slow kiss. You could taste the faint mixture of your fluids on his tongue, it made your head reel. When he pulled away, he took your breath with him.

“I need to have my girl again before I leave… Meet here at the same time tomorrow night?” He asked, hopeful. You smiled, catching your breath.

“Of course…” You whispered, filling his eyes with love and excitement. With his hands holding your face so preciously, and in front of God Himself, Damien repeated an earlier statement that was the whole truth…

“I always knew you were the only one for me…”

Pinterest moodboard so you can visualize this fic. Made by @fuckiingloser!

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy characters #damien o'donovan #damien odonovan #the wind that shakes the barley #the wind that shakes the barley fanfic #damien o'donovan smut #damien odonovan smut #fanfic

226 notes · View notes

what-even-is-thiss · 2 years ago

Text

Tips from a former English major and English TA:

Reading the text actually does help you in the class believe it or not and we can tell when you haven’t read it. Sometimes we’re just too tired to call you out on it. Your awkward silence in class speaks volumes.

That being said, if you don’t have time because life happens read at least two different summaries or analysis pages online. Preferably more. One source will rarely mention everything your teacher asks you about.

Other tricks include reading the last sentence of every paragraph or reading every other page

The reason you’re being forced to take an English class when you’re not an English major is to help you come up with arguments when there’s no strict data set to follow and no one correct answer. If your school allows for alternatives to this sort of category like film analysis or art history that you think you’d like better, take it. The goal of GE classes is to turn you into a well rounded and educated person. Not to torture you.

If you’re reading works in translation and don’t want to take the time to learn the language but you also want to get a more accurate idea of the nuances of the original language, read three different translations of the work and compare them. Reading translators notes and reviews of translations by experts is also helpful. In some more rarely translated works translators notes and reviews may be all you have to work off of.

When you’re writing a literary essay you’re entering an ongoing conversation that’s been going on since writing has existed. A tradition that’s existed since before Aristotle. And you’re just as smart as that guy. Add something to the conversation. Participate. Bigger idiots than you have done it.

Chat gbt is really bad at literary analysis and often gets facts wrong. We can tell when you use it.

Everyone has different levels of understanding of the history of literature even within the professional world. People specialize for a reason. Nobody is expecting you to have read everything. An expert in medieval Irish literature isn’t going to have read the same things as an expert in post-colonial west African literature who won’t have read the same things as a general expert in contemporary Asian literature. Being “well-read” is subjective and means something different to everyone. English classes often show you where to start and how to research stuff related to literature and analysis. Especially if you are an English major it’s easy to get overwhelmed early on but you get used to accepting that you can’t know everything. And that’s fine. Just focus on finding your niche. Or maybe you don’t have one and just want to sample everything. Or maybe you’re just here for general knowledge. That’s fine too.

706 notes · View notes

harrywavycurly · 3 months ago

Text

There’s No Rush: Hey You

Masterlist: Here

CW: Language and shyness that causes minor anxiety issues

A/N: Harry is a gossip queen in this and I feel like he is a menace but also helpful? Hope y’all enjoy!🎶

Tag List: @isinpfortvdmen @cumuluscranium @justagirlthatlovedtoread @secretisme4 @sweetmoonlove0214 @jerseygirlinca @christianaevans @purplekimijks @thislilmindofmine @jane-blogs04 @latedirectionerera

Summary: Harry learns Niall hasn’t texted you yet and takes matters into his own hands🎶

It’s been four days since the wedding and for some reason Niall just can’t find it within himself to make use of the number Harry typed in his phone before their set during the reception. Now it’s not because he doesn’t want to talk to you, it’s mainly because he doesn’t know how you’ll handle him just reaching out to you when you weren’t the one to give him your number. In his mind it could go one of two ways, the first one being you don’t care and are just happy to hear from him while the second is the one he feels is more likely to happen and that’s you just playing nice and acting as if it’s no big deal how he got your number while in reality you feel as if your privacy has somehow been invaded by an annoying brunette Irish guy with pretty blue eyes. This is all very new territory because normally Niall wouldn’t think twice about texting a number of someone he’s interested in even if he got it from a third party, but with you he feels as if he needs to be very careful so he doesn’t make you uncomfortable and possibly ruin all his chances of just getting to know you more.

Niall stares at his phone for a moment before tossing it onto the coffee table with a sigh, Harry raises his eyebrow from where he’s sat in the swivel chair across the room from him with a guitar in his lap.

“Girl issues?” Harry asks as he mindlessly begins to pluck at the strings on the instrument in his hands. When Niall doesn’t respond he lets out a chuckle as he gives his friend a sympathetic look. “Is Pinky already making you anxious with how long it takes her to respond to your texts? Because that’s just how she is don’t take it-”

“I haven’t texted her.”

“I’m sorry wh-what?” Harry’s brows furrow as he stares at Niall who just lets out a frustrated sigh while running a hand over his face as he leans back into the cushion of the couch he’s sitting on.

“I don’t want to freak her out I mean what if she didn’t want me to have her number and then I text her and she just isn’t mean enough to tell me to fuck off?”

“First off even if she was the one who gave you her number she’d still freak out the moment you text her for the first time so just let that shit go.” Harry explains as he gently places the guitar on the stand next to his chair. “Secondly if she doesn’t want to talk to you she’ll just block you. So she doesn’t have to tell you to fuck off she will let the unmistakable shift of blue to green text bubbles do it for her.” He adds while standing up brushing his hands off on his jeans before taking a step towards the piano that’s on the wall near the door of the small studio.

“She’ll block me? That’s-”

“Harsh? Yeah a little. But for her it’s easier than having to deal with any possibility of a confrontation.”

“Oh that-that makes sense.” Niall says with a nod as he eyes the device on the coffee table. Harry looks at him over his shoulder and watches Niall chew on his bottom lip while staring at his phone but when his friend just stands up to grab the guitar he uses during most writing sessions like the one him and Harry are currently in the middle of, Harry can’t help but roll his eyes.

“For fuck sake.” He mumbles as he quickly turns and tosses his legs over the bench seat in front of the piano so he can reach over and grab Niall’s phone off the coffee table. “Must I always have to do everything myself?” He whispers as he types in Niall’s extremely easy to guess password and begins typing away, hitting send on a text message with a smile on his face before locking the device and tossing it back on the table.

“What did-”

“Oh relax I was just checking the time.” Harry answers when Niall walks back over to the couch with a questioning glare on his face as his eyes go from the phone on the table that now has a lit up screen but no new notifications that would make it light up, over to Harry who is giving off very guilty vibes.

“Yer so full of shit mate.” Niall says with a laugh making Harry just shrug before turning back around to face the piano.

“Yeah you’re right. I did take a look at your deleted photos and when exactly did you become a mirror selfie at the gym type of dude? I mean really it’s-”

“Oh piss off you twat I don’t take mirror pics at the bloody gym that would be you.”

“Gotta show off the pump when it’s fresh Horan everyone knows that.”

“Right whatever you say H. Let’s get back to writing yeah? Ya know what we actually came here to do?”Harry has a smug smile on his face as he successfully gets Niall to change the subject, letting him know he doesn’t suspect anything odd having happened during the short few minutes he had his back turned to Harry and his phone.

You see your phone light up out of the corner of your eye making your fingers pause as they hover above your keyboard, when you reach over and grab the device you feel your brows pinch together as a text from an unknown number is displayed on your lock screen. As you stare at the message the mystery number sent you try to think of anyone that you might’ve given your number to recently, the only person that flashes in your mind has your cheeks getting warm as you remember the way they smiled at you and how their piercing blue eyes seemed to be able to calm your nerves while making your heart race at the same time. But you don’t remember Niall asking for your number and you know for a fact you didn’t dare to ask him for his so that leaves you empty handed on who this person could be so you just swipe the notification away, deciding to deal with it later as you place your phone back on the side of your desk so you can finish typing up an email.

“Pinky! Tell me what- what are you doing right now?” You let out a huff as you take a seat on your couch having just gotten home from work not even ten minutes ago when your phone started ringing.

“Uhm sitting on my couch about to-”

“About to buzz me in? Is that what you were about to say?” Harry asks and you can tell even through the phone that he has a playful grin on his face, you raise an eyebrow as you get up and walk over to your window that faces the street your apartment is on. “Hi!” He shouts as you see him take a step away from the call box and give you a dramatic wave once he sees you standing in your window.

“Harry wha-what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean what am I doing here? I’m here to see you and if you want I’ll even make dinner.” Harry knows the moment he offers to make dinner that you’re going to buzz him in.

It’s something he learned about you back in college, sometimes you don’t have the energy to make yourself something more than a bowl of cereal for dinner so when Harry would drop by on an unannounced or even a preplanned visit he would often find himself digging around in your pantry to find something suitable for you to eat not liking the idea of you surviving off of milk and cheerios. It’s during those times that you would make a spot on a stool and watch him cook while he went on about the newest gossip you’ve missed out on within the friend group or when he’d ask for advice on things he doesn’t really want anyone else to know about that the two of you really began to become close friends. So when he watches you walk away from the window he walks up to the door and smiles when he hears the loud sound of the buzzer unlocking it, he quickly tells you goodbye before hanging up the phone.

“Hiya Pinky.” You find yourself laughing as Harry wraps his arms around you pulling you into a tight hug as soon as you open the door for him. “Missed you.” He mumbles into the top of your head before pulling away just enough so he can get a good look at you.

“I just saw you at the wedding.” You joke making him let out a scoff as you try to unwrap your arms from around him but Harry isn’t having it so he just pulls you back into him and tightens his hold around you.

“That was four days ago Pinky that’s-that’s like a lifetime if we were dogs.”

“Well we aren’t dogs so it was still just four days and aren’t you busy with music and-”

“I’m never too busy for my Pinky.” He says shushing you with a gentle rock back and forth as he smooshes your cheek into his warm chest making you laugh at how truly dramatic Harry can be but you also know he means it, he would drop everything for you if you ever needed him to.

“Will you really make dinner?” You ask suddenly enjoying the fact he can’t really see your face since he has it tucked into his chest. You feel your cheeks get hot as your anxiety starts to creep back up, even though you know Harry and he’s the one who offered to do it you still don’t like asking people for things because you get worried you’ll upset them or make them feel pressured into doing whatever you asked them for.

“Of course I will.” He quickly answers when he can feel your sudden shift in mood, his hands running up and down your back to help soothe your anxieties he knows you’re beginning to get over having asked him about cooking. “Can’t have you eating pop tarts and Cinnamon Toast Crunch for dinner.” He jokes making you let out a groan causing him to chuckle as he unwraps his arms from around you and places them on the tops of your shoulders.

“I don’t even have any pop tarts.” You quietly mumble as you take a small step back so you can look up at him. He smiles down at you before he’s turning you around and giving you a small push towards your kitchen.

“Thank god because I’d have to toss them all in the bin because you know how I feel about those disgusting things.” You let out a laugh as his hold on your shoulders loosens as you let him walk you into the kitchen. “Now be a good Pinky and take a seat and fill me in on everything I’ve missed in the last four days.”

“Not a lot? I don’t really do anything exciting.”

“Since when? Aren’t you the one who I had to save from almost nose diving into a fountain in Vegas because the water looked pretty?”

“I was-was very uhm drunk Harry and it was for a bachelorette party that doesn’t-”

“Drunk or not it was pretty exciting. Now really what’s new? Any drama at work? Oh is that Dexter bloke still-”

“Oh you just reminded me.” Harry raises an eyebrow as you walk off towards the coffee table to retrieve your phone before walking back into the kitchen area and getting comfortable on a barstool. “Someone texted me while I was at work but I-I don’t know the number.” You explain as Harry pulls out a pot to fill with water once he eyes a box of spaghetti noodles next to a jar of sauce in your pantry.

“And what did this random number say?” He asks as you open your phone so you can look at your texts and find the message.

“Uhm they said hey you with a smiley face emoji.”

“Hey you? Really?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you say back to that?” He questions while he looks over his shoulder and he’s glad you’re not looking at him because he knows you’d be able to tell he’s hiding something with the way he’s chewing on his bottom lip.

“Nothing I was about to just block it.”

“What? No.” You jump a bit when Harry abruptly turns around and snatches your phone out of your hands before you can do anything drastic such as block the number that texted you. “You can’t just block him.”

“Him? How-how do you know it’s a him?” Harry lets out a long sigh as he places a hand on his hip while the other still holds your phone.

“Because I might know who it is.” A sly smirk works its way onto Harry’s face as you stare at him with wide eyes. “And I’ll be more than happy to tell you who it is if you promise me something first.” Harry’s eyes narrow in on you as he holds your phone out for you to take back.

“What is it?” Your voice is shaky as your mind races with all the possibilities of the random and odd things Harry could want you to promise him before he reveals who the unknown number belongs to.

“You have to actually try to get to know him okay? None of that blocking and deleting because you don’t know what to say or because you feel like you’re annoying him.”

“O-Okay.” You nod as you reach out and take your phone out of Harry’s hand feeling as if that’s a very Harry like request to make but it must mean he knows you at least kinda like the person that the number belongs to or he wouldn’t make you promise such a thing.

“It’s Niall Horan.”

“Ni-Niall Horan the-the one from the wedding?”

“By the one from the wedding do you mean the hot blue eyed Irish dude who was all heart eyes over you?”

“Heart-heart eyes? N-no no no that’s-”

“Yes Pinky it’s Niall from the wedding.” Harry says with a laugh as he turns around to go back to his pot so he can add the pasta to the now boiling water. “Now just take a few deep breathes and text him back.” His voice is playful but has a certain sternness to it that lets you know he’s being serious so you do as he says and take a deep breath and slowly let it out through your nose, already feeling your heart start to beat at a more normal pace.

“How did he get my number?” You notice the way Harry’s smooth movements around your kitchen falter ever so slightly as the salt shaker nearly falls out of his hands and into the pot holding the pasta sauce.

“Uhm well you see-I sort of gave it to him.” He answers with his back facing you.

“Harry Ed-”

“Now now there’s no need for the full government name Pinky.” You let out a huff as Harry turns around so he’s facing you as he tosses a dishrag over his shoulder. “He was nervous about asking for it so I just gave it to him because well forgive me if I read the signs wrong but,” he pauses as he takes a few steps so he can place his hands on the counter that you’re sitting at. “I thought you two hit it off but if I made a mistake I’m sorry and if you really don’t want to talk to him then by all means block him.” You look down at your phone and rub your lips together as you listen to Harry’s reasoning for giving Niall your number.

Harry can practically see the wheels in your mind spinning around trying to come to terms with the fact Niall wanted your number. He knows you’re not used to or really comfortable with this kind of attention so he leans over the counter and reaches his hands out and gently wraps them around your wrists so he can give them a small squeeze helping you stay in the moment and not get lost in your thoughts. When you look up at him you let out another deep calming breath making Harry smile and copy you so you don’t feel like you’re the only one who needs to calm down a bit and the truth is you’re not, because Harry is a little on edge knowing that Niall has no idea his phone even sent you a text so when you text him back he will be shocked and confused but Harry can only deal with one thing at a time and right now it’s making sure you’re not panicking.

“So-so what should I say?” You ask in almost a whisper since Harry is so close you don’t feel the need to speak any louder. Harry gives your wrists one more little squeeze with his hands before letting them go and placing them back on the counter as he stands up so he’s no longer leaning over it.

“Just keep it simple. Start with hey.”

“With an emoji like he sent me?”

“You don’t use emojis.”

“Well yeah bu-but he sent me one.”

“So? Don’t go changing just for a boy Pinky you’re fine the way you are and that includes your lack of emoji use in texts.” Harry states before turning around and going back to his spot in front of the stove. You can’t help but smile to yourself at Harry’s words, his delivery may be a little off sometimes but he does always seem to know exactly what to say to get you to feel sure of yourself.

You lick your lips as you stare down at your screen, your thumbs hovering over the lit up keyboard as you try not to overthink and just type out the three little letters that make up a simple greeting that goes along just fine with the one he sent you. But then you get to the punctuation, should you send it with a period? Is that too relaxed? But surely an exclamation point is too loud for just saying hey? And a question mark is out of the question so before you can sink further into the overwhelming amount of options you hit send, not bothering with any type of punctuation.

“I did it.” You say with a heavy sigh making Harry chuckle as he turns to look at you over your shoulder.

“M’proud of you Pinky.” You smile and feel your cheeks get hot as you look over at Harry who shoots you a playful wink before looking back to the sauce that’s starting to bubble. “Now will you be a doll and get some bowls and forks please? Dinner is almost ready.”

It doesn’t take Niall long to figure out how the hell he randomly receives a text from a number he’s had for four days but hasn’t done anything with, Harry did something while he had his phone earlier. Normally it would make him mad knowing one of his friends messed around on his phone while he wasn’t looking, he’d feel as if it was a total invasion of his privacy but in this case Niall is a little glad Harry took things into his own hands because he’s not sure how long he’d actually go until he swallowed down his nerves and reached out to you. So as he stares at his phone and sees a simple greeting pop up on his lock screen with your contact name he just smiles before realizing he actually needs to say something back to you.

“Fuck.” He mumbles to himself as he runs a hand through his hair, this wouldn’t be a big deal if he knew what exactly Harry said to you to start this whole conversation off but that lanky friend of his is smart and deleted the conversation after sending you the secret text. Niall doesn’t want to embarrass himself so he just types out the most natural response and hopes it will do and that you don’t just immediately decide to block him.

“Please don’t think m’a fuckin weirdo.” He whispers as he runs a hand over his face after hitting send and tossing his phone onto his coffee table. But when not even a minute later he hears his phone ding his hands are fumbling to grab the device and when he sees a new text from you he can’t help but let a grin take over as he leans back and gets comfortable on his couch deciding that dinner can wait because he much rather be sitting here talking to you even if it is through a phone screen, for now.

59 notes · View notes

corrupte3d-mindz · 1 year ago

Text

Falling on deaf ears

Cillian Murphy x F! Partially Deaf Reader

Summary: Cillian talks about how life is like with his partially deaf partner during an interview.

Wordcount: 2.2k

Cillian Murphy sat down in the plush chair, the bright lights of the studio reflecting off his sharp cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. Despite the intensity of his gaze, there was a softness about him today.

The interview had taken an unexpected turn from his work on the "Dark Knight" trilogy to a more personal subject – his partner, whom he had met during the filming of "Batman Begins" in 2005. She was the partially deaf character in a certain scene and wore a hearing aid, a fact that had recently piqued the curiosity of his fans.

When the interviewer broached the subject, Cillian’s demeanor shifted slightly. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together, his Irish lilt carrying warmth and sincerity. “Aye, we met on the set of ‘Batman Begins’,” he began, a small smile playing on his lips as he recalled the memory. “It was all a bit of a whirlwind, ya know? She was just an extra in a scene with me, and there was just... somethin’ about her that caught my eye straight away.”

The interviewer leaned in, intrigued. “What was it about her that stood out to you?”

Cillian’s eyes sparkled as he spoke. “It was the way she carried herself, with such confidence and grace. And then, of course, her laugh. It was contagious.” He chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to fill the room. “But more than that, it was her resilience. She’s partially deaf, wears a hearin’ aid, and yet, she never lets it define her or hold her back. She’s one of the strongest people I know.”

As he spoke, Cillian’s face softened, and it was clear how deeply he cared for her. “Ya know, she’s taught me so much about life, about listenin’ – truly listenin’ – and about bein’ patient. Communication is key in our relationship, and we’ve found our own ways to connect and understand each other.”

The interviewer asked how her partial deafness affected their day-to-day lives. Cillian paused, choosing his words carefully.

“Well, we’ve got our routines, of course. We make sure to face each other when we’re talkin’, especially in noisy environments. I’ve learned a bit of sign language, though she can read lips quite well. It’s all about makin’ small adjustments to ensure she feels included and understood.”

“Has her condition changed your perspective on anything?” the interviewer inquired.

“Aye, absolutely,” Cillian replied, his tone thoughtful. “It’s opened my eyes to the challenges faced by those with hearin’ impairments. I’ve become much more aware of how society can often overlook the needs of the deaf and hard of hearing. It’s made me more empathetic and more vocal about the need for better accessibility and awareness.”

The conversation shifted to his fans’ reactions. “They’ve been very supportive,” Cillian noted, a hint of pride in his voice. “I think they appreciate seein’ a different side of me, one that’s not just the characters I play on screen. And they’re genuinely interested in her and our life together, which is heartenin’.”

When asked about balancing his career and personal life, Cillian sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “It’s not always easy, I’ll admit. The film industry is demanding, and there are times when I’m away for long periods. But we make it work. We make sure to communicate every day, and when I’m home, we cherish our time together. It’s all about findin’ that balance.”

The interviewer then touched on future plans. Cillian’s eyes lit up at the question. “We’ve got lots of plans, but the most important thing is just bein’ together and supportin’ each other. We’re passionate about advocatin’ for better hearin’ health awareness and workin’ with organizations that support the deaf community. It’s become a cause very close to our hearts.”

As the interview wrapped up, Cillian was asked to describe his partner in a few words. He smiled, a look of pure affection crossing his face. “She’s remarkable, resilient, and absolutely amazin’. I’m lucky to have her in my life.”

With that, the interview concluded, leaving the audience with a glimpse into the heart of Cillian Murphy, not just as an actor but as a devoted partner. His words, delivered with an unmistakable Irish charm, painted a vivid picture of a love story that had grown stronger with time, marked by understanding, support, and a shared commitment to making the world a better place for everyone, regardless of their abilities.

Cillian stepped out of the studio into the crisp evening air, his mind still buzzing from the intense interview. As he walked to his car, the city’s sounds faded into the background, replaced by a warm anticipation to hear her voice. He reached into his pocket, feeling the familiar contours of his phone, and pressed her contact.

“Aye, love,” he began, his voice softening with affection as soon as she answered. “I just got done with the interview, and I’ll be home in about fifteen minutes.”

He leaned against the car, the cold metal pressing through his coat, grounding him. His blue eyes softened, the sternness often seen on-screen replaced by a tenderness reserved only for her. He could almost picture her smile, the way her eyes would light up when she heard his voice. It never ceased to amaze him how her presence, even over the phone, could calm the whirlwind in his mind.

“How was yer day?” he asked, genuinely interested. He knew she had an appointment earlier to adjust her hearing aid, and he was eager to hear how it went.

As she began to respond, he listened intently, his mind painting a vivid picture of her sitting in their cozy living room, perhaps with a book or one of her beloved plants. He could hear the subtle shifts in her voice, the way she tried to downplay any discomfort. His brow furrowed slightly in concern, but he kept his tone light, not wanting to worry her.

“Did it go alright then, the appointment?” he probed gently, hoping she’d open up about it. His accent, a rich Irish lilt, wrapped around the words, carrying a comforting familiarity.

She assured him it was fine, but he knew her well enough to detect the slight hesitation. He made a mental note to talk about it more when he got home. For now, he wanted to keep the conversation light, to make her laugh.

“Ye wouldn’t believe the questions they asked me today,” he chuckled, recounting some of the more absurd ones. “One lad wanted to know if I ever wear my Peaky Blinders cap at home.”

Her laughter, though soft, was music to his ears, a soothing balm to the day’s pressures. He grinned, imagining her shaking her head in amused disbelief.

“Ah, love, I miss ye already,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. The longing in his tone was palpable, the fifteen-minute drive seeming like an eternity. “I’ll be home soon, alright?”

They exchanged a few more words, their conversation peppered with the easy familiarity of long-term partners. He reassured her he’d drive safely and promised to pick up her favorite takeaway on the way home. As he ended the call and slid into the driver’s seat, he couldn’t help but think about the look in her eyes whenever he walked through the door. The way she would light up, her whole face radiating warmth. It was a look that made every grueling hour on set worth it, that made every probing interview bearable.

Starting the car, he drove through the city streets, his thoughts still lingering on her. The world outside blurred, each stoplight and street sign a mere backdrop to the vivid memories of her laughter, her touch, the way she always knew just what to say to ground him.

“Fifteen minutes,” he muttered to himself, accelerating slightly, eager to close the distance between them. “Just fifteen minutes.”

As Cillian turned the final corner and his shared home came into view, a warm, almost boyish smile crept across his face. The modest, yet elegant house stood bathed in the soft light of the late afternoon, shadows lengthening across the lawn. His eyes immediately found her, his partner, sitting serenely on the front porch, a steaming cup of coffee cradled in her hands. The sight of her, relaxed and content, seemed to ease the day’s accumulated tension from his shoulders.

He parked the car in the garage, the familiar scent of oil and metal mingling with the faint aroma of her favorite jasmine flowers, which she had planted meticulously along the driveway. As he stepped out and locked the car, the solid click of the door echoed in the quietness of the suburban street. Cillian paused for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, savoring the comforting smell of home.

The garage door groaned slightly as it shut, but the sound was barely noticeable to him. He walked towards the porch, his pace quickening with each step. The gravel crunched under his feet, and he could see her lift her head slightly, sensing his presence. Her face lit up with a smile that always felt like a beacon guiding him home.

“Hey, love,” he called out, his Irish brogue softening the words. The warmth in his voice was unmistakable, a blend of affection and relief.

She saw him and held up a finger and pointed to her missing hearing aid, then fishing in her pockets and pulling it out and putting it back on. She tanned to take hearing breaks when she wasn’t feeling her one hundred percent.

She turned to him, her eyes twinkling with the same joy. “Hey yourself,” she replied, her voice carrying a gentle melody that always soothed him.

Without missing a beat, Cillian opened his arms wide, and in a few swift strides, he was on the porch, lifting her effortlessly from her seat. She let out a surprised laugh, her coffee nearly spilling as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He held her close, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair mixed with the faint aroma of coffee. It was a scent he associated with comfort and home.

“I missed ya,” he murmured into her ear, his accent thickening with the raw emotion of the moment. There was a slight tremble in his voice, a sign of the unspoken worries and stresses that evaporated in her presence.

She pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, her smile softening. “I missed you too, Cill. How was your day?”

He sighed, the sound heavy with unspoken thoughts. “Long. But seein’ you here makes it all worth it.” His eyes, usually so guarded, were now open and vulnerable, reflecting the depth of his feelings.

As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world around them seemed to fade away. The distant hum of a car, the chirping of birds, and even the rustling of leaves became mere background noise to their shared moment. Cillian gently set her back down on the porch, but kept his arms around her waist, reluctant to let go.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Good. Now, how about we go inside and watch a movie or somethin’..”

With a nod and a smile, she took his hand, leading him towards the door. Cillian glanced back at the porch, the place where he had found her waiting for him, a sanctuary of peace after a day of chaos. As they stepped inside, the familiar creak of the door and the warmth of their home enveloped them, and Cillian couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. No matter how demanding the world outside could be, he knew that in her arms, he had found his true haven.

Author’s Notes:

I had this idea come to me while almost falling asleep, literally jumped out of my bed and started writing. Plus i’m also partially deaf as well.

93 notes · View notes

retrospacejelly · 1 year ago

Text

A Western Tension

Pairing: Ex-outlaw!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: While eating a homemade meal in what feels like ages, Miguel learns about Y/N’s rocky past.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Guns, Mentions of the devil’s tango, typical cowboy things, language

Part: 2/?

Part: 1, 2, 2 1/2, 3

Not proofread

A/N: This is part two of A Western Romance! I had this idea brewing for a while, and character AI helped push the plot! (Thank you Monstera for letting me expand on the plot!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once inside her small home, she sets the clothes basket by the kitchen table. She pats her hands on her skirt, “I have Chili Verde that’s still warm. That work for ya?” she asks, walking towards the pot sitting over a small fire.

“Yes ma’am” is his reply, walking over to the washbin, wiping them with a cloth draped against its side. He then sits at the table, looking around. He notices the pictures framed on the wall. Your family, it looks like. And, no spouse. He smiles to himself.

His gaze goes over to where Y/N stands over the pot, scooping the meal into a bowl.

“Smells damn good, sugar.”

“Why thank you.” She pauses after setting the bowl down with a spoon in front of him. “I never did catch your name by the way…”

He gives a nod, just now realizing he never got yours too. He lets out a small cough.

“It’s Miguel. Miguel O’Hara,” he says. He takes a breath, hoping you don’t recognize the name.

She nods. “O’Hara…Irish father?”

He nods as he takes a spoonful of food. Y/N sits down in the chair next to his, resting her head in her hand.

“Yeah, him an’ his family migrated hear years before I was born. He fell in love with my mother, a maid on his father’s ranch.”

Y/N smiles softly as he recalls his parents' past.

“However, I get my physical attributes from my mother’s side. Tall, dark an’ handsome. You know the deal.”

She chuckles at his words, shaking her head. “Yea, handsome. I got that.”

And suddenly, “Bet ya got a nice little wife to run home to then, huh?”.

…

She covers her mouth, surprised at her sudden comment. Looking at her through his dark lashes, he chuckles quietly.

“You tryin’ to ask me somethin’? But no, Babydoll. I’m as free as a bird. Never really one to settle down.”

“Mn, that’s what my father said. Now he’s living out his days on a nice chunk a’ land. Lovin' up on my mother.”

He takes another bite of food, shrugging.

“He’s one of the lucky ones. Plenty a’ fellas out there that don’t get lucky ‘nough to find a nice lady to settle down with. End up bein’ lonely, and stuck with someone they can’t stand till death do ‘em part.”

Y/N stays silent for a moment, taking in his words. She can’t help but let her shoulders sag.

“Yea, heard that too many times.”

Miguel notices her change in appearance but chooses to not bring it up. “What about you, huh? Got a beau, Sugar?”

She sits up, not meeting his gaze. “Well, I did. But the coward ran off with some Hussy after I pulled a gun on ‘em. Found out real quick that sleeping with another woman was the biggest mistake of his life.”

Well. So much for not bringing it up.

He laughs loudly, amused by your confession. “Someone sure is a real firecracker, huh?”

“How would you feel if the supposed love of your life was beddin’ another? And in your bedroom no less!” She exclaims.

He doesn’t seem fazed by her outburst. “I’d be angry, sure, but I don’t know if I’d go as far as to pull my gun on ‘em for it. I’m not as hot-headed as you, darlin’ “.

She rolls her eyes, “Not all people are lucky to have good looks.”

Miguel gives her a look, his eyes narrowing. “What’s that got to do with any o’ this, Baby doll?”

She looks down, now clasping her hands together. The smooth grooves of the wooden table suddenly became very intriguing.

“I didn’t really care much about my appearance growing up. My father grew up with no sisters and six brothers, so he was a little lost when it came to raisin’ me. Still wanting to be involved in my life, he raised me like he would a boy, so dresses ‘n frilly lace never piqued my interest.”

She takes a breath, continuing.

“That no good cheater, Thomas, was a ranch hand for my father and the only other kid my age. We have been pretty much friends since childhood. When we turned eighteen years of age, he professed his love for me and proposed.” She smiles sadly.

“I was over the moon. I was certain no man would ever look my way, ya know, with the way I dressed and acted. And after…after he cheated and I ran him out my home after I started dressin’ in dresses ‘n bein’ more ladylike, I have yet to find myself a good husband. I put walls ‘round me for a reason. Women don’t like getting their hearts hurt.”

Miguel’s expression softens, wanting nothing more than to hold you close. You poor thing. He thought you were breathtaking. He liked that you could fend for yourself. He reaches for her hand, taking it into his own. She sucks in a breath.

“So, you’re jaded from that. Ya got your walls up, and you expect men to show up and climb over ‘em to try and get to you.”

She laughs, sadly. “None of ‘em try anyhow.”

“Looks ain’t everythin’ Baby doll. Just cause some fella’s easy on the eyes, doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy. Can’t always judge a man just by lookin’ at ‘em. You gotta give ‘em a chance.

Y/N nods, not pulling away from his touch. “Same goes for us ladies too. Guess word of me pullin’ a gun on an unfaithful man scared the rest off.”

He snorts, tilting his head. “Probably did. Not many men want to tangle with a wildcat like you, honey.”

Wanting to continue the conversation, Y/N closes her mouth, just now realizing how tired she’s become. She smiles. “I’ll show ya’ to your room if you’re done eating.”

Surprised by the sudden change in topic, he quietly nods and brings the now-empty bowl and spoon to a different wash basin where other dishes sit soaking in the water.

She starts towards the guest bedroom, and he follows close behind her. Stopping in front of a door, she turns to look up at him.

“Here’s the room. If you need to relieve yourself, there’s a bathhouse just at the end o’ the hall.”.

Miguel opens the door, scanning the room. “Pretty bare, but I guess Il’ do.” he jokes, looking back at her.

Y/N smiles at his joke, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Glad it works for ya. ‘Night.” she says, turning to retire to her own room. His smile falls, itching to reach out to her.

“Hold on one second, Lil’ Miss. You ain’t just gonna turn ‘round an’ walk away from now, are ya?”.

She sighs dramatically, “Oh I usually wouldn’t leave ya on your lonesome, but you have work to do tomorrow. Ya ain’t outta the woods yet.” she replies snarkily.

He smirks. “Oh, I ain’t too worried ‘bout fixin’ up that fence o’ yours. We still got plenty o’ time tonight, Princessa.”. He takes a step forward, leaning in. “Why you tryna avoid me all o’ sudden, hm?”

Y/N’s face flushes, and she can’t meet his gaze. “I jus’ want to retire for the night. Problem?”.

“Ya’ sure ‘bout that, sugar?”

She nods quickly, “Pretty positive.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You are on stubborn thing, ain’t ya?”. He leans in more, practically chest to chest with Y/N. She can feel his breath on her lips. His…very…kissable lips…

Without a word, she steps back and turns, quickly walking to her room. Before she shuts the door, he speaks again.

“Where you goin’ darlin’? Weren’t you sayin’ you were aimin’ to get some sleep?”

She lets out a huff. “Yeah, in my room.” The sound of her door slamming shut echoes throughout the hallway.

______________________________________________________________

Reach out if you want to be on my taglist!

@codenameredkrystalmatrix

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara #for you #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel atsv #miguel 2099 #cowboy #wild west

58 notes · View notes

murtagh-thorn · 7 days ago

Text

Dark Legacies Part IV: A Dangerous Dance

Pairing: eventual Murtagh x Fem!Rider!Reader Summary: Your lessons with Murtagh and Thorn begin - although concentrating is more difficult than you anticipated. Warnings: canon typical violence, dueling, sparring. A/N: thank you to @0blkm for the sword name suggestion and @writinginatree for the Selena teaching Murtagh to love storms suggestion!

This is a series of one shots and drabbles that all take place in the same universe, about six years after the events of Inheritance. They'll be listed in chronological order in my Dark Legacies masterlist. There is a timekeeping system at the top of each fic/page break with "Ground Zero/Year 0" being the year of Gormlaith's birth, again about six years after the events of Inheritance, and going up from there.

PSA: Gormlaith is an Irish name (meaning “illustrious princess”) pronounced GORM-lah.

Comments, reblogs, and kudos are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

***

Year 1

Gormlaith roared half-heartedly beneath you as the pair of you crested the mountain just enough to see Thorn and Murtagh sitting near the edge. Normally, the flat shelf high in the clouds was where you met Eragon and Saphira for your daily one-on-one lessons, but he’d decided to delegate three days a week to his brother instead.

Murtagh sat within Thorn’s curled up torso. He stood and took a few steps closer to the edge just as his dragon lifted his head to trill back. Your heart skipped a beat as you drew closer and could make out his features more clearly.

Gormlaith landed in a whoosh of wind and ground-shaking impact that made Murtagh stumble slightly. Thorn growled out a chuckle behind him and you didn’t doubt he was teasing his Rider.

“Sorry,” you said as you pulled the saddle’s lever and undid the buckles around your legs and waist. “She’s a bit, uh…” you gently patted her shoulder, unsure what word to use.

Magnificent? Gormlaith suggested. Incredible? Awe-inspiring?

“Colossal?” Murtagh suggested.

Eh, I’ll take it.

You laughed. “Might be a bit of an understatement.” Your dragon lowered her belly to the ground, sliding out a leg so you could climb down onto her knee, then hop to the ground. You made your way over to your teacher for the day, sliding your hands in your pockets and playing with your coin. “So…was there something you wanted to start with?”

The breeze blew Murtagh’s dark hair in front of his eyes as he gave you a bit of a nervous laugh and looked down at his shoes. You felt your stomach somersault and chewed on your lip to avoid making an embarrassingly starstruck expression. You felt your dragon’s amusement in your mind as she walked towards Thorn and shot her a quick glare.

“I’ve never really taught anyone before,” he continued. “I’m sure I have just as much to learn from you, to be honest. But I was thinking maybe we could start with some sparring? You held your own well against the masked men, but given your situation, I think it would be crucial to have a backup form of defense that isn’t just magic. So, I’d like to see where you’re at if that’s all right.”

You nodded, swinging your scabbard’s strap over your head before drawing the black blade. “Sounds good.” You took two long knives that were also strapped to your outer thighs and laid them on the ground next to the abandoned sheath.

Murtagh returned to Thorn’s side and drew Zar’roc from its own sheath, running his hand over the blade and murmuring a few words in the Ancient Language. “Has anyone taught you this spell yet? It’s to dull the edges so swords are safe to spar with.”

You shook your head. “Eragon and I focused mainly on the elves’ teachings and less on combat. All other sparring I’ve done is with sticks or wooden swords.”

Murtagh nodded towards your blade. “Gëuloth du knífr—it means ‘dull the knife.’”

You repeated the phrase to make sure your pronunciation was right and when he nodded, let your hand hover over your own sword, saying the words once more. You bounced it roughly against your palm and when no harm came to you, made a light slashing motion against your skin. When no visible cut formed, you let the sword fall to your side and rolled out your shoulders and cracked your neck.

Murtagh swung his arms in front of himself to similarly loosen up. “What’s your blade’s name, by the way?”

“Blakkröt.”

He nodded approvingly, glancing at the dragons where they conversed several yards away. “Black Dread.”

You smiled. Somehow dread and misery felt like a fitting combination. Sometimes, you felt unsure about the name choice, but it had felt right in the moment and now you were stuck with it.

“Most students don’t get their Riders’ blades until they’re only a year away from graduating. Has Eragon decided you’ll get to graduate next year already?”

“No,” you continued to stretch, “but with everything going on with the masked men—and especially with the last incident with Edgar—he decided it would be a good idea for me to have it.”

Murtagh frowned. “Edgar? I thought the last time you had dealings with Edgar was back when the two of you were in the sparring arena several months ago?”

You shook your head. “He was in the Egg Delegation that left me just a week ago.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Eragon assigned the two of you to a delegation together?”

You grimaced. “I think he was hoping it would help end whatever vendetta he has against me, but, um…clearly it didn’t, so…” You shrugged. “He and Gydrim have been suspended from classes for long enough that it will set back their graduation from what I hear. I think Eragon’s got him on snaglí cleaning field duty or something equally unpleasant.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All right, then.”

I wonder if I’m going to be a topic of conversation between him and Eragon later, you thought.

Thorn has made it sound as if he’s interceded on your behalf many times now, Gormlaith replied. The two of them apparently led the efforts to find us during those first six months frequently and were disappointed they couldn’t be here for our arrival.

You tried not to let your elation show as Murtagh took a fighting stance.

“Ready?”

You steeled yourself. “Ready.”

He eyed you up and down when you didn’t immediately strike, then moved quickly to swipe at your leg. You moved to block him but before he could hit your shin, the red sword shot up toward your arm at the last second. You quickly ducked underneath his high swing, bringing Blakkröt around to tap the back of his calf. You missed, however, as he quickly stepped out of the way and your blade embedded in the dirt.

You took a few steps back as he began to circle you, his storm-grey eyes focused like a hawk on its prey. You resisted the urge to shudder and couldn’t help thinking of other reasons he might be looking at you like that. He was dressed in a thin, black linen shirt with a v neckline that showed off the top of his muscular chest, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His large hands gripped Zar’roc’s pommel and thick veins ran up his forearms. His dark hair was in slight disarray from the fight and you swallowed hard as your heart thumped harder—and not from the physical exertion.

You nearly missed it when he lunged at you again, just stepping out of the way as Zar’roc’s tip grazed your shirt. Concentrate. You managed to bring your own sword up towards the back of his neck before he’d finished moving out of the way, but he whipped his sword behind him to stop you just inches away from his skin. You wrapped the front of your boot around his leg, pulling and sending him tumbling to the ground with an oof!

You scampered back as he regained his feet, worrying for a moment you’d gone too far. But he merely smiled as he regained his breath and turned to look at you. “Oh, you fight dirty.”

You chuckled nervously. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s a good thing if you’re against an enemy—be as resourceful as you can, always.”

“Gormlaith’s always said you only need a few good openings.”

“And she’s right.” He swung at you again and this time, you fell flat on your back trying to avoid the blow. “But don’t leave yourself open either.”

You rolled out of the way just as Zar’roc came whizzing towards your throat, scrambling back up just in time to block another blow.

The two of you continued in this fashion for a long while, both of you either blocking or evading blows at the last minute. You were quite evenly matched and as the session went on, you could tell Murtagh was putting more and more of his strength into it. You matched his energy, wondering if he’d started out easy on you on purpose. It was difficult for you to gain any ground with him. Although you parried most of his blows and threw him off balance several times, he was just as skilled as you and it seemed neither of you could get through the other’s defenses. The sparring session began to feel like a dangerous dance on the cliff face as your dragons watched nearby. There were several times you and Murtagh were practically nose to nose, his breath ragged, hair in his eyes, and his face a mixture of resolve and awe before you were exchanging blows again. The red and black blades crashing against each other reminded you of fire and smoke—two elements that rarely existed without the presence of the other, not unlike misery and dread.

Just as you were beginning to wear out, one of Murtagh’s blows swung too far sideways, leaving his chest wide open. You lunged and slammed your body into his, climbing on top of him and aiming the tip of your sword against his chest. Before the blade could make contact with his shirt, he grabbed your waist and flipped you over, using Zar’roc’s hilt to knock Blakkröt out of your hand and held the red blade just above your throat.

You panted and openly stared as he caught his own breath above you.

He huffed out a smile. “Very well done.” You could feel the adrenaline coming off him in waves and his eyes sparkled from the thrill of the fight—along with something else that seemed much more timid that you couldn’t identify. He let Zar’roc fall to the side, but continued to stare for a moment, sweat beading his brow as he caught his own breath. His zest faded to be replaced by something that felt much more concerned and attentive. As he climbed off you, you thought you caught a slight pink tint to his cheeks.

You sat up, glancing at him where he sat a few feet away, propping his arm up on his knee as he pulled his shirt sleeve down to wipe his forehead. “Well done? I lost.”

He ran a hand through his hair to push it up and out of his face and you did your best not to audibly gulp.

Try not to combust, Gormlaith teased.

I’m not combusting. You took a deep breath as he pulled his shirt sleeve up this elbow to reveal the veins again.

Oh-ho-ho, someone has it bad.

Do shut up.

Gormlaith growled out a laugh from her spot in the audience, causing Murtagh to glance back at her.

Thorn better not be picking any of this up to relay to Murtagh, you warned.

My lips are sealed—aren’t they, Thorn?

WHAT—

I joke, I joke.

“You really did do well, despite losing. It took me a while to gain the upper hand, and even then, it was more a matter of luck in the end. I could only flip you over because I outsize you.” He stood, holding out a hand to help you up.

You let him pull you to your feet, regretting the loss of contact as you pulled away. “I suppose I am used to fighting people that aren’t any bigger than me. I didn’t think about the logistics of that move on someone bigger.”

He nodded. “A good thing to keep in mind for the future.” He gently brushed some stray grass off the upper arms of your tunic, going a bit red as he realized what he was doing. “Sorry.”

“Oh, um, it’s fine.”

You both smiled awkwardly before looking elsewhere. You could sense that if she could, Gormlaith would’ve been face-palming hard.

“So, um,” Murtagh cleared his throat and regained his composure, “I think a good thing to focus on would be learning how to fight enemies larger than you. That’s something that will come in handy no matter your situation, especially after you graduate and go out around Alagaësia more.” He brought Zar’roc up over his head as if to rain a blow down on you from above. “I noticed in your sparring session with Edgar that you started with your sword up like this and let gravity do the rest of the work. I think that’s a good strategy you should employ more often—especially if you ever need to fight an Urgal or Kull.” He brought his sword back down to his side. “Was there anywhere specific you learned that?”

“My stepbrother taught me how to swordfight for a while before he was carted off to join Galbatorix’s army when I was young. He said it was called the ‘Guard of the Hawk.’”

He nodded. “My mentor, Tornac, taught that to me as well. I think that move will be very helpful to you.” He paused and stared at you quizzically, but said nothing more.

Sensing what he wanted to ask, you replied, “No…he did not survive.”

Murtagh’s grip on his sword tightened. “I’m so sorry.”

You nodded, picking up Blakkröt’s scabbard and sheathing the sword. Your oldest stepbrother hadn’t been around much, but when he was, he did at least try to shield you from your stepmother’s cruelty. Not that your biological mother had been much better, from what you could remember. Your mother’s lover had been completely complacent and turned the other cheek to everything.

Murtagh sheathed Zar’roc, patting Thorn before turning back to you. “Thorn would like to take Gormlaith a ways out and maybe discuss some combat maneuvers, if that’s all right.”

“Of course, as long as she agrees.”

Oh, I do, she said to you privately.

Who has it bad now?

I, at least, know enough to keep from swooning.

Oh, whatever. Just get out of here.

She snorted in amusement before walking over and gently bumping the tip of her nose against your shoulder. You rubbed her jaw and she hummed in content before preparing herself to take flight. You took several steps back and watched her powerful shoulders roll (a habit she picked up from you, no doubt; you still remembered the first time she watched you do that as a hatchling and immediately started copying you) before her wings extended into the sky like black storm clouds. She beat them towards the ground and soared into the air, her and Thorn’s combined wing strokes flattening the grass and cooling the sweat from your skin.

“I was thinking,” Murtagh began, “since we have a few hours left, we could either work on some of the elves’ exercises—”

You let your head fall back and groaned, thinking back to your last lesson with Eragon where you’d failed miserably at many of those.

“—or work on some magic.”

“That one. Please, that one.”

Murtagh chuckled and the sound felt as if it went straight into your abdomen as you smiled back at him. “You can’t avoid the elves’ poses and exercises forever, you know.”

“I can try.”

“Well, you’re still with Eragon two days of the week, so I doubt it.”

“Ugh.”

“Oh, come now, it can’t be that bad.”

You glanced up as thunder boomed in the distance. You hadn’t even realized how grey the sky had become. “Has he ever made you do the Rimgar?”

“Well, no.”

“It’s torture.”

He laughed again. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”

You shook your head. “I’m going to make you do it with me next session so you can feel my pain.”

You felt a small drop land on your forehead as Murtagh smiled. “I’ll look forward to it then. Looks like some rain is starting.”

Your head ached where you had your hair piled on top of your head, and you rubbed at it before deciding to abandon the hair tie completely. “There’s a cave just behind you that’s large enough for both our dragons and us. Eragon and I usually take shelter there during bad weather.” You pulled the tie out of your hair, sticking your fingers in through your roots to shake it out and closed your eyes at the sensation.

Murtagh cleared his throat hard. “Um, yes, let’s retreat to the cascade—cave, the cave.”

You opened your eyes and frowned, but he already had his back to you. He grabbed Zar’roc and his pack and walked quickly toward the cave.

Are you two coming back soon? you asked your dragon. It’s starting to rain.

We’re on our way, she replied.

As you re-strapped your long knives and Blakkröt to you, the sprinkles suddenly picked up to become a deluge. Murtagh was at your side in an instant, holding his cloak over both of you like an umbrella as the pair of you ran into the shelter of the cave.

“What is it with us and getting caught in floodgates?” you teased.

He grinned as he neatly folded his cloak and set it on the ground, sitting down a few inches next to it. “Just our luck, I guess.” He patted his cloak and looked at you expectantly.

“Don’t you want to sit on it? It’s your cloak.”

He shook his head. “No, I put it there for you.”

“Oh, um, thank you.” You avoided his eyes as you settled on the garment. When you glanced back up, you found him contentedly watching the thunderstorm outside. You let your own gaze linger for a moment, enjoying the sound of the rain as it pattered against the ground and cave opening, thunder occasionally echoing in the distance. “This may sound odd, but…this is actually one of my favorite types of weather.”

Murtagh looked at you in pleased surprise. “Mine too, actually.” He paused, looking at the falling sheets of rain again. “I actually used to be terrified of storms as a child, but then…someone very special to me taught me not to fear them. That person loved them, too, and then I grew to love them as well.”

You shifted, playing with your fingers. “If you don’t mind me asking…was it your mentor you mentioned earlier, Tornac?”

He paused, meeting your eyes and seeming to weigh his options. “No, although Tornac had a fondness for them as well. But it was actually my mother. I didn’t get to know her very long before she passed.” He looked back out the cave mouth, his gaze much more somber than before. You couldn’t help but notice how the shade of his eyes perfectly matched the sky and found the color oddly comforting.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he said quietly. After a pause, he continued, “I feel as if all of my favorite people actually loved storms now that I think about it.”

“They’re underrated.”

“They are.” He turned to you with a soft smile. “So…” He sat up straighter and squared his shoulders. “Eragon tells me you’re quite advanced in magic, particularly wordless magic. I’m sure he’s already lectured you about how dangerous it can be.”

You nodded. “I know. It was how I learned, so it’s still a bit of a habit, but I am trying to get better about the Ancient Language.”

“Eragon tells me you aren’t quite fluent, but can hold complicated conversations with the elves?”

“Yes. Eragon and I left off actually talking about converting some of the spells I frequently use from wordless to using words in the Ancient Language.”

“What sort of spells?”

“There were a few that Gormlaith and I sort of improvised together during our first six months.”

“Well, I’m not as fluent as Eragon,” he reached into his pack and pulled out a small book, “but in my travels, I did happen upon this Ancient Language dictionary. We could try to find the words together, if you’d like?”

You nodded just as both dragons returned to the ledge. They quickly trotted into the cave mouth and just as they began to move to shake the water off, Murtagh held his hand out in front of you. “Skölir nosu fra adurna!”

As both beasts shook themselves out, the large water droplets flew and stopped mere inches from you before sliding down to the floor. As Murtagh lowered his hand, you grumbled, “I’ll have to remember that one—because someone loves to give me a second bath every time it rains.”

Shall I stay soaked? Gormlaith asked so that everyone could hear. As Leonil says, I may get the puh-nuh-monia.

You gave Murtagh an annoyed look. “Yes, because it’s so much better if I get the puh-nuh-monia.”

Murtagh laughed before opening his dictionary. “So, tell me about these spells of yours.”

“The one Eragon and I last left off on we nicknamed ‘shadowstep.’ It involves making a portal within a shadow that leads to another shadow in the room. I’ll show you.”

You stood and made your way deeper into the cave, finding a shadowy corner. A small, equally dark alcove lay in the wall behind Murtagh. You had come up with the idea for the spell before Gormlaith hatched, but had never tested it until she came along. You’d gotten quite fast at executing it, so it only took you mere moments to do now. You looked at the shadow in front of you and, in your mind’s eye, pictured a door opening and leading to the alcove. You waved your hand and stepped into the shadow and through. In the blink of an eye, you were in the alcove behind Murtagh’s back.

He continued to sit with his back to you, leaning forward to get a better look at the corner you disappeared to. “What…” he started to mumble.

“Hi,” you said from behind him.

He jumped and dropped the dictionary, turning around to stare at you with wide eyes. He looked back at the original corner, then at you again. “You have to teach me that.”

You explained your process and after, he scampered up to join you in the alcove. “Are you sure you wouldn’t want to try it on your own or with someone you’re closer with first? Eragon knows how to do this as well.”

He frowned. “Why would I need to try it on my own?”

“Well, um…the results can be a bit embarrassing the first few tries.” You glanced at Gormlaith. “The first time Eragon tried it, he came through the second shadow without his eyebrows, and they were still floating by the first shadow.”

Murtagh threw his head back and laughed so loudly, it echoed throughout the cave. “Oh, I’m so disappointed I missed that.”

“You should’ve heard Saphira—I thought she was going to wet herself laughing. She had to leave the cave to recover…So, you’re welcome to try it if you’re all right with me potentially seeing you eyebrow-less, bald, or missing any number of features.”

Murtagh pursed his lips. “I’m just going to sit back down.”

You smiled and nodded. “That’s probably for the best.”

“Dare I ask what you were missing the first time you tried it?” he said as he settled back onto his position on the floor, taking a sip out of his waterskin.

Her pants, Gormlaith responded before you could intercede.

Murtagh nearly spat out his water.

You reached out towards Gormlaith, poking her with a finger and delivering a light electric shock to her shoulder. She yelped and quickly moved out of the way as Thorn pressed himself against the wall, projecting his own amusement into your mind as well.

Murtagh laughed so hard that he was hardly even making any noise aside from a few wheezes. “I-I’m sorry, it’s—”

You couldn’t help your own laugh from escaping, trying desperately to straighten your face. “ANYWAY.”

Murtagh doubled over before straightening himself with a defeated little oh. You laughed back and shook your head, having to remind yourself to breathe as he flashed his brilliant smile at you. He wiped at his eye with a finger before beginning to thumb through the dictionary in front of him, patting his cloak once more for you to sit.

You did as bade, leaning closer as he summoned a werelight to better read the text. You tried not to hold your breath at his proximity as the two of you discussed several words that could work.

“The part I keep getting stuck on,” you said, “is something along the lines of ‘step through this shadow to that shadow’ could work, but then if there are multiple shadows in the room, you have to name which exact shadow. Which feels like it would make for a very long, complicated sentence.”

“Not necessarily. I assume with your knowledge of wordless magic, you understand intent is very important. As long as you have the exact shadow you want in your mind’s eye, that part might not be necessary.”

You continued to parse through his dictionary together, nearly at a string of words that could work.

I hate to interrupt, Thorn said so you could hear. It was the first time he had reached into your mind and you felt privileged to be chosen. The feel of his mind reminded you of Gormlaith’s, but also felt much deeper, darker, and less trusting in the way a dragon far older than him who had survived a life of torment would. You imagined that wasn’t far from the truth and sent a subtle wave of comfort out to him. He paused and regarded you in surprise before returning such a small wave of gratitude, you might’ve missed it if you hadn’t been looking for it. It’s half past noon, if you wanted to break for food before your afternoon classes, Y/N.

You glanced up at the cave opening to see the sky had grown lighter, although a steady drizzle remained.

Murtagh closed the dictionary. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so late. We should’ve ended a half hour ago.”

“It’s all right, this was—” you had almost said fun, but that likely would’ve sounded odd; but it had been four hours and hardly felt like two, “helpful. Thank you.”

Murtagh stood, again helping you to your feet before taking his cloak off the ground and shaking the dust off it. He gave you a small, crooked smile that had your heart pounding so hard, you wondered if Thorn could also hear it. “It was…I suppose I’ll see you in two days?”

You nodded, scrambling for something else to say just to spend even a few more minutes with him. “You’ll tell me if there are any updates on the masked men and why they were hunting us?”

“Of course. I can always come get you or have someone else fetch you to come to Eragon’s office so I can tell you together.”

You nodded, hesitating before realizing there were no other topics to discuss and making your way over to Gormlaith. As you hauled yourself up onto her foreleg, Murtagh called your name. You turned to see him walking toward you, his cloak still in his hand.

“Do you have a cloak for the rain?”

“Um…” You dug in Gormlaith’s saddlebag for a moment. “No, but it’s not raining hard and Gormlaith is fast. I’ll be all right.”

He held his cloak up to you. “Please take this.”

“Really, it’s no trouble—”

“I insist.”

You hesitantly took the cloak in your hand. “But what about you?”

“Thorn and I have nothing time-sensitive to do today. We don’t mind waiting it out.”

“But—”

He smiled, pressing the fabric further into your hands. “Y/N, I insist. You can always give it back to me Wednesday. Or give it to Eragon today or tomorrow and he’ll find me.”

You climbed the rest of the way into Gormlaith’s saddle before wrapping the cloak around yourself. You clasped it up by your neck and drew the hood. It smelled distinctly of pine, a very faint smell of dragon, and something else you couldn’t name but felt very him. “Thank you—I promise I’ll get it back to you.”

He gave you a warm smile and nod as Gormlaith made her way out into the rain and took off. As you flew back toward the mess hall, she said, I think someone likes you.

You hesitated. I hope so. They’ve both been through so much, I’m sure it takes a while for either of them to trust someone enough to call them friend, let alone any potential romantic feelings.

Well, lucky for us, we’ve got all the time in the world.

Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added): @the-ethereal-god @shelbyteller

14 notes · View notes

say-hwaet · 2 months ago

Text

If I Had to Do it All Again

Chapter 20: Aithníonn ciaróg ciaróg eile, Part I Next Chapter: Twenty-One Summary: The gang remains in Arizona for a couple more months, pots of gold dancing in their eyes. But you know what they say, with a pot of gold, there is the chance a young Irish fellow will aim to steal it. Warnings: Mature themes, language Word Count: ~9,100 A/N: I am by no means an expert in Irish Gaelic, but the title of this chapter is an expression that basically means "it takes one to know one," though it is actually talking about beetles. lol Also, this is the Sean chapter! Enjoy! :)

“Daddy, I bored…!” Isaac whines as he lets his toy horse fall out of his hand and to the ground. “Daddy, will you pway wif me?”

Arthur stops hammering at the wood siding he’s working on replacing for you after this last winter’s storm. It’s been enough for you to keep up with everything else, so the least he can do is a few repairs now and then. He looks down at his two-year-old son and raises his brow.

How can this kid be bored? He’s too young to even know the word.

But, then again, he takes after his mama in terms of brains. There’s no doubt he’ll be quoting Shakespeare before he turns five at this rate.

“Isaac, I’m kinda busy right now,” he explains gently. “Why don’t you keep playin’ right here and I’ll be done in a bit?” You had gone into town to pick up a few things and Arthur, not wanting to create suspicion, had stayed back at the cabin. Isaac insisted in the best way that he could express what he wanted to say to his father. So, you reluctantly agreed and left in the wagon cart. You’ve been gone for at least a couple of hours, Arthur isn’t sure, but he has the responsibility of watching his son and fixing up the place to make your life easier while he’s gone.

Isaac’s lower lip juts out as it trembles. “No fair…!” And he starts to cry.

Now, Arthur has only been around his son a handful of times in these last two years, and one thing he’s learned about himself is that he hates to see his son cry. While it does tug at his heartstrings, it’s the sound he doesn’t like.

Isaac wails, like some kind of howling wind and when he gets going, he’s difficult to console. At least, it’s difficult for Arthur. You can settle Isaac in seconds flat, and after a gentle talking to, Isaac can be reasoned with.

Arthur’s gotta fix this. He sets his hammer down on the porch floor and kneels before the little lad, holding him gently by the arms. “Now, now, don’t be cryin’ like that.”

“No, Daddy…!” Isaac wails, hot tears streaming down his face. “Pway wif me…!”

Arthur feels anxious and tries to think of a way to console his son. “You wanna help me fix the sidin’? You can hold the nails—”

“Nnooo…!” Isaac sobs. “I want you, Daddy…!”

As the little boy cries before him, Arthur’s heart sinks. Isaac is so small, innocent, and precious. He doesn’t have the ability to express himself eloquently, just quick words and tears. There’s more to this. In fact, this has been brewing for the last hour or so. He’s tired and is accustomed to being cuddled before his nap.

Arthur then remembers that Isaac hasn’t had a nap all day. That is his fault. He’s been so caught up in fixing up the place that he’s neglected his number one priority.

As the boy continues to sob, Arthur takes his son into his arms and holds him close to his chest, snotty nose and all. “Hey, hey, partner, it’s alright. You got me, okay?” He begins to pat Isaac’s back gently and he feels the boy tuck his head beneath his chin. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Isaac continues to cry, sobbing into Arthur’s shirt. “Let it out, partner.”

Arthur almost marvels at how much his son has in him, for he cries for a good while and his voice isn’t hoarse yet. But Arthur doesn’t move, but only rubs gentle circles on the boy’s back.

It isn’t until a good ten minutes pass that Isaac stops crying, his voice reduced to soft sobs and sniffles. He exhales slowly and Arthur feels his body go limp.

The poor kid just needed a nap.

As gently as he can manage, Arthur rises slowly to his feet, maintaining a steady hold on his sleeping son. He makes his way to the door and nudges the door open, slipping inside the cabin. The air is cooler within, his repairs proving fruitful in keeping the hotter air out, and he makes for Isaac’s bedroom. The room is dark, thanks to the curtains you had made, but Arthur navigates it easily, finding Isaac’s crib in the farthest corner of the room.

He stops in front of the crib, mentally planning out his next moves. They need to be quick, but steady, as to not disturb the boy’s nap. Cradling his head and his bottom, Arthur lowers Isaac into the crib. He’s grown so much, but the extra weight doesn’t phase Arthur, for he has only grown stronger and stronger these last couple of years. Maybe it’s the idea that he is a father now, something in his blood that makes him strong and more courageous on instinct. Just like how children make women into mothers, it must be no different from making men into fathers.

Well, maybe not every time.

Carefully lifting his hands away, he hovers over his son just a minute longer, letting his hand comb away at the fawn-colored curls on his little head.

He needs to go finish his project and so regretfully, he steps back quietly and slips out of the room.

Closing the bedroom door, he lets out the breath he had been holding. “Hell, bein’ a parent is hard.”

“Oh, but I think it’s worth it.”

Arthur whips around to see you setting a large paper bag down on the kitchen table and he feels himself relax. “You’re back.”

You remove your straw hat from your head and begin to pull out the pins from your hair, letting it fall soft on your shoulders. You shake it loose and smile at him, exhaustion lining the edges of your smile. "I hated being away from him," you say, walking towards the tall cowboy. Your dress sways with each step, the dust of the road still clinging to the hem.

Arthur strides forward, closing the distance between you. “I just put him down for a nap. I should’ve done it earlier…”

You shake your head. “No, now is a good time. I can be working on some canning while he sleeps.” You stand on your tip toes and plant a kiss on Arthur’s cheek. He feels his heart leap in his chest and resists the urge to pull you back for something more. Since swearing off intimacy, he’s found that you try to get away with a few things, though you rarely ever make an attempt. What brought it on this time?

“Will you unhitch the wagon and take the box of seed into the barn?”

Ah, there it is. A favor. Though you know he would gladly do it regardless. “Shoah,” he answers, and he brushes past you and heads for the door.

***

After unhitching the wagon, letting Farm Boy into the paddock, and putting the crate of seed in the barn, Arthur brushes off his pants and heads back inside the cabin.

As he swings the door open, his eyes adjust to the natural light in the cabin, and see you are already hard at work canning tomatoes. They’re sort of like your specialty, and giving them away been your way of saying thank you to your neighbors and fellow townspeople in Low Falls for all the kindness they’ve offered you.

You take great pride in your garden and what you harvest is often canned for winter and offerings. Any spare moment you get, you are drying and canning goods. And since being a mother, those spare moments are when your son is sleeping.

Arthur closes the door gently behind him and steps into the kitchen. “Do you ever stop?” he asks you.

You glance back at him over your shoulder and smile, failing to conceal the fatigue in your eyes. “I guess when I stop breathing.”

Arthur's half-smile fades as he watches you wrestle with the stubborn lid of a mason jar. The veins in his strong hands throb slightly, reminding him of the moments when those hands were used for more than just farm chores and simple repairs around the house. He steps up behind you, his presence like a warm shadow in the coolness of the cabin. Without a word, he takes the jar from your hands and twists open the lid effortlessly. The popping sound seems to echo more loudly in the quiet space between you.

"You should've called for me," he says softly, setting the lid aside.

You give a short laugh, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “And pester you with every little thing?” You shake your head, turning back to the tomatoes with a determined glint in your eye. You take a large, firm tomato in your hand and begin to score it with a criss-cross marking on its bottom and set it in the large pot next to you.

Arthur watches you for a moment, the lines of worry creasing his forehead. He knows the weight you carry, balancing the work of the homestead with the care of a young child, all while trying to keep the root cellar stocked and your money purse full enough to last before he returns. “It ain’t pesterin’ if you need it.”

Arthur's deep voice carries a subtle tremor of concern that doesn't escape your notice. You pause, new tomato in hand, and glance up at him. His face is weathered from the sun and dust of the plains, a stark reminder of the harsh life he has chosen and the roads he has traveled. Yet, he finds his way back to you, even if it is scattered between months of loneliness and waiting. “What do you think I do when you’re gone?”

He knows what you do. You make do with what you have. What you don’t have. You’ve proven yourself to be resourceful and creative, coming up with ways to provide and ensure your and Isaac’s survival. He scratches the back of his head, feeling guilt seep up into his skin. “I know I ain’t doin’ enough for you. I know that.”

You quickly reach for his arm and squeeze it tightly. “Arthur, that isn’t what I mean, and you know it.”

His gaze lowers to where your hand clings to his arm, and he nods, a shadow of remorse flickering through his eyes. The silence that follows is thick, charged with the unsaid words and shared hardships of past seasons. Arthur clears his throat, stepping closer until his rough jacket brushes against your arm.

"I just think about Isaac and don’t want him to have the same life I had.”

Arthur hasn’t said much about his childhood, but you know enough to understand that it wasn’t good. Maybe one day he will tell you the whole story, but it isn’t vital to maintaining a relationship. “I know.”

“The way he cried, just before his nap, it did somethin’ to me. It—”

“Arthur.” He meets your eyes and you tilt your head slightly. “He knows you love him. He asks about you all the time.”

“That don’t make me feel better.”

You let his arm go and exhale softly. “You’re not like your father, Arthur. If you’re gonna feel any sort of way, at least let it be that.”

Arthur's eyes wander towards the window as it faces the hills and trees beyond, where the sun continues its race across the sky. "I just wish I was here more," he murmurs, his voice catching slightly as he lets his deepest thought slip.

You’d like to challenge that, let your own inner thoughts ask him: why doesn’t he, then? If he wants to be here more, there is a pretty simple answer.

But you know that won’t go anywhere.

You turn back to the counter, ready to resume your canning. “Why don’t you go rest for a minute? I’ll be starting dinner in a little while.”

Arthur nods, sensing you don’t want to talk about it anymore, and turns to walk into the living room, which is only a couple of footfalls to the left of the kitchen. He finds his favorite chair and sits down, reaching for the place where he left his journal last night. He sets it in his lap and opening to a new page, begins to write his thoughts and reflections.

***

About an hour passes by and it goes unnoticed, as Arthur is deeply engrossed by his drawing of Isaac and his tear-streaked face.

You regard the time by the position of the sun and find that it is time for Isaac to awaken from his nap. You see Arthur as he continues to sketch away, his brow pinched and leaning close toward his journal. He is in deep thought and there is a slight risk of interrupting him. While you aren’t much of an artist yourself, you have a grasp to artistic genius, any sort of progress can create great frustration should it be interrupted.

You wipe your tomato juice-coated hands on your apron and step away from the heat of the wood stove. You walk quietly to where Arthur is seated by the window and once close enough, you clear your throat softly.

“Ahem.” He doesn’t immediately lift his head and so you try again. “Arthur.”

He starts, a bit, his pencil pausing mid-sketch as he lifts his eyes to look at you. They are a little red-rimmed, emotions clearly spilling into his work. "Yes?" he asks, setting the journal in his lap reluctantly.

"It's time for Isaac to wake up," you say, trying to keep your tone gentle but firm. "Would you like to wake him while I finish up my canning and start on dinner?”

Arthur nods, putting aside his journal with a soft sigh. He pushes himself up from the chair, his limbs stiff from sitting too long, and heads toward Isaac's small room at the back of the cabin. You watch him go, and once he turns into the room you go to resume your canning.

Arthur’s footfalls echo in the small space and he spots the small form of his son who sleeps peacefully. Sometimes Isaac is already awake, but today he is still, curled like a young fawn in the undergrowth. Arthur stands over him for a moment, watching the rise and fall of his chest, hearing the gentle snuffle of his breathing. Then, resigned, he reaches down into the crib, places his large hand on his son’s back, and begins to stir him gently. “Isaac,” he whispers. “Time to get up, partner.”

Isaac stirs but buries his head in his knitted blanket, a silent protest to rejoining the world.

Arthur attempts it again, opening and closing his hand. As his fingers brush against Isaac, he wriggles, and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, those eyes of his remain closed.

It is no secret that Isaac is ticklish and Arthur decides to use this to his advantage. He lightly tickles Isaac’s side, and the boy suddenly comes alive with giggles, squirming under his father’s touch. “No, no,” Isaac says as he starts to giggle, and makes an attempt to push at his father’s hands playfully.

“Time to wake up, partner,” Arthur says with a grin, unrelenting in his tickling. “I ain’t gonna quit until you open them eyes…!”

Isaac finally opens his eyes, his laughter mingling with Arthur’s as he tries to escape the tickles. "I awake, Daddy!" he declares, turning his body and trying to sit up.

But it is too late and Arthur tickles him again, making Isaac dissolve into a fit of giggles.

The room fills with the lightness of their joy, a moment that pushes all of Arthur’s worried thoughts back for a temporary moment.

And Isaac screams loudly, his laughter and squeals reaching your ears.

You nearly drop the jar full of tomatoes in your hand and you set it firmly on the counter. How does waking up a sleeping toddler result in screaming?

You hurriedly wipe your hands and rush into the bedroom to find Arthur leaning over the crib, both of them caught in a boisterous game that seems to fill the space with such an energy that you find it almost perplexing.

“What on earth is going on?” you ask and you hurry to the crib. You see Isaac smiling and you reach into the crib to rescue your son from his playful father.

“Tickle monster, Mama!” Isaac squeals happily, pointing to Arthur with an accusatory finger. “Pway tickle monster!”

You look up at Arthur and see the grin on his face. You see the shift in his stature, almost like he’s relieved to slip into this playful role, a stark contrast from the stoic man who rides out at dawn and returns under the mantle of dusk, his eyes often shadowed with the burdens of a harsh land.

He raises his hands and wiggles them. “Anyone that gets too close is gonna succumb to the tickle monster!”

You take a step back, holding Isaac tightly. “Arthur, I got some canning to do, and I can’t have Isaac squealing all night long…!”

“Arthur ain’t here,” he growls playfully, taking a theatrically prowling step toward you. “Only the tickle monster…!”

And the chase is on. You bolt out of the room, Isaac giggling excitedly in your arms as Arthur's footsteps thunder behind you. The wooden floorboards creak under the pressure of your hurried steps, echoing through the otherwise quiet home. You dart into the kitchen, hoping to use the table as a barrier between you and the relentless tickle monster.

"Daddy comin’, Mama!" Isaac's voice is a mix of excitement and mock fear. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see Arthur's shadow stretch across the flickering light of the oil lamp, his figure looming larger as he closes in.

You swing around the table, putting it between you and him, your heart racing with a mixture of genuine adrenaline and playful terror.

You hold out a hand and point admonishingly at him, putting on the firmest glare that you can muster in the lively atmosphere. “Now, Arthur, stop it…!” you chortle. “This isn’t the time for games…!”

“Game…!” Isaac echoes. “Get us, Daddy…!”

And by the look in Arthur’s eyes, you know who he’s listening to. “I’m comin’ for you…!” he roars into a laugh and you screech.

Desperate, you head for the door and swing it open with your free hand just before he grabs you.

You’re laughing now, panting as you try to run with Isaac in your arms, his laughter loud in your ear.

You make it down the steps before strong hands grab you and pull you close.

“Gotcha!”

“Eek…!”

And while still full of energy, Arthur manages to fall to the ground with you and Isaac safely. You are helpless as his hands find your and Isaac’s sides, tickling you furiously.

“Arthur—!” you cry as you begin to lose your grip on Isaac. “Stop!”

“I told you, I’m the tickle monster…!” he taunts, his hands unrelenting.

Isaac manages to slip away, crawling on his hands and knees. Once at a safe distance, he sits on the ground and watches his parents in the greatest tickle fight in all history.

You roll on your back and try to block his “attacks” but he rises on his knees, gaining the advantage. “I can’t breathe…!” you laugh, your abdominal muscles aching.

Despite your pleas, Arthur can’t bring himself to stop this boisterous play. He loves to hear your laugh, one of the few sounds that flood his mind when he’s away. It is these moments—raw and untamed—that Arthur has yearned for during his long nights under the starlit skies, riding with his fellow outlaws across territories that feel endless.

The sun hits your face as it begins to reach the trees to the west, its summer glow hitting the copper in your hair just right. The freckles in your eyes sparkle with a light that warms Arthur's heart, reminding him of why he comes back, why he risks getting caught every time he escapes from a life ridden with danger and uncertainty. And as his eyes meet yours, he finds his hands slowing down, his breath steadying as your laughter settles. “I can’t breathe…” you sigh, and the warmth in your voice almost sends a chill up his spine and a heat in his belly.

You both don’t realize that the game is over, for you remain there, his body hovering over yours, his hands on your ribs, feeling the pounding of your heart and the rise and fall of your chest.

Oh, how good you feel under his hands. The muscle memory of where he’s positioned, the look of your hair fanned out on the ground beneath you, and the flush of your cheek all could very easily undo his pledge of celibacy.

How have you managed it?

“I hungry, Mama…!”

You look to your left and see Isaac with a fistful of dirt in his hand as he’s about to shove it in his mouth.

You quickly get up, forcing Arthur to take his hands off you. “Oh! Isaac, don’t!”

Arthur scrambles to his feet, brushing the dirt from his trousers with a laugh that’s both exasperated and filled with bashfulness, the high of the tender moment still fresh. He watches you hurry over to your son, scooping him up before the fistful of earth reaches his mouth.

“Now, why would you eat that when we can rustle up some real food?” you ask him with a click of your tongue as you open his palm gently. Isaac only giggles in reply as the dirt slips out of his hand, leaving a little cloud of dust as it falls to the ground.

Playtime now over, you make your way back into the cabin, not meeting Arthur’s eyes.

He lingers outside for a moment, letting the sound of the door closing behind you echo in his ears, where your laughter should be.

***

“Eliza!” Javier calls out to you as you wash the laundry with Susan, your hands raw from scrubbing a blanket against the washboard. He wears an excited expression on his face and he raises the reader in his hand almost in victory. “Listen at me!”

You’re still surprised; two months have gone by and Javier is still here. You don’t know what it is, but Dutch seems to have some faith that Javier will prove his worth somehow. You think he’s helped enough already, having helped with bringing food in and guarding camp from a small band of bandits a couple of weeks ago. His English has also improved, though it is still very novice at best. Not that you expect him to speak fluently at this point. You imagine that learning a new language is never easy.

You bring your hands out of the bucket but remain seated on the stump. “I listen to you,” you say simply and follow his movements as he crouches beside you and opens the book to a specific page.

“A fat heh-h—en. A big rrrat. The fat hen is on the box. The rrrat rrran from the box. Can the hen rrrun?” He pauses, relishing in his accomplishment, and turns to look at you. “Well done?”

You grin and nod encouragingly. “Si, Javier. Well done!” In exchange for Javier learning English, you’ve picked up on a couple of Spanish words. Your pronunciation is little to be desired, but Javier has graciously extended patience to you.

He nods. “English better, ch-yes?”

You nod again. “Yes, Javier.”

Satisfied, he turns and heads back into camp. As you return to the washing you see Susan looking at you from the corner of your eye.

“Something on your mind, Ms. Grimshaw?” you ask, not turning to meet her gaze.

“Not anythin’ worth sharin’, Ms. Bloom.”

You chortle at her words. “Oh, I highly doubt that.”

She clicks her tongue and resumes hanging a shirt to dry. “You do have a mouth on you.”

“Only when it’s necessary.”

She exhales, letting her agitation come out in her breath. “You wanna know what’s on my mind?”

“Yes.”

She studies you with a critical eye, assessing whether you’re ready to take it or not. “I think you oughta find yourself a man.”

You freeze in your movements and actually turn your head to look at her this time. “I already have one.”

“You had one, but it seems to me that ain’t enough anymore. Look at you! You’re miserable.” She lifts her eyes to watch Javier as he takes a gun to go on guard duty. “And Arthur hasn’t had the time to pay you much attention, since the Mexican came.”

“It was before Javier came, Susan. Besides, I am not interested in anyone else.”

There is a pause that fills the space between you. Susan knows you’re still stuck on Arthur and over these past couple of years, she’s developed a soft spot for you. You’re a victim of circumstances and choices made long ago. She sees how you look at him, how despite your best efforts to the contrary, your love for Arthur continues to seep through. She exhales slowly, shaking her head. “You gotta move on, girl. You and Arthur only can be in the same space for the sake of your children. Just when we all think things are gonna be fine, somethin’ happens and uproots what was growin’ there.”

You don’t want to believe that. Everyone really thinks that? Don’t be ridiculous. People argue. People have their differences. But does that mean you and Arthur were never compatible?

“You’re just comparing us to John and Abigail,” you excuse, your chest feeling tight. “They bicker all the time.”

“They’ve been doin’ better since that night you and Arthur caught John tryin’ to run, and you know it. No one talks about it, but we all know that needed to happen. Arthur had to knock some sense into him.” She bends down to pick up another shirt and tosses it over the line. “Have you considered movin’ on? Hm? You’re danglin’ a carrot in front of him every time you ask him for a favor, or look his way. Cut him off. He cares about you enough to let you find someone else. You’ll be doin’ him a favor.”

You aren’t about using the desperate method, and you don’t think playing with someone else’s heart is a good idea, either.

And besides all that, you don’t want Arthur to be so eager to let you go. That would be worse than falling for someone else. You shake your head. “I don’t have a reason to look for another man. Whether Arthur cares for me or not, I have all that I need.”

“What about love? You have enough of that?”

“My children—”

“That ain’t the same thing, girl. You know the kind of love I’m talkin’ about.”

You furrow your brow and feel your cheeks grow hot. You’ve had your rough moments, the desire to be held, told sweet nothings, and touched flooding your senses every now and then, but you’ve been handling it just fine. “You seem to be doing well without it,” you snap, your voice low.

She lifts her chin and looks away, keeping her eyes on the pants she’s hanging on the line. “That don’t mean it ain’t wanted.”

You remember what Arthur told you, how Susan and Dutch were together once, almost as enamored with each other as storybook lovers. You only know that Dutch did something similar to her as he did to Annabelle. He grew bored and moved on, but somehow, they parted more amicably. Or so you’re told.

“You still love him, then?” you ask gently and you watch the tightness in her brow soften. She doesn’t answer you, and you consider her silence answer enough. You think about Annabelle and her choice to leave. Where is she now? Is she better off? “Why don’t you leave, Susan? Why don’t you move on?”

“There’s still time for you,” she answers immediately. “You still have your whole life ahead of you.” She turns her head to meet your eyes again, the light of the sun casting a shadow on the long scar that runs down her cheek. “You still have a pretty face.”

You feel called out, guilty, as though she accuses you of something heinous. But her eyes are sad. A sadness that you find you can relate to.

It seems that you’re both doomed to love someone that doesn’t reciprocate.

***

“We done it, boys!” Dutch sighs as he sits down by the open campfire. “We got the last of the gold rushers. With plenty of gold to shine our shoes.”

“And it took all of two months to do it,” Arthur groans before taking a swig of his whiskey. This last camp not only had gold, but a Liver Chestnut Morgan stallion, with the perfect size and temperament for his son. He’s already begun to imagine the look on that boy’s face when he sees he’s finally going to have a horse of his own and ride with his father side-by-side instead of in the wagon. “I can’t wait to go back north.” He offers it to John as they sit beside each other on the dirt and the grey-eyed outlaw takes it from him.

Dutch leans back and stares at Arthur with a raised brow. “Back north?”

John and Arthur look at Dutch with a suspicious eye. That was the plan, wasn’t it? Northwest. They have all the money to buy land and live off of its rich soil. Surely, this is enough?

“Where else we gonna go?” John asks with a snort. “Mexico?”

Dutch had considered it, but he had heard enough from Javier. The way he described it, there was great political unrest and people who were far more merciless than even the O’Driscolls before their leader was killed by Annabelle and the gang dispersed. He doesn’t want to go there, he thinks overcoming American ideals is enough.

“Of course not,” Dutch answers with a venomous spit. “We’re goin’ to scope out a place for us. Away from the annoyances of the law.”

“And where’s that?” Mac asks, surprisingly skeptical. “Last I knew there wasn’t much of open spaces left.”

Dutch narrows his eyes at the three men sitting before him and points to his temple. “Use your brains, gentlemen. When dreamers and carpetbaggers packed their wagons and left their homes back east, where do you think they went?”

There is a silence that falls and John shrugs his shoulders as he takes a not-so-wild guess. “West?”

Dutch scoffs. “Yes, and to get there, they had to travel across the United States! The Midwest, Central! Lands overlooked in search of the promised land.”

“People overlooked it for a reason,” Arthur grumbles. “I’m shoah if there was anythin’ worth lookin’ at, it would be used up by now.”

“We skipped Nevada,” John argues. “I hear there’s gold rushes up there, too. Maybe we can buy land that’s chock full of it.”

And before Dutch can even respond, Arthur is already presenting his next counterclaim. “What’s Hosea got to say?”

“One at a time, dammit!” Dutch snaps, his voice thundering louder than the crack of gunfire in the still desert air. He turns his sharp gaze back to Arthur, the lines of age and worry deepening on his weathered face. "Hosea thinks it's a wise move, something about untouched potential and lesser competition. We ain't lookin’ for just any place, it needs to be the place.”

This is news to Arthur. Since when did they start talking about this?

“I don’t mean ta break up ya party,” A youthful, accented voice calls out to the men and they turn to look in its direction. There, standing before them, is a young man with a gun in his hand, a bandana over his mouth, and wearing a green bowler hat. “but I couldn’t help but overhear dat ya got enough gold ta shine me shoes.” He pulls the hammer back, and a resounding click harmonizes with the crackling of the fire. “And me shoes are dirty.”

Arthur's hand hovers near his holster, eyes narrowed as he assesses the newcomer with a deadly calm. The firelight flickers, casting long shadows that dance menacingly across the faces of the men seated around the campfire. Dutch remains unfazed, sitting back with the ease of a cat eyeing a mouse. “Quite brave, this one, eh Mac?”

Mac chuckles and slowly motions to rise. “And Irish, by the sounds of it.”

Irish. John narrows his eyes. “O’Driscoll?”

The young man’s brow pinches and he shakes his head in confusion. “Nev’r heard of ‘em. Me name is more bred and true than da likes a dat!” He shoots at Mac’s feet, making him jump back. “Dat was a warnin’ shot! Now, hand over da gold!”

And before Arthur draws his revolver, Dutch holds out a hand. “Hold on there, Arthur…!” he orders, and his voice rolls into an amused chuckle. “It seems that we have a bit of a misunderstanding here.” Dutch’s tone is light, almost teasing, but there's a lethal undertone that anyone who knew him could recognize. He stands up slowly, dusting off his vest as he keeps his eyes fixed on the young Irishman. “You see, son, you ain’t gonna get any gold that way, especially walkin’ into a den of wolves like us.” And in a quick motion, he lunges toward the young man, grabs his gun, and pushes him to the ground, pinning him down with the heel of his boot. “But I like your spirit.”

Arthur keeps his gaze firmly on the young Irishman, now pinned under Dutch's weight, squirming to get free. The campfire casts warm glows and deep shadows, turning every movement into a dramatic scene.

“I can teach you,” Dutch says calmly, looking piercingly into the young man’s eyes. “We could use a man with your recklessness.”

Recklessness? Doesn’t the gang already have Mac and Davey? Besides, another member is another mouth to feed. Another man to share the bounty that they’ve taken years to recover, just as they’re about to move and live on their own land. Why now pull someone else into this?

“Let him go, Dutch,” Arthur insists. “We ain’t got time to teach another one. He’s just a kid and Eliza’s already got her hands full.”

“This one speaks English,” Dutch counters. “And it wouldn’t be Eliza who’d be in charge of him.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens at the idea of who it could be. And even if he could argue it, Dutch has already made up his mind.

The charismatic leader looks back at the young man. “I suppose the choice is yours, son.”

The young Irishman's eyes glint with a mix of fear and intrigue under the flickering firelight, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he weighs his options. "A-and...if I say no?" he stammers, eyeing the circle of hardened outlaws that surrounds him.

Dutch's smile widens, almost warming the chilled night air. "Well then," he begins, his voice smooth as aged whiskey, "you'll be free to go. No hard feelings." He pauses, letting the silence stretch between them like a taut rope. "But consider this—out here, it's survival of the fittest. And, if I am bein’ honest…” He lets his boot off of the boy’s chest and pulls him up with one quick motion. “You ain’t lookin’ so fit.”

Arthur grits his teeth. Dutch has never recruited men so quickly and without as little thought as this. You were the one who stepped in for Javier and thankfully, he’s beginning to prove himself. Even so, Javier was successful in stealing that chicken, whereas this kid just brashly went into a camp of outlaws and tried to hold them at gunpoint. How did the kid even get here? Was he there hiding this whole time?

“Dutch—”

“Hush, Arthur…!” he hisses and pats the Irishman’s shoulder. “The young man is thinkin’ it over…”

The young Irishman, visibly anxious now, glances around at the circle of grim faces, then back at Dutch. "If it's all the same," he swallows hard, looking from face to face, his voice barely more than a whisper, "I reckon I'll take me chances with ya lot."

Dutch's smile broadens and he nods in approval. “Good…” He takes the gun from his back pocket and offers it back to the kid. “What’s your name, son?”

“Sean,” the young man answers. “Sean Maguire.”

Arthur grumbles and swipes the bottle of whiskey out of John’s hand, bringing it to his lips and downing the rest in one swallow.

“Have a seat, Sean,” Dutch offers, gesturing to a free spot next to the fire. “You hungry?”

Sean hesitates, but being courageous, he sits down on the ground, keeping enough distance between John and Dutch once he sits down. “I’m starvin’.”

Dutch begins to work his charm, offering Sean a plate of beans and days-old biscuits that you had packed for them before their long journey. “Help yourself, son.”

As the fire crackles and Sean eats shyly, his hands trembling slightly with every bite, Arthur watches him closely. There's something about this kid that unsettles him, a deadliness veiled behind those wide, innocent eyes. Arthur knows the type—starts off shaky, but given time, they either fold under pressure or become the most ruthless of them all. And in this harsh world, it's usually the latter that survives.

Now sitting by the fire, and with food in his belly, Sean begins to feel warm. In a swift motion, he reaches up and removes his hat, revealing a head of long, fiery red hair.

“Ach! Look at that…!” Mac exclaims, his eyes dancing with amusement as the flames cast an orange glow on Sean’s bright locks. "A real leprechaun among us, eh?"

Sean shoots Mac a sharp glance but cracks a slight smile. "Aye, and don’t ya be forgettin’ da lok I bring wit’me," he retorts, his voice carrying a mix of mischief and defiance.

Dutch chuckles at the exchange, the sound rich and deep against the backdrop of the darkening sky. "We could use a bit of that Irish luck," he says, his gaze lingering on Sean with a calculating interest. Arthur, on the other hand, remains silent. Sure, he can consider himself lucky. Lucky that Dutch is in one of his good moods and wants to take advantage of Sean’s willingness to walk in the flames. Lucky that the kid hadn’t panicked when he found himself under Dutch’s heel moments before.

And he can only imagine what the rest of the gang will think. What Hosea will think.

He guesses they will soon find out.

***

“Anythin’ else ye need to get, Ms. Bloom?” Davey asks after putting the crate in the back of the wagon. You’ve been planning this trip into Gravestone for weeks, with Davey tagging along in mind.

You turn to the wooden sign in the shape of eyeglasses and suppress your grin. “Yes, one more stop, Davey.” You step away from him and walk across the street.

He watches your blurry figure go and tries to keep up without bumping into the wagon or other pedestrians. His goal is to focus on your shape against the dusty backdrop of Gravestone, lest he lose you in the crowd.

He nearly trips when the tip of his boot hits the boardwalk and he grabs the closest object to him, a post, and saves himself from further embarrassment.

“You good, Davey?” you ask nonchalantly, easing any shame he might be already feeling.

“Aye,” he sighs and he steps up onto the boardwalk. “Keep goin’.”

You nod and without saying anything, you reach for a door and enter inside. Davey follows, stepping into the cool space before the door catches him.

“Good afternoon,” a soft, feminine voice greets them and Davey catches a white and golden figure at a desk. The figure stands and by the silhouette, he can tell it is a blonde-haired woman in a white blouse and black skirt. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes,” you answer quickly. “For an Elizabeth Kilgore?”

The woman opens up a book and glances up at Davey. “Does Mr. Kilgore also have an appointment?”

Davey is immediately confused. Appointment? For what?

You chuckle warmly. “Mr. Kilgore isn’t here. This is my cousin. I asked him to accompany me today.”

Davey turns to you. Did you come up with that story on the fly or have you been thinking about this for a while? He’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut, letting you do the talking.

The lady nods. “Gravestone can be an interesting place, what with all the commotion that was stirred up a few years ago. Us women shouldn’t travel alone.”

“Agreed,” you half-lie. It all depends on who you travel with and what you carry when you’re alone.

“Let me check with Dr. Vacance.” The lady closes her book. “Excuse me for a moment.”

The woman slips through a back door and you stand there patiently.

Davey turns to you with a raised brow. “Cousin, hm?”

“I am not about to claim you’re my husband, Davey.”

He snorts. “Yeah, well, I don’t see Arthur standin’ in line for that, do I?” You punch his arm and he laughs. “Dinnae get me started, lass. Ye know it well enough to not do that.”

You shrug. “Maybe you’re right, but I’ll club you if I need to.”

“I suppose that much is true…Hey, that lady said doctor… Eliza, where are—”

The main door swings open and the lady you saw before steps aside to open the way. “Doctor Vacance will see you now.”

You grab Davey’s arm and putting on the softest, sweetest voice, you go to the next phase of your plan. “Cousin, would you please go in there with me? I don’t want to be alone with a man and your presence would make things less frightening…”

His eyes widen. “I ain’t gonna go in there! Ain’t ye gonna…” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Talk about…girlie stuff?”

You laugh. “This isn’t that kind of appointment!” You pull on his arm. “Please?”

He’s heard of head doctors, the sort of people who ask a lot of questions and come up with some sort of story as to why a person is a way they are, but it is all a bunch of frou-frou and nonsense. But if you’re that desperate to talk to someone, maybe you do need it.

He can also see how that would be intimidating. After pondering on it for a moment longer, he shrugs his shoulders. “Ach, fine.”

You grin and begin to walk toward the open door. “Come on, then.”

You and Davey brush past the woman and as your eyes adjust to the natural light in the room, she closes the door behind you.

Inside, the room is stark and clinical, which stands in sharp contrast to the dusty, sunbaked streets outside. A man with wire-rimmed glasses and a neatly trimmed beard looks up from his work at a small table by the window, books stacked neatly from an apparent recent study.

"Good morning, Mrs. Kilgrore,” he says to you, then his eyes fall on Davey beside you. “And you must be her cousin, Mister…?”

Davey clears his throat. “Scott.” It isn’t the most creative of last names, but the doctor seems to buy it. Davey takes a clumsy step forward, and tries to emulate confidence by holding out his hand. “Nice to meet ye.”

He waits for the doctor to do something, trying to spot him to see how he may approach. But the room has dark corners, and with his limited vision, Davey can’t see much.

The doctor pauses for a moment, eyeing Davey with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. He finally stands, extending his hand to meet Davey's. "Pleasure, Mr. Scott." His handshake is firm yet brief. He then returns to you, meeting your eyes. "Please, both of you, take a seat," the doctor gestures towards two wooden chairs in front of his table where his own personal chair waits.

You sit, smoothing the fabric of your skirt as you do, while Davey slumps into the chair beside you, his posture loose and unrefined compared to your own careful composure.

Dr. Vacance sits down across from you, folding his hands on the table. "So, what brings you two here today?" he asks. “Just a check-up?”

“Well,” you answer. “I’ve never really had my eyes checked before…” You glance at Davey, trying to offer him a reassuring smile, though you can feel the tension coiling tighter within you. The room, with its too-clean surfaces and the scent of antiseptic, is far removed from the warm dust and familiar chaos of your usual world outside.

But it is one solitary word that has Davey tense. Eyes. This doctor isn’t a mind doctor, he’s an eye doctor.

Then it dawns on him. Arthur must have squealed. He must have told you that Davey can’t see a lick and got you to bring him here. How long have you known? How long have you been planning this?

But you’re just sitting there, oh so innocently, and though he can hardly make out your face, he knows you are just smiling like a fox in a hen house.

Dr. Vacance nods thoughtfully, writing some notes in a log journal on his lap. “I see. So, has something in your vision changed recently?”

You’ve prepared for such questions, as your goal is to sound as though you have the same problems as Davey. “Well…lately, I have been having trouble seeing up close.”

Davey’s fists clench under the table, his jaw tightening as he averts his eyes, feigning interest in a spot on the wall. He suspects a trap but can't express his discomfort without giving away his vulnerability. He’d rather swallow nails than admit he needed glasses, let alone that he was tricked into coming here. You’re sneakier than what most at camp give you credit for. You could make a great con artist.

“I see…” The optometrist says thoughtfully. “And does that also apply to seeing things far away? Does your vision look like you are staring at a perpetual vignette?”

“I can see far, that isn’t a problem,” you answer immediately, your eyes watching Davey as he reacts subtly to your answers. “No vignettes. That’s…darkness on the edges of my vision, right?”

“Essentially, yes.” Dr. Vacance finishes scribbling some notes and closes the journal. “But I think we’ll know for sure once I examine your eyes.” He rises from his chair, setting his journal down, and gestures to an interesting contraption mounted in front of a wooden chair. “Would you care to have a seat in front of that examination tool, there?”

You’ve never seen anything like it before. If you weren’t so determined to convince Davey that there’s nothing to be ashamed of, you wouldn’t sit down in that chair. But emboldened by your determination, you go to sit down.

Davey watches you, his expression unreadable as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. There's a wariness in his eye, a kind of restrained anger that makes it clear he's not pleased with this setup. Still, he doesn't speak a word, the muscles in his jaw working silently.

As you sit, Dr. Vacance walks over to you and brings the examination tool in front of you, and gestures to what looks like some type of platform. “Go ahead and rest your chin there, Mrs. Kilgore.”

You do as instructed, resting your chin on the cool metal, feeling slightly vulnerable under the intense gaze of both the doctor and Davey. Dr. Vacance adjusts a few knobs, bringing the lenses closer to your eyes. Starting immediately with the blurriest lens, he will begin to assess the strength of your eyes.

"Now, look straight ahead," Dr. Vacance instructs calmly. "Tell me when you see the letters clear up."

You strain, trying to decipher the blurry shapes that float before your vision. It's a struggle, but slowly, some of the letters start to form words you can recognize. “I’ve always thought that glasses would make me look…weaker,” you say, choosing your words carefully. You want to vocalize thoughts you suppose Davey is having, and hope that Dr. Vacance will have something positive to say.

“Weaker? You’re only weaker if you don’t take care of your eyes,” the optometrist says calmly. “And that means to get glasses if you need them.” He continues to turn the little knob on the side of the device. “Now, Mrs. Kilgore, tell me when.”

"Oh. Yes, now," you quickly say.

"Very good," Dr. Vacance says, making another adjustment.

“But I am also a very active person,” you start again, your head moving up and down with your jaw as you try to keep your chin on the rest. “I have two children and you know how…dangerous it can be in town. I have to keep my wits about me…” You pause, trying to get a glimpse of Davey but get a look from Dr. Vacance instead and you remain still. “Wouldn’t glasses be a hindrance?”

Dr. Vacance pauses, his hands still on the adjustment knobs. "Glasses can indeed seem cumbersome at first, Mrs. Kilgore, but many find ways to adapt. They become a part of you—like a tool that ensures your safety and clarity of vision." His tone holds a reassuring quality as he looks directly at you, his eyes kind yet firm. "And for someone as active as yourself, they might just save you from harm's way more than you think." He then flips the lens that was in front of your eyes and exchanges it for another one. “Okay, let’s look at the fourth line down on the wall just behind me.”

You can see it all just fine, but you need to stall. You aren’t fully convinced that you’ve successfully won Davey over. You were hoping that he would ask to be examined, but you might need a different approach.

You squint again, pretending to struggle with the new adjustment. "Um, it's still a bit fuzzy," you lie, giving yourself more time to convince Davey.

Dr. Vacance frowns slightly, making another quick adjustment. "How about now?" he asks.

"Better," you say, but you add a hesitancy to your voice. “Maybe it was better before?”

Dr. Vacance is clearly a patient man, for he hardly shows agitation to your indecision at all. “Very well, let me bring the other lens back…” With a quick motion of his finger, he brings the circular piece of glass back in front of your eyes. They begin to ache, looking through these lenses when your vision is already fine without them. But Davey is still quiet as he sits in that chair.

"So, glasses could really make that much of a difference?" you venture, hoping to pique Davey's interest through your own inquiries.

Davey shifts in his seat, finally turning his attention from whatever distant point had captured it to the conversation at hand. His eyes, slightly narrowed as he squints to see you better, reflect a spark of curiosity mixed with skepticism.

The doctor nearly chortles at your question but quickly clears his throat. “Of course. I think that seeing clearly would greatly add to any person’s precision and capability, especially in day-to-day life.” Dr. Vacance’s gaze falls briefly on Davey, and notices the young man’s narrowed eyes and studies him a moment, as if understanding the true nature of his daily struggles.

Davey rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable but intrigued. "Well, I reckon that’d be true, if that person don’t have the duty to protect their home,” he excuses.

“On the contrary,” Dr. Vacance explains. “I believe it is precisely those who have such duties who benefit the most from clear vision. Imagine being able to spot a threat from further away, or to shoot with greater accuracy. Glasses aren’t just for reading or fancy city folk; they're a tool that could very well save your life one day."

Davey's brow furrows. “But I can already see far away, it is when somethin’ is near that I—” And there it is. He himself has done the betrayal. You grin, happy that you’re finally getting somewhere.

“Are—are you farsighted, Mr. Scott?” Dr. Vacance inquires, pausing his examination of your eyes and studying the young outlaw closely. “Like your cousin here?”

Davey shakes his head, sighing. “I’m sorry, doc, but she ain’t the one needin’ glasses…” His voice trails off, filled with a mix of resignation and newfound realization. The acknowledgment of his weakness seems to hang heavily in the air between the three of you.

Dr. Vacance lifts his chin. “Ah…” He lets out an exhale as he turns to slide the examination tool away from you and you lift your chin off the rest, glancing away bashfully. You didn’t mean to lie to this kind doctor, but you felt that you had no other choice but to get Davey through that door. “I see.”

Davey lowers his head. “My…erm…cousin ‘ere…I guess she was just tryin’ to get me to come ‘ere. I’ve been seein’ like this for years and have kept it hidden outta shame.”

You rise from the chair, walk over to Davey, and gently place a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer some comfort without saying a word. The tension in his muscles eases slightly under your touch, the first point of contact he’s ever received from you, or any other woman in camp. He isn’t sweet on you, but he appreciates the gesture all the same.

Davey's eyes meet yours, a spark of gratitude flickering within them. "Thanks, cousin," he murmurs, his usual brash tone softened by the vulnerability of the moment. “For tryin’…”

Dr. Vacance claps his hands lightly, breaking the brief silence. "Well then, I suppose you already have the appointment…” He gestures to the chair once again, smiling at Davey. “If you’re open for an examination, Mr. Scott…”

Davey hesitates, his gaze drifting towards the window, perhaps seeking an escape or maybe just gathering his courage. The midday sun casts a golden glow on his strawberry blond hair, making it almost shine in the dimly lit room. After a moment, he nods slowly, a reluctant acceptance of his situation, and walks back to the chair. He sits down heavily, eyes fixed on the floorboards as if they might offer him some final escape. But there is none, and he knows it. Dr. Vacance moves towards him, adjusting his lenses and preparing his tools with a professionalism that somehow eases the air of despair slightly.

"You won't regret this,” you say with a grin. “You’re about to see the world in a whole new light.”

“Maybe that’s what I am afraid of,” Davey says with a hint of humor.

But you know, deep down, he means it with sobriety.

Thanks for reading!

Tag Requests: @photo1030, @eternalsams

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #arthur morgan #fanfiction #ao3 writer #rdr2 #arthur morgan x you #arthur x eliza #davey callander #friendship #sean macguire #longfic #fluffy domestic flashback with isaac #tombstone easter egg #did you catch it?

10 notes · View notes

fantasies-fairytales-n-fics · 1 year ago

Text

Code Blue Ch. 53 - Galway Girl

Summary: Josie has another run in with the law which leads to another revelation. She reaches out to a Savior with the new info. Luke plays his violin. A beloved sassy Scotswoman stuns Josephine on her hunt for the innocent Scotsman. An Irish memory rattles Jo. She and Gerry have a HUGE discussion on many subjects. More comes to light about Megan's attack. Emotions go awry when Gerry learns the truth.

*Chapter Warnings* language, angst, mentions of drugs and rape

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist

Salem, Massachusetts

March 22, 2022

The revelation of your ex-fiance's non-infidelity had your mind spinning as you carelessly sped down the freeway, stiff as a board with a white knuckled grip on the wheel and trying not to puke. Over and over, just as you had done 3 years ago, you began dissecting all the events of that painful day when you had awoke to the life altering text that you believed to have been from Gerry. A fabricated text to incriminate him, making it look like he had accidentally sent it to you instead of your sister which put her diabolical plan of entrapment all into motion of deeming him unfaithful and it had worked like a fucking charm. Still etched in your mind as if it were only yesterday, was the look of horror on Gerry's face when you found him in bed with Megan. A look that you now saw in a whole new light and you were so lost in that image that you did not notice the cop parked on the berm of the road, pegging you at 82 miles per hour.

The startling sirens brought you back to the present which you didn't even know where that was at the time, for you had just experienced one of those blackout moments where you didn't remember driving from point A to point B and wondered how you even did it without causing a wreck. You didn't have your seatbelt on either which you didn't realize until after you pulled over.

In your side mirror, you nervously watched the grumpy looking policeman approach your car, wishing it had been Luke because this time, you knew you couldn't cry your way out of it with being almost thirty miles per hour over the speed limit. Was he seriously unsnapping his gun holster???

"License and registration." the officer robotically requested as you rolled your window down.

You fumbled through your purse, then the glove box and handed him the items without question or argument, just wanting to get the humiliating moment over with and go.

He looked over the documents and then eyed you as he asked the usual rhetorical question. "Do you know why I pulled you over miss March?"

"Speeding I assume."

His reply was cocky as car after car sped by, taking advantage of the situation. "You assumed correct. 82 in a 55. Also I see you aren't wearing your seatbelt which is a law in every state other than New Hampshire which you are not in and your tail light is busted out as well which is a non-moving violation and a ticketable offense."

"Wait, what? How did that happen?? Can I go look?"

"You will need to remain in your vehicle while I go back and write up this ticket."

As soon as he was back in his cruiser, you immediately texted Jeffrey.

"I think u were right! Someone was in that car. My tail light is busted out and it wasn't when I was putting my bags in the trunk!"

About 30 seconds went by and he then replied. "Thx for the 411 darlin. Been thinkin bout it more since you dropped me off. Stowaway POS. Prob followed us to the junk yard too. He's toying with us. Busted the light as a warning. Ballsy fucker bit off more than he could goddamn chew. I'll find him and when I do, well I think you know how that will turn out. In the meantime, your best off to stay close to Craig. Sorry bout your trouble, Trouble😉 When you got time, bring your sweet self and that sweet ride to the shop and I'll get that taken care of for you asap. Least I could do for pissin you off. Talk more then."

"Thank u!! I'll text u later to let u know when I can come."

"You're very welcome doll. You can cum anytime."

You huffed and shook your head at his remark and before you could reply, he texted right back.

"Oh damn! Old habits die fucking hard. Told you I'd piss on the floor every now and then. Sorry for the comment. My bad."

You smiled and softly chuckled. "I'll let it slide. At least you're trying. Talk later."

"You rock girl. Later."

Stay close to Craig. Great. Now you had to haul all your stuff back to your apartment instead of going to your mom's as planned... for the time being anyways. You couldn't bring more trouble to her. Megan would surely remain in the hospital for quite sometime anyways and your mom would most likely take up residency in her room. Would they even be safe there though? Elizabeth sure wasn't. You then anxiously texted Luke.

"Hey. Can u please put a guard at Megan's door??? Just to be safe."

His reply was instant and shocking. "Already working on that Jo. No worries. I'm heading there in a few to speak with her as well since I was informed she is awake. Everything ok? Still pissed at me?"

You wanted to be but you just didn't have the energy anymore. "Thank u Luke. For everything. I'm fine. I just want my mom and sister to be safe right now. Please keep me updated."

You wanted to tell him so bad about the bar thugs since they were after him to begin with but you couldn't now that he was a cop. You just didn't know if you could trust him after knowing the little bit you knew about his agent days with Lee. Your list of loyal peers was growing thin anymore.

"I see you've deflected on my last question. I'm sorry things have to be this way. I really am Jo. I'm just trying to turn my life around but all I seem to be doing is making everyone hate me even more. Maybe it was a mistake to even come back here. I wanted to try to fix things and all I do is fuck them up even more. Suppose there's no reform for someone like me. Who am I to be some judge and jury? I'm a loner. Always have been. Better off that way...for everyone involved."

Luke was doing it again and at the worst possible time. Removing the armor and showing his softer side and that was why it was hard to stay angry with him. Just like Lee, he had a sordid past and had been through some bad shit. Knowing what Luke Sr. did to both Luke and Landy, defiling his own sons, was beyond comprehension to you so you couldn't even begin to imagine how that felt for the two wayward brothers. As you stared at your phone, not knowing how to reply to the heart on Luke's sleeve, you nearly jumped out of your skin when the officer appeared at your window, ticket in hand.

"I see that you're the late detective Brady's sister. Good man. So tragic. I am sorry for your loss."

Thinking he may decide to let you off with a warning, you smiled and hoped for the best. "Yes, I am. Thank you. Our family misses him so much."

"Your family, yes. I also am aware that that makes you Jason Morgan's sister. Not a good man, but you know that. He almost took you to the grave with him and here you are, speeding round town like he did on the bike as if you're something special."

"Ex...cuuuse me??!!"

"No, I won't excuse you like you probably thought I was going to just because of your family ties to the precinct."

Oh how you wanted to go all Betty White on him like she did in Lake Placid and call him Officer fuckmeat and then continuing on with her other snarky line of if I had a dick, this is where I'd tell you to suck it, but you would certainly be arrested this time if you did.

"Yeah well, I'm also detective Butler's ex- finacee and we're still very close. I'll be sure to tell him about this."

"I can see why it's ex. Lady, I don't care who you are. There won't be any preferential treatment here. Don't break the law. It's really not that hard. Here's your ticket. Have a good day Ma'am."

He handed you your expensive ass ticket with a court date for the following week and walked away as you sat with a gaping mouth.

"Asshole!" you grunted after you rolled up your window, then finally you were on your way, but before you drove off, you quickly texted Lee to tell him you would come to the cemetery but that you would be late. You didn't mention why though. It had nothing to do with the traffic stop and everything to do with the whopper of a secret that Megan confessed. As far as a reply to Luke, he would have to wait.

You called Gerry as you pulled up to the gates of the Kiriakis estate, but once again, he did not answer so you punched in the code for entry that only very few had. Those without the free pass would have to go through the whole rigmarole of identity verification and approval to be buzzed through, for Victor's security was understandably high with being a man of his nefarious stature and corresponding life. He may as well have been considered a celebrity. Of course ALL the other crime families of Salem were like that too.

The property was enormous and endless, consisting mostly of forestry, open country-like land and bayside access surrounding the mansion and one that did not know it well could easily get lost. It took you almost 5 minutes just to drive up the pine tree-lined path to the main house and then another minute to get back to the two story guest house where Gerry resided on the bay which was only a fraction in size of the stately manor. Even though Victor's fancy fortress had as many rooms as a 5 star hotel, Gerry cherished his privacy and wanted nothing to do with all servant bullshit and the tiresome walking involved in getting from room to room...and of course, papa Vic's business dealings. If the reserved detective could live like a hermit in a surfing shack on the beach, he would, for he loved the water and he had actually built one not far from the guest house that you were surprised he hadn't moved into already. It was more of a trailer located where all the good waves were for surfing and if he wasn't doing that, he was working on cars, one of his favorite pastimes. Maybe that's where he had been when he wasn't at the hospital visiting his father?

Once you reached the guest home, there were two cars parked in the front and neither were Gerry's.

You deciphered at least one to most likely be the maid or gardener, for Victor was OCD on the cleanliness and beauty of his grounds. As for the other, no clue. Maybe he had a girlfriend now? That could explain why he wasn't answering your calls.

After parking by the garage, you peaked in the window and saw Gerry's truck inside, so you headed up to the porch and rang the doorbell. There was no answer so you rang it once more and then glanced through the small window panel to see the television on, but no one was there.

"Gerry???!!" you shouted and knocked aggressively. "It's me, Jo!"

Another minute went by and no one came to the door. "Alright. " you sarcastically rationalized out loud as you took out the key you still had. "If you can walk right into my mother's home, I can do the same here."

You crept inside and quietly closed the door, then made your way to the TV, turned it off and called to him once more. "Gerry! Are you here??"

In the silence, you heard the toilet flush from the bathroom around the corner and then the door opened.

"Hallo?" a woman's familiar voice loudly questioned and then in walked Gerry's mother, gasping as she covered her mouth.

"Josephine darlin, in the name of the wee man!" the petite Gaelic woman with salt and pepper hair exclaimed in her strong Scottish accent.

Ironically, her name was Margaret just like your mother's and they both shared a son with Victor. She even had fiery hair like your mother once upon a time which was possibly what attracted Victor to her aside from the identical names and similar accents. The only difference was, she went by Margie and your mother went by Maggie. Margie lived in the Scottish Highlands and rarely visited the states. Gerry had usually went to see her instead, for he didn't like her braving the big Scotland airports alone such as Glasgow and Edinburgh, so you were just as stunned to see her as she was you. She probably came to support her son over Victor's heart attack which now made sense as to why Gerry had fallen off the grid, but it still pissed you off that he couldn't have sent you a simple text instead of ignoring you.

"Margie?? Oh my God is right!"

In the shared excitement, you both bee-lined to each other and embraced. You had surely missed her, for she had always made you feel like a part of her family. She was so kind-hearted and compassionate with a side of Scottish sass and she adored you. Needless to say, she was just as heartbroken as you and Gerry were when you and he had went your separate ways.

"I had no idea you were here Margie. Sorry for just walking in. I rang the bell and knocked but..."

"Oh, I tried to hurry but I was in the cludgie doin my jobby. It's a wee bit bowfin in there, so I would wait awhile if ye need to pee. It might make ye greet." she warned with a grin and a wink, for it literally meant she was taking a very smelly shit, one that would make you cry. She was usually quite frank about everything.

"I haven't been able to reach Gerry lately. When did you get here?"

"About tree days ago. I told my boy I was coming and there was nothin he could do about it so he flew all the long way to Glasgow and swooped me up in the sky on that fancy Kiriakis jet so I wouldn't have to fly alone. Ye know my Gerard, stubborn as an ox just like his Da. Oh goodness it is so guid tae see ye! Are ye well my darlin girl? Ye know I will always think of ye as my daughter no matter whit's happened."

You smiled and held her dishpan hands. "Of course I will always see you as a mother figure and I've certainly had better days."

"Ye do look a wee bit peely wally and ye been greetin. Yer een are red. Dinnae fash yersel. I won't tell."

"Dinner...what?" you giggled. "Sorry, my Gaelic sucks."

"It means don't worry. Nothin to be sorry about. Look who ye learned it from! Although Gerry knows the Celtic tongue, he tends to haver in the lowland Scot's language." she snarked with an eye roll. "But I suppose, like yersel, no one would understand him around here. His accent has weakened too. He tries to emphasize it more when I'm around and he thinks I don't notice the change but I suppose if I saw him more, it wouldn't seem so drastic now would it?"

"No, I suppose not. How is Edward? He didn't come?"

Her infamous Scottish sass surfaced about Gerry's stepfather. "Oh that old numpty craw. The eejit is probably sittin on his arse with his tap aff, wearin his baffies and clyping to the neebs while sippin on his uisge. He didn't want to come and be a proper crabbit around Gerry, but we all know it's because he don't take kindly to Victor and wouldn't be caught dead in his home."

"Have you went to see Victor?"

"HA!" she guffawed and rolled her eyes again. "I don't give a radan's arse about the old bawbag either but let's keep that between you and me. I'm only here to use the rich bastard's free amenities and to be here for Gerry because only the good Lord above knows why he loves that menace to society."

There was another difference between your mother and Margie. Your mom loved Victor. Margie despised him because he could never get over your mother. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

"Well, I would say your secret's safe with me but it's not like Gerry don't know how you feel. Speaking of, where is he? And.... who's cars are out front? Does he have other guests?"

"If yer hinting around to see if Gerry has some manky hen hiding under his bed, that would be a flat out naw. The only hen in his heart will always be the bonnie lass I'm lookin at, his Galway girl. One of the cars is a rental Gerry got for me so I can come and go as I please. Somebody has got to get the messages around here. Wasn't enough scran for a luch to nibble on. The other is Brady's car, ye know, the son who's name is strangely the same as yer mum's maiden name? or maybe it's Phillip's car? I lose track of all Victor's offspring anymore. All I know is one of his half brothers is here. The skinny malinky long legs and a braw lookin fella there in that picture on the stand. Looks like my Gerard when he was a lad."

You picked it up and chuckled. "Ahh, that would be Phillip, the youngest one. They have the same slanted smile and dimples. Is that where Gerry is? With Phil?"

"Aye, sorry, I don't know where my mind went whit all my haverin. Jetlag has me knackered, sticks with ye longer when yer thairis air a 'bheinn."

You tilted your head at her like a confused puppy. She usually used more of the Scot's English for you but would forget when she was rambling and would blurt out her witty words the way she spoke to Gerry because it was simply what she was accustomed to with being from the highlands. You compared it to playing a game of charades on guessing what she meant.

"Oh sorry darlin. I did it again. It means when yer over the hill. Anyways, Phillip's upstairs sleeping off the lagair. He and Gerry were off their trolley last night after visiting their dunderheid da. Phil got the boke. Poor lad. His heid's mince. He hit a pure whitey come morn. I told him not to have so many swallies but he was determined to keep up with Gerry. My son is out on the docks, up to high doh on fixin the boat while suckin down more of the bevvy and still reefin on those clatty baccy fags, so I've been in here, scrannin ma wee pan in on some mince and tatties, which is whit sent me to the cludgie and I was goin to watch my stories when ye popped in."

She very indiscreetly glanced over your shoulder to see the TV. "Ye mak a better door than a windae. Go on now. Get yer bahookie out there and have yersels a blether. That's whit ye came here for now aye? Whit's fur ye'll no go by ye."

Her smile was devious. You knew she wanted you and Gerry to reconcile but you couldn't even think of things like that when you loved Lee the way you did, but you understood what she last said and you certainly believed it. What's for you will not go by you. There were always signs if you paid attention, which you always did.

With your stomach in knots, you slowly headed out down the lengthy dock where you could see the speed boat up on the lift with Gerry inside of it and you could hear his jeers too, swearing like the Scotsman he truly was.

The day had become dreich as Margie would say and it was getting colder too, even more so out on the water. It felt like a reflection of your emotions. The calm before the storm that was about to become a category 5 hurricane when you found the courage to tell Gerry of Megan's betrayal. Knowing him the way you did, he wouldn't believe it at first and you could already predict his words. Yer bum's oot the windae! Blatantly translated....you're full of shit.

Your phone beeped, causing your already shortened steps of rapidly growing cold feet to cease altogether. It was Lee responding to your text that informed him of your late arrival.

"I have already waited a lifetime for you. I can wait longer because you are worth every aching minute of delay. I will wait forever if I must, just to breathe in your presence."

How? How could any human being possess such power over you? To be able to stop and restart your heart all from one simple text? As you stood there, literally holding Lee's bleeding heart in your hands, you began to feel incredibly guilty for making him wait, especially because you had chosen to go to Gerry first and you knew he wouldn't understand. You didn't even understand.

Forcing down the urge to lean over the rail and hurl, you gripped your queasy stomach and continued on. The closer you got, music became audible. You halted your steps once more, gasping as the song flung you back in time to 5 years ago in Galway when your relationship with Gerry was shiny and new. It was all your eyes could see as you gazed at Gerry working in the boat.

You had been wanting to go back to your roots and he had made that happen for you by taking you to Ireland on the same jet he picked his mom up in. It took a lot of coaxing though to get you on the man-made bird, for that was how your father had died when his plane had went down, something you rarely spoke of. Doped up on anxiety meds and tucked in the safety of Gerry's arms like a baby bird had gotten you through the fear and before you knew it, you and he were in Galway, partying it up.

The song was Galway Girl. Gerry said it reminded him of you and one night at one of the local pubs, the dashing detective showed off one of his many other talents. Playing guitar and singing that particular and very popular song with some guys he used to be in a band with back in his youthful days...and he sang it to you as he strummed the acoustic chordophone and strutted his way through the overcrowded room, embarrassing the hell out of you and then to top that off, he grabbed you up in his arms and kissed you madly. But you loved it and you loved him. It was like no one existed that night but you and him. Everything was so different then. You and Gerry were different, right down to his clean shaven baby face and your red hair with bangs.

You could still feel that kiss, taste it even. Guinness Stout mixed with sweet cologne and salty sweat. You were so happy. He was so happy. You could have had it all, rollin in the deep as the song said. He had your heart inside of his hand and he played it to the beat, or so you had believed no thanks to Megan's malevolence. She ruined everything. If she hadn't, would you now be Mrs. Josephine March Butler? You momentarily glanced down at your ring finger where the glowing golden rock used to be that he proposed to you with. He chose it because it was his birthstone and it reminded him of your amber eyes. He said it proved you and he were born for one another and even with Gerry, you had believed in all the signs so you really took that one to heart, along with both of your mothers names being the same. When everything went to shit, you took that as another sign and even went as far as secretly blaming it on the fact that he was a Scorpio. Low compatibility with your sign, a Sagittarius. Water and fire. It was said to be a very challenging relationship which it eventually became even without Megan's interference. You had just needed some fucking reason to understand how Gerry could ever cheat on you and with your slutty sister of all people or even at all. Would you have ever even met Lee? What would have happened if you had? Because your connection with him was instant and extremely intense, like the striking and igniting of a match. Aries and Sagittarius. Fire meets fire. You literally burned for each other.

As the song ended, the silence brought you back to the present, still staring at Gerry who had now locked his widened blue eyes upon you. Watching him hop out of the boat and casually strut his way to you in a dark baggy tee and a pair of khakis, you resumed your steps and your breathing that you swore had also ceased during your involuntary time travel.

He looked back at the boat and then you. "She's being stubborn. Hope you didn't come for a boat ride."

The ridiculous attempt to downplay his ghosting of you was expected and typical of Gerry, as well as the adorably anxious smile he displayed.

Gerry knew damn well you couldn't swim and would never get in a recreational boat but you couldn't even muster up a snarky retort with the way you were feeling and he noticed it. You noticed something too as he laid the rag on the railing and asked you if you wanted a beer. He was wearing his wedding ring.

"N..no. I'm good." you softly and simply declined.

As he opened the mini fridge under the small kitchen island used for bay parties, he looked back at you with concern.

"You ok?"

"I'm fine Gerry."

He popped the cap off the Heineken and took a swig while staring at you. "You're good, you're fine. Ok. Then why do you look like you've been crying?"

"Why do you look like a bottle of whiskey kicked your arse? Where have you been Gerry? I've been trying to reach you and I know damn well you know that. Why couldn't you answer my texts and calls??"

"Not to evade questioning like you're doing or to be a prick but since when do I owe you any explanations about my life? Last time I checked, we were never married."

"Fair enough...but why are you wearing your ring??"

His lips parted as he glanced down at his hand with a baffled expression, for clearly he had forgotten about it.

"Ohhh...that. Yeahhhh. Phil and I got a bit minced on a few wee drams last night and I woke up wearing it and well...now it's kind of stuck. Fingers got fatter I guess."

"A few shots?" you snickered. "I know how liberal you Scots pour those. According to your mom, ya'll were oot yer tree... errrrr was it off yer trollie?"

Gerry face palmed and grinned, then he sighed as he sat down on the rail. "Both terms would be correct. Look Josie, I'm dealin with a lot. You know that. I got my Mum in there hovering over me as you now know. I got Phil's young, dumb and reckless arse in there to look after and Vic over there in the hospital, still not doing well and now there's you."

You both gazed at each other for a moment, knowing he was reading you like a book and you began to feel sick all over again about what you had to tell him. His eyes already held so much stress and exhaustion and you were about to make it ten times worse.

"Josie...why are you here? What's going on with you sweetness? I can see it in those gorgeous eyes that something's wrong."

He was killing you. Gerry always called you sweetness from day one but it's the first time he had used the term of endearment it in a very long time.

"What ISN'T going on? Like you, I'm being hit at every angle with a new fresh hell every 5 minutes."

"And....you came..to me? Why? Don't you have that pretty doctor to bandage all your wounds?"

Your eyes instantly welled up. "You know what? This was obviously a mistake. I'm sorry for wasting your time."

As you spun around to leave, Gerry leaped off the rail and grabbed your hand, pulling you back. "Wait, wait...I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I..I'm just not used to you coming to me for anything or even talking to me much at all for that matter and now here you are, out of nowhere and...."

Gerry paused as he intensely peered down into your glistening eyes. He was still clinging to the littlest bit of hope that someday you would want him back and he couldn't help but wonder if that's why you were there.

His thumb softly caressed the top of your hand as he still held it. "Talk to me baby. Did...did he...hurt you in some way?"

There he went, reading you again like a psychic with that annoying intuition of his. Gerry was certainly meant to be a cop.

"Just stop!" you cried, yanking your hand from his and turning away from him as you softly sobbed. "I am NOT going to talk to you about Lee, so just stop Gerry. Please just stop."

"It's very clear that I'm right but I will respect your wishes."

His then laid a gentle hand upon your shoulder. "But you're crying and you know what that does to me. Did my mum say something to you? I know she tends to overstep...."

You turned, eyes closed as you sighed, then forced them up to his. "No, she was actually more subtle about you and me this time. God, I'm just so fucking frazzled right now."

"I can see that. Ok, take in deep breath, hold it for a second and then just let it go. Here, I'll do it with you, come on. 1, 2..."

"Gerryyyy...that doesn't work." you whined with an eye roll.

"No, don't argue with me. Just do it. One more time, 1...2...3."

On his count of three, you just began blurting things out. "First off, there's how many experienced cops at the Salem P.D. with murder cases and you left that egotistical rookie partner of yours in charge of Elizabeth's case. Does no one realize it's a conflict of interest?? Luke and Lee are at each other's throats over their own issues so HOW is this fair to Lee being a person of interest when Luke's the investigating officer??!! And let's not forget a little girl is missing and it's all my fault! This is one of the reason's I have been trying to reach you because you can be objective and get shit done and speaking of cops, I got pulled over on the way here by Officer over the fucking hill for speeding and he was rude and mean and insulted me all because Jason's my brother, oh and someone busted my fucking tail light out and rusty water keeps coming out of the faucets!!!"

Gerry's response was of simple surprise as he stared at you, lips ajar. "Wow."

"That's it? Wow??"

"Well Josie, there's all kinds of bad shit in this county going on and we only have so many cops who are on pre-existing cases, not to mention the huge drug shit going on so I felt Luke could handle this while I got my shit together since he's highly qualified and all and no, I was not aware of the personal conflicts with him, but now I am and I'll look in to it. I'm sorry I've been distant but I really didn't think I was needed in your life anymore. Bring your car out to the trailer tomorrow if you want and I'll fix it but as far as your plumbing problem, isn't that your mobster landlord's responsibility?"

"Hilarious Gerry. Craig is not a bad guy. His daughter is missing so don't start in on him like you always did Jason who also isn't a bad person like that cop called him and I'm not going to ask Craig to fix my shower when it isn't even broken."

"But you just said..."

"It's not the plumbing. Just never mind. You wouldn't believe me if I told you and that doesn't really matter right now so forget I said anything."

Gerry looked at you with skepticism. "Ok. But what did you mean by isn't?"

"Huh?"

"You said Jason isn't a bad person. Don't you mean wasn't?"

Oh god. You DID say that and you needed to do damage control real fucking fast because this wasn't the first time you had almost let it slip that Jason was alive and Gerry was too damn smart. You hated lying to him but Jason would tell the world his secret when he was ready. In the meantime, you hoped he would find Ethan sooner than later and especially Blaise, but you hadn't a single clue what your undead brother was even doing or where he and Britt were. Did Jason even know what happened to Megan?

"Of....course I meant wasn't Gerry. It was an accident. He's only been gone close to 2 months now. Still don't seem real." you sniffled and wiped the corner of your eye for good measure.

"Alright. I get it. Sorry. Guess I'm still in cop mode and speaking of, so this cop that pulled you over. What's his name?"

"I...I don't know?"

"You got the ticket on you?"

You dug into your purse. "Yeah. Here."

Gerry stood looking it over and then his eyes popped as he chuckled. "82 Josie? Really? Where was the fire? All of this was that important to get here? Anyways, I know this prick."

He crumpled the pink paper up without a care and chucked it into the water. "There. No more ticket."

"Gerry...what are you doing??! I need that!"

"Not anymore you don't. I'll make it go away. One problem solved."

You knew he could too. You just didn't want to ask him to. "I..you...you would do that for me? I mean, with you being all by the book and stuff, no matter who it is?"

"I think you know you're an exception to that rule. I would do anything for you, especially if I can in some way make up for all the pain I caused you."

Your stomach twisted. You couldn't put it off much longer. The truth about Megan.

"Can you make everything else go away too? Lee didn't hurt Liz and he certainly didn't kill her. Please tell me you believe that."

"I've done my research on Lee and no, I don't think he attacked or offed his ex. Honestly JoJo, I think it could be someone else who Elizabeth pissed off which according to Luke's reports, was quite a muckle amount of people, even including you but of course I know that's not the case. I'm leaning more towards someone who wants us to believe Lee did it since he does have quite the motive, but again...I don't feel it was him. Things just don't add up. I think someone was more pissed off at Lee than Elizabeth."

Gerry didn't suspect you but someone certainly tried to make it look that way by planting all that stuff in Lee's car, but you couldn't tell Gerry about that and now your thoughts swirled like a twister, sucking in every person with means and motive to hurt the two of you. Someone who knew Lee's routines.

"Well, there's a large list of those people too. Ethan will always be my first guess. He hates me and that Lee chose me and not him and we all know what he's capable of. Then there's Angel, Lee's neighbor. Another jealousy, woman scorned thing and there's that Carpenter guy. I mean, you witnessed his rage at Lee and there's even..."

You paused, feeling guilty for even thinking it, but your priority was to always protect Lee, no matter who you had to throw under the bus. "There's...your new partner...Luke. Something happened years ago between them Gerry and I don't know what that was but I do know it was really bad and the two of them, as I said, are not getting along. I just think you don't know everything about Luke and I know I don't either, but from what I've seen and from what I DO know, he has a violent streak in him, especially if provoked. Just like his brother Ethan and maybe Luke is using this cop thing to his advantage?? I mean, he was WSB for christ's sake and..."

Gerry shook his head. "Stop. Stop."

But you didn't stop. "No Gerry! Is it really that far fetched?? He's smart as hell. He can easily hide things he don't want people to know. Trust me."

So could Lee for that matter, but you were way past ever thinking it was him and would forever regret that the thought had ever crossed your mind just like the guilty person wanted it to.

"Or maybe he's just doing his damn job. So let me get this straight. You think a former WSB agent is now a dirty cop and my partner at that, just to seek some kind of revenge on his once good friend."

"I..I don't know! It's possible yes?? He knows Lee inside and out."

"I'm smart as hell too and would like to think I am damn good at what I do and the fact that you're standing here implying that I wouldn't see right through a conspiracy like that is rather insulting. I'm telling you Josie, it's not Luke. Until you can give me something concrete as to why Luke would want to hurt Lee, you need to drop it."

"Ok fine. Maybe it's not to hurt Lee? Maybe it was FOR Lee. Luke hated Liz too for what she did to Lee."

"You know, you're definitely right about one thing. Luke is too close to this and needs pulled from the case. With that said, I think you're forgetting a few others with motive to kill Nurse Webber. I mean...let's not forget her ex-husband who she kept his own daughter from, or so called daughter I should say since he believes Blaise to be Ethan's and if that turns out to be true, it's really damn good motive on his part to off her and let's also not forget his line of work, so there's that."

"Nope. Stop it Gerry. Craig did not do it. Leave him alone already. He wouldn't do that to his daughter no matter how much he despised Liz."

"You seem so sure of that and oddly protective of him. What's that all about?"

"None of your business. Now who else? You said a few others."

"Ok, but you aren't going to like it."

"WHO!" you snapped.

The name that came out of his mouth made your skin crawl. "Peter. He's been making some noise lately from within that 6 by 6 of his."

"W...w...what?" you softly stammered in fear.

"I wasn't going to tell you this but out of the blue, he's been demanding to get word to you to come see him and he won't say why, which I think we all know is because he knows about you being with Lee. The warden let me know about it and I've made sure any letters he sends out with your name are never sent."

You shuttered inside. "Just like he sent letters to Britt, wanting her to give them to me."

"She didn't did she? I was under the impression she loathed her sadist brother."

"She does and no. I never saw the letters and I don't want to talk about Pe..." you sighed, unable to even say his name. "Why are you bringing him up?? You're in good with this warden. Get him to put him in solitary confinement where he belongs, like he did to me!!"

"I'm sorry. I said you wouldn't like it. I know what he did to you, kidnapping you and locking you in that morgue drawer. I was there and saved you remember? Or you would have suffocated and believe me, if I could shut him up, I would, but I can only do so much. I'm bringing him up because we all know he has extreme jealous tendencies and access to people on the outside. I think you know where I'm going with this. If he wants to get to you or Lee, he can."

You wanted to tell Gerry so bad what you knew about Lee's past with Luke involving Peter aka Sam Colin and how Lee was using that alias because Luke told him to, but you just couldn't. You trusted Gerry with your life but not Lee's.

"Yeah, I do. He could easily set Lee up to get him away from me which is WHY his communication needs to be revoked!! He's not only the son of an infamous terrorist, but he's one himself and he shouldn't have the privileges he has Gerry! Besides that, do you really think it's his style to frame someone?? He's more of the eraser type.''

"Then why isn't Lee dead already? Peter is his father's son yes, but he wasn't raised by him, only that other whack job son of his was, Charles Rane, who got blown up across the pond years ago."

You felt sick again, because it was Lee who caused that explosion, killing the Rane of terror. If you only knew what happened. The entire story. You would bet money Peter knew. So did Spinelli from intercepting those letters from Peter to Britt. And of course, Jason knew. If only you had listened to his and Lee's entire conversation instead of interrupting them, maybe you would know the truth.

"Does that make Peter any less dangerous?" Gerry continued. "No, but I had been after Cesar for so long and the two couldn't be more different. You should know since Faison was going to kill you the night you got shot, which not to defend Peter, but he meant to hit his father, not you, in an attempt to save you. Cesar eliminates his threats. Peter toys with them. The sadistic fuck likes to watch people suffer. Big difference."

"I swear if you say his name one more time!! And yeah, I know the difference. It's the real reason, which you already know, that my anxiety issues arose and why I'm claustrophobic and scared of the dark and storms! You have no idea what thunder sounds like inside a cold metal box. But in shame, I tell everyone, even Lee, it's because Megan locked me in a crawl space during a storm when we were kids, which was true, but that never damaged me the way that monster did. I...I couldn't fucking breathe. I could still smell the chloroform and I can still see the darkness all around me, stealing my breath like the grim fucking reaper and hear the echoes of my own cries as I called out for you."

"I know...and Peter claimed he was hiding you from his father because you were my girlfriend and Faison would kill you if he found you. Maybe I should go visit the piece of shit because now I'm angry all over again and want to rip his minging heid aff!!"

There was the full blown Scottish accent and you hadn't even told him about Megan yet. "Well maybe someone in prison will get to him first, shank him over and over and over or slip some rat poison in his coffee or something. I bet you could arrange that."

"Haud yer wheesht! What's gotten into you Josie? Just because you're Jason's sister doesn't mean you have to act like him."

"Now YOU haud yer wheesht!"

"I will when you stap yer haverin!"

Your lips pursed and you went to riposte, but Gerry's phone rang. "Saved by the bell. Guess Luke's ears were ringing. I gotta take this. He fills me in from time to time."

As Gerry walked away to talk privately, you went to the sink for a glass of water. Your eyes were on him, trying to listen as you turned the faucet on but he was purposely whispering. Your hand became wet as the glass overflowed and when you looked down, your hand was stained with red water.

"Gerry!!!" you screeched and dropped the glass in the sink, shattering it.

"I'll call you later!" Gerry barked and ran to you. "Fuck Josie, did you cut your hand? Here baby, let me see it!"

"It's not blood Gerry. It's the water!! This is what I told you about! First at Dave's, then at my place and now here. I...I don't know what the fuck is happening. It's like some supernatural sign or an omen or something. Gerry, I feel like something bad is going to happen."

His eye dropped from yours and he became silent as he dried your hand off with a towel.

"Gerry? W..what's wrong? What did Luke tell you??"

He threw the towel down and grabbed another beer. "When were you going to tell me about Megan being kidnapped and attacked?"

"I...I was going to. We were just, you know, talking about all this other stuff and I got distracted. That's all."

"Luke's at the hospital now and asked me if I could find a guard and..."

"You need to! Because I don't think she was expected to be found considering where she was at. Did he speak to her? What did she say? Because she told me and mom she couldn't remember anything just before it happened and during, just that she remembered Dave finding her and...Gerry...she said she feels like it wasn't Ethan but...I don't believe that. She's either scared to rat him out or it's just the trauma."

"Or it's the drugs they found in her system compromising her memory. Her blood panel showed traces of Rohypnol in her system. It's a roofie."

"Oh my god...."

"That's...not all Josie. They uh...they did a rape kit on her and..."

"No...just...no. Tell me she wasn't."

"I...I can't. I'm sorry Josie. Luke said she don't remember it but she was so distraught from the results of both tests that they had to sedate her."

Your eyes burned with tears as your heart began to pound. "M..mom...what about my m...mom?"

"Luke's staying with her for awhile. Still think he's a cold blooded killer?"

"I...I don't know what to think anymore. Gerry...there's more...and it involves you. I need to get this out. It's the entire reason I came here."

"Why do I feel like I'm the one who's not going to like this now? What is it Joey? Oot with it."

You drew in a deep breath like he told you to do earlier, then exhaled long and hard. "Ok. Here it goes. After speaking to Megan today, she decided to do some kind of conscience cleanse and...she...she claims that you and she...never slept together. That she set you up to hurt me."

Gerry turned around with an incredulous sigh, placed his palm on his forehead for a moment, then turned back to you with his mouth hanging open.

"What? Yer bum's oot the windae." he exclaimed, exactly as you predicted he would and still in shock, he questioned again. "What?"

"It's not nonsense Gerry. Trust me, I didn't believe it at first either, but...her demeanor and how she cried her eyes out...it's true Gerry. She admitted to drugging you and even wearing my perfume to get you excited, but the drugs and the alcohol only ended up knocking you out, so she sent me that text from your phone, then took your clothes off and hers and climbed into bed with you, waiting for me to show up the next morning. It was all a fucking set up Gerry because she was jealous of me. I...I'm so sorry." you cried. "I..I...should have known better...I should have believed you when you said something didn't feel right...I..."

And here it came. The blow up you dreaded.

"That clatty cunt!!! Are you fucking kidding me??!! Oh karma sure bit her in the arse now didn't it eh??!! JEE-sus Mary and Joseph what the fuck is wrong with that girl??!! She should be in a fucking mental institution. I cannot even comprehend this right now. She..she ruined everything for us and for what?? Just to make you suffer?? And don't you dare stand here and blame yourself. I wouldn't have believed me either! She's going to fucking pay for this, so help me God."

"Well, as you said, she's already getting her karma."

"Ohhh hell no. She's going to get MY karma. Why am I the only one that's losing my shit here??!! She destroyed us Josie!! My god, did it ever cross your mind that we might still be together and even married?? You would be wearing the rings that go with the one I'm wearing right now!"

"That's ALL that has crossed my mind Gerry!! I'm supposed to be somewhere else right now but I came here. It's why I got fucking pulled over. I kept spacing out with the memories. I literally kept seeing the look on your face when I found you with her and it hurts like hell, all of it and then I get here and you're playing that damn song and my mind went back to those memories too and then I see you with that ring on and...and...and...I...god Gerry...I'm so confused!!"

He finally calmed down and started a conversation that you knew he would but were in no way prepared for. "Why? Why are you confused? My god, I'm innocent sweetness. Does this mean anything to you now? Does it...change...anything? Because nothing has ever changed for me except losing you. I still love you as much as I did then, if not more and..."

"Gerry...please don't."

He came up to you, face to face, pleading his case. "Don't what?? I never fucking cheated on you baby. I never could. That's why it never made any sense and you and me, being apart never made any sense. Do you not feel anything at all for me anymore? Is it really all gone? Because we were crazy as hell for each other and I know I'm not wrong about that. I mean, look what we had. We had a beautiful life. I know we had been through shit after you were shot, with the whole children thing, but we made it through that. We worked hard for what we had. Let's put some more gas in the tank."

"Gerry...I...I'm with Lee now, you know that and I..."

"Are you? Because I'm looking right at you standing here in front of me. Is that where you're supposed to be right now? But you're not, are you? You came to me. You could have waited to tell me all this. What was one more day of letting me feel the agony of losing the best damn thing that's ever happened to me? You couldn't. You couldn't do it. You had to come tell me right away and why? Because it fucking matters to you. I...matter to you, even now, after all this time, even after you moved on with someone else."

"Of..of course it matters to me Gerry! And no, I didn't want you to suffer anymore, not even for one more day..."

He stepped right up against you and placed his large hands on your cheeks, his face merely inches from yours, his warm beer breath showering your lips. "I...matter to you. Say it Josie. Tell me I still matter. Tell me you feel nothing for me anymore. Tell me you don't still love me, not even a little bit."

Tears raced out of your eyes and over his hands as your lips began to quiver. "I...I...Gerry please sto..."

His lips took yours with a fierce passion like he did on the dance floor that night in Galway and you found yourself succumbing to him like you did on the dance floor that night in Galway. The familiarity of his taste, the way his lips moved, the way they felt, the way HE felt all came flooding back to you and you couldn't pull yourself away.

@redeemer46

youtube

#code blue #love stories #dark fiction #dark stories #fantasies #lee pace #gerard butler #gerry butler #jeffrey dean morgan #negan #jdm #lee pace fanfiction #jolee #drama #luke evans #murder mystery #Youtube

37 notes · View notes

eccentrcks · 1 year ago

Text

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐎𝐂: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐞.

This gorgeous artwork of Marlene was made by my talented baby sister. Give her some applause for this! 🫶 I also made a taglist out of boredom, so don't mind me. Taglist to those who inspired me to make this profile and ref. sheet: @revnah1406, @welldonekhushi, @littlemissclandestine, @alypink, and @darkhazard19.

⎯ 𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗟 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡:

Name: Marlene

Full Name: Marlene Jamie Monroe

Alias(es): "Mona" (General nickname by her family), "Marlie" (childhood nickname), "Chicky" (Captain Price), "Squirt" or "Baby Girl" (Phillip Graves), "Marl" (David Mason).

Age: 23

Gender: Female

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: Irish, Native American, Welsh.

Hair Colour: Chestnut brown.

Eye Colour: Light brown

Height: 5’11” (181cm)

Weight: 187lbs (84.8kg)

Body Built: Athletically average.

Languages Spoken: English, Irish, Gaelic, Welsh, Cree, Spanish, Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Bulgarian, Mandarin, French, German, Portuguese, etc.

Date of Birth: August 29, 2002.

Place of Birth: Fairbanks, Alaska.

Blood Type: AB-

Sexuality: Heterosexual.

Marital Status: Single

Occupation: N/A.

Status: Unknown.

⎯ 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗧𝗦:

Myers-Briggs Type: INTJ-T (The Architect)

Calm and reserved: Despite having her moments of being a spitfire, she is actually a well composed individual and this really helps her in matters of survival. Although pretty social sometimes, then she can be completely asocial, Marlene is not exactly the kind of person who wouldn't instantly show her actual personality to others whom she'd just met. She handles stressful situations with the pressure very well most of time.

Selfless and loyal: Marlene may be an impassive and hardened young woman, but she has a good soul and heart. Those who are lucky to be a genuine friend of hers are privileged to see her display her true self at most times. Has the tendency to put others before herself. Marlene's love language is giving gifts, acts of service, and physical touch- which the latter is a rare thing of her to do frequently as a young adult now. Keeps it discreet though.

Tough as nails: She is unbelievably durable and endures a lot of life-threatening situations. Often gets underestimated by others, but tends to straighten them up with a surprise. It still hurts, yes, although she just quickly learns how to suck it up and keep going without letting it drag her down.

Jaded and weary: It's safe to mention that Marlene didn't had a normal childhood and went through a lot of hardships growing up with a paranoid survivalist of a mother. Kind of a sore spot for her to be asked about. Has a bad case of PTSD and denies her clinical diagnoses constantly. ("I'm fine." is her favourite saying) Has a complex relationship with her mother, her only parent that raised her this way, which means Marlene cares and resents her at the same time, yet she internally respects the woman who taught her most of everything she knows. She suffered from losses who were dearly significant to her... somethings she isn't ready to openly talk about. So the girl is just simply exhausted from existing.

Adaptable and intelligent, also a polyglot: If thrown into an environment that Marlene hadn't been in before, she will learn and adapt if it's necessary. Growing up traveling with her mother had taught her some things. She's quite a multilingual genius, speaks and read around 37(ish) languages, but also graduated high school at sixteen before attending Stanford University and finishing in three years for her computer science degree. So in a shorter summary, she's an eager and fantastic learner.

⎯ 𝗦𝗞𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗔𝗕𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗘𝗦:

Primary Weapons: Knife, Karambit neck knife, Remington 700PSS, HK-MP5K, HK-MP5A3, TP-82, XM177E1, and Pipe Bombs.

Fighting Style: Hand-to-hand combat, some MMA.

Special Skills: Great at reading others' body languages and sensing danger.

Talents: She can learn to speak at another language in a short span of time, craft explosives such as a pipe bomb within an hour if she has the resources, and create traps with the right stuff.

Shortcomings: Can get paranoid most of the time, chronically insomniac, has some trust issues, and suffers from terrible migraines.

⎯ 𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬:

"Born and grew up outside of Fairbanks in an isolated cabin for five years of her life with her mother, who had Marlene at eighteen, and mostly traveled around on the road after. She grew up with tough love and Melissa, her mother, was fiercely overprotective with her only child. Once they settled somewhere in California when she was eight where Marlene finally got enrolled in a public school where her peers would eventually learn about her intellect. She never knew how, or where, her mother earned her huge incomes to financially support themselves, but knows Melissa just has an every important job whenever she isn't home. Besides, whenever her mother was confronted, she was just met with a firm look by her and the woman stating that it's none of her concern as Marlene should just focus on herself. Eventually this led to her rebellious behaviour before incidents occurred and slowly shaped Marlene into a withdrawn teenager in college."

"Her history with Taskforce 141 was purely platonic. Met them through her mother, one by one when she was an teenager, before the group realized she was Melissa's baby girl and they all knew the same woman who met each of them outside of their occupations. She've met Phillip Graves when she was a kid when he came by to confront her mother before a father-daughter bond was formed between them since then. David Mason is her godfather and one of the people whom Marlene looks up to- much to Graves' dismay."

"When she was done with college at nineteen and the year 2021-[REDACTED]."

"Until 2022, she was brought into the CIA's custody in middle of a late evening walk, more like by Taskforce 141, and interrogated after some evidence of her was caught stealing some invaluable intel and secrets, appearing as one of their employees, before she was picked up by a black van after that. She kept denying the accusations and evidence for weeks until Graves, allegedly dead at the time, safely liberated her despite Marlene being in a frail condition with the help from David Mason and proof that she was truly innocent. Someone had framed her."

"Then not too long hours after she was brought into his protective custody, no one knew who helped her other than the fact that she escaped CIA's custody, as one of The Shadow Company's bases was attacked. Mostly everyone made it out, but Marlene who was soon announced dead after she passed out from the blood loss with the base getting bombed into nothing once they were forced to leave her behind. Leaving Graves and David angry, distraught, and vowed to avenge her once they find the culprits. Her remains were never found after that."

Theme song: Methods of Madness by Secession Studios.

*Profile will be be updated once the story progresses and kept her backstory vague(ish) for now.

#cod oc #cod oc: marlene monroe #my oc #call of duty oc #call of duty #cod #cod bocw #cod black ops #cod mw2 #cod mw3

43 notes · View notes

chartreusejelly · 5 months ago

Text

Am I Born to Die? || Sean MacGuire x f!OC

Fic Summary: A former fiddler in a traveling band reminisces on her short time in the Van Der Linde gang in the year 1889 through memories and letters. During a time when seeking a fresh start from a path of crime led to finding kinship, love and a hell of a lot more trouble.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of alcoholism, domestic abuse, murder, violence and derogatory language

Pairings: Sean x f!OC some implications of Arthur x f!OC

Characters: (in this chapter) Sean Maguire, Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith

Wordcount: 2,801

Prologue || Chapter 1

Notes: One thing I failed to mention : This story takes place over the course of 7-9 months (still undecided). It's loosely based on the canon time line of R2R2 but doesn't follow it precisely. The reason being that I have not finished the game yet, and don't want to spoil it for myself by doing too much research.

As always, I would love some feedback! I'm open to suggestions and constructive criticism! If you'd like to be tagged for future chapters, let me know!

Thanks for checking out my work!

My Pa use to say that my memory was as sharp as a whip. And believe me, coming from that old bastard, it was not meant to be a compliment.

He was born in Dublin, Ireland as Seamus Donoghue Jr. I learned, much later in life, that he changed it to “Shane Donahue” to sound less Irish when set foot in America as a young man looking for work. He came from a dirt poor, hungry family of three brothers and a widowed mother in hopes of earning some money to send them. I often imagine my poor gran had high hopes of her eldest son not turning out like his father, who was stabbed in a pub after he swindled the wrong man out of a game of cards. But after serving 2 years in the US military, her Seamus came out a wounded, bitter drunk, and dead before his time, just like his Pa.

Maybe I turned out more like my grandfather than I’d care to admit. I happen to be rather good at swindling myself, and have never been stabbed. But if you asked my father, despite getting his straw-colored hair and fair skin, I was every bit like my “good-for-nothin’, god-damned-squaw of a mother”. These were the words I usually heard before he put down the bottle and reached for the belt to give me a good beating for “back talking”, when all I was doing was pointing out how his drinking was the reason we had no money. My mother wasn’t afraid to say this to his face either.

My mother, Claire Donahue was actually half-French, half-American Indian. Her own mother taken all but forcibly from her tribe up North and married at seventeen to a French soldier. He ventured South in search of gold and then abandoned her with a house full of his children, most of whom died. My poor mother was destined to live a harsh life, and struggle was all she knew but she was intelligent and strong-willed.

I never understood what she saw in my father, besides an escape from a troubled past and perhaps a hope for something more.

The only thing he was always good at, was playing the fiddle, and his chirpy Irish tunes never failed to draw a crowd and a few coins if we needed them. He used to say that music was just one of those things that made the world seem brighter, even if it was cold and cruel most of the time.

I don’t know much about their life before I was born. They met near Georgia where both had ended up when they were young. They wrote each other all throughout the time he served in the war. His foot was blown half off by shrapnel, and she loved him enough to still marry him when he was discharged, despite knowing he couldn’t provide much. If it wasn’t his foot that slowed him down, it was his mouth costing him work after he’d had too much to drink.

My mother did her best to support us and worked in the kitchen of a rich aristocratic family in West Georgia before she was wrongly charged with thievery of their gold, and hanged when I was seven years of age.

I knew she didn’t steal that gold. If she had, we wouldn’t have been eating potato stew and living in a leaky shack, barely scraping by with what was left after my father’s drinking. I don’t know why that family wanted her dead so badly, but it never sit right with me. Maybe she heard or saw something she shouldn’t have or maybe they were just so cruel to take a woman from her child. All I know is that it sparked a rage that would never leave me. I wanted to torch their house once when I was older but my father talked me out of it.

“You’re all I’ve got left, Millie.” He told me. “If I have to watch you swing too, I’ll surly drink meself to death. I’ll end up in the depths of hell along with you. Is that what you want?”

I hate that his selfish, manipulative words could soften me. There were times I believed that man really did care about me as more than just a work horse or a dowery, and part of me still does. I’ve always forgiven him more than I should, because I felt he didn’t ask for the shit hand life dealt him, even if it turned him into a miserable drunk. I knew in my heart, he wasn’t all bad.

………….

I was with the Van Der Linde gang for nearly a year. Three seasons passed, but in my memories it feels like a lifetime. I think I knew all along that I wasn’t like them.

I was more than intimidated, in those first days I was getting acquainted. Here I was, a penniless, wandering fiddler without a band and without a fiddle. - It had fallen off the train back in Wallace - being welcomed by folks who were, for all I knew, blood thirsty criminals like you read about in stories.

I had robbed or swindled only a few men in desperate times. Shot a few, too, but only because they would have shot me first, or far worse. Every time I had, I prayed for their souls, as well as my own, and said as many hail Mary’s I felt necessary.

But these Van Der Linde people made my skin crawl with the way some of them laughed about people they’d killed for a few coins or a pocket watch. They talked about being at war with other gangs known as the Pinkertons and the O’Driscolls. They enjoyed killing as much as country folk during hunting season. I tried not to show how scared I was to sleep next to them those first few days. I mostly just kept to myself, kept quiet, and contemplated whether or not they’d hunt me down and shoot me if I just took off in the night with one of their horses.

Before we eventually reached our camp in Colter, they were talking about a heist in Blackwater. Robbing a bank wasn’t something I would have ever done willingly before meeting them, but I felt I was too deeply involved to back out, even just a few days in. And honestly, I wondered if it was exciting as they made it sound with your heart pumping as you rode out with a sack full of rich men’s money.

We were headed up the mountain, moving camps every few days. The air was getting more crisp and skiffs of snow appeared on the trees and the cold, rocky ground. For a few days, we found an abandoned mine shaft to keep us out of the wind and set up our tents and wagons, but we all knew that soon we’d need real shelter.

Dutch Van Der Linde seemed like a man who was both dangerous and exhilarating. He carried himself in a way that I knew the gang respected. Even when he didn’t seem sure of himself. He was someone who treated them all with love and loyalty as long as they gave it back. Called the younger men his “sons” and the older ones his “brothers”. Though something told me he’d cut the throats of any one of them without hesitation if they crossed him.

It didn’t take me long to reason that most of them weren’t as tough as they talked, and some were not as dangerous as they looked.

I took to Arthur quickly. He took me out hunting game my first day in camp, just to help keep me in Dutch’s good graces and show him I could pull my weight. Arthur was always doing that, helping the gang out, but in a ways you didn’t realize that was his intention until after his good deed was done. Any sort of praise seemed to embarrass him. He preferred that we all believed he had a heart made of stone instead of a tender one, but anyone with two eyes could see how much he cared about the gang.

Within a few weeks of me telling him I’d lost my fiddle, he returned to camp with a new one he had stolen out of a wagon. I couldn’t help myself. I threw my arms around him and thanked him. He just hugged me back stiffly and muttered that it wasn’t necessary, but I think I saw a little pink in his cheeks when I pulled away.

There was a lot of hurt in those deep blue eyes of his, however, that I dared not ask about. He rarely smiled and seemed to prefer to work alone. Arthur could be tough as nails when he needed to, but he was as good a man as they came, if he cared about you.

Charles Smith wasn’t like the rest, either. Strong, silent and handsome in a way that some of the women, myself included, couldn’t help but stare when he walked by. His broad chest and firm, bulging arms turned my face a new shade of red the first time I saw him without a shirt.

I could tell early on that he was one of the good ones, by nature. He seemed very serious. Worked hard, spoke very little, but I felt safe around him. Half-American Indian, like my mother, so I knew he was good people.

He caught me crafting a pair of buckskin gloves by the fire in our cave one day about two weeks after I arrived. Mr. Pearson had a lot of requests from the gang as we were approaching colder weather and was falling behind. I knew how to work with leather, and I needed something to do to keep busy, and warm. I had a flask of bourbon that was helping with this, which I seldom drank, but the wind that night was something else and Karen had offered it to keep me warm. I was starting to feel a bit tipsy, and no more warmer, but I could still focus on what I was doing.

Charles was standing by, warming his hand and watching my stitch work, while Sean Macguire sat on the other side of the fire. He was keeping warm in his own way of wildling a chunk of wood, drinking much more than me and singing an Irish tune that sounded like one my Pa used to sing. Only Sean was singing it wrong and I was trying to ignore him.

Charles seemed to be, too as he pointed to the gloves. “Looks good.” He told me. “Did you soften the hide first?”

I gave him a shy smile and nodded. “With oil, yes.” I’d barely heard Charles speak to anyone before that moment, and I found him so intriguing. I wanted him to keep talking to me.

“My mother was half-Indian, you know.” I added. This seemed to peak his interest. “That so? What tribe?” I was about to answer Charles when I heard a sound coming from the other side of the fire that could rival a braying donkey.

“HA!” Sean slapped his knee as I looked up at him slowly, and unamused. “You don’t look half-Indian to me.”

Sean and I had gotten off on the wrong foot, when he’d shoved a gun in my face on that train. After I had shot the lawman tailing him and Arthur, he had thanked me on the way back to camp, as though I had done it to save his life. I told him that if the man hadn’t showed up, the bullet would have gone in his head. After that, he sort of avoided me, which was just fine.

I could tell early on that he was the sort of person that got under everyone’s skin. He seemed to think his only duty was to serve as the camp jester. I had once heard Molly O’Shea, Dutch’s Irish lady, mutter that he was an embarrassment to the whole country.

He did seem to brighten their moods during the times he wasn’t pestering them, and the way he spoke almost made me miss my father. Arthur said it didn’t happen often, but like many of the men, if he’d been holed up in camp too long and drank past his limit, Sean would be itching for a chance to show off and pick a fight with someone. I felt the opposite of missing my Pa, then.

“I never said I was half-Indian,” I responded to his ignorant statement. “I said my mother was.”

“Well, you look full-Irish.” Sean responded in an accusatory way.

I started to rise from the stump where I was sitting. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“Yes, I am.” He gave a firm nod.

I decided it better not to bash him in his stupid mouth like I wanted to and not give him the satisfaction. I sat back down, trying to let my anger settle and went back to my stitching. “What the hell do you know? Eejit..” I repeated my father’s favorite insult under my breath, which only encouraged him.

He gave a scoff “Eejit,” he mimicked and laughed again. “You’ve even got a bit of an Irish brogue that comes out after a few drinks, dont’cha?”

I continued to ignore him growing increasingly furious and embarrassed in front of Charles who had gone quiet.

“An’ by the way,” Sean lowered his feet from the log they’d been resting on with a graceless thud to lean forward. “I saw how you write your name in the ledger, Miss Donahue. It’s Donoghue.” He enunciated the ‘Oh’ sound. “With an ‘O’. That’s how we spell it in Ireland.”

“I don’t care how it’s spelled in Ireland.” I shot back, still refusing to dignify the argument he was trying to start, for the most part.

“Well ya should care. Who are ya trying to fool? Spellin’ an Irish name like it’s English.”

I sneered at him. “‘ 'least I can write my name.” I watched his scowl deepen to my satisfaction. Apparently I’d struck a nerve. “It’s the way my father spelled it.” I added.

“Then it’s your father who’s the eejit, not me.” He snapped back.

My blood boiled. I picked up the knife next to my hand I had been using to cut my stitches and lunged across the pit, with the full intention of slicing off his ear. I grabbed him by the front if his jacket. We started to go down into the snow, and Charles tried to intervene, calmly.

Arthur, who was walking over with an armful of firewood saw what was going on and let the logs fall to rush over and pull me off of Sean. He stood between us, his hands pushing us apart. “Hey! HEY!! Enough!!” He scolded us like we were his two children roughhousing. “Goddamn fools, both of you! Christ sake… there are more important things that need to be done around here than rip each other’s throats out! We got enough to worry about.”

Sean and I were still trying to catch our breath, shooting glares at each other over Arthur. I lowered the knife.

“Don’t let Dutch see you acting like this,” Arthur told the both of us. “We gotta keep our heads before we get to Blackwater. Got it?” He looked from Sean’s face to mine waiting for an answer. I jabbed my finger at Sean.

“Talk about my family again and I’ll cut you open.” I said sharply. Then I turned to leave the fire pit, before I got mad enough to act on my threat, but the bastard had to have the last word.

He seemed quite insulted to have been nearly maimed by a woman in front of his colleagues. “Yeah? Well…I’d like to see you try!” he called after me “Scrawny Irish wench!”

Arthur picked up that stupid-looking bowler hat Sean always wore, which I had knocked off in the scuffle and shoved it into his chest. “Knock it off, Sean! Put the bottle down and do some damn work. Before I cut you open.” he let out a sigh and shook his head. “You and your damn mouth, boy.” I would have smirked to myself at Arthur reprimanding him, as I ducked into my tent still fuming, but I was in no laughing mood.

Like I said, Sean and I didn’t get off on the right foot, and I didn’t think, after that incident, that the young man would ever do anything but infuriate me. But this was one time when my first impression was incorrect. As Mary-Beth would say, you can’t always judge a book by the first chapter.

#sean macguire x reader #sean macguire x oc #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x oc #rdr2 fandom #canon x oc #sean macguire #enemies to lovers

8 notes · View notes

writershapeholeonthedoor · 2 years ago

Text

Baby Driver

Pairing: Kara Danvers x Lena Luthor

Summary: Lena doesn't know how to drive and Kara offers to teach her so she can take her license, however, driving proves to be harder than Lena thought it would be.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. I kind of stole someone's idea from a tag on a post, but they totally told me I could do it!

READ ON AO3 | MASTERPIECE

“Wait, you don’t know how to drive?”

Lena knew she had said too much when every head turned at her with equally surprised looks. It had been a silly comment about how she would have to wait for Sam to stop to drive her by every morning when they first started working together and forged their friendship. Her intention was to tell her friends about her rebellious times against the Luthor family and how she spent months refusing to take anything from them, which included their hired drivers, not to mention their money as well, that being the reason why Lena couldn’t take a cab and had to wait for Sam to walk to her apartment complex so they could take Lena’s second-hand car to work. It was supposed to be a funny thing where her friends would laugh at her stubbornness, maybe tease her for having Sam walk all the way to her apartment just so they could take Lena’s car for work. She was also partially waiting to engage in a conversation with J’onn about the very old car she managed to buy with the amount of money she was making at her very first job.

That’s not what happened, though.

Well, her friends did laugh at her story but, of course, Alex, being the secret agent she liked to think she was, picked up on the small detail in what Lena said that the youngest Luthor had thought no one would even notice.

With a groan, Lena threw her head back against the back of the couch, silently cursing herself for the slip-up. Sitting beside her on the comfortable couch was Kara, who placed a gentle hand on her forearm draped lazily across the couch between them, and Lena forced herself to look at their friends again. She had to make a conscious effort not to melt against Kara and forget about everything else, so, instead of letting her lovey-dovey eyes meet Kara, she chose to point a finger at Alex instead.

“You can’t mock me. I was too busy getting a double degree along with a doctorate.”

The redhead raised her hands in mock surrender from where she was sitting on the floor beside Kelly, with sweet little Esme in front of them while playing with some legos. “Hey, put your guns away, Luthor. I’m just curious. You can put a rocket together with your hands tied behind your back and blindfold while also wearing a kilt-”

“I shouldn’t have told you I’m Irish,” Lena wailed.

“-and you don’t know how to drive?” Alex finished the sentence as if Lena hadn’t said anything, although she quickly pointed a finger at the brunette to add: “I cherish that information, thank you very much.”

Lena rolled her eyes and was about to argue something back, but Brainy beat her to it. “It is actually not that surprising that Lena knows how to build a rocket but can’t drive a car. Those are different things.”

“I like you,” Lena declared with a smile towards her friend which prompted a laugh from everyone else. She waited until it died down before speaking again. “But really, I just never had the time to learn. I also never had a reason to. I mean, my rebellious time lasted just a few months until I went out of money to buy books. I always had a driver ready to take me everywhere and it hadn’t changed over the years, so yes. Not everyone thinks they are going to star in the next Fast and Furious movie, Danvers.”

“I resent that,” Alex commented with a smile that let Lena know she was just joking.

Coming to her aid, Kelly placed a hand on her wife’s shoulder to keep her from teasing Lena any further. “You have time now,” she gently reminded Lena. “Don’t you want to learn it?”

Lena was happy that Kelly very gracefully avoided saying that she also didn’t have a driver anymore. After defeating Lex - again - just a few weeks ago, Lena was still trying to put her life on track. She knew she would want to put L-Corp back on its feet again, but Lena was taking her precious time to do it this time around so she wouldn’t be overloaded with work again. Meanwhile, Lena was still sharing Kara’s apartment with her, studying for another doctorate - that she honestly didn’t need, but that was something nice to put her attention on - and spending her free time trying to come up with ways to improve Kara’s super suit, helping the rest of the team or coming to terms with her past.

It had been fun, to put it simply.

“Well, I suppose,” Lena ended up replying after considering the question for a few seconds. “It’s not something I miss, but it would be nice to know how to drive if I ever need it for some reason.”

That’s when Kara decided to jump into the conversation with her usual overly excited personality. “I can teach you.”

Before Lena could ever think about replying to that - and she would have to admit it would take a while to get her brain to function because she made the mistake of looking to the side and she met Kara’s blinding beautiful smile and bright blue eyes, and it was just too much to handle - Alex had her own input in the subject. “No way! You’re a terrible driver, Kara!”

“I’m not!” The blonde quickly argued as she glanced at her sister with her mouth hanging open in shock.

“You so are,” Alex scoffed.

“She’s not,” Nia said, coming to help her mentor in the stupid argument going on. “She used to drive around a lot with me when I first started working at CatCo.”

“Thank you, Nia!” Kara exclaimed happily. “See?” She then skillfully dodged the pillow that Alex threw her way.

“How much did you pay her to say that?”

“Nothing!” Very maturely, Kara stuck her tongue out to Alex.

While everyone else shared a laugh at the sister’s antics, Lena decided to place her hand on Kara’s thigh to show her some support - and also just because she could. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think you want to waste your time trying to teach me how to drive.”

“Of course I want!” Kara chirped in quickly, already turning herself on the couch so she could face Lena more easily. Their knees were almost brushing against it other now and it made Lena smile like a schoolgirl. “I always want to spend time with you!”

The chorus of “aww” that went around only made Lena blush a little, but she didn’t think twice before leaning over to kiss Kara’s lips - because she could do that now! She could kiss Kara now. She could just lean closer and kiss Kara’s lips, and, for the love of God, that was something Lena loved doing. Lena was almost sure that Kara had some addicting poison in her lips because she had been hooked since the first time she did that, but she honestly didn’t mind. She could kiss Kara now, and they were sharing an apartment, and they held hands while walking down the street to Noonan’s, and they drew each other silly things in the bathroom mirror just to make the other person smile when they took a shower next.

“It’s going to be fun,” Kara said after they pulled away from the chaste kiss. She didn’t go too far and her nose was still brushing against Lena’s, which made it a bit hard for the brunette to think while she looked at the bright blue eyes staring at her. “You can take your license then and we can have one of those cute dates at the parking lot theater outside town.”

Okay, Lena wanted that.

She found herself nodding before she even thought it through, though, but it was worth it when Kara yelped and pulled her in for a thigh hug. Lena laughed happily while she tried to find a comfortable position for the hug, deciding lastly to rest her cheek on Kara’s chest as her arm wrapped around the blonde’s waist. Nia and Kelly were clapping and playfully telling her words of encouragement, while J’onn was just smiling at them all and Brainy was trying to help Esme with her Lego tower, but Alex looked just a bit concerned as if she wasn’t entirely sure this was a good idea.

“Can’t you drive there?” She mumbled at Kara, but she backed away when her sister threw her a warning look. “Well, I’m sure Lena can figure out how to drive a car. She can drive a spaceship, so it won’t be a problem.”

“I will pretend I didn’t hear your sarcasm, Danvers,” Lena replied.

“And I will pretend you don’t shove your tongue down my sister’s throat, Luthor,” Alex shot back with one arched eyebrow.

Lena shrugged. “Not only there.”

The reactions she got to that were immediate and hilarious. Alex groaned and put her hands on her face, while her wife laughed loudly, falling back on the floor. Nia pretended to be shocked and covered Esme’s ears but she was also laughing when she had to lean over to explain to Brainy what Lena meant by that while J’onn announced that was his cue to go to the kitchen to grab another soda. Kara, on the other hand, blushed a deep shade of red and hugged Lena even harder so she could hide her face in the crook of Lena’s neck.

“Zhao,” the whispered the complaint against Lena’s skin, although she sounded a bit amused too.

The word of endearment, though, made Lena’s heart swell with love and pride. Kara had been more and more open about her heritage after they made amends, especially after they started that tentative relationship between them, and hearing Kara speaking her native language with her almost made Lena’s heart beat faster.

It made her raise her head, untangling herself from Kara’s arms, to peck her lips again and that had been it. The conversation ended there and they shortly decided to go back to their game of Scrabble, which Lena, of course, won. Alex, Kelly and Esme left not too long after that, with the kid already half asleep in her mom’s arms. Nia, Brainy and J’onn helped them clean up before the Martian offered the couple a ride home, and then there was only Kara and Lena left at the studio apartment.

Lena honestly thought the conversation would be forgotten soon. She knew she would eventually have to face Alex’s jokes about it every once in a while, but it was fine. Lena was a grown woman, she could handle it - and she could always make her sister-in-law shut up by making some not-so-innocent comments about Kara. She did think Kara’s offer to teach her how to drive wouldn’t be remembered, however.

So, imagine her surprise when Kara took her to a mostly empty parking lot on a Sunday afternoon when they were supposed to be home cuddling on the couch while watching a re-run of Desperate Housewives.

“Uh,” Lena said when she stopped walking. The parking lot wasn’t necessarily big since it was behind Noonan’s, and she could see two cars parked there, but she was confused because they had walked there from Kara’s apartment. “What are we doing here?”

“What do you think?” Kara asked excitedly. She had kept walking, now doing it backward so she could look at Lena, and her smile was large. “I’m teaching you how to drive!”

“What?”

“I told you I would do it, didn’t I?” Kara laughed, finally stopping in her tracks to open her arms. “So here we are!”

Lena looked around slowly. There was a large garbage bin pressed against the back of the restaurant, a few light poles spread around and, other than the two cars, there was nothing else. No trees, no bushes, no sidewalk, nothing. Even so, Lena started feeling sweat forming on her forehead because that was insane. She didn’t need to learn how to drive. She had managed to live that long without driving!

“Come on,” Kara called her while waving a hand for Lena to get closer. “It’s going to be fun!”

Lena really should learn how to say no to Kara.

That was starting to become a problem.

She sighed and started walking slowly towards the blonde, as if her slow pace could, somehow, make the other woman change her mind - or a meteor to fall from the sky right on top of her, although she was sure Kara would find a way to stop it before it happened. So, apparently, she was doomed to learn how to drive.

It wasn’t like she was afraid to do so or that she didn’t trust Kara to be a good teacher, but… Lena had never done it. She never sat behind the wheel. But it couldn’t be that hard, right? She had done harder things in her life, for sure.

“Is that Alex’s car?” Lena asked suddenly when she recognized the vehicle parked right behind Kara. The other car was all the way across the parking lot, very far away.

“Yes!” Kara answered her happily as she turned around to show it to Lena. It was a black car, beautiful she could say, and brand new.

Very new.

As in “Alex bought it two months ago” new.

Lena arched one eyebrow. “How did you convince her to let you use her car?” Alex hadn’t let anyone but herself and Kelly drive it, so Lena couldn’t even imagine how that conversation went.

“Oh, you know,” Kara waved a hand dismissively, which was enough indication that Lena wasn’t going to like her answer, “I told her I couldn’t take J’onn’s car because it’s so old and it’s very unlikely you will ever drive something like that.”

“And she just said yes?”

This time Kara hesitated. She refused to look back at Lena and her eyes kept staring at the back of the car for several seconds before she sighed. “I told her it might be nice to teach you how to drive so you could take your license in case something ever happens and you need to take Esme from school.”

The words were said in a rush, but Lena understood them clearly. She was too shocked to say anything at first, although a big smile slowly took over her face. “You bribed Alex with her own kid? Oh my, Kara Zor-El, you’re evil.”

Kara groaned, doing her best to glance at Lena with her innocent blue eyes. “I’m not even that sorry,” she admitted.

Lena laughed and approached Kara to kiss her cheek. “Come on, let’s get moving with it.”

A minute later, Lena was sitting behind the wheel for the first time in her life. Kara was sitting by her side with a grin and a very chill-out attitude, which was the complete opposite of how Lena was feeling. She had been afraid to touch anything until Kara told her she would need to adjust the review mirror and the seat, but she hadn’t moved since she did that and placed both of her hands on the wheel. Her knuckles were a bit white but they both pretended not to notice it.

“Okay, so there’s really no secret here. You’re going to start the car, change gears and put it into drive. Then you’re going to slowly step on the gas pedal while you remove your foot from the brake and you’re going to take off.”

“That’s it?” Lena asked in confirmation.

Kara chuckled. “That’s it, yes. I mean, it would’ve been harder if it was a stick-shift car, but this is automatic. You don’t have to do much, really. Just keep both hands on the steering wheel and don’t step too hard on the gas pedal.”

Lena could do that.

That was way easier than putting a rocket back together or driving a spaceship.

She could do it.

With a deep breath, Lena put her hand on the keys and turned it to get the car started. She let it go after it made a loud noise, though.

“Too much,” Kara warned her with a gentle smile. “You don’t need to hold it for that long, but it worked, so now you change the gear. You’re going to put your hand here and press this button, then you’re going to move it to drive.” She waited until Lena did that before she clapped proudly. “Yes! Now you put the handbrake down. Okay, so your left foot is going to step on the brake and your right foot is for the gas pedal. Don’t mix them,” she joked, completely missing the gulp that made Lena’s throat bob. “Slowly press the gas pedal now.”

Lena could do it.

Really.

She could.

After another deep breath, Lena used the tip of her shoe to press on the gas pedal while she took her left foot from the brake.

Things happened way too fast after that.

The car jolted suddenly, making Lena hit her back hard against the seat, and it started to move forward with small jumps. A bit in panic, Lena ended up pressing the gas pedal again and the car went forward way faster than she ever wanted it to go, and her first reaction was to pull the handbrake up. Kara, luckily, saw what she was about to do and stopped her hand from touching it.

“No, no! We don’t pull the handbrake when we’re moving,” she said with a nervous laugh. They were going a bit faster than she would like for a first class, but the parking lot was larger than it seemed and there was nothing in front of them, so it was fine. Or that’s what she told herself while her other hand moved to the grab handle. “Just take your foot from the gas pedal and step on the brake.”

That’s what Lena did next, but, again, it was with much more intent than it should have been. The car came to a very sudden stop making Lena go forward and almost hit the wheel, before she stretched out her arms and pressed herself against the seat, eyes wide and heart racing. Kara hadn’t moved at all, although the blonde was looking through the windshield with her eyebrows raised and lips pursed. For a few seconds, no one said a thing, until Kara turned her head with an awkward smile.

“Well, we need to work on being more subtle,” she commented with a still gentle voice, though Lena could see her jaw twitch a bit.

“Jesus, Kara, this was a bad idea,” Lena said with a blush and sorrowful eyes. “I’m sorry, I-”

“No, no, no,” the other woman interrupted her quickly, trying to turn on her seat to take a better look at the brunette. “Don’t apologize. You’re learning! Did you always know how to mix chemicals or sold wires together or did you have to learn it?” She laughed. “It’s going to be fine, really. This time, just try to step more lightly on the gas pedal. If you want to brake, do it slowly, okay?”

Lena still looked unsure, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she looked forward again, sighed, and decided to try again. The second time around was better than the first, but she started to panic because she thought she was about to hit a tree - that was several feet away from them - and she ended up braking way too hard again. It kept happening for a while. Lena would move a few inches and suddenly step on the brake, afraid she might hit something, to the point where they hadn’t even reached the end of the parking lot to start making their way back.

Kara could feel herself getting a bit frustrated because, no matter what she said, Lena would still freak out and stop the car instead of keep driving. And not a smooth stop either. However, Kara refrained from saying anything about it since she knew that was the first time Lena was ever driving a car and because she knew that losing her temper wouldn’t help anyone. Even if Lena was having trouble making the car drive in a straight line.

“Okay, we’re going to stop here and try to turn around,” Kara said after another particular hard stop. Lena had started sweating at some point and she looked at the blonde as if she had suggested they jump off a cliff after she said that. “Lena, you need to learn how to turn the wheel, come on. Besides, if we keep going straight, you won’t have enough space to turn later.”

“Maybe that’s enough lesson for today,” Lena suggested with a grimace.

But Kara just chuckled. “We’ve been here for half an hour.” She must have seen the panic in Lena’s eyes though, because she softened her features and placed a warm hand on the other woman’s thigh. “We will cover the basics today and return some other day, okay?”

“Okay,” Lena agreed quietly.

“Good.” Kara leaned to kiss Lena’s cheek before she returned to her seat - her hand had not left the grab handle since the first time Lena stepped on the pedal. “Now, you’re going to go forward and, once you drive past that like mark on the floor, you’re going to start turning the wheel. We need to make a curve so we will be facing the other way, so don’t stop turning it, but remember to do it slowly. Don’t do it too fast or too hard or we will be jerked to the side. Oh, and take care with the garbage bin.”

Lena wasn’t sure if her heart beating fast or her sweaty palms were the worst, but she had no idea that driving would make her feel a step away from a heart attack. However, she didn’t want to let Kara down. She wanted to prove to her girlfriend that she could do it, that she could learn how to drive, but she also wanted Kara to be happy that she was the one who taught Lena. And Lena couldn’t deny that she also wanted to take Kara on that date the blonde had mentioned.

“Hey,” Kara softly called her when Lena kept staring at something in the distance. She waited until the younger Luthor was looking at her again before smiling and reaching out to take one of her hands for the steering wheel. “What if I tell you something funny to help you relax?” Neither of them missed the way Lena nodded eagerly at that, but Kara chose not to mention it. “Okay, so, I’m actually a good driver. I can hear when cars are getting closer, I respect literally all traffic laws, and I had never got involved in an accident. However…” Kara’s tone became playful and, even if Lena didn’t know the end of the story yet, it already made her smile. “I like to tease Alex a little bit. So, whenever she lets me drive, I go just a bit faster and make the curves a bit too closely to the other cars, and I pretend I’m not going to stop at the red lights or that I’m not seeing people crossing the road.” Kara chuckled.

Lena also laughed, shaking her head in amusement. “That’s why she said you’re a terrible driver?”

“Yes.” The blonde glanced up and winked at her. “I just like to see her squirm in her seat and it’s quite funny when she starts turning green,” she admitted shamelessly.

“You’re terrible,” Lena laughed, not even noticing how tension left her body.

“I know, but it’s fun.” Kara shrugged. “It’s nearly impossible for me to ever hit a car I’m driving. Come on, I have super senses and perfect reflexes. I can stop from hitting someone or something, and I can hear if someone is about to hit me and get out of the way. I don’t think Alex ever realized that, though.” She paused to narrow her eyes at Lena. “And you’re not going to tell her.”

Lena shook her head quickly. “Never, but I kind of want to be in the car the next time you drive her somewhere.”

“Deal,” Kara conceded with an overly dramatic handshake before she leaned closer to kiss Lena’s lips. “Now, come on. We can go home after you make the turn, I think you had enough emotions for one day.”

Lena felt much better after Kara’s little anecdote, much more confident too because she had Supergirl in the car with her. It was unlikely that anything bad would happen. So, with a small smile, Lena decided to get going with it.

She took her foot from the brake and stepped on the gas pedal, and, for the first time that day, the car didn’t jerk suddenly. It actually moved really smoothly and Lena didn’t feel the need to stop. She kept it going slow, looking at the review mirrors even if she knew there was no one behind her, and reminding herself that the trees were far away from where they were. Lena drove past the mark that Kara pointed out before and slowly, very slowly, started to turn the wheel.

“Very nice!” Kara celebrated. “Just keep going.” Lena surprisingly made the turn almost perfectly, although she did pull the wheel a bit harder when she got closer to the garbage bin even if it was clear she wasn’t going to hit it. Upon seeing that, Kara yelled like Lena had just saved the world again. “Keep going! Don’t stop! You’re doing great, just keep driving until we’re back to where we were parked before.”

Lena could do it.

It wasn’t that hard, really.

She just needed to keep both hands on the wheel and remember not to put too much strength into things.

Oh, no, they had another garbage bin?!

“Oh,” Kara breathed out when Lena pivoted the steering wheel so quickly that not even the alien saw it coming. “Wait, Lena, turn it again.” Again, she did it way faster than she should’ve and Kara almost moved to grab the steering wheel from her, but she kept herself from doing that at the same time she bit her bottom lip to hold back a scream. “Just keep going straight, okay? There’s nothing in front of you, you’re not going to hit anything.”

If Lena wasn’t panicking at that moment, she would’ve noticed how on edge Kara sounded and how badly she was holding herself from being unnecessarily rude - though it would’ve been a reaction out of fear. But, since Lena was too busy thinking that the trees were getting closer and that the garbage bin was moving toward her, her only concern was to keep driving. Which, ironically, was the opposite reaction she was having before when she would brake every few seconds.

Kara grabbed the seat beneath her and straightened her back as she held her breath, trying to show Lena she trusted her at the same time her brain was telling her she shouldn’t be trusting Lena right now. She saw the brunette driving mostly in a straight line after the sudden pivot from before and tried to relax, which didn’t work when she saw Lena driving past the point where she was supposed to stop.

“Lena-” she tried to warn her but got too afraid to say something that would make the brunette do something wrong again. “Uh…”

Kara’s eyes kept moving around while she tried to make sure everything was fine, though her hand grabbed her seat a bit harder. There was nothing to the sides, just the trees very far away and the back of Noonan’s, which was also not that close. The only thing in front of them was the other car parked there - which she knew belonged to the Noonan’s manager - but it was still a bit far and she was sure Lena was seeing it. It was right in the way and Lena wasn’t blind. She also seemed very eager to press the brake before, so Kara was sure they weren’t going to hit it.

Almost sure.

Once they got closer, Kara moved in her seat. “Lena… The… Uh, the car. You need to…”

Lena moved the steering wheel to the side, allowing Kara to breathe again, and the blonde let out a nervous chuckle when she looked to the side at the other woman. Well, now she was just thinking Lena was messing with her the same way she used to do with Alex. And, okay, fine, maybe she should stop doing that with her sister because it was actually a bit scary.

When Kara looked forward again, though, she saw the other car way closer than it should be.

Kara didn’t think twice before stretching her arm across Lena’s chest to hold her in place and avoid her getting hurt, and, a second later, both cars hit with a loud noise.

And then there was silence.

Kara’s arm was still holding Lena in place and they were both looking outside with wide eyes - though the brunette was the clear image of someone panicking while Kara just held no emotion in her face. Luckily, the airbag hadn’t been triggered since the car wasn’t that fast, but Kara could see the dents in both cars even without moving. Incredulous, Kara glanced around to make sure she had seen things right before.

There was nothing else there. Nothing. Just a single car that Lena managed to hit when she had all the space in the world to drive around it.

Unbelievable.

“Oh, no,” Lena breathed out finally, which put Kara into action immediately.

“Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

Blue eyes moved to study the woman beside her to make sure she had been able to prevent Lena from getting hurt, searching for a scratch or a bruise, anything. Lena, however, just turned her head to look at her with wide eyes and a bit maniac expression. “You said it was impossible to get into a car accident with you!”

“I wasn’t the one driving!” Kara quickly defended herself in the same loud tone Lena had used, although she couldn’t help but start seeing some humor in it.

Holy shoot. Lena hit the only thing around them with Alex’s car.

“Fuck!” Lena yelled before putting both hands on her face. “Alex is going to kill me!”

“I don’t think she will,” Kara said with a hint of humor. “I mean, it’s more likely that she will drop dead before she thinks about killing you.”

“Kara!” The brunette exclaimed when her girlfriend started laughing. “That’s not funny!”

“It kind of is!” Kara kept laughing. “Look around, Lena, you hit the only thing in front of you for miles!”

“Kara!”

Before Lena could say anything else, the back door of the restaurant opened and the manager, probably having heard the noise, stepped out to go check what was going on. Kara’s smile disappeared as soon as she spotted the old man.

“Uh-uh,” she whispered.

Lena apologized profusely to the kind man. He didn’t seem mad, but he was a bit sad about the damage to his car. It had dented his back door, although Alex’s car was in a worse condition. Still standing in front of the man, Lena made a bank transaction, sending him enough money to buy three cars like his even if the man kept telling her there was no need to give him that much money. It made Lena’s bank account go even worse than it already was since she stepped back from L-Corp, but that was the least she could do. She still had money from other investments she had made and the man literally had nothing to do with anything that happened, so, yes, he deserved the money.

After that problem was solved, Kara, who had been behind to let Lena deal with things, smiled at her and offered her an apology for not being able to stop her in time. Lena wasn’t mad at her - she could see it was her fault now that she wasn’t so nervous anymore - and they ended up hugging each other while looking at the damage to Alex’s car for a while.

“Promise me you won’t let your sister kill me,” Lena whispered after a couple of minutes.

And Kara had laughed, kissed the top of her head, and told her that Alex wouldn’t kill her. She knew her sister wouldn’t be happy, but she wouldn’t kill Lena - what she didn’t say was that she wasn’t sure Alex wouldn’t try to do it, but Lena would be fine.

Kara drove the car back to their shared apartment even after Lena said she should be there to tell Alex she hit her car, but the blonde only kissed her goodbye and went to drop off the car to her sister alone. The silence that went on for minutes after Alex stepped outside her building and saw the state of her car spoke volumes, although Kara was glad that Kelly was there to make sure her sister wasn’t going to freak out too much.

“Please, don’t be mad at her,” Kara asked her softly. “She was nervous and I should’ve taken a closer look. Lena’s feeling pretty bad already.”

Alex kept quiet for another minute before she took a shaky breath in while putting her hands on her hips. “My car,” was all she said with a trembling voice.

Standing outside, Kara was still talking with her sister about two hours later - well, she was actually letting Alex scold her for being reckless, really - when a cab stopped across the street and Lena got out of it. The blonde glanced at her sister to be sure Alex wouldn’t flip a table at her girlfriend, but her sister had dutifully snapped her mouth shut to keep herself from saying anything.

“I got you a new car,” Lena said before anyone could say something. “Exactly like this one.”

Kara saw the way her sister’s jaw moved like she was grinding her teeth, but that seemed to be enough to Alex because the redhead sighed and nodded. “You could’ve just paid for the repair, you know?”

Lena waved a hand. “It would lose market value,” she declared once she stopped beside Kara. Her girlfriend put one arm across her sounders and Lena instinctively wrapped her arm around the blonde’s waist like it was second nature already. “I also bought you another something to make it up for you.”

“Really, Lena, maybe it’s a bit too much. I mean, yes, it looks bad, but you could’ve just paid for-Holy crap!” Alex's sudden outburst occurred when she saw a truck turning around the corner. Not any truck. “You bought me a Harley-Davidson?!”

“I hate you, Luthor!” They heard Kelly yelling from the window of their shared apartment, where she had gone to take care of Esme after making sure her wife would live another day.

Lena glanced up to see her friend leaning to look down. “I got you a new coffee machine!”

After a pause, Kelly yelled back: “I love you, Lena!” and disappeared inside the apartment.

Kara laughed while she thought her sister’s neighbors must have them, but her attention quickly shifted back to the truck parked in front of the building. She saw her sister running towards it like a kid on Christmas morning and smiled when Alex started talking with the driver as soon as he stepped out of the vehicle. She had no idea how Lena managed to do that so fast, but she was sure Alex would never complain about anything else for the rest of her life.

“Why don’t I get a motorcycle?” Kara asked with a chuckle.

Lena frowned and tilted her head to the side. “You know how to drive one?”

“Of course,” the blonde shrugged.

If she noticed the way Lena’s green eyes went darker, she didn’t say anything. “Good to know,” the brunette mumbled with a smile as she looked back at her sister-in-law.

“Maybe Alex can lend me hers,” Kara joked loudly enough for her sister to hear.

“Not a change in hell,” came Alex’s immediate reply, although the woman hadn’t been able to remove the smile from her face as she said it.

They didn’t get rid of Alex’s damaged car until Lena was done with her classes - just in case, since they didn’t want any more damaged cars. It took Lena some time, but she actually became a good driver once the initial fear was gone, although it took Alex months before she agreed to enter a car that Lena was driving. And she only did that because she had to teach Lena how to parallel park.

Kara didn’t know how.

J’onn was too busy with something.

Nia and Brainy didn’t know how to drive.

And Alex wasn’t about to let her wife - the love of her life - enter a car to risk her life.

Surprisingly, Lena managed to park perfectly on her first try. She was just great with the math behind it.

When Lena took her test, all of her friends and her girlfriend were waiting outside for her, and they all celebrated without caring if anyone was watching. They took their little celebration to Noonan’s later that night and Lena felt loved as she never had before. A week later, she took Kara on that silly date, but they spent most of the time making out inside the car rather than actually watching the movie, but that was okay because they weren’t using Alex’s car that time around.

Months later, they reacted the same way when Lena got her new degree, and Lena couldn’t help but think it was great to have people cheering for her like that.

And if she asked Kara for a little gift to celebrate her degree, well, that was no one’s business. She did wrap her arms securely around Kara when her girlfriend drove them off on the new motorcycle, though.

Thank you, @supercorp-superclown, for allowing me to do this and for also giving me ideas!

#supergirl #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #kara x lena #alex danvers #funny #fic #one shot #fanfic #creative writing #my writing #ao3

35 notes · View notes