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jacksonroseroth · 4 months

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~The Price~Chapter 8~

Moodboard made by @badwolf-in-the-impala, none of the pictures are ours

Finally, the car came to a stop after it pulled into a half roundabout off the street and the man in the passenger seat quickly got out, opening Taddie’s door. Thatcher nudged her over and they scooted out, Taddie waiting for Thatcher then letting him take her hand and lead her inside. She held a light, polite smile on her face as they walked into the very upscale restaurant. Thatcher walked up to the hostess podium and gave his name, then they were quickly seated. Plants hung overhead, the vines growing down toward the tables, and the walls were covered with shrubbery. Taddie looked around in awe and appreciation as Thatcher helped her out of her coat, draping it over the back of her chair before he held it out for her and scooted it in as she sat down. She gave him a sweet smile as he rounded the table and sat down, picking up her menu.

“Do you know what you want to eat?” Thatcher asked as he scanned the menu, then looked up at her as she wrinkled her nose for a moment before looking up at him with a polite smile. He smirked at her and her facade fell, knowing he had seen her grimace. She let out a soft chuckle and said, “I don’t have fancy taste. I don’t like runny eggs, avocado toast, all that bullshit…Gimmie some scrambled eggs, sausage, maybe some french toast or muffins? I’m good.”

Thatcher chuckled and shook his head at her as he said, “You can get some eggs and sausage. Do you like breakfast sandwiches? They have a lox bagel? It has eggs, sausage-”

“Lox…Isn’t that raw salmon? I love salmon, but I don’t do raw fish.” Taddie said with a chuckle, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head. He chuckled at her and slid his hand over hers as he said, “Well, at least you don’t have expensive taste…Do we need to cover seafood entirely? Sushi, lobster, crab?”

“Yes. No. Yessss. I love crab. And the only sushi I ever eat is a California roll. I’m kind of a picky eater? But I know what I like, so there’s at least that.” She said with a soft giggle, biting her lip as she slipped her fingers into his palm. He curled his fingers around hers, lifting her hand to kiss the back of it. She smiled at him, lifting her thumb to brush it across his jaw before he lowered their hands. “So…You really aren’t going to tell me what else we’re doing today?”

Thatcher pulled his hand back and quickly studied his menu, making Taddie laugh and kick at his foot, lightly, as he smirked. His gaze flickered up to her with a chuckle and said, “You’re not a patient woman, are you?”

“Not when it’s exciting and you take so damn long…You’ve bought me a whole ass outfit and taken me here. I don’t know what to expect and it’s making me a little anxious. Excited, but anxious.” Taddie said, laying her menu down and folding her hands over it with a sweet smile. Thatcher chuckled and shook his head before he said, “Sorry, kitten. It’s a surprise. But we’re going to have fun today. I promise, Taddie.”

As Taddie nodded and leaned closer, across the table to him, Thatcher meeting her for a quick kiss, a man dressed in a pinstripe suit and slicked back hair came up to the table, his hands clasped together. Taddie’s smile quickly fell as she looked up at the man, who was looking at Thatcher with a tight smile. Thatcher lifted a brow as he looked up at the man as he started to say, “My apologies, Mr. Price. But I am going to have to ask you and your friend to leave. We cannot serve you today, sir.”

Taddie blinked and her skin went prickly as she quickly swept her gaze around, seeing the nearby tables turning at the mention of Thatcher’s name. Thatcher furrowed his brow and sat a little straighter as he said, “Excuse me? I made this reservation last week. I gave my name then, why did you take my reservation?”

“I am deeply sorry, sir. The owner checked the reservations just now and is asking that you please leave or we will be forced to call the police.” The man said, not sounding even the least bit sorry. As Thatcher pushed away from the table and stood, Taddie quickly did the same, grabbing her coat and moving between the man and the table, making him take several steps back as she all but shoved him aside as went to Thatcher and she said, “It’s fine. We can go somewhere else.”

Thatcher raised a brow at her, surprised and caught off guard, but took her jacket from her and helped her into it, nonetheless. Taddie gave him a sultry, sweet smile as she turned, slipping each arm into the coat and letting Thatcher fix the front as he reached from behind her, then laid his hands on her hips. Turning from Thatcher to Mr. Snooty Pinstripe, she said, “Now we can go somewhere that I can get some goddamn french toast and sausage.”

Thatcher snickered with a proud smile as she took his hand, still staring the man down before she whipped her head around, spinning on a heel and striding off. He dragged his hand under his chin, flicking it at the man before he turned to follow Taddie out of the restaurant. When she stepped onto the street, she stopped with a light gasp, stunning herself with what she’d done, as Thatcher moved around her, pulling her along with him and making her skip a step to catch up. She giggled softly as he hurried them down the sidewalk then into a hidden alcove and spun her to press her against the wall. Before she could ask him what he was doing, his lips were on hers in a passionate kiss. Taddie kissed him back with a soft moan, gripping the edges of his jacket as she tugged him closer, then wrapped an arm around his neck.

Taddie broke the kiss with a light sigh, pushing her hand to the back of his head and arching against him as he peppered her neck. She giggled softly and nipped at his earlobe, gently before she said, “What-What w-was that for?”

“You have no idea how fucking hot that was, Taddie. God, I would have taken you right there in the middle of the fucking restaurant.” Thatcher growled into her neck, gently biting it before kissing and licking over it, lightly. She shivered and bit her lip as she giggled, then pushed at his shoulders, making him pull back and lift a hand to her cheek, cradling it in his palm. “That’s the spirit I want to see from you, Taddie. What I knew was in you…God, you’re fucking perfect.”

Shaking her head at him, Taddie giggled and let him steal another deep kiss before she pressed her hands to his chest and pushed him back a little more. Thatcher pulled her off the wall as one of his bodyguards appeared and he quickly glanced over his shoulder with a nod before he disappeared again. Turning back to Taddie, Thatcher lightly slid his thumb over her lower lip as she said, “You promised me breakfast.”

“I did. Let’s go, kitten.” Thatcher said with a chuckle before pressing a deep kiss to her lips again before taking her hand and leading her back to the street and to the SUV that had pulled forward and waited for them. Thatcher opened the door for her, helping her in before sliding in after her and closing the door. The car lurched forward as they began to move through traffic and Thatcher turned to her with a smirk and a soft chuckle as he pulled her closer. Taddie chuckled and allowed him one kiss before she pulled back and slid her hand over his cheek, brushing her thumb over his lips with a sweet smile. He kissed her thumb before he kissed her cheek then said, softly, “I’m sorry. I got a little excited…That-That really turned me on seeing you push him back like that, saying what you did…Fuck.”

Thatcher chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, holding her against him and kissing her temple. Taddie smirked and let him give her a tight squeeze as she slid her hand over his chest, then looked up at him as she said, “Well…I-I’m not gonna lie, I was pissed…You said it wouldn’t happen, then-”

“I know. I-I’m so sorry-”

“Thatcher. Shut. The fuck. Up.” Taddie said with a soft giggle. He lifted his brows at her, amused, then chuckled and nodded as she continued, “I was pissed at them. I’m pissed at how you’re treated that gets us kicked out of places before we even order or something can go wrong…And I’m pissed I don’t have my goddamn french toast and sausage!”

Thatcher threw his head back with a loud cackle as Taddie giggled madly and rested her chin on his chest, looking up at him. As his laughter died to chuckles as he brought his head back down to her, gripping her hip with a smirk. “I’ll get you french toast and sausage, kitten. There’s a diner near Central Park--The Caviar Star. It’s a little Swedish place. I know the owner, we’ll be served there.”

“Are you sure? And why didn’t you just bring me there to begin with? You don’t need to be all fancy, all the time. The outfit was enough and now I’m overdressed.” Taddie teased at him. He chuckled at her, calling up to his men in the front seat in Swedish, the man in the passenger seat pulling out his phone and making a quick call. Looking back at her, he said, “Climb into the back and change. No one can see you. I won’t look and neither will they.”

Her smile slowly fell and she chewed her lip, feeling her heart rate quicken at the thought. Thatcher raised a brow at her and slid his hand over her thigh. “What’s wrong? You can go back to the trunk even to block you more? Are you worried about not being buckled, or-?”

“I’ll change later.” Taddie said, quickly, shifting away from Thatcher a little more and pulling her hands back. He quickly did the same, drawing his brows together as she looked away and chewed her lip, crossing her arms over her chest, tightly. He lightly slid his hand over her back and when she didn’t immediately flinch or pull away, he flattened it and rubbed his fingers down over her lower back, then to her hip. She chewed her lip and lowered her gaze to the floor as they bounced around a rough stretch of the New York streets. Thatcher stayed quiet with her, watching her for a while longer before he pressed a light kiss to her temple and nuzzled his nose into her curls.

Slowly, Taddie’s anxiety about her scars faded, coming out of the flashbacks and blinking a few times before she looked up at Thatcher again. His piercing green eyes poured into hers as he drew his brows together in concern. Lifting his hand, he slid his fingers over her jaw, cupping it and brushing his thumb over her cheek. She gave him a light smile, but it quickly dropped and she leaned against him again. He buried his nose and mouth into her curls again as he wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug, holding her in it as he felt her take a deep breath and hold it in. He released her when she exhaled and pulled back one arm to rest his hand on her thigh. She tucked her head under his chin, resting on his chest, and slid her fingers over the backs of his, admiring his tattoos across them.

The right hand on her thigh spelled out OMENS, leaving her to assume the other spelled out WRATH, though she wanted to see it for herself and made a note to inspect both hands that night. Taddie’s smile lifted as she traced the letters and asked, softly, “How come you only have one sleeve?”

“I got what I wanted. Deciding on the next one fully before I do it…Do you have any ink? I thought I saw something on your shoulder one night at the bar?” Thatcher asked with a soft chuckle. Taddie let out a light giggle and shifted to look up at him.

“I have a few. I-I just--I don’t like showing my skin off like that. I mean, for the tattoo, yeah. But…” She stopped and bit her lip, lightly, giving a light shrug. He shook his head at her and said, “You don’t need to explain to me, kitten. When you’re ready.”

As her smile grew a little more, Taddie nodded and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, then nuzzled into it. In the front seat, the man who’d made a call tucked his phone away, turning his head toward the back as he said, “It’s set, Mr. Price. Sven’s there today, he’ll seat you personally.”

“Thank you, Oscar. Everything is set for after as well?” Thatcher asked, earning him a raised brow and stern look from Taddie. One he returned with his own smirk and pressing his lips to hers in a quick peck. She giggled and pushed at his chest as Oscar said, “Yes, sir. And then we’re back on the jet by 12, home by 1.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Oscar.” Thatcher said, not taking his gaze from Taddie’s. Under his intense gaze, she began to squirm around and finally took his chin and turned it away with a giggle. Thatcher snickered and moved his face from hers to press a kiss to her cheek as they settled back in their seats as they turned onto a main street, Central Park to their left.

Thatcher, Oscar and the driver stood on the sidewalk outside the car as Taddie changed. When they stopped and Oscar got out to open the door for them, Thatcher ordered the driver, Lucas he called the man, out as well, more of her heart melting at the gesture. It was like it wasn’t even a second thought to him, as if it were something he’d done many times for her before. She was truly touched by the gesture and changed quickly, though she kept the boots on, tucking them under her jeans.

When the door opened, Thatcher quickly turned and went to the SUV to help Taddie down. She gave him a sweet smile as he took her hand, Lucas and Oscar getting back into the car, though they didn’t take off. As the couple approached the door, Taddie recognized the other two men she’d usually seen Thatcher with at the bar step up to the door and opened it for them. One walked in before them, the other held the door open then walked in after them. The two men went to each corner of the restaurant, facing the other, while Thatcher led Taddie up to a tall blonde man that was hunched over a podium, writing on something.

“Sven.” Thatcher called, cherrily and with a smile as they approached. The blonde man, Sven, shot his head up and a wide smile spread across his face as he laughed and moved from behind the podium and clapped hands with Thatcher before the men embraced, clapping each other on the back.

“Thatcher!-” Sven and Thatcher engaged in a focused conversation in Swedish, sounding like to Taddie was going something like ‘It’s been so long./Yes, I know.’ Which then launched into a brief catching up before Sven finally registered Taddie standing behind him. Clasping his hand on Thatcher’s shoulder, Sven talked toward her in Swedish, his tone turning a little more teasing and taunting, making Thatcher blush. It surprised Taddie, not knowing that was even possible for Thatcher, but gave a sweet smile and stepped up beside him as Sven turned to her with a bright smile and a new slew of Swedish as he took a step closer, taking her hand, then reaching for her curls. Taddie tried to suppress her flinch and bit her lip, but Thatcher quickly pressed a hand to Sven’s chest, giving it a pat as he gave a soft chuckle.

“English, Sven. She’s American, ja?” Thatcher said with a chuckle, patting his chest again before stepping back and putting an arm around Taddie, holding her close.

“Ah! Ah, of course. So sorry! My apologies, Miss--Your hair, it is so beautiful. Do you mind-?” Sven asked, lifting his hand again. Taddie shifted on her feet, keeping herself out of his reach as she gave him a polite smile and said, “I do, actually--It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“Of course, of course. I am sorry--Please, follow me. Your table is ready.” Sven said, bowing quickly before sweeping his hand toward the rest of the restaurant, giving them both a wide smile. Thatcher urged Taddie forward as Sven began walking and spoke back to her, saying, “My name is Sven, I am the owner here. This establishment was my father’s dream and I made it come true for him in 1970 when we immigrated to the States. I created the menu myself, with my mother’s recipes that we still use today--Traditional Swedish dishes that the Americans have fallen in love with. Here is your table-”

Sven stepped aside after leading them to the back of the restaurant to a small nook in the window, that actually faced Central Park in a stunning snowy view. Taddie peered out, gazing at the park with a wide smile, and moved around the table to her seat, Sven quickly helping her out of her coat and pulling out her chair for her. Thatcher sat as she did, making her giggle softly, not used to being seated with Thatcher.

“I shall have your coat by the front, Miss-And can I get any drinks started for the both of you?” Sven asked, looking between them with a polite smile. Thatcher nodded at her to go first and Taddie looked up at the blonde Swede, giving him a sweet smile as she asked, “Do you, possibly, have hot cider or something? Tea is fine, if not.”

“Yes, yes. We have a housemade mulled cider. Would you like whipped cream as well, Miss?” Sven asked. Taddie blinked, surprised, exchanging a look with Thatcher as she chuckled and said, “Um, sure. Thank you.”

“Of course. Thatcher?” Sven asked, turning to him.

“Coffee, cream, 3 sugars. Tack, min vän.” Thatcher said, exchanging a knowing look with the man. Sven chuckled and nodded, taking a step back as he said, “I’ll be back with your drinks and your food will be out soon.”

“Thank--What did he say? Our food?” Taddie asked, her head snapping over to Thatcher, raising her brow. He chuckled at her and slid his arms across the table, palms up for hers. She narrowed her gaze at him, though her lips lifted in a small smirk, and slipped her fingers into his palms as he said, “You said french toast, eggs, and sausage. I added a bagel cause, why not? I got you plain cause I didn’t know what you liked?”

Taddie blinked at him, her face falling for a moment in surprise at the gesture, then lifted again as she let out a soft laugh and said, “Um, y-yeah. Yeah, plain is fine. I-I, um, I like plain and egg bagels. Egg bagel with strawberry cream cheese--That was my order at my local bagel shop in California. But, I like everything, too, if I’m in the mood for it.”

“Hmmm-Very picky indeed, aren’t you?” He teased, lifting a hand to kiss the backs of her fingers before he sat back, releasing her hands. Taddie stuck out her tongue at him, then chuckled, folding her arms under her as she leaned on the table.

“So, what are you getting then? Since they already have our order.” She teased back, wrinkling her nose at him with a smirk. Thatcher chuckled and shifted in his seat as he inhaled deeply, trying to see if he could smell it yet.

“Well, of course there’s sausage and eggs…I got porridge and a boiled egg sandwich. Sven makes sure it tastes like it’s being made in Sweden--It’s a very transporting dish. Every time I eat here and get anything, I’m back in Sweden as a kid, Saturday morning sitting by the water with Tommy and my parents.” Thatcher said, fondly, excited for the food. Taddie’s smile grew more genuine as she admired him, seeming to be opening up more to her about his family and his past. She had yet to be so forthcoming, but she was glad he hadn’t pushed her for it.

“Sounds fun. Very cozy, little family.” Taddie said, softly, lifting her arms to slide her hands under her chin, resting, lightly. Thatcher chuckled and nodded, opening his mouth as he looked at her to continue, then stopped as his excitement drained from his face. Taddie drew her brows together, lightly, confused, and Thatcher cleared his throat as he leaned his forearms on the table and nodded again. “What? What were you going to say?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m sorry, kitten.” Thatcher said, giving her a sympathetic smile. She raised a brow at him, still at a loss, as she said, “I-I don’t understand? Sorry for what?...Oh, my-Thatcher…”

Taddie finally connected what he had and dropped her hands as she sat back with an irritated sigh. Thatcher straightened a little more, furrowing his brows in concern as she looked away from him and shook her head. Closing her eyes for a moment, she swung her head back to him and said, “Family isn’t a touchy subject for me. I don’t fucking have one. So what? I’ve come to terms with it and the fact I’ll probably never have one. You don’t need to tip toe

around me-Don’t treat me like I’m fragile.”

“I’m sorry…I wasn’t sure. You had choked up so much--”

“Because I never talk about my parents or what happened. Ever. It-It was just a reaction. Just don’t…Don’t treat me like I’m fragile. Like I’m going to break at the wrong word or the wrong look. I’m a lot stronger than that.”

“I know that. I’m sorry, Taddie.” Thatcher said, reaching a hand across the table for hers. She pushed her hand into his palm and gave it a light squeeze as she smiled, lightly at him. “Forgive me?”

“Only if you tell me what you were going to say about being a kid in Sweden.” She said with a coy smirk. He chuckled at her and said, “I was just going to say that when we were kids, before we moved, me and Tommy would sit on the beach and eat, then go play in the water. We loved being outside and running around the land my father owned.”

“Wish I could have seen it. You two running around--I’m sure one of you was constantly naked being the rebel? I wonder who that could be?” Taddie teased with a smirk. Thatcher chuckled and smirked back at her, shaking his head as he said, “Actually, it was the twins. Moreso, Tristan than Theo, but they both had their phase.”

“Hmm…Too bad.” She mused at him as Sven approached with their drinks. Setting each mug in front of them, Sven said something to Thatcher in Swedish, that sounded far too casual to be something about her or anything that was meant to be hidden, so Taddie paid them no mind, sticking the straw through the whipped cream that sat at the top and carefully sipped. The hot liquid hit her tongue and there was an explosion of flavor. For one, she hadn’t realized that ‘traditional’ meant alcoholic, since the brandy was the first thing she tasted. Next came the brown sugar that melted into the apple and cinnamon taste that came next. Taddie wiggled in her seat and smiled, taking another sip. Her little dance had brought the men’s attention to her, and the corner of Thatcher’s lips lifted as he watched her take a finger, swiping it through the top of the whipped cream, then sticking her finger in her mouth to suck it off.

Taddie held her nail between her teeth as she swirled her straw around the cup, mixing the whipped cream with the hot cider. The silence between the men finally registered and her eyes shot up to Thatcher’s, seeing the arousal in his eyes, and dropped her hand as her lips curved into a sweet smile. Sven chuckled, muttering at Thatcher in Swedish again before he said to Taddie in English, “Do you like the cider, Miss?”

“Yes. It’s, um, it-it’s very strong. I-I wasn’t aware there was alcohol in it.” Taddie said with a soft chuckle. Sven laughed softly and said, “If you’d like a new one? I naturally assumed--Thatcher has taken his coffee with brandy or whiskey since he was 18. My apologies, I assumed his woman was the same.”

Taddie brightened a little, hearing Sven call her Thatcher’s woman, and tried to figure out why she felt such a strange sense of pride at it. Her cheeks turned pink as she shook her head and said, “Not usually this early. If it is, it’s mimosas. Little more socially accepted.”

“Well, if you would like a new one, I shall absolutely make you one. Please let me know. And here is your food.” Sven said as two waiters moved around him to set down two plates as well as a bowl of fruit on the table between them. Taddie’s eyes light up as well as her smile when she saw the four half pieces of french toast, drenched in syrup, powdered sugar, and whipped cream, alongside scrambled eggs and four sausage links. She knew she couldn’t eat it all now, but she had a meal for later on. “Please let me know if you need anything else.”

Sven bowed his head before turning and following the waiters away, back to the front of the restaurant. Thatcher watched Taddie with a smile, as she picked up her fork and began cutting up her toast and sausage, breaking apart her eggs and stabbing at one piece each before taking a bite. Her happy dance was a little more prominent and her body wiggled from side to side as she chewed. Thatcher stifled his snickers as he turned his attention to his plate, picking up the spoon beside his bowl of porridge and stirring it around. Taddie glanced up at him as she pushed her food around, her lips lifting a little more as she swallowed.

“What are you laughing at?” She asked, giving him a look as he glanced up at her with a smirk of his own. He shook his head as he took a quick bite of his porridge, swallowing before he said, “You dance when you’re happy about food. It’s cute.”

“I wiggle when I eat good food, first of all. Thank you very much.” Taddie corrected him before taking another bite and intentionally wiggling a little more dramatically, making them both laugh out loud before continuing to eat their breakfast, swapping conversations between bites.

Let me know what you think! If you want to be added to the taglist for future chapters, send me a message! <3

Taglist: @badwolf-in-the-impala @sweetwombatpizza

#Jolly Fic #Jolly Fan Fic #bad omens #nicholas ruffilo #nick folio #joakim jolly karlsson #noah sebastian #bad omens fan fic #Joakim Jolly Karlsson Fan Fic #Bad Omens Fic #Bad Omens Fan Fic #Bad Omens AU #Bad Omens Mafia AU #Jolly AU #Jolly Mafia AU #Joakim Jolly Karlson AU #Joakim Jolly Karlsson Mafia AU #The Price #Chapter 8 of 47

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restforthe-burdenedsoul · 1 year

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3 more days until Christmas

The closer we get, the closer I get to falling apart.

I did not expect to feel this sad and broken.

My parents did actually come over today for a small visit. They did not stay because 1) I’m sick and 2) they didn’t know when M was coming home.

My aunt and uncle are going to their house for Christmas dinner. The only one who would possibly entertain me and M coming to dinner is my aunt and as far as I’m aware, she’s still “on the fence” about our marriage.

My parents did actually get me a gift, I was surprised. A scale! My dad was worried it would be offensive, but my mom knew I’d been wanting a good scale since mine broke and I just…haven’t replaced it. So, I am very happy with the gift.

My mom baked cookies and gave us a bunch and looking at them is making me cry and I don’t want to eat them.

My dad has made it pretty clear that they are not really celebrating this year- the holiday part of Christmas. They are still doing all the church things and celebrating Jesus.

I’m still sick and quite honestly hoping I am too sick for Christmas Eve dinner. It’s turned from a simple meal out with just his mom and grandmom to an actual dinner with them plus his aunt and cousins.

I can’t say I’m even really trying to be happy right now. And I know that’s not helping me any. I just don’t want to accept that this is how things are right now and how they may be for a while, maybe permanently.

Christmas Eve I’m supposed to go to the candle light service with my parents. We’re supposed to have fancy meats and cheeses after and watch a Christmas movie. Then wake up early for Christmas brunch- last year it was at me and M’s. We have bagels with cream cheese and lox. My dad makes gigantic omelettes and pancakes. My mom brings over more cookies after we’ve “eaten them all”. Later on my dad smokes some Cornish hens. My mom bakes an apple pie. My dad opens up the expensive scotch.

I am doing Christmas brunch with just Matt. I asked that Christmas Day just be us and I hope his family respects that for this year.

I feel very hurt this year, torn between two lives it feels like. I could go to my parents’ house Christmas Day, but without M. Just like how we can spend time together and talk, just not about M.

I’m trying to maintain my boundaries. That unless M is welcome, I will not be around for the holidays. That they will see less of me as I am putting effort into the family that accepts all of us.

Either way feels like betrayal. Betrayal to my parents or betrayal to M.

When I first met M, I wrote a journal entry in my actual journal. That I knew this time would come, that I would have to choose him or my family. And I feel like 2023 is going to be an even harder year as everything will be different. I’m going to have to make this choice over and over and hold firm to boundaries. I’m starting a life with M and my parents can come with us or they can stand still in their misguided doctrine.

I’m just not ready to face any of this.

#tw sad thoughts

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spine-buster · 3 years

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Patience is a Virtue ft. Matthew Tkachuk | 𝒫𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒

gif credit @czarniks

CONTENT WARNING: this story deals with cults, polygamous cults, escaping cults, strict adherence to religion, gender roles, abuse, miscarriage, and a character with a traumatic past. Please be warned.

Word Count: 2,899

A/N: Was I really going to name the epilogue any thing else?

* * * * *

Effie had been quiet lately. When Matthew said ‘quiet’, what he really meant to say was not all there, and when he said ‘not all there’ what he really meant to say was that she was there, with him physically, but her mind was somewhere else. She had these bouts from time to time. Effie was always going to be a work in progress, and that meant sometimes she’d regress instead. He knew that when he signed up to be with her ten years ago now. He knew that when he raised the idea of buying and building a house together seven years ago, and she said no. He knew that when he raised the idea of buying and building a house together six years ago and she said no. He knew that when he raised the idea of buying and building a house together five years ago and she said no. He knew that when he raised the idea of buying and building a house together four years ago and she said no. He knew thar when he raised the idea of buying and building a house together three years ago and she said yes. He knew that when they moved in to said house two years ago. Some bouts were long, some were short, but he always noticed them.

This was another one.

She usually came around. Well, actually, she almost always came around. She’d ask something or propose an idea and Matthew would learn or realize why she was so withdrawn, why she was so quiet. Sometimes they were simple, and a short bout: “I want to change the menu at the bakery.” Sometimes they were vastly more complex, and a long bout: “I know Chantal’s okay with me not having kids, but what about Keith?” She’d get stuck in her head a lot. And with someone with so much to learn, as someone who was quite literally going through life learning by doing, it was almost a guarantee this would happen, considering what she came from.

But Matthew was there. Always.

As he spooned her in bed, he could feel how distant she was. He could practically feel her mind racing and refusing to slow down despite it being late at night. Matthew placed a small kiss on her shoulder. “D’you want to talk about it?” he offered.

Effie turned around so she was now facing him. He could see the worried look in her eyes and started to worry himself. She took a deep breath. “Would you want to marry me?”

Matthew licked his lips, and without hesitation, he nodded his head. “Yes.”

Effie looked away, almost ashamed. “I had it in my head that you wouldn’t want to because I’ve been married before,” she whispered.

A regress. Inevitable. Effie’s mind was a complex ocean. “You were never married,” he said firmly. “But if you want to get married, I’d love to marry you. We could do it however you wanted.”

“What about our marriage?”

“What do you mean?”

“We’d get married, but what would our marriage be like?”

Bad memories, obviously. The last time she was a “wife” it wasn’t a marriage at all. It was practically a hostage situation. An abusive relationship. “Do you like our relationship how it is now?” Matthew asked.

Effie nodded her head. “I want it to stay like this,” she said.

“Then that’s what our marriage will be like, too,” Matthew assured her.

***

“I don’t know what type of ring I like,” Effie mumbled on the phone to Geneviève as she picked at her lunch, a poppyseed bagel she’d made with a generous spread of lox and cream cheese. Geneviève was in Sweden, like she was every summer, with Jacob and her twins. Though they’d be back in a few weeks for the season, Effie couldn’t hold off talking to her. She never really could.

“Why would that matter?” Geneviève asked.

“Matthew and I talked about getting married.”

There was silence on the other end of the call before Effie heard the dial tone. She thought the call dropped – it did that sometimes, especially when Geneviève was in Sweden – but then her phone was vibrating all over again, and it was a FaceTime request instead of a simple phone call. Effie couldn’t help but smile as she accepted the call.

“You and Matthew WHAT?!” Geneviève shrieked, holding the phone too close to her face.

“Um…yeah,” Effie nodded. “We talked about it a few nights ago in bed. I asked him if he would want to marry me and he said yes.”

“Effie, Matthew’s probably wanted to marry you since he told you how to pronounce tomahawk. What made you think he didn’t?” Geneviève asked.

Effie shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know…” she said. “I just—last time I was married, it wasn’t a good marriage.”

“You were never married,” Geneviève deadpanned. It was good to know she thought the same thing as Matthew. “But besides that—has Matthew been anything like him in these past ten years?”

Effie shook her head. “No way.”

“Then what makes you think he will when you’re married?”

Effie knew Geneviève was trying to make a point – and a good one – but Effie was, for some reason, still apprehensive. “He comes home soon,” she said. “I’m going to talk to him more about it.”

Geneviève nodded in understanding. “Just remember that you deserve happiness, however that comes to you,” she reminded Effie. “And remember, Effie – you can choose happiness, too. You can choose to overcome a fear and make yourself happy.”

***

Effie searched all about engagement rings until she heard the garage door open and Matthew step into the house. He’d been at the gym, and his own lox and cream cheese bagel was waiting for him in the fridge. “Hey,” he called out from the laundry room.

“Hi.”

“Whatcha up to?”

“Uh, looking at engagement rings.”

He was silent. Silent until he rounded the corner and Effie saw him emerge from the hallway that led to the laundry room, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. “Engagement rings, huh?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, adjusting herself in the bar stool. “There’s so many different styles.”

Matthew looked at her skeptically, dropping his gym bag before walking over to her. “There are…” he began. “But you should look at a style or styles you like, and then we can bring it to a jeweler.”

“A jeweler?”

“I’m not gonna get you just any ring, baby. It’s gonna be custom made,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Effie’s research told her that custom made rings were the most expensive types of rings. While there were so many pretty styles online, custom was definitely something to aspire to for many people, even thought it was out of reach. “You’d get me a custom ring?”

Matthew looked at her. Without saying a word, he leaned back into the barstool beside her but grabbed hers and scooted it closer to him. “Will you please talk to me?” he asked softly, but needily. “You know I’d get you a custom ring. You know I’m gonna let you get any dress you want and have whatever kind of wedding you want. You brought up marriage but the questions you’ve been asking me…Effie, it’s as if you think I don’t love you.”

“That’s not—no,” she shook her head, stuttering out her words. “I’m sorry, Matthew. I don’t mean it to be like that. I know you love me.”

“Then what’s with the questions?”

Effie took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact with Matthew until she knew she had to talk. “This is what it was like last time.”

Matthew’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean?”

“Abraham was nice before he abused me. He promised me so many things. And I know you’re not him—you’re nothing like him—and I’ve—I’ve told you that for ten years but—”

“—Effie, if this is too much for you, we don’t have to get married.”

Effie began shaking her head. And when she began shaking her head, tears started to well up in her eyes, and as they welled up, they fell down her cheeks. She tried wiping them away but Matthew beat her to it; she was so ashamed she couldn’t even look at him. “But everybody gets married. Look at Brady. And Taryn, even.”

“Effie…we’re already in a committed relationship that’s like a marriage anyway. I’m devoted to you, and you’re devoted to me…we—we live together, we act like we’re married anyway. If you don’t want to change that then you don’t have to.”

“Yes I do,” she stressed.

“Why?”

“I do because I want to do something for you. You’ve been doing things for me for ten years and I know you want this. I know you want to get married. So I want to give that to you because you’ve given me so much.”

“You giving me yourself is enough. You know that. You’re enough,” he said.

“I know,” she nodded. “But marriage is a celebration of love. It’s a celebration of love. And I want to celebrate our love. I just have to get it through my thick skull that marriage isn’t a punishment, it’s a celebration.”

Matthew nodded his head, giving her a quick kiss on the nose. “Want me to call Dr. Barlow? We can work on this together.”

Effie nodded.

***

Half a year later, Effie couldn’t stop staring at the rock on her finger. It glimmered in even the shittiest light. She was sure Matthew had something put in it to make it shine so much, but he kept denying it. Geneviève loved it. So did Jenna. So did Annica.

“But do you?” Matthew asked her.

She nodded. The second he slipped it on to her finger, everything became real. Everything. She’d never had an engagement ring before. She never had a testament to her partner’s love for her. And here it was now, on her finger, ready for her to wear for the rest of her life. Matthew gave it to her. Her Matthew. Nobody else but her Matthew.

***

“Oooooooh, Effie,” Chantal’s eyes lit up as Effie walked out of the fitting room of the small bridal boutique in St. Louis they went to on a whim. Taryn’s jaw dropped in quick succession as Effie walked out and stood on the platform in front of them, a three-panel mirror showing her every angle of the dress. She watched Chantal through the mirror. “Oh Effie, this is stunning.”

“Do you think Matthew will like it?” she asked.

“Matthew’s gonna bawl,” Taryn interjected, causing everyone to laugh. “I’m about to bawl!”

Effie looked at herself in the mirror, patting down the fronts of the dress, even though it fit her like a glove. Despite trying on some dresses already while out with Jenna and Geneviève, she didn’t get the same butterflies in her stomach as she did seeing herself in this dress, now, even though this wasn’t planned. It was the first one Effie chose for their consultant to pull but the last one of the three she tried on, and it was the most beautiful. She loved everything about it: the eyelet organza, the corset bodice with exposed boning, the A-line skirt with pockets.

The ivory.

The consultant puffed out the skirt for her, letting it fall behind her dramatically. Effie was quiet as she watched Taryn eye the consultant and say “We need a veil” before the consultant left them alone. Chantal was covering her mouth at the point, admiring the dress but also as a mechanism to stop herself from crying, probably. Effie pat down the front of the dress again, her heart beating in her chest. “Chantal?” her voice was small.

“Yes sweetie?”

“I can wear white, right?”

Chantal nodded automatically. So did Taryn. “Of course you can. You were never married,” Chantal said.

“Even if you had been,” Taryn piped in, “it’s your wedding. You can wear whatever you want.”

***

Matthew held Effie’s hand as they sat on a couch in Dr. Barlow’s office together, talking through Effie’s trepidations of marriage and expectations as a wife. Effie knew that the only reason why she was having trouble with all of this was because of her past experiences; when she thought about it, deep down, she wanted nothing more than to marry Matthew. But her mind was a funny thing – it always was – and that’s why they were here. Matthew had been patient in waiting for her to agree to buy a house and move in together; he’d been even more patient in not asking her to get married but letting her make the decision herself. Now it just all came down to this – the working through the nitty gritty things, the things that still plagued her mind – so she could go into the marriage in the healthiest way possible, just like their relationship was. And she was going to see it that way. It helped her immensely to see it that way. This is just an extension of our relationship. This is a celebration of our love.

“Have you given thought to any popular wedding or marriage traditions that the two of you would want to follow or not follow?” Dr. Barlow asked.

“Like what?” Matthew asked.

“Effie, will you be taking Matthew’s last name?”

Effie looked at Matthew before squeezing his hand quickly and nodding. “Yes,” she said confidently. “I’ll become Effie Tkachuk. I met this woman through hockey – her husband plays for the Toronto Maple Leafs – her name is Bee Rielly. She took her husband’s last name and she said the reason why she took it was because she had no connection to her maiden name, McTavish, because she had no real family and her mom was an alcoholic and it only really reminded her of that. Considering her background, she wanted it gone, and I feel the same way.”

Matthew squeezed her hand back. Dr. Barlow smiled and nodded her head. “It’s great that you’ve met someone like that, that can help you see these kinds of things in that perspective,” she said. “Are you having a church wedding?”

“No,” Matthew took this one. Even though he and his siblings went to Catholic schools, religion wasn’t a huge part of their lives. “Just an officiant. We actually already have her booked.”

Dr. Barlow nodded again. “Effie, how do you feel about the tradition of someone walking you down the aisle? Levi? Matthew’s dad, perhaps?”

Effie shook her head vehemently. “I love them, but no,” she said. “No way. I’m entering into a marriage freely and I’m making the decision. Nobody is giving me away.”

Matthew smiled. “And that’s that on that.”

***

The more that Effie planned, the more she got to experience what normal wedding planning was like. It was stressful, sure, but it wasn’t your-mom-telling-you-that-you-were-going-to-marry-a-55-year-old-when-you-were-fourteen-years-old type of stressful. It wasn’t an I-don’t-know-anything-about-being-a-wife-I’m-only-fourteen-years-old type of fearful. It actually wasn’t fearful at all. The more decisions she made about how she was going to marry Matthew, the more excited she became. Decisions about flowers, about table coverings, about décor, about music, about food. Her favourite was taste-testing cakes samples with Matthew. Every time they tasted something Matthew would always say, “It’s not as good as your cakes” to her.

Every. Single. Time.

***

Between family, friends, and teammates, there were about 130 people at the wedding. Effie wore her dress, tailored to perfection, and the veil – long and regal and cathedral length, because the only day it was socially acceptable to wear a veil that long was on your wedding day, and Effie was going to take full advantage of it. They did a first look and Matthew cried. He cried again when she walked down the aisle by herself.

When Effie stood holding hands with Matthew, reciting vows to each other, she thought about the past ten years. She thought about the person she was when she met him at Noah’s birthday party. She thought about their Starbucks meetings and him teaching her about corn dogs and candy and frappucinos. She thought about how different she was from then till now, and that though the past still affected her, and crept up on her from time to time, she had been strong back then, and was even stronger now, and that made her proud of herself in a way nobody else could understand. Not even Matthew. That she stood here with him, marrying him, making the choice to marry him, spoke volumes of her progression. It spoke volumes of the person she had been, the person she was now, and the person she was becoming. She was always a work in progress.

Matthew was there for it all. There to help her, there to guide her through it. There to help her achieve her dreams and expose to things she never thought possible. Lake Louise. Moraine Lake. The Bahamas. Europe. St. Louis. Confidence. Trust. Love.

“I love you,” he whispered to her when their vows were done, rubbing his thumb over the backs of her hands.

“I love you too,” she whispered back. Freely. Meaningfully. Deeply.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife!” the officiant beamed.

For the first time in her life, Effie was married.

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alexa-crowe · 3 years

Text

Signs

Episode: “Je Souhaite” | Rated M | @today-in-fic | Warning: if any of the symptoms of pregnancy are squicky for you, it would be best to avoid this fic. Also, a reminder that we use Fahrenheit in the U.S., so don’t freak out at the wonky temperature stuff, my Celsius loaves.

Scully feels a little guilty for sending Mulder home last night after teasing him all day about what she was going to do to him in bed, but she blames her upset stomach on being “forced” to skip lunch that day. Scully had waved him off after three hours of on and off vomiting, feeling like she sent the entirety of her pizza and soda into the toilet.

She’d sent him back to his apartment so he’d stop hovering, his incessant chatter only magnifying the headache beginning to build at the base of her skull.

Mulder had called as soon as he got home, leaving a voicemail for her to please not come in tomorrow if she’s still sick. Well, Scully had fortunately felt right as rain when she woke up, aside from the minimal gnawing feeling in her stomach.

She regrets eating two bagels with lox and her real cream cheese now. This must be her punishment for breaking the rule of saving it for the fair amount of bad mornings she encounters. Her stomach’s mutinying again at the smell of Mulder’s black coffee and she can feel another toilet session coming on.

“Oh, God,” Scully whispers, all intent to apologize and press a soft kiss to his lips going out the proverbial door as she sprints out the real one and hauls ass to the bathroom.

She must have a stomach bug, Scully reasons, trying to even out her breathing as she folds some paper towels and wets them before pressing them against her face and neck. She’s suddenly feeling strangely hot, evidence of her sick flushed away.

Mulder knocks three times on the bathroom door. “Scully?”

“Yeah?” she sends back, splashing her face with water. She groans as she feels another gag coming on.

“I brought you some ginger ale and—and some Pepto Bismol. And Tums. I know you don’t like the Pepto but, you know, I figured this called for all the stops.”

She can imagine the look on his face as he hears her vomiting again. Scully checks her watch when it’s over. It’s still only 8:27 in the fucking morning!? How the hell is she supposed to make it through the rest of the workday like this?

The door hinges creak and she looks over at Mulder. “I told you not to come in if you’re still sick, Scully.”

“I wasn’t! I felt fine this morning, and then I walked in the office and smelled your coffee and...”

He leans against the counter and crosses his arms, puckering his lips as part of his exaggerated thinking face. Scully stands up straight and shoots him a look. Mulder shakes his head and puts his hands up. “Look, all I’m saying is that it looks like the same thing happened last night. As soon as we got out the ice cream, you bolted to the bathroom.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “What are you getting at, Mulder?”

“Just that you should go home and at least take a nap or something. If you stay off your feet for a few hours and relax, I’ll be happy. Nibble on some crackers, catch a soap opera...” Mulder shrugs. “You’re clearly sick, Scully. If not for yourself, do it on the chance that it’s contagious.”

Scully places the wet paper towel on the back of her neck, holding it there. “Fine. But only because it might be contagious.”

“I mean—that doesn’t make it better, but thank you nonetheless. Do you want me to drive you? What if there’s a random smell that sets you off on the ride there?”

She rolls her eyes but tells him, “Fine.”

—

Mulder’s assertion that certain smells have been setting off whatever’s going on with her stomach seem to be proven true when she comes back to the office after a few hours of rest and relaxation to the harsh sight of a man whose... whose mouth suddenly disappeared and had to be surgically recreated. Not a twinge from her stomach aside from shock butterflies.

Scully’s relieved that she’s been able to keep down her lunch. To be fair, it was crackers with a little cheese and a full two cups of water to make sure she was hydrated, but any food is good food. She proudly announces to Mulder during their ensuing flight the next day that it seems whatever illness hit is gone.

—

It’s not cold in Creve Coeur, Missouri—certainly not in Spring—but Scully’s feeling every degree of the breeze through the open windows like it’s in the thirties. She’s shivering the entire car ride to the Mark Twain Trailer Park, and noticeably enough for Mulder to glance at her with concern before putting up the windows and turning the heat up.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little cold.”

He frowns at that but lets it go until they hit a red light, when he leans over and presses his hand to her forehead.

Scully quirks her lips in a smile. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your temperature,” he replies. “You don’t seem to have a fever...”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she insists, leaning into his hand for the few seconds she gets the light turns green.

“Alright, but if you’re still sick, Scully, then you have to promise me that you’ll go back to the motel, okay? I brought the meds just in case, if you need them.”

She smiles softly and places her hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

“It’s what a good boyfriend does.”

—

Her stomach bug really does seem to be gone, which is a relief. However, she’s now insatiably hungry for two things: Mulder, and the bagels from the bagel place two streets over from her apartment. Well, she consoles, one is attainable, at least. And, boy, does she attain it. They’re both breathing heavily by the time Scully’s through with him, and even though they’re sticky with sweat, she curls her body around Mulder’s anyway.

Her breasts are tingly, which has never happened after sex before, but she chalks it up to Mulder’s harsh treatment of her only a minute ago as she nuzzles his chest. She inhales and sighs happily. “I love the way you smell,” she murmurs.

He laughs and she feels it against her cheek. “Coming from the woman who made me start using a different deodorant,” he jokes, squeezing his arm around her shoulders. “Your nipples are darker.”

“What?” Scully props herself up with her forearm to make proper eye contact as her brows furrow.

“Yeah. I don’t know. They’re darker. Feel a little heavier, too. You didn’t notice?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “Unlike you, Mulder, I don’t spend hours studying my boobs.”

He shrugs and rolls them over so he’s hovering over her on his forearms. “Your loss.”

—

“Fuck,” she swears, digging around in her suitcase, fresh from her shower. She’s only got one hand because the other’s holding her towel wrap together.

“What?” Mulder asks around his toothbrush, exiting the bathroom. His tie is slung behind his neck and his suit jacket is waiting for him on the bed.

“I don’t have any panty liners.”

“Do you want me to go out and get some?” he asks, heading back to the bathroom to spit.

“Yeah, that would be great.” Scully walks past him into the still-warm bathroom and lets the towel drop as she uses the one wrapped around her hair to dry the wet strands.

“Alright. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She drops the hair towel when he takes the singular step needed in the tiny motel bathroom to invade her space in favor of pulling him down for a kiss by the ends of his tie. “Mmm, settle down or the plan’ll be botched.”

“I was just thanking you,” Scully says, affecting innocence as she does his tie for him.

“For buying you panty liners? What would happen if I surprised you with some ice cream?”

“I would eat the ice cream.”

“Damn.” Mulder presses a kiss to the top of her head before heading out to put on his suit jacket. “Do you mind me asking why you need panty liners? Also! What brand?”

“Any with wings. And I need them because there’s been an unusual amount of vaginal discharge in my underwear and I don’t want to ruin any more of them.”

“Right.” He steps back in view of the bathroom and takes in her naked body.

Scully raises an eyebrow at him. “What?”

(Their books on pregnancy are buried inside their storage closets from a time best forgotten.)

“Nothing. I just like looking at you.”

She smiles at him, drying her hair again. “Get going, hotshot.”

—

Halfway through the flight home, Scully discovers something that makes her a bit worried. She’s not supposed to get her period until next week, so the blood on the liner she quickly tosses away with shaky hands can’t be because of that. She tries to forget about it as she walks back to her seat next to Mulder, but he must see something on her face that prompts him to ask if she’s okay.

“I’m fine,” she lies, managing to give him a smile. “Just tired.”

He seems to accept that and leaves her be. It’s not even a lie; she feels exhausted after everything that happened over the past few days. Scully makes a mental note to book an emergency appointment with her Ob-Gyn when they land, and closes her eyes.

—

“Dana,” Dr. Namin starts, disrupting her patient’s thumb twiddling.

Scully abruptly stands up as her doctor moves to stand in front of the exam table, computer and several documents in hand. “You don’t look concerned,” she says, following Namin to the exam table.

“Because there’s nothing to be concerned about at this stage except plenty of rest, hydration, and eating at least three good meals a day,” Scully’s doctor replies, opening up her computer and spreading out the documents. “We’ve done all the tests you asked for, but nothing came up. However, based on the symptoms you listed, I performed one more, and that’s where we found the culprit.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re pregnant, Dana. Plain and simple. Congratulations.” Dr. Namin slides one of the documents towards Scully, who takes it. “You’re about three and a half weeks along. You can take all the papers. There’s suggestions for all the prenatal vitamins you’ll need to take and how much water to drink in a day. Resources for managing symptoms, too.”

Scully nods dumbly, tears gathering in her eyes as she stares at the diagnosis. “Um, when should I come back?”

“Don’t worry about that right now, I’ll have someone give you a call with that information. Just relax and enjoy the news. I remember how much you wanted this, Dana. I...I don’t know how this happened, but the baby’s doing well. Minor bleeding is completely normal and you don’t need to worry. If it gets worse or doesn’t stop soon, then come back.”

“Okay,” Scully chokes out, smiling widely as she wipes away her tears and collects the documents on the exam table.

—

She spends a few hours at her apartment trying to figure out how to tell Mulder the good news but gets nowhere. In the middle of pacing around her couch, one arm unconsciously wrapped around her abdomen, her phone starts ringing.

“Scully speaking.”

“Agent Scully,” Skinner starts, and she immediately knows that Mulder’s done something stupid again, “could you check on Agent Mulder? He snuck into my meeting and was yelling at my chair.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Scully hangs up the phone and sighs heavily. Looks like God’s giving her a sign to just get it over with. When she enters the office, however, the woman Mulder keeps insisting is a genie is there, too. She licks her lips nervously and tries to ignore her.

“Skinner called me, Mulder. Is everything alright?”

Sitting at the desk, computer on, she has to wonder what he’s doing. “You don’t remember disappearing off the face of the Earth for an hour this morning?”

She gives her head a small shake as she tells him, “No,” truly starting to get concerned.

Mulder just shrugs with a little smile and gets back to typing with a nonchalant, “Well, I guess everything’s okay.”

Get it out, just say it, she thinks, trying to psych herself up. She sighs. “Mul—” But the woman’s still there in the office. “Could you give us a minute, please?”

“Sure,” the woman—Jenn, Mulder told her on the plane—says with a nod.

Scully steps closer to the desk, butterflies in her stomach. Jenn isn’t moving, and it’s making her annoyed, quite frankly. “Like, today?” she says, turning around, but the black-haired woman is nowhere to be found, not even in the annex. Scully turns back to her partner, extremely confused. “Where the hell’d she go?”

Mulder childishly imitates a genie disappearing and she feels the sudden urge to laugh at the thought that this man is the father of her child. “No...” she says, softening the guffaw trying to escape to a scoff-laugh. “It’s gotta—” She scoffs for real this time. “It’s gotta be hypnotism, or—or mesmerism, or something.”

And thus begins the verbal sparring. As he lists all the things he wants for the world, Scully thinks, again, of how this is the father of her child. Something suspiciously soft is trying to emerge from her heart as she responds, and she’s a coward to boot, so she leaves without telling him. Driving back to her apartment, Scully feels guilty at how little effort she put into trying to break the news to Mulder. She just—she doesn’t know what to make of the news herself, let alone how to explain it to him.

An hour into The Exorcist, hugging a pillow as she wishes Mulder was watching it with her, the phone rings. “Scully, do you wanna come over and watch a movie? I’ve got your favorite popcorn...”

She grins. “Of course. I’ll bring the drinks.”

—

They’ve both changed their clothes for the movie night, and when Mulder opens the door, they’re sporting matching grins. “Oh, zero alcohol content?” he faux complains, taking the case of six drinks into the kitchen. “Is this your punishment for me, Scully?”

She elects not to respond as she follows him and takes out the package of popcorn and a pot. “Can you grab the olive oil, Mulder?”

“Yeah, of course.” He puts four of the drinks in the fridge before reaching into one of the cabinets to grab the oil and put it on the counter next to the stove, which Scully’s turning it on.

“I’ll never understand why you won’t just microwave them. It’s faster.”

“Yeah, but if you do it in the pot, it tastes better,” she shoots back, opening the package and pouring the kernels into the pot.

“That’s just because of the oil.”

“Well, you can continue to eat shitty popcorn for the rest of your life if you want, but I’m going to eat my good popcorn.”

They turn to face each other as the kernels pop and hit the lid, a staring contest beginning. Scully wins when she licks her lips and distracts Mulder enough to get him to blink.

“Ha! I got you! I win!”

“That’s cheating!”

“I won!” she says in a sing-song voice, emptying the finished popcorn into the bowl.

Mulder shakes his head with a smile. “Why don’t you take the drinks and get comfortable. I’ll finish the popcorn.”

Scully nods and does as he suggests, but as she’s crossing into the living room, she pauses and turns around. “No butter, please,” she says, and he turns around with a scoop of butter in a bowl in his right hand, the handle of the microwave in the other.

“No... butter...?” She nods. “We always put butter on the popcorn, Scully.”

“Well, I don’t want butter this time,” she says, and makes her way to the couch, sitting down and placing the drinks on the coffee table. She hears Mulder sigh heavily and put the bowl of butter in the fridge before making his way to the living room, bowl of popcorn in hand.

He shakes his head as he grabs the movie case from the table and inserts it into the player. “Can’t believe you don’t want butter on your popcorn. Eugh. It’s un-American.” He steps around the table and sits down next to Scully.

She takes the case from where he left it and makes a face. “Caddyshack, Mulder?” she questions.

“It’s a classic American movie,” he insists, grabbing his drink and propping his feet up.

“That’s what every guy says.” Scully grabs her own and untwists the cap, tossing it onto the table. Mulder does the same, but his bounces off onto the floor, and she laughs into the bottle. “So, uh... What’s the occasion?” she asks, as if they still take the justifying movie nights thing seriously.

Last week’s was I thought you might need some help feeding your fish.

“I don’t know. Just felt like the thing to do. Cheers.”

Maybe it is time to turn over a new leaf, especially considering the baby growing inside her, cell by cell. They clink their bottles—“Cheers,” she says—and drink. Tell him, tell him, tell hi—

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I, um, never made the world a happier place.”

They nod together and Scully knows that this is the moment to tell him. She takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m fairly happy. That’s something.” A smile slides onto her face and she looks at him, a lot more than fairly happy now. “Actually, I’m ecstatic.” She gives a little laugh and reaches into her pocket for the piece of paper she’d stared at for hours earlier.

“Really? Is there a specific reason, or...?”

Scully pulls the paper out and looks at the blue highlighted text on the portion of the paper that’s not folded back for a moment before handing it to Mulder. “That’s why,” she says, voice trembling a little out of happiness.

She watches his face as the words sink in. He reads it again, murmuring, “Diagnosis: pregnancy (3.5 weeks),” as he does so, a grin spreading across his lips. “Scully...”

“I know,” she says, setting her bottle on the table, and before Mulder can say anything else, she cups his cheeks and kisses him, unwilling to fight the urge.

“Scully, this is wonderful!” He laughs joyously and kisses her again, setting the paper and his drink on the table. “I’m so happy.” He brings her into his embrace and buries his face in her shoulder for a long moment, both of them starting to cry. He suddenly pulls away and puts his hand on her abdomen under her shirt, his other arm still wrapped around Scully.

“I love you,” she tells him.

“I love you, too,” he replies.

#txf #fanfiction #msr #mine #wahhhh!!!!!#i love: them #i had so much fun writing this ksdjhfkjs like an inordinate amount

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livesincerely · 3 years

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inevitability

Part 5 of the Domestic AU (found here)

Also on Ao3

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“So, when are you gonna get married?” Tony asks apropos of nothing, looking between him and Davey with keen interest.

Jack barely manages to keep from choking on his cereal. Davey, who’d been in the middle of spreading a bit of lox on a bagel, slowly sets down his knife.

Charlie aims a kick at Tony under the table.

“You’re asking them now?” he hisses. “I thought we were gonna ease them into the idea!”

“There is no easing them into the idea when it comes to Jack and Davey,” Tony says, his expression tight with the exasperation of the long suffering. “You gotta give it to ‘em straight, right from the get go, ‘cause they’ll never figure it out on their own.”

“Hey,” Jack says weakly, but he doesn’t have a leg to stand on and they all know it.

“So, I’m asking,” Tony determinedly continues as if Jack hadn’t said anything. “When are you gettin’ married?”

There’s a long pause where he and Davey just stare at each other, neither of them quite sure how to respond.

He gets this from you, Davey’s expression says, clear as day.

I know he does, Jack says with a commiserating look, holding back a sigh.

“Well?” Tony demands when the silence stretches on for too long.

“It’s a little soon to be thinking about marriage,” Davey eventually says, far more delicately than Jack would’ve managed. “We haven’t talked about it at all yet⁠—”

“Because we only just got together yesterday, Tony,” Jack dryly interjects. “In case you forgot about that little detail.”

“—And we should probably start with the question of if we want to get married before we jump to the when,” Davey concludes.

Tony’s nose scrunches up, obviously dissatisfied with this answer.

“Of course you’re gonna get married,” he says, as if this is plainly obvious. “You’re basically married already, I just wanna know when the wedding’s gonna be.”

“Um.” Davey’s gone faintly pink. “Well, like I said, Jack and I haven’t talked about anything like that yet. We’re comfortable the way we are now, no need to rush into anything⁠—”

“And since we literally only just got together yesterday,” Jack says again, a little more emphatically, just to make sure the point lands, “getting married right off the bat would be all kinds of crazy.”

Tony levels him with the flattest look in all of existence. “You’re crazy if you think you haven’t already been married to Davey for years.”

Jack’s voice catches in his throat, a little blindsided by the frank truth of that statement. Davey’s mouth opens and closes, the rosy flush of his cheeks shading a touch deeper.

“We’re not thinking about gettin’ married just yet,” Jack says once he’s steadied himself, in a tone that brooks no further arguments. “Dave and I will talk about it when the time comes, if⁠,” he stresses clearly, “we decide that’s what we want.”

“But what, exactly, is holding you back?” Tony asks, stubbornly brooking further arguments anyway. “Like, do you have any actual reasons?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s none of your business,” Jack snipes back. “Given that that’ll be a conversation between me and Davey.”

“I just don’t understand what the big deal is,” Tony says, crossing his arms across his chest. “Pretty much nothing would change, except that the next time someone assumes that you two are married, they’d actually be right instead of simply noticing what was so obvious that even complete strangers clue in to it⁠—”

“Tony,” Jack groans.

“—coming to the perfectly reasonable conclusion that you’re together⁠—”

“Tony, that’s enough, we get it,” Jack says.

“—instead of the inexplicable reality of the situation which was that you were, in fact, not together, despite being in love with each other for eight entire years because you’re idiots⁠—”

Jack covers his face with his hands.

“—and given that, like, every aspect of your lives are already tangled together, it’s not really that big of a step for you to just go ahead and make it official.”

Jack sighs so hard he feels it in his bones. “If we promise to talk about this, will you please stop talking about it?”

“Eight years, Jack!” Tony cries, impassioned. “That’s half of my life! That’s more than half of Charlie’s life!”

“Do not bring me into this,” Charlie quickly interjects, “I am a passive witness and nothing more.”

“You’re such a fucking turncoat, Choo-Choo,” Tony mutters with no real heat. “You’re supposed to have my back on this.”

“Maybe if you could ever actually stick to a plan,” Charlie grumbles back.

“We will talk about it,” Jack says loudly, interrupting their bickering before it can gain any ground. “Okay?”

There’s a moment of blessed silence.

Then Tony says, “So, like, right now? Or…?”

“Sure!” Jack says, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Why not? Clearly, I’m not gonna get any fucking peace until this is sorted—

“Finally!” Tony exclaims. “God, was that so hard?”

“—So go away,” Jack finishes.

Tony’s mouth falls open.

“What do you mean, go away?” he protests, looking genuinely shocked. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why? I’m not gonna let you sit here and fucking… moderate our conversation, dumbass,” Jack sputters. “Get out!”

“But I really feel like this is the kind of conversation that needs moderating,” Tony disagrees. “It’s not like either of you have a great track record for effective communication⁠—”

“Anthony Ethan Higgins,” Jack warns, nearly at the end of his rope.

Tony rolls his eyes so hard his whole body moves with the motion. “I am literally just trying to help, you don’t gotta get all defensive about it⁠—”

“Jesus Christ, Tony,” Jack says, completely and utterly done. “Will you please just⁠— Just go somewhere that isn’t here.”

“But are you gonna talk about it?” Tony insists, really digging in his heels. “Because if you’re just gonna not talk about it the second I leave then I think I should⁠—”

“Tonio, juro por Dios—”

“Tony, honey,” Davey finally steps back into the fray, far calmer than he has any right to be, and somehow, miraculously, Tony’s mulish expression softens into something a little chagrined. Jack gapes, wrong-footed by the sudden change. “I think you’ve made your point and given Jack more than enough heart attacks for one morning, yeah? So why don’t you go ahead and give us a few minutes, and I promise we’ll talk about it.”

Tony deflates. “Yeah, okay.”

“Thank you, baby.”

Tony shuffles away, mollified for now. Davey pauses, then says, “Charlie, that means you too.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” Charlie protests. “I’m just sittin’ here, tryin’ to eat.”

He takes an exaggerated bite of his bagel as if to prove his point, eyes extra wide and innocent.

“Charlie.”

“But my food!”

“Take it with you,” Davey suggests, very patiently.

Charlie looks as though that thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“Okay,” he says, scooping up his plate and scurrying after his brother. He hesitates in the doorway, then adds, “My vote is for an autumn wedding, if that counts for anything.”

“Charlie.”

“Going!”

Once he’s sure they’re both gone, Jack heaves another massive sigh.

“They’re such a pair of little shits,” he says, to Davey and the world at large. “Fucking hell.”

Davey takes a drink of his coffee, holding out his other hand to Jack in offering. Jack reaches over and laces their fingers together, most of his irritation slipping away in an instant at the simple contact.

“But he is right, you know,” Davey comments.

“I know he’s right,” Jack grumbles, rubbing his thumb gently over Davey’s knuckles. “Don’t mean he ain’t a little shit.”

“Well, naturally,” Davey agrees. “He was raised by you.”

“Oh, please,” Jack says with a snort. “That little spiel of his was all you. ‘The inexplicable reality of the situation,’' he echoes, shaking his head. “It was like hearin’ your voice comin’ outta Tony’s mouth.”

“And it was a well thought-out argument,” Davey says pertly, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a wry little grin. “His timing could use some work, though.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” Jack says, huffing out a breath. “Didn’t even let us finish eating before he pounced.”

“It has been eight years,” Davey says, and he’s definitely holding back a laugh. “Guess he’s afraid of a repeat performance.”

“Well....” Jack trails off with a shrug, because that part’s hard to argue with. More than half of Charlie’s life, Jesus. “Yeah, but he was talkin’ like he expected us to walk down the aisle this afternoon. I mean, we can’t just get married. You don’t just get married.”

“Most people don’t,” Davey says, tilting his head. “But then, we aren’t really most people, are we, darling?”

It takes a moment for this statement to really register for Jack⁠, and when it finally does, it lands with an earth shattering boom.

“Are you sayin’ you’d marry me?” Jack asks, utterly floored, heart pounding an unsteady rhythm in his chest.

“Are you asking me?” Davey asks, calmly sipping his coffee like he isn’t rocking Jack’s world, right here over breakfast, for the second time in not even two days.

“You want to marry me?”

This makes Davey pause.

“Why wouldn’t I want to marry you?” he asks, a confused little furrow forming between his brows.

“Stop answerin’ all of my questions with questions,” Jack demands, a wealth of feelings bubbling furiously in his chest. “Just— You’re serious? Like, you’d really just— Just like that?”

Davey looks at him, his eyes bright blue and utterly sincere.

“Just like that,” he softly agrees. “If you asked.”

“Well, I’m not askin’,” Jack snaps. His face colors immediately: “No, I didn’t mean it like— It’s just, I don’t want to seem, I don’t want’cha ta think—“

Davey reaches up and gently presses two fingers to Jack’s lips, and Jack’s sputtering slows to a halt.

“Breathe, darling,” Davey says, and the tightness in Jack’s throat eases in the face of Davey’s warm, steady gaze. “What’s got you so worked up about this? I get that it wasn’t what we were expecting to have to talk about this morning, but you seem… upset.”

“I’m not upset,” Jack says.

Davey keeps looking at him.

“...Maybe I’m freaking out a little bit,” Jack allows.

“Talk to me,” Davey prompts, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. “What’s wrong?”

Jack licks his lips, then blurts, “You know that I’m, like, wholly and unshakably in love with you, right?”

Davey blushes, a dash of red pooling high in his cheeks and cutting across the bridge of his nose, his fingers curling even tighter around Jack’s own.

“Perhaps not in those exact words,” Davey murmurs, smiling as he stares down at their joined hands. Even his ears have turned red⁠—it’s kind of wonderful. “But I had something of an inkling, yes.”

“And you know that if it was just about commitment, if it was just about wanting to, I’d marry you in a heartbeat,” Jack continues. “We could go down to the courthouse today, if it was just that. I’ve been ready for you⁠—for us⁠—for years, sweetheart. I love you. You get that, don’tcha?”

Now it’s Davey’s turn to go speechless.

“Oh,” he says. “I… that’s…”

“But it’s not just about wanting to,” Jack says. “It’s not about being ready.”

“Then what’s it about, Jackie?”

“It’s about makin’ sure we do this right,” Jack explains. “‘Bout makin’ sure I do this right.”

Davey’s eyes sweep over his face, searching, then his expression turns tender.

“Jack,” he says, his voice full of affection. “You don’t have anything you need to prove to me. Not a single thing.”

“But I do, cielito,” Jack disagrees. “I need you to know that I don’t take you for granted. That you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. That I’d do anything and everything for you. That I love you.”

He lifts Davey hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of it.

“When I propose to you, and I am gonna propose to you one day,” Jack says, intently, holding Davey’s gaze, “It’s gonna be special. It’s gonna be sappy. I’m gonna make sure you understand how absolutely, stupidly in love with you I am. I’m going to sweep you off your fucking feet, because you deserve that, Dave. You deserve all of that and more.”

“Jack,” Davey breathes. “Jackie.”

“So I’m not askin’,” Jack finishes. “Not yet. Not today.”

Davey’s smile is a beautiful thing.

“But one day,” he says, leaning in to press their foreheads together,

“One day,” Jack confirms, and he seals the promise with a gentle kiss. “One day.”

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Tag List: @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @corbinthecowboy @stroopwafeldetective @amillionandonefandoms

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #racetrack higgins #crutchie morris #the domestic au #*editor's note #*the writing desk #*final cut #thank you for your patience!#💕💕💕😊

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vespectral · 3 years

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@dosdeux // plotted starter

after being stonewalled at least ten times - first via being sent straight to voicemail, then via harvey’s secretary taking a message - bruce realized he’d have to resort to some sort of drastic measure. after being ignored for four days, he even considers donning the suit to get harvey’s attention because harvey wouldn’t ignore batman (which is a consideration that lasts all of three seconds, to his own credit) before he decides to show up at harvey’s place with bagels and lox. it’s three o’clock, no one eats meals at this time, but he just woke up an hour ago and he’s starving and barely able to move. it’s not a coincidence he dresses down in a jacket and jeans, five o’clock shadow just barely grown out - he’s going into harvey’s turf, now. he’s long been aware that the wealth disparity between them is a source of contention and he’s startled that he wants harvey to like him so badly that he’s gone to such a length to fashion himself into what harvey wants to see even if the reality doesn’t quite match.

(which reminds him of the party. he wasn’t even drunk, which means he remembers every moment of it all - how mortified harvey had looked when he’d locked eyes on him from across the room, arm around some socialite’s waist while he practically let him lick his tonsils. how goddamn stupid of him - that hadn’t been the reaction he’d been aiming for but how could he expect anything less.)

one of harvey’s neighbors lets him in from the lobby, which is how he makes his way to harvey’s unit. he stands in front of it for what feels like an eternity before knocking. he hears the television and knows harvey’s home - but he doesn’t expect the door to open.

“ - hi,” is awkward. he clears his throat and straightens up to look harvey in the face with a smile as he holds up the brown bag in his hand. “i tried to leave you a voicemail to let you know i was coming, but your inbox was full and i’m persistent. do you want to eat with me?”

#DOSDEUX #DOSDEUX001 #🤧#this is so long i am so sorry

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lighthouseas · 8 months

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HI BEE im so sorry to hear about the shit day🫂🫂 i hope ur weekends better!!!

also. as someone who does not know anything about bagels but Wants To.... what kind of bagel would you recommend?

(ps i read love, mike and im leaving a comment atm but. i am In Your Walls. IN YOUR WALLS!!!! just thought i should let you know)

aaaa liza thabk u 🫂🫂🫂 hugs

OOOO okay. is it weird that i love being asked about bagels? probably. but i do. anyway, some of my personal faves are plain bagels toasted with strawberry cream cheese, everything bagels toasted with chive and onion cream cheese, and bagels with lox!!

bagel sandwiches or open face bagels with cream cheese, smoked salmon (<- lox), cucumber, and capers are literally to die for. cure of all ailments i promise. if you don't like fish, though, which i know some people don't, bagels with just cucumber and cream cheese are great!!!!

also highly recommend cinnamon raisin bagels with cream cheese on one side and peanut butter or almond butter on the other. it's a lovely flavor combination.

sorry that was a lot of bagels ANYWAY omg love, mike is soooo old now lol woah....im so glad u enjoyed it though 😊😊😊 good to know that people like my writing from last year lmao ❤️

#this got very long and that is because i have a bagel obsession. apologies #💌#mutuals 💫#liza !!!#bee.txt

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daydream-believin · 3 years

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The Never-Ending Roadtrip (kmart’s haunted)

Summary: (part 1) Reader has joined Douxie on the quest for Nari’s safety. He’ll need company. (part 2) - Missouri 1 (part 3)

Warnings: swearing, very light spooky?

Word Count: 2245

A/N: so we’ve established that Doux wasn’t the one who burnt the bookstore, but they don’t know that. look, have you been in a Kmart recently? its apocalyptic. also, you know that post about people repeating their default work greetings by accident? yeah

“Do you want me to split the bill or?” The waitress asked, not sure if the group at the table was a young couple and their child or just three college kids hanging out. It was kind of hard to tell. On one hand, that one kid was so small, wearing a little deer costume, and had been helped to order. The other two radiated the energy of an old married couple and talked mainly to each other. But on the other hand, college kids are just like that sometimes.

“Nah, I got it.”

“What? No. I’m paying for us.” Douxie insisted.

“I have the cash, Doux.” (Name) turned to the waitress. She put some honey in her voice. “Just bring us one bill, please.” The waitress nodded nervously before heading off.

“No. I don’t want you paying for too many things while we’re traveling. You’re unemployed.”

“And who’s fault is that Mr. Mephits-Are-Vulnerable-To-Fire? You fucking burned down the store and put us both out of work here.” Nari was squirming at the negative vibes going on. It helped that she didn’t exactly understand what was going on.

“It was magic fire!” Douxie interjected in outrage. He looked so cute when he got defensive.

“Yeah, okay, sure.” (Name) shook her head, looking up to the ceiling. She let out a huff, “look, I invited myself onto this trip, Douxie. I want to pull my own weight. You’re going to have to let me pay for something eventually.”

“We’ll see about that, Love,” he said as he grabbed the ticket from the waitress’s hands as quick as lightning, tucked his card in and gave it right back before (Name) could further protest.

“Ugh! FINE! Then I’m getting the tip.” She pulled out a tenner and slapped it onto the table. She glared right back into Douxie’s hazel eyes. He glared right back into hers with a matched intensity. Nari looked back and forth between the two and whimpered. (Name) broke the standoff to assure Nari that they weren’t actually angry at each other so she shouldn’t be worried. That seemed to ease the forest child a bit but not by too much. She could still feel the weird aura they were putting off.

“Okay! So here’s your check back and here’s that lox bagel you ordered to go.” The waitress handed (Name) a doggy bag.

(Name) took the bag gingerly. A big fake smile spread across her face as she was momentarily possessed by that good spirit of customer service. “Thank you! I hope your experience was spellbinding! Have a magical day!” (Name) said on autopilot in that high-pitched voice and winked exaggeratedly. It was like she was an NPC and her talk button had been accidentally pushed. The waitress laughed forcibly and scurried away to the kitchen. Douxie cracked up.

“You do know that when I told you to say all that stuff after ringing people up, I was hazing you, right?”

“Oh yes, I am completely aware, Doux. Did you think I’d not pick up on how ridiculous that sounds? But I still say it to spite you.”

He shook his head. “Of course.”

***

Archie scarfed down his bagel sandwich with almost disturbing speed. It was like watching the void consume, well, a bagel sandwich. It just disappeared. Down his furry maw and out of existence. Being a dragon works up an appetite, after all. (Name) was a bit baffled and asked him if she should go get him another bagel. He assured her that the one was just fine and said something about trying to catch some birds later. She leaned back on her elbows against the boat’s railing, trying and failing to not think about the details of that.

Douxie cleared his throat. “So,” He folded his hands together for emphasis, “Since the subject of money came up earlier, I think we should also discuss the topic of our accommodations.”

“Well, you two obviously cannot afford lodging every night.” Archie snarked, flicking his tail.

“Thank you, for that, Arch. No, I was thinking more along the lines of a tent.”

“A tent?” the cat asked incredulously.

“Oh, that could work.” (Name) pointed at Douxie animatedly, “keep us close to nature for Nari. And also could keep our possible property damage bills down. Good idea, Doux.”

“Thank you,” Douxie puffed up, “see Arch? Someone appreciates my ideas-”

“Wait. That’ll be a short-term solution. We’re just barely into September. It’s going to be much, much colder in about a month. By October it’ll be too cold to bear. Even if we all huddle together like penguins.”

Doux looked away to hide his blush at the suggestion. “That is a problem. Okay, um-”

“Maybe we could just cross that bridge when we get there? Who knows what could happen between now and then. We could find so temp work in a little town somewhere.” (Name) shrugged, smirking at Doux. She didn’t want to admit that ‘we could be dead by then’ was also definitely a possibility on the table, so she tried to further distract from that thought. “Maybe we’ll find a creepy abandoned cabin in the woods we can squat in. Maybe some nice trolls will take us in as novelty pets. Maybe my rich Aunty Josie could just suddenly die under some ‘mysterious circumstances’ and leave her lavish fortune to her beloved niece,” she smirked at Doux, “I dunno, just spit ballin’ here.”

“I’m electing to ignore that you just suggested we ice your aunt because you were onto something there.”

“I was?” Her tone was a mixture of sarcasm and disbelief.

“Yes! New Jersey!

“New Jersey?” The wheels turned. “Oh! New Jersey!”

Nari looked confused. “What is special about this ‘New Jersey’?” she asked

Both Douxie and (Name) turned to her, “Trolls.” They said in sync.

***

(Name) stood there with her hands in her pockets. Somehow this Kmart was still standing, out here in The-Middle-Of-Fucking-Nowhere, Missouri. She was standing here, in a Kmart. It might as well have been 1986. There was barely anything on the shelves. Half the shelves themselves were missing. The floor had a layer of grime to it, in spite of the wet floor sign along with the shiny patches that said that it had clearly been mopped recently. The air smelled like something (Name) couldn’t quite place, but it was nostalgic. A strange scent that took her back to her childhood. Or at least she thought it was her childhood. It had to have been. Taking deep breaths, she couldn’t quite get enough of it.

Continuing that vibe, a muzak 80’s tune played over the speakers. Funny enough, despite (Name)’s brain seeming to recognize that it was playing a song from the 80’s, she just couldn’t quite put her finger on it as to which. Every time she thought she’d figured it out, she’d hear a few notes that would somehow change her mind. It was a pop song at least, to narrow it down. It’d been going on for about six minutes now. Must be one of those extended tracks.

She’d ask Douxie what he thought the song was. She turned her attention to him and noticed he was still just staring at that same shelf like he had been for, what, ten minutes now? Even though this fucking Kmart barely had any shelving in it, by some miracle it not only had exactly what they were looking for but an entire aisle of them. How lucky was that.

Douxie was taking very careful consideration into this tent purchase. This was going to be their new home, after all. He just couldn’t decide which one was best. They all had fancy camping terms on the packages that meant nothing to him. He’d been trying to decipher the code. The secret outdoorsman code. Nari shifted uncomfortably in the basket.

“Hisirdoux, you should maybe, hurry this along?” She sounded strained.

But she was right. He should just pick one already. It’s all a gamble anyway. He decided on a dark green one that boasted a water-proof material. Good natural color, not easily spotted, and it wouldn’t soak through with rain. That should work well enough, he figured.

“I’ve hurried along. Sorry Nari.” He casually tossed the box into the cart next to her. She sniffed the box and nodded to him.

Now that they had their goal item, the quest party started for the checkouts. Douxie could have sworn that it had been on the side of the store they were in. They had passed it when they came in. Now it was completely across by the other door. Did he get turned around? Or maybe they did come in from that side of the store. He actually couldn’t remember.

As they walked, a few things caught (Name)’s eye. They passed a display of dark leafy plants in oddly shaped pots, a table stacked high with various books and a clearance sign, a knife case that had been left open, a candle display with a few that had already been lit and were dripping wax, a bargain bin of CDs, and lastly a sad box of no-longer-in-season pool noodles. There was a sale on bloodmeal apparently. Perfect for perking up those roses after the summer heat.

They arrived at the checkout after what felt like an endless journey. (Name) hadn’t noticed any other customers the entire time they had been there, and yet the line for the only check open had seven people in it. She grabbed a couple bags of red licorice from the impulse shelf to add to their cart while waiting.

Nari was really interested in that checker. (Name) took her in. The teen was taller than most and had very, very long blonde hair that cascaded down her back like a shiny golden waterfall. Her cheeks were slightly sunken in. Must be going through a diet phase. Poor girl.

The young woman was obviously not one for small talk. Name couldn’t blame her. Retail sucks. Her perfect red fingernails clicked against the keys of the register in a practiced beat. She turned around and told them their total in a bored monotone. As Douxie fiddled with his wallet and payed, (Name) found herself staring right into the cashier’s eyes. They were such a light icy blue, they were almost white. It was striking. (Name) was almost in a trance. It was broken as the cashier turned around swiftly to rip off the receipt off the machine, and, in an uncharacteristically cheery voice, told them to have a nice night. Night?

They returned the cart back to the stack, grabbing their one singular shopping bag and helping Nari out. Of course Nari could easily just jump out herself, but that wouldn’t be something a human child could do. They didn’t need to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves here. They made their way to the automatic sliding doors that lagged so that they didn’t open until you were standing right in front of them. This allowed Douxie time to catch a glimpse of the reflection in the glass. The reflection of the store was completely devoid of people. Not even the checker was at her station. He sucked in a breath. After walking through those first doors, he stopped. He took a moment to turn back. There she was, right where she should be, checking out another customer with three more in the line.

Douxie hurried along the doorway to catch up to (Name) and Nari. It was darker outside than he expected, and he was taken aback. He found them right outside the store, waiting for him. In one hand, (Name) was holding Nari’s, in the other, the plastic shopping bag. Her head was tipped up to the sky, transfixed by the moon. He came over, grabbing her shoulder as he pulled her along, in an attempt to urge her away from this place. She looked back at him, eyes wide with distress. He tried to convey that he understood with his eyes. All three of them instinctually knew not to say anything more why they were still in this parking lot.

It had barely been half past noon when they had started this little Kmart side quest. It was now at least seven by the looks of it. They had spent six and a half hours in a Kmart? How had they spent six and a half hours in a Kmart. There went their entire travel day. But no time to dwell on this, they needed to get back to Archie and the boat as soon as possible.

As they walked back towards the ship, (Name) and Douxie both took one of Nari’s hands so that she was in the middle, like how those couples walk with their children. The streetlights glared up at them in the slick pavement. Apparently, it had rained while they were in shopping limbo. Poor Arch. (Name) let out a puff of air.

“Well. That sure was something.”

Douxie nervously chuckled, “If we had stayed in there any longer, I think we might have died.” (Name) mirrored that nervous chuckle.

“Oh, no, dying would be much simpler than what would have happened to us.” Nari said sweetly, like what she was saying was somehow better. Nari liked being helpful. (Name) put on her best fake smile.

“Thank you, Nari.” She tried her best to sound as sincere as possible to spare the veggie lady’s feelings.

#douxie x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie imagine #hisirdoux x reader #hisirdoux casperan #hisirdoux casperan imagine #douxie #toa douxie #toa wizards #my writing #the never ending roadtrip

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thatesqcrush · 4 years

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Neighbors, Pt. 3

Rafael Barba x Reader. CW: angst, pining, language. Episode references: Nationwide Manhunt (SVU) & The Song of Gregory William Yates (CPD). WC: 1892

AN: A non-smut chapter? Who am I? Forgive me for typos.

The next morning you woke up startled. You rubbed your eyes and tried to make sense of your surroundings: you had fallen asleep on your couch, the TV screen black (with the flashing reminder to turn off your TV if not watching). Your alarm was screeching from the bedroom and there was pounding on your door. You reached for the remote and turned off the TV before going to answer the door. You stood and paused, groaning as your head began to throb.

You undid the deadbolt but left the security chain on and cracked the door open. “Oh, Raf – it’s you.” You replied with a sigh of relief. “Hold on.” You closed the door and undid the chain and then re-opened the door. You both stood there in the doorway, staring at each other, nothing being said. Finally, Rafael opened his mouth, taking the first step.

Can I come in?” Rafael looked fashionably sensitive, in his dark tapered jeans and oxford shirt, with his sleeves rolled up. You cocked your head and wondered if the Harvard lawyer truly knew how handsome he was.

“Sure.” You replied, opening the door wider to let him in. “I have to turn off my alarm, give me a second.” You walked down the hall to your room. “Look about last night…” You called out as you turned it off.

Rafael gave you a shrug. “Don’t worry about it, detective.”

You gave him a look that was half-bemused and half annoyance. “I have a name. What did I tell you about that?”

Rafael crossed his arms and grumbled an expletive in Spanish, which made the corner of your lips twitch slightly, knowing that you could get under his skin a little. “Y/N.” He replied, his voice clipped.

You let out a small laugh. “I am just teasing.” Your smile faded quickly. “Seriously, though, I’m really sorry.”

Rafael eyed your unkempt appearance and gave you a small smile before shaking his head. “You were hurting and drunk.” He pulled you into a tight hug, squeeze and you took a deep inhalation of his cologne which comforted you. Reluctantly, you broke the hug.

“I think we should keep things professional from now on.” Rafael announced quietly. He shifted his footing and shoved his hands into his pockets. He didn’t miss the hurt that flashed across your face.

You straightened and took a deep breath. “Duly noted.” After a beat, you continued. “And I think that’s best.”

Rafael nodded slowly, taken a bit by your quick agreeance. “So…” Tension quickly filled the room and the pounding in your head intensified.

“Want to get some breakfast before work?” Rafael suggested. “Just as colleagues.” He added for good measure.

“If you don’t mind waiting…” You waved your arm over your haphazard appearance.

“Not at all.”

You started walking backwards towards your bedroom. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be out in a bit.”

Under the hot steam of your shower, you wondered when everything got so fucked up and longed for the days when things were so simple. When you emerged back into the living room, you paused as you slipped on your watch. Rafael was sitting on the couch, watching CNN. There was something so domestic about it. Your heart skipped a beat.

‘No. Focus.’ You thought to yourself. You plastered a smile on your face and put the kibosh on any feelings that were forming. “Ready?”

Rafael turned off your TV and stood, turning to face you. “Absolutely.”

As you walked by, Rafael grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Hey – are we okay?” He pointed his finger at you, then at himself. You winked.

“Of course. Now, lets get some food. I’m starved.” The waft of your lavender shampoo made its way to Rafael’s olfactory sensors and he felt his stomach twist painfully as he followed you out the door.

You both settled at a diner near One Hogan Place. You ordered an egg scramble and whole wheat toast and Rafael ordered an everything bagel with lox. Copious amounts of coffee were had. You were grateful for easy, though at times stilted, conversation. As Rafael settled the bill – which he insisted on doing – a breaking news alert on the overhead TV caught your eye.

You flagged down a waitress. “Excuse me, can you raise that?” The waitress nodded and raised the volume. The reporter’s words shook you to your core. Rafael watched as the color drained from your face.

Breaking news: two inmates from Green Haven Correctional have escaped. Both Yates and Rudnick were serving life sentences for multiple counts of rape and murder. They should be considered extremely dangerous. Officials are cautioning that anyone who sees them or has information on either of the two men should not attempt to interact with them. We will keep you updated as this story continues.

You stormed into the bullpen with Rafael following at your heels. “Liv! What the hell are we going to do?”

Olivia cocked her brow at your outburst. “Y/N, I take it that you heard the news.” She took off her glasses and sat on the corner of Amanda’s desk.

“We’re going to run this by the book. We’re headed up to Green Haven. Hank and I spoke, the 21st is going to meet us there. Y/N, you’re staying here.”

“Like hell I am!” You snarled.

“Y/N, it’s best if you stay here. We are keeping you safe.” Liv replied softly. “Yate’s baiting you.”

“After using me to talk to him, you decide now to bench me? If he wanted me, he would have had me already.” You replied angrily. You slammed your hand on your desk. Rafael put a hand on your shoulder and you shoved his hand off.

“If I'm bait, let me be bait. I can draw him in. Let me do my job.”

“You are too personally invested. You need to stand down.” Olivia replied sternly.

“No. I need to come up. Just… I can help from behind the scenes. I won’t do anything stupid.”

“Famous last words.” You whipped around and stared at Amanda who gave you a knowing look. “Look Y/N, I know how Yates works too. I can put myself out there – use me.” Amanda replied.

“All due respect, but no.” You retorted. At that moment, your phone buzzed. You pulled out your phone and looked at the text. “It’s Erin; I have to take this.” Rafael didn’t miss how your face crumbled as you walked out to take the call.

State troopers, FBI, ATF, SVU and CPD all converged at a local church in Stormville, just 90 minutes outside of Manhattan to begin the search for Yates and Rudnick.

“NYPD's Special Victims Unit and Chicago Intelligence are here to give specifics about the fugitives.” Warden Lucille Fenton announced.

“These guys are intelligent. They're motivated. They're charming, and they are without conscience.” Olivia began. She listed their heinous acts on her fingers. “Their crimes include rape, kidnapping, torture, and murder.”

“Now, Yates is definitely capable of hot-wiring cars. He's adept at identity theft, and he is highly manipulative. Especially when preying on young women.” You continued.

“Rudnick can blend in easily. We know that he assumes disguises, usually of an older female.” Sonny finished.

“We've already begun house-to-house searches and roadblocks. Air support with heat sensors and infrared will be in the air within the half hour.” Major Bowman with the State Troopers announced.

“Search every inch of this county. My staff has pulled security cameras, visitors' logs, and personnel files.” Lucille turned to Olivia.

“Okay, my team can help with the interviews.” Olivia agreed, before going over to you.

Rafael watched as you and Olivia spoke from the other side of the room. “Hey, how bad are these guys?” Lucille asked Rafael quietly.

Rafael swallowed hard. “Think Robert Durst and Ted Bundy on the run together.”

After an exhaustive search that came up empty, Olivia advised that a local hotel was putting up everyone for the time being. “Those who can keep going, we appreciate it. Those who need to rest… rest and come back.”

“Y/N, why don’t you get some sleep.” Rafael suggested, taking in your worn appearance. “It’s been a long and hard day.”

“I’ll rest when we have Yates and Rudnick.” You replied, pouring another coffee. As you reached for the sugar, you knocked over your coffee, spilling it all over on a table that had been set up at the church. You swore and scrambled for napkins to clean up. As Rafael helped you, your ex-fiancé, Adam approached.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Adam questioned. “Need help?”

“I got it!” You snapped. You took a deep breath. “Sorry. Just on edge.”

Adam walked around and reached for your arm, stopping you. You looked at Adam and Rafael watched as Adam pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapped around you. Rafael could see the appeal of Adam with his rugged looks. You melded into Adam’s embrace. You opened your eyes and met Rafael’s. You tried to read his face, but he appeared stoic and impassive.

“I think I am going to head to the hotel a bit and get some rest.” You replied breaking the hug. You grabbed the soiled napkins and shoving them into the now empty coffee cup. Your hands were sticky and smelled like coffee, to which you crinkled your nose in disgust.

“I am too.” Rafael replied, shaking himself back to present. “Want to ride together?”

“I’ll drive.” Adam offered. “Come on.” Rafael followed behind slowly as Adam and you walked ahead, Adam’s arm wrapped around you.

Rafael felt something in his guts churn that felt an awful like jealousy. Rafael let out a huff and you turned your attention to Rafael. Rafael didn’t say anything and you felt more puzzled than before.

The next morning, Rafael knocked on your hotel door, hoping to check in on you. You opened the door, clad in nothing but an oversized t-shirt, that barely skimmed the tops of your thighs. Rafael swallowed hard.

“Hey – “ Rafael began. His voice trailed as he looked past your shoulder, watching Adam walk in the background.

“What’s up? I told Liv I’d be down in 20. Has there been an update?”

“Um, yeah – overnight Carisi and Rollins apprehended Rudnick. He was discovered hiding in a docked boat by Caroga Lake. Rudnick suffered multiple injuries.” Rafael replied. Adam joined from behind, tugging on his shirt. Rafael ignored him, focusing on you.

“I'm not shedding any tears.” You replied, as you crossed your arms, leaning against the door frame.

“Yates hobbled him - broke both his knees, his ankles, pierced his eardrum. Just left him to die.” Rafael continued.

“Should have let him. Is he talking yet?”

“Only to Carisi, and he's in and out of consciousness. He did indicate the plan was to cross the border at the Saint Lawrence River.”

You turned, pushing past Adam and grabbed your jeans, which were laying on a heap on the floor. “Come on – lets go.”

“What are you going to do?” Rafael asked.

You holstered your gun into your waistband. “What I should have done a long time ago.”

“Olivia…”

“Olivia nothing. Now, Rafael – just get out of my way.”

Rafael looked at Adam. “You’re going to let her just go after a serial killer?” Adam scoffed. “No. I’ll go with her. We’ll see you at the church.”

TBC.

Tags: @madpanda75 @ @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @tropes-and-tales @prurientpuddlejumper @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @delia26 @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolon @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87 @itsjustmyfantasyroom @blk0912 @detective-giggles @rampantmuses @jazzyjoi @caked-crusader @rachelxwayne

#rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #chicago pd x svu imagine

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flowerfan2 · 3 years

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Ok friends, I’m cracking up sitting here right now, because I just took a quick trip to get bagels, came inside with the bag of bagels in my hand, and then sat down to post today’s chapter before allowing myself the reward of eating breakfast... and this is how the first line of today’s chapter begin:

David comes into the house with a bag of bagels in one hand and a tray of hot beverages in the other...

I got iced coffee instead of hot, but still, I guess it was meant to be! Hope you enjoy Chapter 15. @perryavenue is going to recognize where I got my inspiration for this one...

David x Patrick, A03, 3k this chapter, 48k so far.

Chapter 15

David comes into the house with a bag of bagels in one hand and a tray of hot beverages in the other, listening to see if Patrick is awake yet. He was hoping to surprise him with breakfast in bed. Unfortunately, sunny Saturday mornings mean long lines at the bagel place, and it all took a lot longer than he had hoped.

David deposits the bagels on the counter, spotting Patrick sitting outside on the lanai. Drinks in hand, he joins him at the table and leans over to give him a quick kiss.

“Successful trip?” Patrick asks, taking the lid off his tea and inhaling appreciatively.

“Mmm, yes. I checked several of the bagels on the way home. The French toast flavor is overrated, but they do an excellent marble rye.”

“Leave any for me?”

“Even I can’t eat a dozen bagels in half an hour. Three, maybe, although that would still be a mistake. There are plenty left for you to choose from.”

Patrick grins at him and leans back, putting his bare feet up on David’s lap. David frowns.

“What, are foot rubs before coffee incorrect?”

David mock-glares at Patrick, even though he loves these silly call-backs to their history together. “Bare feet outdoors is incorrect.”

“But there’s a swimming pool.”

“The pool is over there,” David waves his hand. “You are here, sitting at a table, eating breakfast. Not swimming.”

“Technically I was reading the news on my phone. Not eating breakfast.”

“Keep antagonizing me and there won’t be any breakfast in your future, either.”

Patrick grins at him, then removes his feet from David’s lap and goes inside to retrieve the bagels, along with plates, cream cheese and lox. Ordinarily David would insist on toasting his bagel, but these are so fresh and warm that they demand to be eaten immediately. They busy themselves with their food for a few minutes, David moaning in appreciation, mostly just to watch Patrick react.

“So, I had an idea for what we could do today.”

“Is eating a pile of bagels and then taking a nap not good enough for you?”

Patrick chuckles. “I was actually thinking of going kayaking.”

David nearly chokes on his food, and Patrick pats his back good-naturedly. “Kayaking?” He doesn’t screech, but it is a near thing. “What about me, exactly, suggests that I would want to go kayaking?”

“Come on, David. We’ve been sitting around here for weeks. I did just get the all clear from the doctor. It’ll be fun.”

David does not think for a minute that it will be fun, as kayaking will undoubtedly involve bugs, unstable vehicles, and the threat of drowning. But Patrick has been beached, so to speak, ever since his injury, and David knows it has been weighing on him.

“I don’t suppose we could go on a nice, safe hike instead?”

Patrick laughs. “We can do that another day. I called a place about a half hour from here, they have two boats available this afternoon. Just give it a try. If you hate it, we won’t stay out long.”

Much to his surprise, David does not hate it.

They show up at the launching area in their swim trunks and shirts, David with his long-sleeved swim shirt on, and Patrick with some kind of sports related jersey. Their guide makes them wear ugly life preservers, which ruin David’s look but do give him a bit of relief when it comes to his drowning concern. After a short lesson, during which Patrick asks lots of excited questions and David tries valiantly to follow along, they each get into a kayak and are pushed out into the water.

The sun is shining rather enthusiastically, and David is glad that he has sunglasses on – he even made them stop along the way to buy a cheap pair, in case they wind up in the water. Patrick bought a ridiculous strap that holds his on his head, and he’s got a ball cap on as well, so there’s not much to see of him except his lovely pale arms which David very much enjoyed slathering in sunscreen.

David pulls his attention away from Patrick and focuses on stroking his paddle through the water, trying to put the guide’s instructions into action. Patrick stays near him, offering quiet corrections, and soon they both fall into a comfortable rhythm.

David knows that he’s in better shape now than he’s been in for most of his life. Although running doesn’t do much for his upper body, at least he’s got stamina. He tries to relax and enjoy it. If he paddles just right, the kayak cuts through the water without very much effort on his part. It’s kind of neat. Soothing, even, almost like the way it feels when he gets into a groove on a run.

They aren’t out on the Gulf, as ocean kayaking is far beyond their skill level. Instead, they are making their way down an inlet of some kind, a broad waterway with docks and houses on both sides. Soon they are out in the bay, and Patrick directs them past a piling with an egret’s nest on top, over to a bristly bunch of trees at the water’s edge.

“These are mangroves,” Patrick says, indicating the dense tangle of scrubby looking trees with visible roots. “They’ve adapted to living in salt water, extracting the fresh water they need. Some of them push the salt out onto their leaves. The leaves even taste salty.”

David doesn’t ask how Patrick knows this. He’d just wind up watching him lick a leaf.

They paddle closer, and David can see into the clusters of plants, the roots and branches weaving together.

“Want to go through?”

David has no idea what Patrick is talking about, but he follows him as he kayaks around the edge of a cluster. There’s an overhang, and what looks like a tunnel into the middle of the clump of mangroves.

“Are you serious?” David asks under his breath, but Patrick is already nearing the entrance.

“Go slow,” Patrick says over his shoulder. “Try not to point into them, and if you do get stuck, just grab on carefully and lever yourself off. Remember not to overbalance.”

It’s a recipe for disaster, but David gently eases himself into the tunnel. It’s cooler and dim inside, with branches and green leaves all around him. It smells like low tide, musty and brackish. The nose of his kayak gets hung up briefly as he turns too hard in one direction and for a brief moment it lists dangerously sideways, but he takes a breath and then uses his paddle to back up a bit and set himself on a straighter path.

He catches Patrick looking back at him, having executed some kind of fancy twisting maneuver so that he can see David. “Nice paddling, David.”

They rest for a minute there, Patrick showing David how to move his paddle to make his kayak go sideways (“it’s like a figure eight”) with limited success. Then Patrick spends some time pointing out to David the difference between the red, white, and black mangroves, which doesn’t make any sense because they are all clearly green.

David doesn’t argue with him. It’s far too nice here, hidden among the curving branches with Patrick who is so clearly, uncomplicatedly happy. David will wear an ugly life jacket and take his chances with the alligators anytime if it makes Patrick smile.

After they extract themselves from the mangroves, Patrick makes them paddle into the wind in order to reach a spot where they can pull up on to the beach. It’s less pleasant than drifting in the trees, but it’s worth it when their kayaks land on a sandy shore. Patrick jumps out of his boat first, pulling the bright orange monstrosity up out of the water, and then returns to help David get out of his without tumbling over, which David very much appreciates.

They sit down and stretch their legs, Patrick continuing to chatter about the birds they saw on the way over, how he’s never seen so many of the pink ones (roseate spoonbills, they’re called, but Patrick likes to correct David, so he pretends he doesn’t remember), how they’re fortunate to see so many birds of some kind or another this time of year.

After a while David just pulls Patrick against him, and Patrick shuts up, kissing David with the taste of salt on his tongue. They make out for a while, alone on the shore, their kayaks shifting slightly as the water laps against their sterns. Patrick lies back on the sand and David hovers close, his elbow braced against the ground as his other hand slides Patrick’s sunglasses off so that he has more skin to kiss.

They can’t go too far, for obvious reasons, but it feels wonderful to kiss and cuddle in the sun.

Finally they sit up, a little shy, and Patrick takes David’s hand in his and squeezes it.

“Thanks for doing this today,” Patrick says, and David’s heart swells. It’s not such a big deal, participating in an activity just because your partner asked you to. And it really wasn’t a hardship.

“It’s fun,” he concedes.

“I didn’t think you’d agree to come.” Patrick looks away, out across the water.

David puts a hand on Patrick’s chin and turns his face towards him, until his brown eyes are locked onto his own. “You asked.” There’s very little he wouldn’t do for Patrick. He can’t quite say that out loud, but he doesn’t have to. He thinks Patrick hears it anyway.

That night David’s putting away the remains of their take-out (Thai food, purchased on the way back from their kayaking adventure) when Patrick dances over to him and presents him with a package.

“What’s this? Aside from an already opened and poorly resealed cardboard box?”

“Open it and find out.”

Inside under the blue tissue paper is a menorah, a pretty silver-plated one with a leaf and branch design. It can’t have been cheap.

“Patrick, you didn’t have to-”

“I always imagined getting you a nice menorah, when we finally had a place together. I had seen this one online, and when I realized it was Hanukkah, well. Here it is.”

David just stares at it for a moment, tongue-tied.

“Do you like it?”

He wraps his arms around Patrick and kisses him soundly. “I love it.”

It’s actually the end of Hanukkah already, so they load up the menorah with the appropriate number of candles and David mumbles what he remembers of the blessings. It’s a rather lovely moment on top of a particularly lovely day, and David has to take a minute to keep it from overwhelming him.

Patrick notices, of course, and wraps his arms around him from behind, his chin on David’s shoulder, and they breathe together for a while. When David relaxes Patrick nuzzles his ear. “Want to go to bed?”

David turns in Patrick’s arms, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth at the eager look on Patrick’s face. “Someone’s having a good day.”

Patrick captures David’s lips in a kiss, hot and insistent, and when he pulls back David is breathing hard. “Tell me you’re not.”

He shakes his head, happiness bubbling out of him. “Can’t do it.”

They make it back to the bedroom just before clothes start to come off, and soon they are naked and wrapped around each other, hands skimming over heated skin. Patrick seems to have a plan, he’s wound up and raring to go, and David loves it.

“What did you have in mind?” he asks as Patrick straddles him, holding his head in his hands and nipping along David’s jaw.

“I want you to fuck me,” Patrick says into the shell of David’s ear. “Open me up like this, and then fuck me.”

A thrum of arousal pulses through David at Patrick’s words. They’ve had a lot of sex over the past week, but Patrick hasn’t asked for this yet.

Their initial attempts at penetrative sex hadn’t gone particularly smoothly, back when they first got together. After a few mishaps they had ignored it for a while, content to turn each other on and get each other off in a variety of easier ways. David was happy to introduce Patrick to the pleasures of a really excellent blow job, and Patrick was, as always, a quick study, finding that he loved to bring David to the edge and then tease him until he was reduced to a writhing, begging mess.

And David was always quick to reassure Patrick that penetrative sex wasn’t the only way to have sex, that no matter what he thought in the past, they could make each other happy in any way they were comfortable with.

But Patrick was nothing if not determined, and so eventually they made their way back to it, first Patrick tentatively pushing into David, and later, when Patrick was in just the right mood, Patrick asking for David to do the same for him.

“You don’t have to like it,” David remembers saying to Patrick, one night when Patrick was feeling some combination of bad and nervous and embarrassed about the whole issue. “It’s okay if you don’t want to do it. It really is.”

At some point, though, something happened that changed Patrick’s mind. David’s pretty sure it had to do more with Patrick’s headspace than anything else, his gradual letting go of heteronormativity and becoming more comfortable with his view of himself as queer, but his prostrate probably factored into it as well. Afterwards Patrick clung to David like an octopus, both of them sweaty and blissed out.

“How do people not do this all the time?” Patrick asked, pressing his face into David’s neck. “How can it feel so good? Why didn’t you tell me?”

David had laughed and hugged Patrick tight, too caught up in his fiancé’s astonished joy to wonder how he was going to keep the attention of such an amazing man. It had been a very good night.

Tonight was shaping up to be even better.

Patrick holds himself over David while David finds the lube, and lets out a low moan when David reaches down and starts to press at his hole. David takes his time, circling gently, then increasing the pressure, all while Patrick moans and sways above him.

Patrick leans down to kiss him, his mouth open and trailing wetly down David’s jaw, catching on the stubble. He’s got a hand on David’s chest, and then Patrick shifts so his mouth can continue its journey, finding one of David’s nipples and sucking hard.

“God, Patrick,” David whines, just holding on to Patrick’s hips while Patrick bites at one nipple and then the other, sending sparks of electricity through his body. “Come here, let me-” David gets his fingers back where he wants them, and then he’s pressing inside, Patrick fucking his fingers.

“Ah – David – oh god, yes, there, oh-” Patrick pushes back against David’s fingers, rocking back and forth, hands grasping at David’s arm and his chest and then valiantly pulling at David’s cock, although his attention is understandably elsewhere. “Ohhhh, David, now, please, fuck me now.”

“Like this, or…?”

Patrick slides off David’s fingers and stretches out on the bed, pulling David on top of him. “Like this. Please. Now. Come on.”

David’s helpless to resist, Patrick’s big eyes pleading with him, his hands running up and down David’s arms, grabbing at his ass, squirming underneath him like he can’t wait a moment more.

“Okay, baby, okay. I’ve got you.” And he does, lubing himself up with a few quick strokes, and then positioning himself carefully between Patrick’s quivering thighs, one hand bracing himself on the bed as he slides into Patrick’s tight heat.

“David,” Patrick moans, “oh, fuck, yes.” He’s reaching for David, trying to pull him into a kiss, and it’s messy and breaks David’s rhythm and he doesn’t care, it’s so good, Patrick wanting him like this. David’s heart is slamming against his chest in time with his thrusts, and Patrick is writhing underneath him. The slick slide of their bodies feels so good, David doesn’t know how he can hold it all inside.

“Patrick, baby, I love you, I love you,” David pants out, heat pooling inside him, a familiar tightness building.

“Come on, David, oh god, come on,” Patrick pleads roughly.

David’s hips are moving frantically now, his muscles burning. He’s shaking, dripping sweat everywhere, and he’s close, he just needs to keep going a little longer, for Patrick, he can do it.

“David, I’m so close, oh god, you can, David-” Patrick gets a hand on his own cock and pulls, and David feels him, feels him quaking and shivering.

David comes with a rush of sensation, light exploding behind his eyes. Patrick is almost there too, and David gets a hand on him, both of their hands on Patrick’s cock, twisting together, over and over. Suddenly Patrick’s back arches and his whole body convulses as he comes, head thrown back in ecstasy, a long whine falling from his open mouth.

David collapses next to Patrick on the bed, turning his head to press his face against Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick drapes himself over David’s side, arm sliding over his back, nose digging into his collarbone. They lie there until the aftershocks subside, and then some, not wanting to move.

“Gonna have to change the sheets,” David finally says.

“That’s the first thing you think about, at a time like this?” Patrick teases, a shaky hand brushing David’s hair out of his face and onto his forehead.

“No, it’s not,” David says. “But it’s the first thing I can say without blushing, and I don’t have the energy for that.”

“David,” Patrick says, pressing a kiss to David’s lips, then pulling back before David has a chance to enjoy it. “Are you feeling things tonight?”

David snorts. “I’m feeling quite a lot. Seemed like you were, too.”

Patrick starts to hum <i>“Feeling Groovy”</i> and David can tell it’s coming, he can tell before Patrick even gets a whole phrase out, and he slaps a hand over Patrick’s mouth.

“For once could we finish up our lovemaking without a concert?”

Patrick is laughing against David’s hand, and he bites gently at the ball of his thumb. “Do you really want me to stop?” he asks, his breath warm against David’s skin.

“No,” David confesses, too open to argue even about this, about Patrick’s awful love songs whispered in his ears at highly inappropriate times. “I don’t want you to stop. Don’t stop any of it.”

“Deal,” Patrick says, easing David’s hand away from his mouth and wrapping him in his arms. David settles in, not caring anymore about sticky sheets and sweaty skin. All of that can wait for tomorrow. For now, he’s just going to focus on how wonderful it feels to drift off to sleep with the love of his life holding him close.

#schitt's creek #schitt's creek fic #David Rose #Patrick Brewer #kayaking #David x Patrick #sexytimes

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heartslogos · 3 years

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newfragile yellows [1121]

The thought strikes him cold and uneasy, an unpleasant spread across the back of his tongue and bruising his ribs.

Gatt’s warning words from so many months ago finally break through the carefully shored up and maintained barriers of his mind. Like termites. Like worms. Like cancerous growths. And they take root and now finally, finally, they’ve blossomed into their unpleasant and unbearable truth.

“You’ve been trained to seek out lies and give them,” Gatt had said, “But all of this living has made you soft. You’ve eaten too much of what the poison you were supposed to be giving others. You fell in love with a lie.”

At the time it had been easy — and comfortable and preferable and all sorts of excuses he could give — to brush Gatt’s words off. Another trick, one last ditch effort to sway him back to the Qun’s reasoning.

But now, months later, Bull comes to the uneasy realization that they are, simply, the truth. An uncomfortable one, at that.

He turns slowly. He turns until Ellana is fully within his field of vision. As she comes into view, slowly resolving into color and shape past the blur his peripheral vision and into the sharp clarity of the front and center, his stomach churns with bitter acid. This morning's coffee. A bagel with lox. An egg done over easy with no salt and a lot of pepper.

“You aren't her, are you?” He says.

He doesn’t know what he wants to happen.

He doesn’t know how he wants her to answer.

If she were to look confused, if she were to ask him what he meant — if she were to look alarmed, hurt, worried, concerned, upset —

If she were to talk him out of this thought that has taken root and has begun to fester and grow and proliferate with reason and logic and appeals to his soft and weakening heart --

But she doesn’t.

That’s worse. That's somehow worse.

The woman, the person, that he now understands is not Ellana Lavellan just looks at him. She looks at him, face calm and collected and smooth like he’s just asked her what she wants to do for dinner or if they have enough toilet paper at home.

The fact that he is so used to that expression, so used to that face, and the fact that this face being used in this situation, puts him at odds with himself. There is precedent for this face to be used in a calm situation. His reaction here should be to feel better, to feel reassured. But the knowledge of what this person isn’t keeps fighting with that. There is nothing reassuring here.

“So what was it?” They ask. Calm. Collected. So, so certain of themselves despite the lie they’ve been caught in.

“There have been too many leaks.” Too many sabotaged missions, too many close calls, too many failures.

This intimate stranger nods and makes a soft sound of agreement in the back of their throat.

“I did warn them not to get careless. It would give me away,” they confirm. “I imagine you have questions.”

Of course Bull has questions.

When did the switch occur? Who are they really? Where is the real Ellana Lavellan? Is she alive? Is it too late? how did the switch occur? How long has this been going on? Who else is compromised?

They smile. The smile that Bull has come to know as Ellana’s mischievious smile. The one she uses right before she says or does something that jerks a person’s perception of the world an inch to the left and down.

“But will you ask them? The real ones, I mean.” They pause. “Are you going to ask me if it was real, between us? Did I switch with Ellana Lavellan before or after you two got together? Was I the one who confessed to you? Was I the one who you said yes to? Was it real?”

They smile. It’s not a mean smile. Not this one. It’s a careful smile. One that he’s most familiar seeing on children. Traumatized children.

“You don’t have to ask. You don’t have to know. If you want we can bury this conversation. Make it so it never happened. We can pretend if that’s easier for you.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

“I can make everyone think you’ve snapped. Gone mad. Lost touch with your perception under the strain of leaving the Qun and being Tal-vashoth before you were ready for it.” They say this so gently. As though they weren’t calmly discussing how they were going to tear him down and apart. “I could have you sent to therapy. Gods know you need it anyway. It would hurt you, wouldn’t it, though? The looks. The pity. The attempts at understanding.”

Bull breathes in, slow and deep like a breath of air could clear out the cold sweat on his skin and the furious heat building in his lungs.

“Would you do that? Really?” He doesn’t have a grasp on what was and wasn’t Ellana, now. He has no baseline for this person who is and is not a stranger. Is it right to call them an imposter? He doesn't know where the line was drawn. Which was the real Ellana? Did he ever know the real Ellana?

Mahanon would have known, for sure. But either Mahanon’s been tricked too or Mahanon's another plant. Bull doesn’t know. He doesn't have a litmus test for this.

The intimate stranger closes their eyes.

“I don’t want to,” they admit, “I do like you, you know. I am very fond of you. Really. I wouldn’t want to do it.”

"But would you?”

They open their eyes. “I’d rather you didn’t make me.”

“We both know that I can’t let this go on. You’re sabotaging the Inquisition. You’re putting more at risk than myself. If it ruins us both then so be it. But I can’t allow it to go on. Not passively. not quietly.”

His intimate stranger smiles.

“Aside from the Inquisition -- if I stopped the sabotage, would you allow it? Would you allow me? Hypothetically, of course. I mean. Who am I hurting by being here, really? No one else has noticed. You’re the only one. And even now you’re struggling with it. You don’t quite believe it. It would be easy to pretend I was pretending for this entire conversation.”

“And the real Ellana Lavellan? What about her?”

“If I told you she was dead?”

“Her family deserves to know.”

“But I’m here.”

“You aren’t her.”

“I could be. I have been. Why give them such unnecessary grief?”

He reaches out slowly and they let him take their familiar face in his hands. He runs the pads of his thumbs across their familiar cheeks, rough fingertips tracing familiar strokes of bone and skin.

“You cannot feed a person on dreams alone.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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bellakitse · 5 years

Text

Michael vs Lox the duck - part 2

Chapter summary: Four years into the future, their family has grown. Michael and Lox are still at odds but find common ground in the people they love.

PART ONE

Michael wakes up in an irritating but very familiar way. He opens his eyes, letting out a sigh as he finds the bane of his existence sitting on his chest, glaring at him in the way only a duck can.

"If you shit on my chest again, I'm making roasted duck for dinner," He promises the feathered menace.

Alex lets out a sleepy groan, slapping a hand at Michael's chest, his wedding band cold against Michael's skin. "You know, maybe if you stopped threatening to eat him, Lox would warm up to you."

"Maybe if he stopped being such a jerk, I would."

Alex cracks open an eye, it's amazing he can look so unimpressed so early in the morning. His husband truly has a gift. "It's been four years, Michael, at some point there needs to be a ceasefire between you two."

Michael turns on his side, causing Lox to let out an angry honk as he hops off Michael and lands in the middle space between them, letting out another hiss he waddles to the end of the bed and hops off. He spares a moment to give the duck a half-hearted glare before turning to get a better look at Alex, taking a moment to admire the tan skin of his back as he lays on his belly. A little over three years of marriage and almost fifteen since they first got involved with each other, and he still can't quite believe that they finally got it right and that he gets to wake up with Alex by his side every morning.

"You're thinking sappy thoughts," Alex groans into his pillow, a finger reaching out to tap Michael’s brow. "Your sappy thoughts always lead to morning sex, and we don't have time."

"First of all, my thoughts aren't sappy; they're romantic," Michael says hauntingly, holding up his index finger. "Second, we will always have time for morning sex. You agreed to that when you married me."

Alex gives him a smirk as he shifts over to bring his face closer to Michael's. "I knew I should have asked for a prenup."

“Romance is dead,” Michael grumbles against Alex’s mouth, smiling into the kiss.

Alex hums in agreement. “Yes, the honeymoon period is over, soon we’ll only have sex the 2nd Sunday of every month.”

“Don’t you ever joke about that, Alex Guerin,” Michael scolds before a sly grin works its way to his face. Alex’s eyes darken, the way they always do when he calls Alex by his married name. “Morning sex is starting to look like more of a possibility now,” he murmurs as he starts to roll Alex onto his back, covering him with his body, more than ready to get lost in the wonderful feel of Alex’s skin when the monitor on the bedside table picks up a noise.

Michael lets out a groan, dropping his head on Alex’s shoulder while Alex shakes with a low laugh. He pulls back to give Alex a half-hearted glare that he can’t even pretend is real in the face of a happy Alex. “To be continued.”

Alex runs a hand over his rough cheek. “Absolutely,” he says with a dirty grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and leans up to give him an even dirtier kiss that leaves Michael panting. “But first, our little cockblocker is requesting an audience,” he grins toward the monitor as the word ‘Dada!’ comes through it.

“Tease,” Michael huffs out, laughing as he rolls away from Alex toward his side of the bed. Grabbing the pair of sweats, he’d discarded on the floor the night before; he pulls them on. “Stay in bed,” he orders, pointing his finger at Alex as he sits up. “We’ll be right back.”

He walks down the hall into the other bedroom, his heart full as he takes in the little boy who is up in his crib, a toothy smile on his face as he spots him.

“Dada!”

Michael smiles just as wide. “Good morning, bud,” he says softly, picking up his son when the little boy lifts his arms at him. “Did you sleep well, Andy boy?” he asks before looking down at Bagel, who is in her usual spot by Andy’s bed. “Good morning to you too, baby girl.”

He walks out of Andy’s room with the boy on his hip; Bagel follows him out but goes in the direction of the kitchen like she does every morning once he or Alex have Andy with them. She never leaves the little boy alone; only once he’s in their arms does the sweet beagle head for the doggy door in the back. They’ve had Andy with them for a year now, having adopted him when he was seven months after a long, lengthy adoption process. He still remembers holding Alex in his arms the first night Andy was home with them, how they both cried, so happy to finally have him with them.

“Let’s go jump on daddy,” he says to Andy, tickling his side, earning a shrieking laugh out of the little boy, his light-colored eyes bright with enjoyment.

“I heard that,” Alex says, sitting at the edge of the bed, prosthetic in place.

Andy lights up even more, if possible, at the sound of Alex’s voice. Letting out a string of baby babble as he spots him, reaching for him with grabby hands. “Da!” he yells, trying to get out of his arms to get to Alex’s; he’d be offended if he didn’t understand the effect Alex has on him too.

Alex reaches out as he passes their son to him. A soft smile on his face as he takes the boy, pressing a kiss to his forehead, running a hand over his soft-brown hair. “Hi, baby,” Alex whispers against Andy’s temple before pulling back to look at him. “Did you sleep well, sweetheart?” Alex continues as he stands with Andy in his arms.

Michael pouts when it becomes clear that Alex is ready to leave the room. “I thought we were going to get back into bed?”

Alex gives him a look, rolling his eyes as he spots his pout. “It’s 8 am, Michael, we’re lucky he’s not screaming for food, Bagel, and Lox too,” he points out, before smirking. “Or you for that matter.”

Michael gives him his own eye roll but concedes. “Fine, if I don’t get to spend the morning in bed with my husband and my kid, I want blueberry pancakes.”

“Seeing as you’ll be the one cooking, while I dress Mr. Andrew here,” Alex starts, nibbling on Andy’s fingers when he brings them up to Alex’s mouth. “We can have any type of pancakes you want.”

“How magnanimous of you,” Michael calls out when Alex walks away.

“I’m a giver!” Alex shouts back laughing, and Michael has to smile as its followed by Andy, letting out a jabbering shout of his own, putting in his two cents.

***

Michael stands in their kitchen, pulling out what he needs for the pancakes. He looks through the kitchen window and sees that Bagel and Lox are playing outside, not too far from the house, even with all the land they have on the part of the old Foster ranch they now own. Michael shakes his head, Alex, to this day, won’t tell him just how he managed to get the land back from the government or just how much he gave old John Foster for the couple of acres he bought off him. Right after they had gotten married, Alex brought him out to where his trailer once stood and showed him the property lines, a wedding present Alex had said with a nervous smile on his face.

‘I know how much this land means to you, why you always wanted to be on it. It’s where your family crashed. I want to give you even a small piece of your family back if I can.’

They made love that night as husbands on the bed of his truck on the land that was now theirs. Holding Alex in his arms, he whispered his most simple truth to him.

As long as he had Alex, he had all the family he needed.

He fills Bagel and Lox’s bowls and opens the door with his mind, whistling for them before turning back to the people food. He’s mixed the batter and has the skillet heating up when Alex walks back into the kitchen with Andy, dressed in baby jeans and a white shirt with a horse on his chest, he smirks as he sees the cowboy hat that Alex has placed on Andy’s head.

“What?” Alex shrugs as he places Andy in his high chair, sidestepping Bagel and Lox, who have come back into the house, he reaches down to give each of them a pat on the head. “He’s my little cowboy.”

“He’s going to drop it into his food again,” Michael warns.

“I’ll take it off him when the pancakes are ready,” Alex assures him, pulling out one of Andy’s sippy-cups and filling it half with apple juice and half with water.

Andy, who is following Alex with his eyes, lets out a delighted shout. “Juice, juice, juice!”

“I’m coming, you little juice junkie,” Alex grins as he hands Andy his cup, taking his hat off when he tilts his head back to drink.

“And there goes the hat,” Michael comments as he flips over a pancake, only to have Lox bite down on his bare foot. “Shit!” he shouts as he drops the pancake on the floor. Lox lets go of his big toe, letting out a victorious honk as he grabs the pancake between his beak and waddles over to Bagel.

Michael scowls at the creature. “You evil little-“

“Shit!” Andy shouts happily, and Michael freezes as Andy says the word once more, he looks over at Alex, cringing at the glare Alex is sending his way.

“Michael,” Alex growls at him with his hands on his hips.

Andy screams the word a third time, and Michael bites down on his lip to keep from laughing. “Oops?”

Alex glares at him for another second, before rolling his eyes. “I had a kid with a bigger kid,” Alex mumbles to himself, his lips twitching when Michael sulks at him.

“Are you not going to say anything to your feathered demon?” Michael scowls. “He bit me again, to steal food again.”

“Wear shoes,” Alex points at Michael’s feet.

Michael glares at his husband even harder before turning back to the skillet, Alex chuckles under his breath as he walks over to him. He remains silent and strong as Alex wraps his arms around him, kissing the back of his neck.

Michael tries not to react, but it sends a shiver down his spine. “Did the big bad duck, hurt you?” Alex mocks him, but Michael doesn’t care, not when Alex starts to suck on the meat on his shoulder.

“He’s a demon,” Michael answers, tilting his head to the side to give Alex more room. He sighs as Alex presses soft kisses on his skin, his hands going under his shirt to play with the fine hairs at his belly, teasing the edge of Michael’s pants. “Don’t start what you can’t finish,” Michael warns. “And don’t think you can distract me from the evil you allow in our home.”

Alex stops kissing his neck and lays his forehead against Michael’s back, his hands going to his hips, and he feels Alex shake as he silently laughs.

“He was just paying your cooking skills a compliment,” Alex says through warm chuckles. “He loves your pancakes.”

“Sure, side with Lox,” Michael grumbles as Alex continues to laugh, he takes another pancake off the skillet, before pouring more batter.

“I love your pancakes too,” Alex continues, placing one final kiss on his shoulder. “So let's get moving, your son has been calm way too long without food.”

Michael nods, finishing up the stack of pancakes enough for the three of them, he takes one and splits it in half, placing it in front of Lox and Bagel, he narrows his eyes at the duck. “See, you impatient jerk,” he says, taking his fingers away quickly before Lox gets any other ideas. “I was always going to give you some, punk.”

He turns back to Alex, who is now sitting at the breakfast nook, with three plates, one for him, a smaller one for Andy (plastic with ducks on it because Alex likes to troll him), and one for himself.

It’s Andy’s favorite, and like clockwork when Andy sees his plate, he shouts ‘Lox’ loudly. The duck recognizing his name looks up and waddles over to Andy, letting out a honk that makes Andy lean over the side in his high chair to look down at the animal, calling for him again.

Michael sighs heavily as there usual morning routine of Andy and Lox communicating starts. Alex feeds Andy pieces of pancake between the baby babble and duck sounds. It kills him, but Andy loves Lox, Bagel too, but she’s a sweetheart of a dog, so that makes sense. But Andy adores Lox, and given the way Lox lets Andy grab at him, pet him, chase him, never snapping his beak at him, it’s obvious Lox loves Andy too.

No, in the last four years, the only person Lox still hasn’t warmed up to, is him.

“What are we doing today?” Alex asks as they eat.

“I have to check your car,” Michael answers, reaching up to wipe a drop of spittle from Andy’s chin. “I heard a rattle yesterday when you got home.”

Alex tilts his head, frowning. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Well, you suck at cars, baby,” Michael smirks through a mouthful as Alex shoots him a look when Andy follows his lead and baby talks through masticated pancakes.

“I have you for that,” Alex points out.

Michael nods. “Which is why I will be headfirst in your car today. I could use some company outside though.”

“Oh?” Alex questions with a raised eyebrow, smiling at him.

Michael shrugs with a smile of his own. “You can relax, layout, and get some sun. I’ll work and have something nice to look at.”

Alex’s smile grows fond, and he reaches out to run a hand through his curls. “Vitamin D is important.”

“Exactly.”

***

Michael is head deep in Alex’s SUV.

Bagel lays by the left tire, next to him, sweet girl that she is while Alex and Andy sit a few feet away from him on the grass, with Lox waddling around in circles around them. He turns his head and catches Alex lifting Andy over his head as he lays on a blanket, playing airplane with him. Andy is giggling nonstop, kicking his feet up and down as Alex makes airplane noises, lifting and lowering him to his chest. He smiles at the picture they make, his heart squeezing at the sight of Alex and their son. The little boy was so happy and carefree in a way he and Alex never got a chance to be as children. He shakes his head of the melancholy thoughts before going back to his work, leaning over some more to get to a bolt.

“I like how you bend over that hood, cowboy,” Alex shouts out to him, and he can hear the smirk in his voice. “Yeah, baby, give me a show,” he continues teasingly when Michael leans even further.

Michael shoots him a filthy smirk of his own over his shoulder, and up’s the ante by removing his work shirt, snickering when he hears Andy shout fuck, meaning that he’s heard Alex say it. Full-on laughing as he hears Alex try to fix that mistake. It’s quiet for a moment when he feels a body brush up against his back.

“Tease,” Alex whispers against his ear, his hands coming to rest on Michael’s waist. Michael turns around to face him, a triumphant smile on his face. Andy is due for a nap soon, and if he plays his cards right, a nooner is in his future.

“You said you wanted a show,” he whispers, letting out a gasp as Alex pulls him tighter to his hard body.

Alex doesn't bother answering him and instead lets out a groan before pulling him into a hard kiss, his hands clutching Michael's curls, while Michael's go to Alex's back.

Later, Michael will think about how it only took a moment of them not having eyes on Andy for it to happen. Later, when he's not frozen with fear.

Bagel growls at their feet, and Alex pulls away from their kiss to look down at her.

"Bagel?" He questions, looking over to where she is staring, a constant growl emitting out of her. "Michael," Alex whispers, alarmed, warning him, but he's already spotted what has Bagel angry.

In the moments that it took to kiss Alex, a coyote had made it into the property and was just a few feet from where Andy sits on his blanket, playing with his toy horse. The coyote stares at Andy with black eyes, making his way closer.

Lox, who up till now had been waddling around Andy, puts himself between the wild animal and their son, letting out a squawk that sounds very much like the one Lox likes to give out before he flies at Michael's face.

"Michael," Alex says again, and it kills Michael that he can hear the fear in his voice, in a way he has only heard twice before. When the hammer came down on his hand and when Michael refused to leave Caulfield.

What happens next, happens too fast, even for Michael to understand. He's ready to use his powers to push the coyote away from Andy or pull Andy towards them when the coyote lets out a growl of his own and springs forward faster than he thought possible.

Alex shouts, running forward, with Bagel going ballistic as she follows him. But it's Lox that gets there first, flying into the coyote's face, screaming and flapping his wings, like the hell beast Michael has always seen him as.

It snaps Michael out of his frozen state, and he pushes the wild animal away from his son and his defender, but not before the animal that is snarling at Lox gets his teeth on him. Michael doesn't think he's ever heard such a weak noise come out of Lox than the one he let's out as he drops to the ground. Michael feels it like a physical blow.

He pushes the coyote harder with his mind, sending it flying off their property line.

Alex picks up a startled Andy who has started to cry, holding him close to his chest. He repeats over and over, 'you're okay' as he lays kisses on the side of his face, trying to soothe him.

He turns to him with wide eyes. "Michael, Lox-," He trails off, worriedly, looking back at the duck that is laying quietly a few feet away.

Andy, who has started to calm down, hiding his face in the crook of Alex's neck, looks up at the mention of the duck's name.

"Lox?" Andy questions, his little voice smaller, his bottom lip begins to quiver when the duck doesn't react to him calling out for him.

Michael runs a hand down both their backs, before walking towards where Lox is resting. Bagel, now by Lox's side, nudges him with her snout and lets out a whine. Michael kneels down and gingerly picks him up, letting out a sigh of relief when the bird makes a small wounded noise. He looks back at Alex, feeling useless when he spots the wet sheen of his eyes, his own eyes stinging. "We need to call, Max."

***

He sits on the leather chair in the living room with Lox quietly in his arms; it’s the first time the duck has ever let him hold him for this long, his feathers are dirty and reddish-pink on one side from where the coyote bit into him. He runs a wet dishrag over the feathers trying to clean the poor duck up, wincing when Lox lets out a low hurt sound. Bagel, who is at the foot of the chair, lets out a whine of her own, her expression sad as she rests her head on her paws and looks up at her brother, and Michael with soulful eyes.

Alex, who is sitting on the couch with Andy, his phone to his ear, shoots him a worried look. He focuses on the duck, but he can hear Alex explaining what happened to Liz, asking her for Max.

“Dada.”

Michael looks up, Andy, who has climbed off the couch now stands next to him, his small hand on Michael’s knee. He looks at him with those big hazel eyes of his, he isn’t crying anymore, but it’s obvious the little boy can feel the tension in the room by how subdued he is.

“Hey bud,” he says quietly, running a hand over his soft hair, trying to muster a smile for him. His stomach dropping as he remembers just how close his little boy was to getting hurt. “Are you okay?”

Andy nods slowly, his eyes on Lox, who is looking back at him but not raising his head from where he has it on Michael’s forearm.

“Lox okay, Dada?” Andy asks, his bottom lip giving a slight wobble, and Michael feels a wet ball of emotion in his throat.

“He has a boo-boo, buddy,” he says, clearing his throat, his eyes catching Alex’s over his head. He’s still whispering to Liz, but his gaze is focused on them, his expression wrecked. “But Uncle Max will come and fix him,” he continues looking at Alex again, getting a nod and the words 15 minutes in return.

Andy looks at him and then at Lox.

“Boo-boo?” Andy questions for a moment before he leans down and presses a kiss on Lox’s head, he gets a small honk in return from the duck and looks up at Michael with a hopeful smile, so innocent Michael has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from crying. “Better?”

Michael smiles for the first time since he spotted the coyote. “Yeah bud, I think that really helped, now Max won’t have to fix much. You did most of the work, good job,” Michael says, his hand coming under Andy’s chin, relieved when Andy gives him a smile of his own, before going back to Alex.

Alex pulls Andy to his lap, letting the boy rest against his chest as they both watch Michael with Lox.

“Finally getting along,” Alex says quietly, with a slight smile as he holds Andy close. He keeps running his hands over him, and Michael spots the slight shake in them as he keeps unconsciously checking to make sure that Andy isn’t harmed.

He sees the comment for what it is, Alex’s desire to make light when he’s still rattled, and he hates that he can’t get up right now and pull Alex and Andy into his arms. Can’t hold them the way he needs to, the way Alex needs him too, not until they make sure Lox is okay. He thinks for a moment with dread what will happen if Max doesn’t get there in time or if he can’t heal Lox and pushes the thought right out. Refusing to contemplate it any longer, for Alex and Andy’s sake, and even his own.

Instead, he flashes Alex a weak smile. “The second Max fixes him, he’ll be biting me again, and we’ll be mortal enemies once more,” Michael jokes. “This truce is unnatural.”

Alex chuckles half-heartedly. “There is a disturbance in the force.”

Michael opens his mouth to comment when there is a hurried knock on their door. “Open up, Guerins!” Liz calls out.

Looking down at his watch, he sees that it hasn’t been the 15 minutes since Alex was on the phone with her, which tells him she drove and not Max.

Michael unlocks the door with his mind, knowing that Alex doesn’t want to get up from where he’s holding Andy.

Liz rushes forward with Isobel on her heel, and Max brings up the rear.

“Is Andy okay?” Isobel asks as she comes around to sit next to Alex, checking on her nephew. Andy lights up when he sees her and crawls out of Alex’s lap to hug her.

“Izzy!”

Isobel hugs her godson tightly. “Hi, sweetheart,” she whispers in his ear, looking at Alex. “I was with them when you called, are you guys okay?”

Alex licks his lips, giving her a slight nod. “Yeah, only Lox got hurt,” he answers, and they all turn to look at Michael and the duck in his arms, hearing his name, Lox lets out another pitiful noise, and Michael looks at Max.

“Max,” Michael starts, cringing when his voice cracks. “Help.”

“Max fix Lox,” Andy says, looking at his uncle. Michael can see how the words and the faith Andy has in him hits Max square in the chest by the sound he makes. “Dada said.”

“You heard our nephew, babe,” Liz pushes her husband forward. “Work your alien Jesus magic and fix the family duck.”

Max steps towards Michael, while Liz goes to Andy, kneeling by Isobel to kiss him. He vaguely hears her talking to him in Spanish, and he understands enough to get that she is telling Andy that everything is going to be okay.

Max bends down, placing his hand over Lox, looking at him.

“You okay?” Max whispers, his face pinched with a concerned frown. Michael feels the sting in his eyes again, and Max’s expression softens, he places a hand over Michael's curls for a moment with brotherly affection before focusing on Lox. Michael holds his breath as light appears under Max’s hand, still after all this time, after knowing that Max brought someone back from the dead, he’s amazed at his power.

It takes a second that seems to go on forever, but after a moment, the light disappears, and Lox, who was barely moving, now lifts his head, spreading his wings as he stands on Michael’s lap, letting out a normal pain-free squawk. Bagel jumps up, barking as she licks at Lox, and Michael quickly puts Lox down on the floor before he has a lapful of duck and dog.

"Lox!" Andy shouts happily, climbing out of Isobel's lap with Liz's help and rushes over to Lox and Bagel as fast as his little legs can take him, plopping down on the floor with them he giggles loudly when Bagel starts licking at his face. Lox crawls into his lap, seemingly talking to Andy through a series of honks and quacks that Andy answers by quacking back.

"Quack, quack!" Andy grins, giving Lox another kiss on his small white head. "All better, Lox!"

Michael smiles as he looks down at his son, seeing that his siblings and his sister-in-law are doing the same. Alex, on the other hand, is looking away, his hands clenched tightly on his lap.

"I'll make coffee," Michael announces, earning a raised eyebrow from the women in the room. He's not known for playing host. "Alex, come with me."

Alex startles at his name, his gaze going to their son, who is now ignoring all of them in favor of crawling around, following Bagel around with Lox bringing up the rear. Alex starts to shake his head.

"Alex," he says more forcefully to keep him focused, his tone softening when Alex's eyes widen. "Baby," he says gently. "Come with me, he's fine. Isobel, Liz, and Max are here."

Isobel, who is next to Alex, reaches over and places her hand over his, pulling on his fingers until his hand relaxes.

"Go help him, Alex," she says softly with a reassuring smile on her face. "Michael sucks at making coffee. He makes motor oil, save our stomachs."

Liz walks over to Andy, sitting on the floor next to him. "Give us some Titi time," she adds, giving Alex a smile of her own. She tickles at Andy's stomach, chuckling when the boy lets out a set of giggles, flashing a toothy grin.

Alex hesitates for a moment longer before standing; he passes Isobel and Max.

Michael catches out of the corner of his eye how Max squeezes Alex's shoulder when he walks by. It loosens some of the tension in his shoulder to see the affection his siblings have for Alex.

He gets to the kitchen and waits for his husband, his heart aching at the way Alex holds himself. He radiates tension and fear. Everything about his body is hard lines, pulled tight like guitar strings about to snap.

His eyes meet Alex’s, and the ache grows as he sees the sheen in them.

"Alex, baby," he whispers, desperate when he sees Alex's eyes grow wetter. "Talk to me."

Alex opens his mouth, and a sob comes out, his eyes going wide with embarrassment. He shuts his mouth, biting down on his bottom lip to keep from making another noise so hard Michael fears he'll draw blood. He takes a step forward, flinching when Alex takes a step back.

He swallows hard around his own tears. "I'm sorry," he whispers, blinking rapidly. "I should have been faster, I froze, and Andy could have been hurt," he shuts his eyes, the moment playing again behind his eyelids, the fear roaring back, and this time he can't stop the tears that slip out. "Lox did get hurt, and that wouldn't have happened if I had just been faster, I'm so sorry Alex."

Alex lets out a hurt noise, and Michael makes himself look at his husband again, tears falling down Alex’s face.

"I shouldn't have walked away from Andy," Alex whispers, his words choked as he tries to stop crying. "You were working, and I was responsible for him. If I had just stayed next to him, this wouldn't have even happened."

Michael shakes his head, grateful that when he takes a step towards Alex this time, he doesn't step away. "Baby, no, this wasn't your fault," he assures him, his hands going to Alex's waist. "You can't blame yourself."

Alex gives him an ironic smile. "But, you can blame yourself?"

Michael stops short at the question. "You don't blame me?" he questions quietly, wondering how he could not when Michael is choking on guilt and worst-case scenarios.

"Of course not, Michael!" Alex rushes, his hands gripping, squeezing at Michael's waist, pulling him against him as he wraps his arms around Michael. Michael makes a noise and clings to Alex, hiding his face in the crook of Alex's neck, now he can't stop the tears or the shakes that course through his body. The events of the day catching up to both of them as they shudder in each other's arms.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again into Alex’s shirt, and Alex hushes him, running his hands up and down his back.

Alex pulls back, cradling him between his hands, his thumbs wiping away at his tear-stained face. “Michael, do you blame me for what happened?” Alex asks, his brow furrowed.

“Of course not,” Michael lets out a huff.

Alex quirks the left side of his mouth and for the first time, starts to lose the tension on his shoulders. “Well then, if you don’t blame me for what happened today, you’re not allowed to blame yourself either.”

“I should have been faster,” Michael argues. “I can move things with my brain; I should have-”

“-You wouldn’t have let Andy get hurt,” Alex stops him, holding Michael’s face in place when he tries to look away. “You would have gotten there in time, Michael, you would have kept him safe,” Alex assures him, his eyes locked on him until Michael gives him a slight nod.

“I was so scared,” Michael confesses after a moment of quiet between them, from the kitchen he can hear Liz laughing, followed by Andy letting out an excited shout. He smiles at the sound, relieved when Alex smiles too.

Alex sighs, and leans in, resting his forehead against his. “Me too,” Alex says quietly.

***

Isobel, Liz, and Max leave a few hours later.

Michael finds himself on the couch with Alex, Andy between them, and Bagel and Lox on either side of them.

They have the Disney channel on, because, after a year of having Andy with them, it’s either that or Nick Jr. in the Guerin-Manes household. He lets out a groan that is drowned out by Alex laughing and Andy clapping excitedly as the theme to Ducktales starts.

“Lox!” Andy shouts, pointing at the duck and then at the screen. Lox answers by flapping his wings as he sits next to Alex. Bagel, who has been resting her head on Michael’s thigh, barks a few times.

“I guess you are overruled, babe,” Alex shoots him a smirk, his eyes dancing with amusement as he starts to hum along with the song. Michael would glare at him if he weren’t so cute, bobbing to the song.

“DuckTales! Whoo-hoo,” Alex sings as he leans down close to Andy, who looks at him with wide-eyes and an even wider smile.

“Whooo,” Andy tries to mimic Alex and then looks up at Michael. “Whooo.”

Alex snickers, raising an eyebrow at him. “Are you going to leave your son hanging?”

Michael tries to remain serious, but can’t help the slight snort that leaves his mouth; he runs a hand over Andy’s soft hair. “Whoo-hoo.”

Satisfied that they’ve all said it, Andy turns his attention to the screen, Alex follows suit, while Michael is happy with just watching them for the rest of the evening.

Hours later, after cartoons and a quick meal of spaghetti that ends up more on Andy then in him, they watch as Andy starts to get sleepy. It’s earlier than usual, but given the day’s events, followed by guests, Andy missed his nap, and it's beginning to show.

“He’s going to wake up so early tomorrow if he goes to sleep now,” Alex comments as he picks up an already half asleep Andy.

“There goes morning sex,” Michael quips, waggling his eyebrows when Alex shoots him an unimpressed look.

Alex shakes his head, but Michael spots the reluctant smile on his lips. “I’m going to get him washed up and in bed. You take Bagel and Lox out to the yard,” Alex orders him, his smile growing. “Then, you can make a case for evening sex.”

“Yes, sir,” Michael teases as he heads for the back door, calling out to Bagel, who speeds ahead of him into the yard. He stands a few feet away from her, watching as she sniffs around, trying to find her perfect spot.

“Go with your sister, Lox,” he says, looking down at the duck who is surprisingly still standing next to him instead of by Bagel. Lox never sticks close to him for long, usually preferring the company of everyone else in the house above his. He studies the duck for a moment longer, his feathers are stark white again and smooth, not a scratch on him. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would never believe that the duck had been hurt in the first place.

He sits down on the grass and snaps his fingers the way Alex does when he wants Lox to come to him. Lox never listens when Michael does it, so his eyes widen when not only does Lox come, but the duck climbs into his crossed legs.

“Are we friends now?” he asks quietly, a little worried that he is going to get a beak in his face at any moment. Lox looks at him before nudging at his hand with his head. Michael knows what he wants, but he still hesitates for a moment before he starts to pet Lox’s small head and down his back. “How long will this truce last, dude?” he questions, and he swears that Lox gives him a stink face.

“Okay, okay,” he continues quickly, petting softly. “Not looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

They stay like that for a while as Bagel wanders close by.

“Thank you, Lox,” he starts, feeling ridiculous for it, but needing to get it out anyway. “Thank you for protecting him today,” he says, feeling a lump in his throat as he strokes the small animal with the protective streak of a giant. “You and I don’t always get along, but we love the same people, so thank you, buddy,” he says, leaning down, placing a kiss on his head.

When Lox snaps his beak at him this time, Michael can see that it’s playful.

***

Michael makes it towards his and Alex’s bedroom once he’s left Bagel and Lox in Andy’s room. Both settling in by the foot of his crib as the little boy sleeps soundly.

Alex sits at the edge of their bed, down to his boxers, his prosthetic is off, and he's going through his nightly PT.

He sits next to him. Waving his hands away, he takes over massaging at Alex’s stump. Alex leans back on his hands, letting out a content sigh as Michael rubs him slowly and methodically. He watches as Alex's eyes start to get heavy. He can’t help but smile, amused even as evening sex quickly evaporates under his skillful fingers.

When he's done, Alex crawls up to the head of the bed and slips under the covers, watching him through half-opened eyes as he heads to the bathroom for a quick shower.

He's surprised when ten minutes later, Alex is still awake as he makes it back into their bedroom. He goes to his side of the bed and gets in, barely laying down before Alex is rolling over into his arms, his head resting on Michael's bare chest, a leg thrown over Michael's.

They lay like that quietly, Michael running his fingers through Alex's soft hair as every once in a while, Alex turns his head to press a kiss on Michael's chest.

"I think Lox and I have reached that ceasefire you were talking about this morning."

Alex lets out an amused sound, his fingers drawing circles at Michael's side.

"We had a good conversation," he starts, not bothered by the way Alex laughs silently at his words. "And we've come to an understanding."

Alex lifts his head and looks at him, his brown eyes shining with humor. "And what understanding is that?"

"That he's a jerk," Michael smirks as Alex looks more amused. "And so am I," he continues, his voice going soft. "But we both love the three same beings, so we're going to get along and protect them together."

Alex looks at him with that love on his face that steals Michael's breath away, always. He pulls himself up until his mouth is inches away from Michael's.

"I love you, Michael Guerin," Alex says against his mouth.

Michael feels his heart skip. "I love you too, Alex Guerin,” he says, kissing him.

Alex's eyes are a shade darker when he pulls away from the kiss. "We should go to sleep."

"Really?" Michael can't help but whine. He was sure sex was in his immediate future.

"Yep," Alex says easily, ignoring his tone as he lays back down on Michael's chest. "You need your rest. I plan to wake you up at midnight with your dick in my mouth and my fingers in your ass before I fuck you till our kid wakes up, you'll need the rest."

Michael lays there; mouth opened at the filth Alex just spewed so easily like he was talking about groceries, hard as a rock in his underwear, and a completely unbothered husband on top of him.

"Now I know where Lox gets his evil streak," He grumbles after a moment, closing his eyes, willing himself to sleep in the face of the promise of sex in a few hours. "At least he only attacks me with his beak."

Still, he falls asleep to Alex, softly laughing at him.

#roswell nm #malex fic #malex #michael x alex #my writing #long post #6.7k words #so this story is done #somehow a little joke about a duck on the discord turned into a 10k fic #that will more than likely have some future timestamps because i can't seem to give up this little family #this is the last story i will write bagel though #now that we know about buffy and that makes me a little sad

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babbushka · 5 years

Text

Blue Moon (3/?)

New York, 1987. The air was filled with smog and the streets were ridden with crime. Just another day in paradise. Your quiet life turns upside down when a striking man moves in across from you. You’re falling, fast, into a love that could never, ever, happen…or could it?

Pale x Reader (Can also be interpreted as modern!kylo for those who don’t know Burn This!)

Hello friends this chapter is so so long, I hope it hold you all over for the week until I can post again.

This chapter (and all the other chapters that have come before and will come after) is dedicated to the one and only @adamsnackdriver who even though she says otherwise is absolutely instrumental to this monument of filth! Please go follow her if you haven’t already, her blog is an absolute gold mine!!

Minor character spoilers for Pale!

Word Count: 8200 (I’m sorry lol)

Warnings: Mild angst, minor violence, sm*t, language, drug use

Chapter 3: Chains

It went like that for days. He got off work, he found you, he fucked you, he left. It was easier that way, wasn’t it? It had to be. He was busy, you were busy, he couldn’t stay. This wasn’t romantic, this wasn’t tender, you were a good place to relieve some tension, that’s all.

He had been relieving his tension a lot, but that was nobody’s fucking business. He went to work, he got high, he blasted through the fucking day, and then he came to your door. You either opened the door or you weren’t home yet, but you always opened. Always let him in, never kicked him out when he broke in if you weren’t there. He was spending more and more time at your place, your shitty apartment just one street away, how’d the universe fucking figure that? He never stayed. You always let him in, and he always left.

He was on his way to you now, just got off work too fucking late, so late it was early. So late that the sun was already coming up over the fucking skyline and the 9-to-5 schmucks were already polluting the fucking streets. You were probably asleep he figured, you had the day off so why shouldn’t you be asleep? What was better than getting fucked first thing in the morning, nothing, right?

He parked his fucking car behind his apartment building and walked over to yours, jaywalked and yelled at the fucking cars who had the nerve to keep driving. What the fuck ever happened to pedestrians had the right of way?

He managed to catch the door to the stairwell just as the mail-man was heading in. That was lucky, he’d been getting lucky lately, getting into the stairwell. Sometimes he had to climb the fucking fire escape just to get in.

“Hey!” He called, and the man stopped. “You got any mail for 5C?” He asked. His pulse spiked when the mailman nodded.

“Yeah, a couple things.” He said, rifling through his bag.

“I’m headin’ up that way now, been waitin’ on a real important fucking letter.” He lied. He wanted to know your name, desperately, wanted to have something to shout out when he fucked his hand when you weren’t home. “You ever look through people’s mail? I would, all the fuckin’ time if I were a mail-man. Bet you’d see some pretty juicy fuckin’ stuff. You know my uncle used to be a postal worker, he dealt with shipping and handling, I know the hours fucking suck – hey do you happen to know – ” Pale said around his cigarette, only shutting up when the mail-man shoved a pile of letters into his chest.

“Here you go pal, I got a long route.” The man said, making Pale frown.

“Well fuck me, sorry for trying to make some fucking conversation.” He scoffed, but deciding it wasn’t worth it, not with you right upstairs.

(Y/N). There it was, printed right on the fucking envelope. A little bent and had some water damage, thanks to the fucking post office, but there it was. He had been trying to figure out your fucking name for weeks, you being the smart-ass you were not telling him. It was driving him fucking off the walls not knowing your name, but he finally fucking had it in his hands.

(Y/N). Right in black ink.

Past Due. Stamped in red ink next to it.

“What the fuck?” He frowned, not giving a shit and tearing open the envelope right in the middle of the fucking stairwell.

They had shut off your heat, those fucking bastards. He was going to make them fucking regret that – he got all wound up until he saw that you had missed the deadline by almost three fucking weeks. No wonder it was freezing all the fucking time in your apartment, he thought.

It wasn’t even that much, he had more than your bill was in his fucking pocket.

He went back down the stairs to the little deli. Marty was there, and he wasn’t too fucking happy to see Pale, but he never was. Who gave a shit? He had to fix your fucking bill before they shut the water off too, which they were fucking fixing to do if they didn’t get their money by Sunday. Jesus, he thought, it was like the fucking mob, these damn utilities.

“You got a pen?” Pale asked.

“Fresh out.” Marty sniffed.

Big fucking mistake, Pale thought.

He grabbed Marty by the front of his shitty apron, pulled him flush to the fucking glass counter, and plucked the clearly visible pen from right out of his apron pocket, and let him go. Marty was rearing up to swing a fucking fist at him, when the bell to the door opened, and a hungry customer walked up to the counter asking for a half dozen bagels with lox.

Pale used the distraction to fill out the fucking form and return envelope the utilities people sent you, slapped the pen on the top of the counter and went back outside. He unrolled crisp hundred dollar bills, enough to pay off the next couple months.

It was about to get real fucking cold here, with the holidays coming up soon. The weather man on the radio said snow should show up in the next day or two, he didn’t need you fucking dying from exposure in your own fucking apartment.

He licked the envelope and shut it, shoved it in the blue public mailbox on the side of the road, and made his way back up your fucking stairs. He was angry, hands clenched into fucking fists as he climbed up the stairs two at a time. His mind started spiraling, thinking of all the bad fucking things that could happen – no heat, no water, no electric, what the fuck were you thinking?

He jostled your fucking lock and barged into your apartment, pissed off. Even more so because you were standing in your fucking kitchen, in nothing but your fucking panties, looking like a god damned angel, making some breakfast.

Like you didn’t know you were in trouble.

“Morning.” You smiled at him, all bright and lit from the sun, but he wasn’t fucking having it, he put your mail on the table with a little more force than was probably fucking necessary.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were behind on your fucking bills?” He didn’t bother saying hello, he was too mad.

Your smile fell, you turned away to look at the pan on the stove. You knew you were in trouble now.

“It was just the one. I was going to handle it.” You said.

“You were going to handle it? When the fuck were you gonna handle it, huh? That ain’t fucking good enough doll, you can’t go doing shit like that. You know how people get sick? You see them fucking folks dying out there? It’s because they do shit like this, you can’t go fucking doing this shit.” Pale started pacing the kitchen, running a hand through his hair and punctuating the air with the other.

“Don’t yell at me.” You immediately got defensive, and that made Pale more pissed off.

“I’m not yelling! I’m not fucking yelling, okay?” He yelled, taking a deep breath and trying but failing to calm the fuck down, “If you got a problem, you tell me about it. That’s what the fuck I do, okay? I solve fucking problems. Cook doesn’t show up, I’m the fucking cook. Shipment don’t get delivered? I gotta fucking go pick shit up. I got twenty fucking years of solving problems, next time you fucking tell me. Don’t go not telling me bullshit like this!”

His voice got louder and louder, until he realized he was shaking. He realized you were shaking too. Regret burned in his throat like acid.

“Pale – please I don’t – I – ” You hiccupped, and in a fucking instant he was trying to make himself not the least fucking bit threatening as he went to you, felt like he was having a heart attack with the way your eyebrows pinched and your fucking chin wobbled and the way he saw wetness in your pretty fucking eyes.

“Oh shit, wait – no,” He said, real quiet, burning burning burning, “Fuck, no, come here. Don’t cry, okay? Come here.” He wrapped you up in his arms, and you tucked your face into his chest.

“I was gonna – ” Your voice cracked, but he just tilted your head up and kissed you real long, real gentle, trying to apologize.

He kissed you slow, calming you down and him down at the same time. He licked against your mouth, but then pulled back and pressed a couple chaste kisses to your lips too, holding you tight.

“Shh, don’t.” He said soft, “I didn’t mean to yell, I just gotta make sure you’re fucking taken care of, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded, your eyes searching his.

“Lemme kiss you, huh? Gotta warm you up, you’re freezing.” He said, and you nodded, tilted your head up to kiss him some more. He dusted a few stray droplets off of your cheek, kissed the corners of your eyes. “No tears, okay?”

“Okay.” You sniffled. You shifted closer to him, rubbing yourself all over his clothes, sighing at how the fabric felt against you. Pale could feel your hard fucking nipples through the cotton of his shirt – his mouth watered.

“I was hoping you’d come by, I was making breakfast for us.” You gestured to the pan that had apparently just finished heating up some butter.

“I can’t fucking believe I’m saying this but go put a fuckin’ robe on. It’s cold.” He kissed you one more time before letting you go, “I’ll finish breakfast.”

“I was making pancakes.” You said with a smile, walking into your bedroom.

Pale surveyed the situation, what kinda fucking pancake recipe was this, he thought, raiding your cabinets and fridge – that was another fucking thing he was gonna have to deal with at some point, getting you to have more than just one shelf on the fridge filled. He wasn’t gonna bring it up.

“What the fuck is that?” He asked when you came back, flipping flapjacks like no fucking problem.

“It’s my robe.” You said, posing with a goofy grin, tears all gone. You were trying to be sultry like some girl in a fucking magazine.

“No it ain’t.” Pale shook his head, couldn’t help but fuckin smile at you, you looked so wrong in something that ratty. It was once a bathrobe in a previous fucking life, but it was discolored and worn out, too many washes.

“Well unless you stashed a different one in my closet then yeah it is.” You pointed out, making him lick his teeth.

He had hidden a bunch of shit in your apartment, guess you were going looking for it then huh? He would have to take you up on that and go out and get you something you should be wearing, something soft and warm.

“Eat your fucking pancakes.” He said, and you did.

He ate you out after you finished, while the pan was soaking in the sink. He fucked you after that, made you cry for a whole different fucking reason, and then he went across the fucking street to pass out. You told him he could stay, but he knew he couldn’t, he shouldn’t. So he didn’t.

He missed you.

He was gonna find you when he got off work, take you out to a nice fucking dinner. He wanted to give you something, the little something that had been burnin a hole in his fucking pocket for a week now. Wanted to push you up against the wall and make you come for dessert. God knows he fucking deserved it. Everything and everyone was pissing him the fuck off.

Fucking phone kept blowing up, he wanted to yank the power cord outta the fucking wall. How many fucking times did he gotta yell at these people before they figured out how to do their fuckin’ jobs? He was stressed, he was aggravated, he was –

“Pale, someone here to see you.” Joey, one of the busboys stuck his head in the door.

“I don’t fuckin’ want to see anyone.” Pale frowned, didn’t these fucking losers know he was busy?

“What, so you can show up at my job but I can’t bother you at yours?” You asked, making his eyebrows shoot up as you walked into the office.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me.” He whistled.

You looked good, wearing that shitty coat and those scuffed heels and your hair all done up.

Apparently that wasn’t the fuckin’ reaction you were hoping for, and you scowled at him. What, was he supposed to be some kind of mind reader?

“I can go if you really don’t want me.” You said, already ready to get defensive.

“Get the fuck over here.” He shook his head, beckoning you with a hand. You immediately went to his lap, like it was your favorite fuckin’ place to be. “What? You wanna get fucked in my office? That it? Slut.”

“Uh huh.” You said with a smile, already kissing at him, rubbing your cold nose against his cheek.

“Go and lock the door.” Pale said, smacking your ass when you shimmied off his lap and clicked the lock.

You hesitated by the door for a minute, like you were waitin’ for something, and Pale was just about to ask what when you untied the thick leather belt and popped open the big metal buttons that held it together.

It had only slid down a couple of inches before Pale figured out you were almost naked under there, and was outta his seat in a heartbeat.

“Jesus, you really are a slut, ain’t ya?” He said, crowding you against the door.

He was blindingly hard, his cock begging him to get in you, once he saw the scraps of black lace you figured counted as lingerie.

“Let me warm you up, huh?” Pale said, licking his lips as the coat fell in a pool of fabric on the floor.

You were standing there, tits out, only wearing some lacy black panties and stockings held up by garters. God what a set of legs you had, he thought.

You whined into his mouth when he manhandled you, picked you up and sat your ass over on his desk that had piles and piles of fucking papers all over it, pushed your knees apart. He felt like he couldn’t get his cock out fast enough.

“Pale, please, fuck me.” You ran your hands over his shoulders, was pulling him to lean over you, was kissing his cheek, his neck.

He couldn’t say no to that.

He pulled your underwear down off your legs, stuffed it in your mouth.

“You gotta be quiet you whore, alright?” He said lowly, dangerously. “Can’t have folks out there enjoying their lunch hear a slut get fucked, alright?”

“Mmhm.” You hummed, muffled by the lacy. Filthy girl, he thought, adrenaline spiking.

He rubbed his cock at your slit for a minute, savoring the feeling of it like some of those cocksuckers out there might be savoring their hundred dollar bottle of fucking wine, before shoving his way into you. He always liked the surprised face you made whenever he first thrust into you, like you had never felt like that before. He could almost get drunk on that fucking face.

“We gotta make this fast, okay?” He couldn’t take his time with you the way he wanted, not with people knocking on his fucking door every twenty minutes at this fucking place. But twenty minutes was enough to get you off if he did his job right, and fuck if he wasn’t gonna deliver.

You bit down on your own underwear and nodded, nipples hard, so fucking hard. Pale sucked one into his mouth, bent you back far enough on the desk that he could reach without having to stop the rhythm of his hips. The desk creaked under the two of yous, iron legs scraping against the floor bit by bit as his hips smacked yours.

You were makin’ all sorts of pretty fucking sounds, sounds that made him sweat. He was wearing all his clothes, they were gonna smell like sex after he was done with you. He never wanted to wash them.

He licked his teeth, pushed you flat against the desk, pulled one of your legs over his shoulder, drove into you hard and rough. He shoulda bound your wrists, but you were doing a good job keeping them above your head, gripping the edge of the desk.

He thrust over your g-spot, that made you arch up a little. He licked his lips, did it again. He was gonna say something stupid, something like how good you looked, how pretty your lips were, how he wanted to spit into your mouth and make you swallow it. He bit on your other nipple instead, thrust against you and rubbed at your clit.

You said something that sounded like his name, and you were clenching down on him, making him come.

“Fuck, shit – ” He fucked you through his orgasm, making sure you got off too, fucked you hard and rubbed your clit and sucked on your nipple until you threw your head back and came.

He tugged the panties out of your mouth, stuffed them in his pocket. He was breathing hard, you wiped the sweat from his forehead and rubbed it all over your chest. Pale was still pushing his come into you, he could feel it, feel the way it was throbbing into your cunt. You were breathing real hard too.

You didn’t seem to mind, looked all too comfortable on his shitty desk in his crappy office, lookin like the cat that got the cream, even though he was the one who did all the hard fucking work. You just had to lay back and take it, seedy princess. You took it well, he had to fuckin’ admit.

He pulled out of you, watched his come ooze out of you. He pushed it back in, fucked his fingers into you until you were squirming from it being too much, and then he did it some more. You smiled.

He stepped away from you just enough so that you could get off the desk.

“Hey I was thinkin,” Pale said, something in his chest beatin like nervousness. You had slipped between his legs, licking up the last bits of come, cleaning him off. He detangled his fingers from your hair, tucked it back behind your ears. “If you ain’t busy, the two of us go out to dinner tonight.”

You sat back, wiped your mouth with your hand, looked up at him through your lashes. He tucked his cock back into his trousers before he could think about fucking you again.

“Where’re we goin?” You asked with an easy breezy smile, as if you weren’t just biting down on your own underwear to muffle your cries.

“You like steak?” He asked, mind already running through the best fucking places in New York to take you.

“I like steakhouses.” You said, and he didn’t know what the fuck that meant, but he nodded.

“Then we’ll go to a steakhouse.” He decided, and you smiled, looked around for your coat. He watched you cover up those perfect fucking tits, it made his mood sour. He wanted to get one last good look at you. “Take the subway into Manhattan, then to Brooklyn. You take the subway a lot?” He asked.

“Not really.” You shrugged.

“Don’t go expectin’ nothing fuckin’ fancy.” He said, right when the phone rang. “Get outta here, I’ll come get you after I get off work.” Pale sat back in his chair, picked up the phone and started talking. “Yeah – what the fuck do you need now?...”

You nodded with a smile, leaned over to kiss him. He pinched at your nipple, covered the receiver of the phone with his other hand.

“Don’t go getting into any trouble.” He said, and you nodded.

It was gonna be a long fucking rest of his day, he thought, watching you walk away like that.

Pale didn’t bother waiting for you to answer the door, he had a schedule to keep and he’d be damned if he didn’t make it. He shook the door handle enough that the lock popped open – that made him frown, how the fuck was anyone supposed to stay safe in this building? – and let himself in.

“Train’s in twenty minutes.” He announced himself.

“You could say hello.” You said with a smile, walking into the living room from the bedroom. You were dressed up real pretty, Pale thought, you looked like a million bucks. Well, maybe closer to a hundred bucks, but it was still nice. Better than that fucking apron and hat you always wore at the fuckin diner.

Pale had you naked so often he almost forgot how good you looked all covered up. Not that anything beat the fucking way you looked all blissed out in bed.

“Hello.” He said dryly, took his finger and tapped his lips.

You smiled, stood on your tiptoes to give him a kiss. He wound an arm around you, groped at your ass and gave it a light pat before handing you the fuckin bouquet of lilies.

“You brought me flowers.” You said, surprised.

“Yeah go put them in a fuckin’ vase somewhere. It’ll liven up the place a little.” Pale sniffed, god your apartment sucked.

“What, you don’t like exposed walls and absolute lack of flooring?” You joked, going to the kitchen and pulling out a big glass cup.

You stuck the flowers in there, filled up the cup with water. Didn’t you have a fucking vase? You had to be kidding him.

“It was getting too fuckin’ depressing fucking you here.” He shrugged, stuffing his hands in his jacket pocket. He tried real hard not to say anything about the glass, about the flowers, about anything. He just wanted to take you out to dinner and fuck your brains out.

“You could fuck me at your apartment if it bothers you too much.” You pointed out, and he almost wanted to laugh. Almost.

He did roll his eyes, and you smiled, knowing that was probably as close as you were gonna fuckin get.

“Don’t be a smart-ass.” He said, pulling you to him, kissing you deep. He liked the way his hand was so fucking big on your face, he liked the way you kissed at his palm, licked at it. “You look real nice.”

“Yeah?” You asked, sounding nervous.

“Yeah.” He said, tugging at your sleeve. “I ain’t seen you wear this little number yet.”

“I’ve been saving it.” You tucked some hair behind your ear, smiled at him.

“For what?” He asked.

“An occasion.” You shrugged. That was fucking stupid he thought, and said as much.

“You don’t need an occasion to look good.” He said, “Look at me, I run around all fucking day, spend most of my fuckin time in the office or in my car going somewhere, looking for fucking parking in this sewer of a city. I don’t got no fancy fuckin people I’m meeting, but I still like to look good. These are snake-skin boots, almost three hundred fucking dollars they cost me. You don’t need a fuckin’ occasion, sometimes it’s good to just look good. You look good.”

He was getting worked up, fuck why did you always fucking do this to him?

“I was hoping you’d like it.” You grinned, and he shook his head – you knew what you did to him, you fucking menace. That’s what you were, a menace.

“You did good.” He kissed you one more time, real hard, hand still on your face, “Let’s go, we’re gonna be late and they fucking hate it when people are late to their reservations.”

Pale walked with his arm around you to the train station, held you close. He didn’t like the way some of the fucking guys on the street looked at you when he watched you from his apartment – didn’t like the way he could practically fucking hear what they were thinking. So he held you close, a warning to anyone who saw that you weren’t up for grabs, unless it was his fuckin hands.

You didn’t say anything about how gross the subway was, Pale liked that. He liked a girl who didn’t give a shit about shit like that. There was graffiti all over the fuckin place, so much that Pale couldn’t even read any of it, what a fucking waste of paint, he thought.

There was trash in the whole car, broken glass and old newspapers that had gotten wet with something and dried all crusty. He didn’t want you sitting in any of that shit, not looking so good.

“Sit on my lap.” Pale said, finding a clean seat and tugging you down onto him. “You’ll get your skirt all dirty.”

“We’re all alone.” You said, coy.

“Yup. Will be for half a fuckin hour, looks like.” He tipped your chin up, slid his tongue along yours.

He liked the way it felt when you slipped your arms around his shoulders, he tightened his grip on your thighs, dug his fingers right into the bruises that he knew where there, the bruises he fucking put there himself.

“Yeah?” You sighed into his mouth.

“Yeah there’s no fuckin’ stop until ours.” He didn’t bother looking outside the subway windows, you were in the tunnels now, and it was dark anyway. The shitty broken lights flickered in the subway car. You kept kissing him.

“I’m starting to think you just like keeping me close.” You said, teasing. The biggest fucking understatement of the century. He didn’t know what the fuck was happening to him, how he let you get under his skin like this, the way you had.

“Gold fuckin’ sticker sweetheart.” He grumbled, sneering at you when you started smiling all triumphant. “Don’t go fucking looking at me like that, keepin’ you close is the easiest way to get my hands on you, get you ready for me. I don’t like to wait, you know.”

“I know.” You smiled.

“Why don’t you be a good girl and ride me, huh?” He asked, sneaking a hand in between your thighs. God he was so fucking thrilled to find you already wet, always so fucking eager for him. He owned this pussy, whether you knew it or not this was his to fuck whenever he wanted, and shit if he didn’t want to fuck it now.

“Okay.” You nodded, shifted around a little.

You held onto the silver handrail pole while you balanced on your knees as Pale got his dick out of his jeans. He reached under your skirt again, tugged aside your panties – lingerie again, he was pleased as all fuck to find – and slid in.

It was rough and bumpy, being on the fucking train. Any time the god damned subway made a turn, you were falling into him, losing your fucking balance. You were lucky you had him to hold you still, Pale thought, as he thrust up into you.

“Pale!” You moaned loud for him, the sound almost getting swallowed by the rushing noise of the subway in the tunnels.

“That’s it sweetheart.” He licked his lips, leaned back in the hard metal seat and watched you go to work.

He wanted to tear your fucking clothes off, wanted your tits in his face. He settled for letting one hand wander up to grab at your chest, grunting and groaning as you worked your hips over him.

“My good little whore.” He couldn’t help but give you praise, especially when your cunt was so good and hot and wet for him. He shoved a couple fingers in your mouth, you sucked on them right away, laved your tongue over them, over his wedding ring. His stomach tensed at that. “Dirty.”

“Good?” You asked, and he gripped your jaw, clicked his teeth against yours.

“You know it fucking is, slut.” He growled, making you smile against his hand.

Attention all passengers, the next stop is... The PA voice over the intercom sounded. You moaned loud, Pale almost didn’t hear what the fuck she said, Estimated time of arrival, fifteen minutes.

“You fuckin’ hear that princess? You got fifteen minutes to make me come before we get off this fucking subway car.” Pale grabbed a fistful of your beautiful fucking hair and pushed your head down closer to his, so he could kiss at your neck and suck marks into your throat.

You nodded, whining against him. Your hands were braced against his chest, fisting at his shirt. It was gonna wrinkle the fucking fabric and he was gonna have to iron the fucking thing but it was worth it to feel you lick at the pulsing vein in his neck.

He couldn’t help but fuck up into you, couldn’t help but hold your hip and your hair and grind his cock hard into you, not with the fucking way you looked, sounded, felt. It was enough to make a guy go crazy, he thought, the smell of your fucking perfume filling his nose as he breathed hard and fast.

The subway jostled and bottles clanked as they rolled around on the floor, but you were moaning and panting and your thighs were squeezing his tight and your cunt was hot and he couldn’t help but fucking think it was magic that made you look like that, in the flickering fucking lights.

He shoulda had you blow him instead, wouldn’t have gotten him this worked up. He didn’t know how he was gonna sit through a fucking dinner with you, not looking like that.

You moved your hips in these tiny fucking circles that had Pale clenching his jaw it felt so fucking good, he wanted to kill whoever you had to practice on, didn’t want anyone to ever get to feel this good from you again. No one else ever let him fuck them like this, he didn’t want to fuck anyone else like this.

You were kissing him, god he felt like he couldn’t get enough to breathe with how much you were kissing him, how much he was kissing you back, all hard bites and sloppy.

“Come in me,” You told him, and his brain tripped up.

“Jesus.” He bit down on your shoulder and came.

Slowly he released the tension in his fist in your hair, had a hard time opening his fucking fist he had held it so tight. You were approaching the station, the lights flickering faster and faster. People were standing waiting on the platform as the subway zipped past – but it was slowly starting to come to a stop.

“You did good.” He pinched at your cheek. You didn’t look too thrilled. “What?” He asked, lifting your hips enough to slide out of you, tuck himself into his pants. He’d clean up once he got your ass to the restaurant.

“I didn’t get to come.” You pouted, and oh no, no fucking way was he indulging you in that one, not right now. He was entirely too susceptible to your charms and you were dangerously close to missing the fucking reservation as it was. He’d fuck you after.

“We’ll have a nice fucking dinner and then I’ll blow your fucking back out, how’s that sound?” Pale kissed you, kissed you and kissed you a-fucking-gain until you were smiling against his lips, squirming in his lap. “Hm?”

“Promise?” You asked, standing up when the subway brakes screeched to a harsh stop.

“No fuckin’ promises.” Pale said, a possessive hand on the small of your back that made you smile again.

The two of you walked off onto the platform at the station. Pale smirked, smug as all hell, all the fucking strangers walking onto the subway were none the wiser.

The restaurant was nice, the nicest in Brooklyn, and one of the oldest too. He knew the guys who worked there, being in the business. He knew the guys in the business too, that worked in the restaurant. It was all the fucking same, he thought. He walked with you right up to the host and didn’t even have to give his fucking name, that’s how friendly he was with this place.

“Pale this is too much.” You whispered, hanging off his arm like the best piece of fucking candy there ever was.

“What do you mean?” He asked as the two of you followed the host. He seated you in a real secluded section of the restaurant. Pale slipped him a hundred bucks, no one would be sitting anywhere near you for the night.

“I mean I can feel your come sliding down my thigh and I’m pretty sure that glass of champagne cost more than this whole outfit.” You said, self-conscious.

“Just relax would ya? We’re gonna have a real nice time.” He kissed your cheek, let you pick which side of the booth you wanted to sit on.

“Sit next to me?” You asked when he made a move to step around the table.

He looked at you for a second, at your earnest fucking eyes and slid into the booth next to you, pulling you real close to him. You smiled real wide. It made him want to burn down half the fucking city – in a good way. Was there a good way for that?

He stretched an arm around your shoulders, was pointing out all the interesting fucking things he could think about the steakhouse. You laughed at his jokes and made some back, he thought you were fucking funny when you weren’t being such a brat.

“Good evening, what’ll it be?” The waiter asked, appearing out of nowhere.

Pale didn’t even bother asking you what you wanted, just ordered for you anyway. Ordered the wine, ordered the appetizer, the dinner, and dessert. He had other plans for dessert, but he wanted you to have the full fucking experience.

He didn’t take his hands off you the whole fucking time, didn’t even bother to open up the menu, just wanted to keep his hands on your shoulder, on your thigh.

He didn’t take it off when the food showed up either, delicious and sizzling hot. Didn’t bother to give the finger to the fucking waiter who shot him dirty looks as Pale groped at you while he poured the wine.

“What do you like to do for fun?” Pale asked, suddenly desperately curious.

“Fun?” You asked with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t know, I don’t really get much time for fun, outside of being with you.” You shrugged.

“You have fun when you’re with me?” Pale asked, shocked. That was probably the first fucking time anyone had ever said something like that to him.

“Yeah, you make me laugh, I like spending time with you.” You said, again with that fucking honesty.

Pale didn’t know what to do with that, didn’t know what to say to that.

“You like it?” Pale asked instead, as you were happily chewing your dinner. You washed it down with a sip of wine, and smiled.

“Yeah, it’s really good.” You nodded, dabbing your lips with a napkin. He wanted to kiss you.

“I thought you would. That’s my fucking recipe by the way, gave it to the chef something like five fucking years ago, it’s the most popular fucking dish here. I should be collecting royalty checks or something. I wanted you to enjoy tonight, you know? You deserve to enjoy things, you work hard too. It’s a fuckin’ shame you don’t get paid good. You know what I think? I think it’s fuckin funny we work in the same ‘biz. Go fucking figure.” Pale said, taking a sip of wine himself.

“I have something for you. Before you go getting all fucking lovey-dovey eyes on me, it’s a practical fucking gift. It ain’t a grand fucking gesture or nothing like that, I just want you to have it. If you want it. You don’t have to fucking want it if you don’t want it, but – Just go ahead and open it.” He fished the long rectangular box out of his inside jacket pocket, handed it to you without any ceremony.

You hesitantly opened it up, covered your mouth when you saw the way it glittered.

“It’s beautiful.” You held up the gold chain, almost pure fucking gold, the same kind of chain that Pale wore.

“I was in the fucking city at three o’clock in the fucking morning if you can believe that, and all the fucking shops are getting ready for the holidays. Christmas is such a bullshit holiday, you ask me. People buying shit to just buy shit. Anyway so I go into the fucking city at three o’clock in the morning and I see all these fucking windows of all these stores and I think to myself, why the hell not, buy something nice for someone. And I think, who the fuck am I gonna buy anything for? I send my kids shit, whatever they want, whenever they fucking want it, they call me up and I ask and I send it and that’s it. You don’t ever fucking ask for anything, you know that? And you don’t got a lot of nice shit. People get real judgy over people who don’t have nice shit, I didn’t want you getting judged. You’re not a two-bit whore or nothing – you like it?” He asked, taking another sip of wine.

“I love it, put it on me?” You asked him, looking up with those lovey-dovey fucking eyes anyway. Didn’t he just fucking tell you it wasn’t no grand fuckin gesture?

“If you put that on, you can’t go takin it off.” He said, something fierce and possessive deep in his belly, he stared at you, watching you when he asked, “Got that?”

You got it, he could tell you got it from the way you smiled at him, handed him the chain, turned around and held your hair off your neck.

He willed his hands not to shake as he clasped the chain around your neck, felt something in his chest seize up when you turned back around to face him.

“How does it look?” You said, all shy.

He did kiss you then.

He kissed you when you ate your dinner, kissed you on the subway ride home, kissed you as you were walking backwards into your apartment.

You walked away for a minute to turn on the light, a single floor lamp that made the whole room soft and orange. You pulled off your clothes, he was mesmerized by the way the shadows hit the curves of your body.

“Get over here.” He said, hands searching his pockets. Where the fuck did he put it? Oh, there it was, little plastic baggie tied off at the top.

“How do ya want me?” You asked, already straddling his thighs, already wantin’ to be near to him. Pale clenched his jaw, his heart racing, going a million miles a fucking minute. The light glinted off the chain, he’d been aching for you. He couldn’t believe you were wearing it, that you wanted to wear it.

“Just like this for a fucking second.” He kissed at your neck, undid the tie on the baggie before pulling you closer to him, pushing your knees into his side. It didn’t even fucking matter, he was gonna be over the moon in a minute anyway.

He popped the clasps of your bra, yanked it off. He grabbed at your tits, pushed them together. He had to stop himself from just fucking pressing his whole face in your cleavage, breathing in the smell of your soap and your sweat there, licking up the taste of you. God he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you.

He closed his eyes against the feeling of your hands in his hair, right at the base of his neck, curling your fingers there, you kissing his cheek, you breathin deep, expanding your ribcage, pushing your tits into his hands.

He tipped the smallest little bump out onto your tits, the way they were pushed together like that held it long enough for him to snort it right up, let go of you for a second to pinch his nose and blink a few times, breathing out, he could already feel it working.

“Pale.” You moaned into his ear, makin him break out in goosebumps, what a fuckin’ mess, he thought.

“What, d’ya want some?” He asked, but you shook your head.

“No thanks.” You said sweetly, god you were too fuckin sweet to him, he thought. He wanted to jump you, he was all over the place, he wanted to hold you down and fuck you and kiss you and make you shout his name and make the neighbors bang their fucking fist on the fucking wall. He wanted to make you feel good, make you make him feel good.

You were impatient, it made him smile -- your hands were shakin. Why were they shakin? He was the one shakin for you. You pushed his jacket off his arms, he smiled, bit at your lips as you worked to get him even a fraction of naked like you were. He pulled the jacket off, yanked the shirt off his neck, you pulled open the buttons on his pants, you were desperate for him.

He pulled his cock out, you immediately wrapped a hand around it, gave it a good squeeze. He thought about a symphony in his head, had the urge to scratch it out with a shitty piece of charcoal and a scrap of paper, maybe the receipt from breakfast at the diner. You looked too fucking good in that shitty uniform. The music kept going and goin in his head, he wanted to fuck you.

He wrapped a big arm around you, steadying you and standing up, taking you with him. You instinctively tucked your legs around his waist, he carried you to your bed, kicking off his pants and underwear on the way. He threw you down on your bed, makin you laugh. The light from the streets outside glinted off the chain he gave you.

“Fuck.” He growled, he was seeing stars, sparkles coming off of you, off the chain.

He pried your legs open and slid in, easier now, now that you were getting used to him, to his cock. He liked the thought of that, thrust into you hard.

“Oh!” You gasped, grabbing at his back, wanting him closer.

“You look so fucking good, you know that? Remind me of a fucking amusement park – the lights. You know that? You ever been to Coney Island? You look like all the lights, all at once. Fuck you for that, for lookin’ so good. I want to fuck you up on the fuckin’ wonder wheel, kiss you real hard, make you squirm up there lookin’ over all the fuckin’ lights.” He talked and talked, he had so much to say, couldn’t stop, wanted to tell you everything all at once.

You moaned for him, moaned and gasped and pinched your face real tight when he fucked the air out your lungs. “Look so good taking my fucking cock like that. You like that?”

You were havin a hard time talkin, the way he was fucking you. That made him feel good, the burn in his muscles as he rammed into you made him feel good. God your cunt was so hot and tight around him, he could live there, dive in headfirst and fucking live in your pussy. He grabbed your jaw, held your face steady as he licked at your teeth, bit down on your tongue.

“You like it?” He asked, needing to hear, wanting you to like it.

“Yeah, I like it.” You said with a big smile, and he pinched at your cheek, at your nose, wanted you to stop being so fucking sweet.

His hips worked you into the mattress, headboard smacking against the wall. You filled the air with your noise, the way you gasped for him made him want to yell.

“You don’t even fuckin’ know what you do to me huh? You get me all riled up, just by fuckin standing there looking good. God what a slut, you’re a perfect fuckin’ whore, ain’t you. Making me all riled up.” He smothered you, buried his face in your neck, rammed his dick into you.

“You got me, don’t you?” You said, licking your lips, hand fisting in his hair. “I’m here, ain’t I?” He could tell you were close, you were making that little fucking face you make, he fucked you right on your g-spot, made you cry out, made you clench down around him, made you come.

“Yeah you are, you better fuckin’ better be.” He was losing it, he was gonna come, he didn’t want to, not yet, wanted to keep going with you forever, “You better be, you’re mine, you know that? Jesus.”

“I know, I am – I’m yours.” You panted into his mouth.

He came, shut his eyes real tight, actually fucking saw stars. You did that to him, you made him like that. His heart was racing, he felt like he could run a marathon.

He took a minute to catch his fucking breath, rolled off of you. You settled close to him, didn’t care that he was sweaty. He was coming down, starting to lose the high.

Maybe he would go run, he could run away right now – leave.

“Hey,” He said, pinching your arm to get your attention. You were starting to fall asleep, your head resting on his chest – he should go. He knew he should leave, he always left, he had to leave. He got your attention to tell you he was gonna fucking go.

“You ain’t fucking anyone else, are you?” He asked instead.

“Why does it matter?” You asked back, not even bothering to lift your fucking head up and look at him. He didn’t like that, didn’t know why you had to be so god damned difficult all the time. The chain glittered in the moonlight.

“It just does.” He said, real serious. He didn’t know why, he didn’t know how to fucking explain it to you, he just needed to know. You were wearing it, he needed to know.

“I know you are.” You said, finally looking up at him. He frowned, didn’t like the assumption.

“You don’t know shit about me.” He said, and you rolled off of him, settling down next to him on the bed.

He wanted to kiss you. Your shampoo smelled nice. He had to fucking go.

“I’m clean, if that’s what you were really asking.” You said, and he scoffed. Were you always gonna be like this?

“It wasn’t, but so am I.” He said seriously, and you nodded. He wasn’t gonna let you off the fucking hook that easy. “Now tell me.”

“I am not fucking anyone else.” You said, looking at him like you meant it.

Good, he thought. That was good. He wanted to scream.

He checked the time, it wasn’t even two in the fucking morning yet, he could still go if he wanted.

“Are you gonna keep breaking in like that?” You asked, stretching out on your fucking mattress, looking delicious. He let a hand slide across your stomach, curled just his index finger into your cunt. You smiled.

“Maybe. Probably.” He swallowed hard, “Yes.”

You nodded, arched your back a little. Your tits looked good like that, real fucking good. Maybe he’d stay, get to fuck you in the morning. You were good for him tonight, he could repay you in the morning. Maybe you’d make him breakfast again, like that first night all that time ago, the night that started this whole fucking thing.

He’d fuck you over breakfast.

You went quiet again, did you fall asleep? He wished he knew what was going on in your head, what you were thinking. He wished you would put your fucking head back on his chest. He was losing it.

“How do you spell your name?” You asked, catching him off guard.

His name? What did that have anything to do with anything?

“P-a-l-e.” He said, rubbing at your clit with his finger, making you sigh all happy. “Like the bucket.”

“That’s p-a-i-l.” You laughed brightly, smiling at him too honest.

“Who gives a shit?” He asked, ghost of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

You put your head back on his chest, he figured you figured he was staying. That meant he had to stay. He let himself wrap an arm around your waist, and the other around your shoulders. Your skin was chilly, all the sweat from when he fucked your brains out cooling. You sighed happily, he was warm, always ran warm. A hundred and ten fucking degrees the doctors said.

You were warm, he couldn’t go now. He was fucked.

He fell asleep.

That’s it for this chapter!! Please come yell at me your thoughts and thots, i’d love to hear them :)) <3

Tagging some pals! As always, if you’d like to be added or taken off the list please just shoot me a message! @fullofbees @spinebarrel @oh-adam@dreamboatdriver @bad–bad–man @thecurlycaptain@bourbonboredom @driverficarchive@aweirdlookingtree@rosalynbair@redhairedfeistynerd@adamsnackdriver @glitzescape@arwarz @adamsnacc-kler @kyloxfem@fallin-for-youreyes @kylo-renne @attorneyl

#reader insert #pale x reader #kylo ren x reader #burn this #burn this broadway #adam driver x reader #my writing #edit: added the chapter name because im a dummie who forgot lol

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