#outlaw!reader

Jason Todd hated grocery stores.

No, scratch that. Jason Todd loathed grocery stores.

The harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the aisles packed with too many strangers, the squeaky carts with wheels that never rolled straight, the cheap pop music on loop.

It was torture.

It was hell.

And yet, somehow, here he was.

Pushing a cart. In public. In broad daylight.

Like a normal person.

(He was not a normal person. He would never be a normal person. And yet, here he was.)

All because you asked.

Correction: all because you smiled.

That was really all it took.

He could face down armed gangs without flinching, but the second you tilted your head, eyes soft, voice lilting with a “Come with me?”… he was done. Gone. Over. Hook, line, and sinker.

It was like you knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

Yeah that smile.

You wielded it like a weapon, and Jason, the big scary Red Hood, had absolutely zero defenses against it.

So now? He was following you through the cereal aisle, scowling at a display of Pop-Tarts like it owed him money, while you hummed happily to yourself, comparing nutrition labels with more focus than you ever showed on an actual mission.

“Which one do you like better?” you asked, holding up two boxes of cereal like you were presenting evidence in court.

Jason blinked. “They taste the same.”

You gasped like he’d just committed treason. “Excuse me? Cinnamon Crunch and Honey Crunch are not the same.”

“They’re literally just sugar in different shapes.”

“Jason Todd,” you said, scandalized, jabbing a finger at him, “you take that back.”

He smirked, enjoying how your nose crinkled when you were annoyed. “Nope. Gonna stand by it.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes and tossing both boxes into the cart with unnecessary force. Jason didn’t comment—just filed it away in his head. He made a mental note that you wanted both.

(He also made a mental note that you’d probably forget the cereal existed after eating half a bowl, but he wasn’t about to call you out. He liked the way you got excited about little things. He’d buy you ten boxes if it made you smile like that again.)

He loved when you got bossy with him. Loved that you acted like you could keep him in line. (Spoiler alert: you could.)

The trip went like that. You bouncing from aisle to aisle, hair swishing, muttering to yourself about prices, Jason pretending to complain but really just watching you.

He didn’t need to talk much. You filled the air with easy chatter—asking his opinion on pasta sauce, complaining about Roy’s weird obsession with off-brand energy drinks, telling him about the stray cat that had followed you two blocks yesterday.

Jason, meanwhile, was on a mission of his own: stealth-snacking.

Every time you turned your back, he slid another pack of Pop-Tarts or a box of snack cakes into the cart.

“Those are not on the list,” you scolded when he dropped in three packs of Pop-Tarts.

“They’re mission essentials,” he said, deadpan.

“For who?”

“For us?? Obviously.”

You gave him the world’s most dramatic eye-roll. “You’re impossible.”

Jason didn’t reply. He just smirked and kept pushing the cart, pretending he didn’t notice the way your shoulder brushed his arm every few steps. Pretending he wasn’t cataloging every little thing you reached for. Pretending he wasn’t quietly memorizing your grocery list like it was a tactical briefing.

Because here’s the thing: Jason Todd could go toe-to-toe with armed thugs without blinking. But seeing you pause in front of a shelf, tapping your lip thoughtfully while you debated between two brands of tea? That was what really took him out.

He was screwed. Utterly, completely screwed.

And he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

By the time you got to the checkout line, the cart was an absolute mess. Half practical groceries, half Jason’s chaos additions. You stood on tiptoe to unload everything onto the conveyor belt, muttering, “Unbelievable,” under your breath when you unearthed a suspicious number of snack cakes.

Jason leaned lazily against the cart, pretending not to watch the way your hoodie slipped off one shoulder. Pretending not to notice the way you bit your lip while trying to fit everything onto the tiny counter space. Pretending not to think about how easy it would be to just step forward, brush your hair back, kiss the curve of your neck.

He swallowed hard. Looked away.

(He wasn’t doing that here. Not in public. Not with strangers watching. You deserved better than that. When he kissed you—really kissed you—it was going to be somewhere quiet. Somewhere you could both breathe. Somewhere he could actually say it first.)

So instead he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and let you huff and puff about “irresponsible snack purchases.”

He wanted to help you unload the things onto the conveyor belt, but he knew that was your favorite part.

But that was Sunday.

Then came Duke’s birthday, just a few days later on Monday, August 13th. Of course in those few days you managed to get yourself stabbed and slashed at, needing seventeen stitches that Jason had to stitch up. Which is why you’d been unable to join in for Duke’s Paintball Palooza.

An atrocity in Jason’s opinion because the two of you together would have smoked the rest of his family, he’s still not totally sure it wasn't a conspiracy that landed you injured and unable to participate.

He’d been hesitant to leave you alone in the apartment, even though he knew you probably wouldn’t move off the couch the entire time he was gone. But he had left you the day before for your training session with Hal, and he’d been anxious about you the entire time. And instead had to suffer his sibling’s criticisms (read: mockery) regarding the black eye he was sporting.

Then came Thursday.

Thursday, August 15th.

His birthday.

He spent the morning with you. and it was perfect. You made coffee and breakfast before he’d even finished showering. You placed a candle in the stack of pancakes with a cheeky smile, as you said a sweet “Happy Birthday Jase.”

He’d smiled softly back at you, the smile growing when you pushed over his gift, a small stack of books, that you had apparently, already read, along with your thoughts, on little papers in-between the pages.

Then you took him out to the second-hand bookstore that you both loved, and bought him three more books. Roy joined up with the both of you shortly after, and weaseled you both into a coffee stop, before you walked to the lunch. Roy smacked a kiss to Jase’s face, loud and annoying, but Jason couldn’t even hide his smile. Which only grew when Roy pulled out a glittery pink package, and a hand drawn card from Jason’s absolute most favorite person on the planet, Lian Nguyen-Harper.

Lunch went well, Kori, and Artemis (of Bana-Migdhall, not Crock) joined, and Biz had recorded a message, unable to come to Gotham on short-notice.

Then lunch ended, Artemis and Kori took off, Roy confirmed his plans with the both of you for this coming weekend on the walk back to the apartment, before splitting off at the entrance with a big hug to Jason and a “happy birthday Jaybird.”

And then it was the two of you in the apartment, and you were staring at Jason who was waffling about in the entryway.

“Loose your keys?” you smirk knowingly.

Jason sighs, finally turning to you, and your knowing smirk. “I’ve been there three times in the last week,” he huffs, slouching onto the sofa.

“Yeah for your sibling’s birthdays, and one— arguably necessary— debrief, especially given your fading bruises and my stitches,” you scoff back, sitting down gently on the coffee table so you can be directly in front of him.

“Technically, Duke and Steph aren’t actually my siblings,” he defends weakly.

Your smirk grows, “Uh huh,” you nod, “sure.”

Jason simply sighs again.

“What’s going on? Really?”

“Dunno,” he mumbles, and you roll your eyes, kicking at his foot. “Feels like I’m pushing my luck, four visits in a week,” he shrugs.

“They’re your family, Jason. They want to celebrate you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You stare at him, the tension in his shoulders, the way he. seems to be psyching himself up to go, and you grab his hand. “What do you need?”

Jason’s eyes meet yours, and finally his shoulders drop, “Come with?”

“Belly of the beast?” you smirk.

“And back,” Jason confirms.

“I’ll call Alfred,” you nod, standing up.

“You’re the best,” he says, smiling that boyish smile up at you.

You wink at him, “don’t forget it,” you tease walking off.

When you get back to your room you scroll to Alfred’s number, and it rings once and then twice and on the third it clicks, “Good Afternoon Miss (Y/l/n).”

“Hello Alfred,” you smile.

“I do hope he hasn’t convinced you to bail him out of dinner tonight,” the butler sighs.

“No, I’d never let him ditch, you know that,” you tease.

“Too true, now, what may I help you with?”

“I was hoping you might have space for an extra tonight?”

“If you’re referring to yourself, I feel I should inform you, I’d included you in my original count,” he laments seriously.

You chuckle into the phone, “Of course you did…” you trail as a thought occurs, “But maybe you’ve got space for our favorite two red heads?”

“I believe I can make that work, we shall see you later this evening.”

“Absolutely, see you then!”

you make sure to send a quick text off to Roy with the details before walking back out into the living room and sitting down beside Jason on the sofa.

…

By the time you both had to leave, you’d both cleaned up a bit. Jeans and a nice shirt. Though you’d selected a cropped brown henley, not wanting anything to push against your stitches. You were at the desk in your room putting on some earrings when Jason walked in. He placed a glass of water on your desk, and then held out two pill bottles, antibiotics and painkillers. You shake your head but decide that today, you wouldn’t argue. You take the pills and swallow down half the glass. Then, he pulls up the side of your henley, and down the gauze to check on the stitches themselves, you bite your tongue, and remind yourself it’s his birthday, don’t slap at his hands, it’s not nice.

When he’s satisfied he puts the gauze back, and then smiles goofily up at you, likely aware you were being more patient with him than normal.

“Let’s go, birthday boy,” you scoff, pushing at his shoulder.

He smirks at you, and helps you into your leather jacket before holding the door open, letting you walk out, and locking the door before you both walk down to the garage.

The drive to the manor is quiet, you’re at the wheel, and Jason is reading one of the books you’d given him at breakfast, pausing every so often to hold up one of your notes. There’s 90s top hits playing in the background, She’s a Genius, Slide, and Brain Stew, had you mumbling the lyrics along, your eyes never leaving the road, though Jason’s were more focused on you during those moments.

When you park in front of the Manor, there’s already other cars parked, Jason replaces his bookmark, and leaves the book on the dashboard, straightening himself out, as you walk around the car to stand beside him, simply staring up at the Manor for a moment.

“Too late to turn around, right?”

“You talk a big game, Todd. But I think we both know you’d be disappointed to be anywhere else tonight,” you say gently, giving him an expectant look.

He offers a half twitch of a smile, before nodding and walking forward. He can feel you behind him, knows your moving with him, and it’s enough to keep him from pausing again. By the time you’re at the front door it’s already swinging open, and there stood, regal as ever, is Alfred.

“Hey Alf,” Jason greets, tone suddenly a bit bashful.

“Happy birthday, Master Jason, do come in, everyone’s been anxious for your arrival, ah, and hello to you as well Miss (y/n).”

“Hi Alfred, thank you for the last minute accommodations,” you smile.

“It was my genuine pleasure,” he reassures, “they’ve already arrived and are in the parlor with Masters Dick and Tim as well as Miss Stephanie.”

“They?” Jason asks, brow furrowing as he looks at you and then Alfred.

“Why don’t you go see for yourself Jase,” you tease, and his eyes narrow on you before taking off toward the parlor in question.

He makes it two feet into the parlor before a ball of fiery red hair and attitude to match, launches itself at him. But in case you forgot, Jason is a highly trained individual with reflexes that would make a premier league goalie weep in jealousy. Lian Harper, all three feet and two inches of her had launched herself off the back of the sofa where her dad, and Dick were sat, and jumped the gap to land on Jason.

The little punk.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAYJAY!” she shouts, tiny arms winding around his neck.

Jason could feel his heart rate race in panic for the second before he’d fully caught her, and then calm as he hugs the little girl close. “Thanks, squirt,” he mumbles back, squeezing her tight.

“Little Wing!” Dick cheers, following Lian’s path over the back of the sofa and then squeezing him (and Lian) tight. “Good day so far?”

“Yeah, it’s been good,” Jason nods, as Dick steps back.

“Good,” he smiles blindingly. “Happy Birthday Jay,” He says a little more seriously.

“Thanks, Dick,” Jason nods back, and then Lian starts squirming.

Jason frowns down at her, but sees how Lian’s gaze has locked on you, talking quietly with Stephanie and Tim behind him, and rolls his eyes.

“So I’m just your favorite until she shows up, huh?” he teases the little girl in his arms.

“Don’t be silly JayJay, you’re always my favorite, but I wanna say hi!”

“Well I guess I can’t argue with that logic,” Jason shrugs, placing the little girl back to the floor.

“Duh!” she jests before taking off at you, and colliding full speed into your side.

Jason catches the small wince and so does Roy, because they’re both beside you in the next second.

You flash them a look, I’m fine, it says.

“Hey there Bug,” you greet, flashing a smile down at her.

Dinner went as it usually did.

Which is to say chaotically.

The Wayne set alone were chaotic, add two Harpers to the mix, and it becomes anyones game. But Jason was happy, you could tell; the gleam in his eye when Alfred set out his favorite foods, and the smile on his face that grew as his siblings had filtered in and wished him happy birthday, dropping gifts in his lap as they swarmed about, checking on you and teasing him. But most of all it was in the flush on his cheeks, faint in his tanned skin, but present while everyone sang to him.

You watched from the doorway as Jason and Bruce had a conversation over cups of steaming cocoa, your own was dotted with marshmallows, graciously shared by the 5-year-old tyrant currently holding the bag of mini marshmallows tight against her chest.

Stephanie had tried to grab a few— without her majesty’s approval— and nearly got her fingers bitten off for it. Jason only had to look at the little girl, and she’d come flouncing over to put some in his mug, and then some in yours before resuming her post as Queen of the Marshmallow people. You smiled fondly at the occasionally feral child, it’s no wonder she was Jason’s favorite.

Finally Jason seems to realize he’s being watched because when your eyes dart back to him and Bruce you find Jase’s gaze locked on you. He quirks a brow and you tilt your head.

“All good?” you mouth to him.

He offers you the slightest nod, you smile softly, and turn, leaving them to their moment. You’re flanked a second later, Roy, Dick and Tim.

Dick and Tim form a wall between you and Lian, keeping you from her sight, though she was thoroughly engaged in Duke and Steph’s antics, the two were attempting to bargain with the girl for marshmallows, the suckers. Roy comes to your side and starts lifting your henley to the side, just like Jase had done earlier in the day.

You slap at Roy’s hand, and don’t bother looking contrite when he glares at you.

“I know you know nothing of what personal boundaries actually means, Harper, but I advise against invading mine,” you drawl.

Dick and Tim exchange nervous looks, but Roy simply rolls his eyes and continues on, unperturbed.

smug bastard.

This time you concede, rolling your own eyes in retaliation, and allowing him to pull at the gauze and peek at your stitches. You can see him counting them, and even Dick leans closer to analyze them, blue eyes flickering to you with concern.

“I’m okay, guys, seriously.”

They looked unconvinced.

You rolled your eyes again. “Jase has me on a strict antibiotic and pain killer regiment, the hypocrite.”

“It’s a lot of stitches,” Tim notes.

“I’ve had worse,” you remind all three of them.

“We just wanted to check on you, gotta make sure my preferred babysitter is in tip-top shape, after all,” Roy smirks.

You shove at Roy, fixing your gauze and pulling your shirt back down.

You’d been so focused you failed to notice when Jason and Bruce finished, but you felt it, felt him, he hadn’t spoken, hadn’t touched you. Not even Dick and Tim, who were too busy laughing at Roy, seemed to have noticed. But he was behind you now, almost as if you could feel his warmth. A quick glance around tells you no one’s actually looking at the two of you, so you lean back.

“How’d you know?” he asks, lowly.

You shrug, looking back and up at him, “just did…” you trail.

Jason smiles softly at you.

“How’d your conversation go?”

“It was… better than I thought,” Jason admits.

You straighten and turn to him.

“Happy Birthday, Jase,” you whisper again.

“You already said that,” he reminds you.

You nod, “I know, but you deserve all the well wishes,” you say gently.

Jason’s smile turns a bit introspective, “Here’s to a year with good days, like today,” he decides, holding his mug up to you.

You clink your own with his, a promise as much a toast, sealed with Alfred’s spiced cocoa, and Lian’s shared marshmallows.

a good day indeed.

And then Alfred approached.

He had that glint in his eyes, the you’re stuck in my web and don't seem to realize it, look. It did not bode well for the two of you.

“I prepared a guest room, if I might convince you to stay?” Alfred offers nonchalantly.

You bit back a laugh as Jason starts to shake his head. You interject, before Jason could burry you both in a hole.

“I believe there's some sort of special dinner tomorrow night, that we'll be back for,” you hint with a gleam in your eyes as you stare at the butler who falters and preens at the same time.

His birthday. Alfred’s. A formal invitation for dinner had come in the mail almost a month ago.

“Is that a concession?” Alfred asks hint of a smile.

“(y/n)…” Jasons voice is a low warning. you know why. he gets anxious anytime he has to spend the night here. The few times its happened you fell asleep in the guest room and woke up to jason asleep on the floor, practically guarding the door.

fear had a nasty habit of lingering where it wasn't wanted.

“We actually have a few things that we need to get done in the morning before we come back. Partly in preparation for tomorrow night, but more so for, uh, someone's extravaganza this weekend,” you cast a meaningful look to the five year old who was finally starting to loose steam.

Alfred perked at that, eyes darting over to Lian, who would be 6 on Saturday.

“It truly is a week of celebration isn’t it?” he asks softly.

“Alfred-” Jason seems ro buck up but the older man places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You needn't explain Master Jason. Knowing I will see you tomorrow is more than enough,” Alfred reassures him.

But you catch the flash in Jasons eyes, guilt, likely for not being able to give Alfred what he wanted.

Jason doesn’t say anything. But when your hand brushes his on the way out, he lets it linger.

Just long enough for you to know: he’s glad he came.

And that maybe—just maybe—he’s ready to come back again tomorrow.

...

everything tags: @butterfly-skinnylegend

dc taglist: @batarella @loninctzencarat @escapenightmare @uh-oh-howd-i-get-here @seamlessepiphany @ye-olde-trash-panda @snake-in-a-flower-crown

“go right, mama,” barry mutters, following behind you as he hooks a finger around one of your belt loops, his glazed eyes running up and down your body.

“fuck, fuck, fuck-” you cry, head falling back on barry’s shoulder, his lips attached to your neck as he pulls and pushes you back and forth in his lap, up and down until your brain goes foggy and your legs feel numb. your thighs shake, breath hitching as he pulls out of you. he kneels before you, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you to the edge of the bed. before you knew it, his face was buried between your legs, his tongue moving expertly over your clit. “oh, oh fuck!” your back arches off the bed, hands grabbing onto the sheets as barry pins your hips down, keeping you from squirming under him.

“shh, baby,” barry begins, pulling out from between your thighs to look up at you. “want the people in the room over to hear us?” you shake your head, your right hand running down the back of his head, rubbing over his buzzed head before you push it back down. two of his fingers slip into your cunt as he groans, sucking on your clit with just a little more pressure than before. “come on, mama, give me one more,” barry moves to kiss your thighs, his fingers pumping in and out of you as he sucks on your skin.

“shit, barry,” you whine, hooking your legs around his head as you take a drag of the blunt you were supposed to be passing with him. you exhale, hands rubbing at the top of his head, almost as if you were rewarding him. “thank you, baby.” you smirk, laying back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling as barry kisses his way up to your chest.

“one more time, yeah?”

taglist!! @amterasuu @tinythebunni

Kylo laughs at that too, a deep rumblin’ sound that feels so much like thunder that you’re sure it’s shakin’ the earth. Or maybe that’s Sam and Agnes, the way they’re throwin’ their heads back and whinnying and stampin’ their hooves into the caked dirt below. Either way, it’s a good sound, one of them sounds that makes you ache in your bones; you can’t remember the last time you heard someone else laugh so genuinely.

“Yeah?” He finally decides to slow Sam to a halt, and you do the same, tuggin’ on Aggie’s reigns to get her to calm just a little bit, the horses powerful legs comin’ to a gentle trot, both you and Kylo gulpin’ down air.

“Yeah. Why the hell did you bring us through there knowin’ there was bad blood?” You reach into the saddle bag and pull out a canteen, measurin’ a careful sip or two of the fresh river water, before decidin’ to pass the jug over to Kylo himself.

Gratefully, he takes the same size sip as you, and you think that’s mighty chivalrous of him once again, on account of he’s a much bigger person than you, and should clearly need more water. Still, you don’t protest when he hands the canteen back to you, the lid screwed on nice and tight to avoid spillin’.

“It was the only place I could think of that’s close enough.” He shrugs, and you frown ever so slightly at that, knowin’ that really, as long as you stay close to the Colorado River, you’ll have just about anything you need.

Well, almost, anyway.

“Close enough for what?” Your curiosity gets the better of you, especially when he starts rummagin’ around in his own saddle-bag for somethin’. You lean over, tryin’ to be nosy and get a peek inside, but he only clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and you duck your head, embarrassed at bein’ caught.

“For this,” Kylo doesn’t make you wait though, pullin’ out a couple boxes of bullets, but much more importantly, “And these.”

When Kylo pulls out the burlap sack filled with coins, your eyes widen. Right there in his fist has to be over five hundred dollars in gold and silver, more money than you’ve ever seen in one place save for the banks you burn. It makes your mouth go dry, and you wonder how he got a hold of it all, if he took it from the cash register by force, or if he stole it discreetly.

“Holy shit, no wonder you were takin’ so damn long.” You urge Aggie a little closer to get a better look, darin’ to stick your hand in the bag and scoop up a handful of the coins. They were heavy, heavy and real.

“I figured you wouldn’t be opposed.” Kylo speaks quietly as your hands let the coins fall between your fingers, clinking together back in the sack. He gives you the sack then, lets the weight of it rest in your hands, clearin’ his voice, “We’ll need it for Ruby City.”

Without a thought, you push it back into his hand. He was the one who had stolen it, it belonged to him. Yes you were out of money, your own coin purse completely empty, but...but you had more pride than that, to accept someone else’s hard earned coin. Even if he had earned it wrongly, it was still his.

Besides, you reckon as you shake your head when he tries to give it back once again, Kylo was right -- it’s less suspicious to travel with a man, and if you’re traveling together, he better be the one to handle the money.

Kylo seems to read your thoughts, and he just nods, before taking a couple coins out and handing them to you, fifty bucks weighin’ on your palm.

“Just take the fuckin’ money.” He says with a small smile. “I won’t hear any ‘no’, it’s yours too, for helpin’ me by distractin’ the townfolk.”

You sigh, and reluctantly put the coins in your own small purse. For the first time in a while, the fabric is bulged out and heavy. Kylo puts the burlap sack back in his saddle-bag, and you resolve to ignore its existence until you need him to pay for a room at an inn somewhere.

“Should’ve warned me that you knew the damn bartender.” You scold him then, a little disgruntled that he had kept that information from you. If you were going to be a distraction, you would’ve liked to know exactly who it was you’re distractin’. “Should’ve told me y’all hated each other.”

You don’t tell Kylo that you were flirtin’ with that Armitage, certain that he wouldn’t like it. He sure as hell didn’t like it when Amos was gettin’ a little too friendly with you, anyway, and he was just a stranger. To your surprise though, Kylo scoffs out a laugh, and fishes out his old cigarette from the inside of his boot, lightin’ it with a match and puffin’ smoke through his nose.

“Hate?” He’s got humor in his voice as he urges Sam forward, needin’ to get back towards the water’s edge before the sun sank too low in the sky, “Nah, Hux and I go way back. He’s a good friend.”

You level him a dirty glare at that, if only he had told you he coulda’ saved you a world of panic! You think about the way that Armitage shot out his own windows, the way that Kylo managed to murder Armitage’s brother without any guns of his own, and all the damn fallout that came from it.

“Didn’t seem to be actin’ like a good friend when he was aimin’ his shotgun at your face.” You point out, thinkin’ to yourself, men are so goddamn strange.

Kylo laughs again, and you find yourself growin’ dangerously used to the sound, so you just sigh and shake your head. He smokes and smokes, both of your horses leadin’ you closer to the water, havin’ galloped away from it ever so slightly.

“He likes when I come rollin’ through, trust me. He always complains about how quiet his lil’ town of Ragrock gets, likes to give the folks somethin’ to gossip about every now and again.” Kylo explains, patton’ Sam’s neck and flashin’ you a gold-tipped smile.

“So he really wasn’t going to kill us then?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Oh no he probably would’ve if I let him.” Kylo answers quickly, “‘Specially after what I did to Brian. But he’ll be fine with it in a couple weeks once folks tell him I wasn’t the one that started nothin’.”

You stare at him for a little while, and he can feel the weight of your gaze on him, but he only gives you a crooked smile and a wink. You weren’t so sure what that wink meant, but if you had to guess, it could really only mean trouble.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” You lick across your teeth to prevent yourself from smilin’ and givin’ him the satisfaction of knowing that he entertains you. The grin he gives you tells you he knows it anyway.

“Nothin’ that you can’t handle though, I reckon.” Counterin’ with a slight smile, Kylo ducks his head and blushes, and that alone is enough to make you tap your heels against Aggie’s hide, to get her to go gallopin’ down the canyons again.

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

Some hours later, when the world around you starts to cool off from the settin’ of the sun, you and Kylo set up camp near the river. He had gone ahead and scouted the spot out, made sure there weren’t any folks who had already laid claim to that particular stretch of the bend, no one that could go cousin’ any trouble.

There was more than enough money now, to buy new stocks of food whenever y’all got to the next stop along the route, but that didn’t mean that you were about to let Kylo blow through the supply. So instead, you ask he hunt you down another rabbit for dinner, which he does in less than a half hour, impressin’ you once again.

It’s quiet, out there by the river. The sky has faded to a gentle purple, the silvery moon high in the sky. You’ve got a fire made, nothin’ too big or roarin’, just tall enough to heat up the cast-iron pot that you’ve got hangin’ over it by an iron stake. That rabbit is stewin’ in the pot, along with some water, beans, cut up carrots and a little bit of rice. You stir the pot, listenin’ to the sound of the river as it trickles past.

The sweet sound of a harmonica sounds then, and your gaze snaps up to see Kylo with the instrument against his lips. His eyes are closed, and he’s breathin’ nice and even, the high tune of a melody makin’ your throat choke up. It was a tune you knew all too well, once upon a time, a long time ago.

You stir the stew, chewin’ on the side of your cheek, until somethin’ in you compels you to sing. Your voice is a little rusty, but it doesn’t deter Kylo one bit, in fact, when he catches wind of you singin’ along to his tune, he plays a little louder, a little clearer, switchin’ to the harmony as you take over the melody to the sad cowboy song that you once used to teach yourself,

"O bury me not on the lone prairie."

These words came low and mournfully

From the pallid lips of the youth who lay

On his dying bed at the close of day.

He had wasted and pined 'til o'er his brow

Death's shades were slowly gathering now

He thought of home and loved ones nigh,

As the cowboys gathered to see him die.

"O bury me not on the lone prairie

Where coyotes howl and the wind blows free

In a narrow grave just six by three—

O bury me not on the lone prairie"

"It matters not, I've been told,

Where the body lies when the heart grows cold

Yet grant, o grant, this wish to me

O bury me not on the lone prairie."

Kylo sets down his harmonica then, and you blink away a light mistiness in your eye. It ain’t good to dwell on the past, you know, but sometimes, times like these, you can’t help but think ‘bout it. Kylo’s blinkin’ away somethin’ too, you notice, so as you stir the stew and determine the rabbit and vegetable and rice are all as cooked as they need to be, you ladle a big bowl for you and for this man who has become the closest thing to a companion you’ve ever had in your life, and you take it over to him.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, not for a while. You simply sit down next to him, as close to him as you’ve gotten since that time in the river, and hand him the bowl and spoon. He accepts it gratefully, his own gaze cast into the fire, and not for the first time, you wonder what’s goin’ on in his head.

After a couple bites of the stew, you rest your head on his shoulder. It’s a tentative motion, a hesitant one. Kylo holds his breath, you can feel it in the way he tenses ever so slightly, but he doesn’t tell you to move, and that’s as good of an invitation to stay as any, you reckon.

“You can’t go lookin’ at me like that, by the by.” Breaking the silence, you slurp down a spoonful of stew yourself, lookin’ into the comforting vision of the flames which flicker and flare gently in front of you.

“Hm?”

“If we’re meant to be cousins,” You explain, voice soft and kind, knowin’ that you’ve been too hard on him these past couple days. “You can’t be givin’ me those eyes of yours. Folks might see through the ruse.”

Kylo surprises you by shruggin’ with his other shoulder, his cheeks crinklin’ into a smile. His dimples crease, and he chews on his lip a little, keepin’ his eyes down as he blushes.

“Folks marry their cousins all the time, it wouldn’t be so strange.” Kylo nearly whispers, almost like he’s afraid to speak the words, rushes quickly to try and change the subject as soon as he’s said it, “Hell, my mother almost married her own damn brother on accident -- but that’s a long and complicated story.”

“Oh so we’re married now.” You smile, feelin’ the heat rise to your own cheeks. It’s less of a question and more of a statement, the way you say it, and you find that against your own better judgement, you like the way it sounds. You like the idea of it, and that makes butterflies spark up in your stomach, a feelin’ you ain’t so used to.

“We could be.” Kylo doesn’t dare look at you, idly stirring his bowl, “We could pretend, anyway.”

You think for a second about what that might be like -- but then you shake your head a little and sigh, “I made a promise I’d never be a meek housewife.”

“Ain’t no one here callin’ you meek.” Kylo reassures you, and now it’s your turn to duck your head, to rest it against his shoulder a little more. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, you wonder if he can hear it out there in the quiet of night.

“Be my cousin, for just a little while longer.” You whisper, a silent plea to just give you some more time, “Until we make it to Ruby City.”

“I can’t get a good read on you.” Kylo hums, and you’re relieved to hear that he’s not got an angry or disappointed edge to his tone.

He really does respect you, you realize all of a sudden. Maybe it’s foolish to come to that conclusion so soon, so quickly after you’ve met him, but you can’t help but come to it nonetheless. He’s done nothin’ but respect you this whole time, and you don’t know what to do about that. It’s never happened before.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, a hint of a smile on your lips.

“It means that you’re the most mysterious damn woman I’ve ever met.” He replies easily, a smile on his own.

“I have to be.” Shrugging, you eat another bite of the stew, wishin’ you had some spices to throw in it. You hope Kylo doesn’t think it’s too bland -- before growin’ bashful again, at the thought that you want him to enjoy your cookin’.

“Why’s that?”

“Because the more people that know about me, the less safe I am.”

“I told you -- ”

“I know, you ain’t gonna hurt me, I know.” You interrupt him, before sighing, wondering if you were really going to do this, if you were really going to tell him. “That’s not what I meant.”

Kylo senses a shift in the air, a change in the atmosphere, and his teasing playful smile melts into something a little more somber, more serious. He watches you, and waits for what you have to say, and you decide that what the hell -- if you couldn’t tell Kylo, you couldn’t tell anyone at all.

“I didn’t always used to be an outlaw, you know.” Setting down your bowl of stew, you fidget with the hem of your blue dress’ skirt, and look into the fire, your memory transporting you to a place and time that felt like a million years ago. “There was a time, a long time ago, that I was a school teacher, in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere Utah...”

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

You were young, when you started teachin’ at the school. It had always been your favorite place when you were growin’ up, and when the teacher herself got married and moved away, you jumped at the vacancy at once. This was the only way a young woman like yourself could earn a living with her clothes on, you knew that, and though you were barely older than the students that came to your classes, you took your job seriously.

It had been a bright sunny morning in Spring the day you turned sixteen, when the bells tolled for all the school children to come rushing to your door. Standing outside the single room schoolhouse, you had a cheerful smile on your face as you welcomed the students that you had come to love and care for, as they bounded up the few steps and into the wooden building. Ranging in age from as young as five, to as old as twelve, two dozen students took to their seats, fresh faced and recently washed, hair combed for their lessons.

“Good mornin’ class!” You walk to the front of the room once the bell finishes tolling, picking up a piece of chalk and writing out the first line to a popular sea shanty turned folk song, your delicate cursive spelling, ‘O Bury Me Not On The Lone Prairie.’

“Good morning Miss (L/N)!” The class responds in happy unison. One of your students, a young girl named Wendy quickly gets out of her seat to place an apple on your desk before hurrying back.

You smile at her, at all of them, having grown so fond of this mis-matched group of kids that have been placed in your care for the weekdays.

“I trust y’all had a good weekend?” You ask them, met with a chorus of overlapping affirmations, and you chuckle at their response to immediately wantin’ to tell you all about everything they did on their days off. “Good, I’m glad. Now if you would buddy up and please take out your textbook, we’ll pick up where we left off on Friday.”

The McGuffey reader was your go-to book to teach the children with, it had everything you needed -- reading, writing, and arithmetic that was easy enough to understand by even the littlest of your students. It was broken down into repetition, phonetics, and even had lines to trace the letters and numbers, but more than that, it was the book you yourself had learned to read by, so you were familiar enough with it.

“Who would like to be the first to read what I’ve got written up on the board?” You ask, once they’ve all opened their books to the appropriate page, a handful of eager students at once clamoring to volunteer.

And so, like any other day, the morning turned to afternoon, and the afternoon turned to evening. When the bells rang to dismiss the class, the children groaned, knowing that meant they had to go home where their family would likely put them to work in the field or in the kitchen for an hour before supper.

“Thank you for another wonderful day children, y’all be good for your parents now, you hear?” You try to encourage them to cheer up, even if it did warm your heart that they liked learning from you so much. “Oh, Rickie? Could you come here for a minute? You’re not in trouble, I promise.”

Sitting at your desk for a moment, you saw the earring that you had stashed in your drawer from the evening prior, and you fish it out as the ten year old skips over to you, his mousy brown hair flopping around as he does. You smile, thinkin’ that he might do to ask for a trim when he gets home.

“Yes ma’am?” Rickie stands before the desk, and you hand him the earring, his eyes going wide as he recognizes it.

“Could you do me a big favor and deliver this to your Mama? She must’ve dropped it here last night and I’m sure she’s goin’ crazy lookin’ for it.” You smile, and he nods happily.

“She sure is! Earned myself a smack upside the head I did, when she thought I snatched it from her dresser!” Rickie laughs, clearly glad to have been vindicated.

“Well I’m sure she’ll be sorry when you bring it back to her, let her know I was the one who had it, not you.” You smile back warmly at him, but he’s already runnin’ out of the schoolhouse, callin’ another thanks and a goodbye behind him as he goes.

Only a moment or two before the last of your students are gone, is there a knock on the door.

He doesn’t wait for an answer before coming in anyway, and you look up with a frown to see who would be so rude as to invite themselves, until you recognize the sheriff and put a forced smile upon your face.

“Hello sheriff, how are you this fine evenin’?” You present yourself as politely as possible, as the man’s spurs clink while those heavy boots of his walk across your floors, trackin’ mud in from the outside with little care.

You didn’t like him, the sheriff. Didn’t like the way you caught him starin’ at you sometimes, didn’t like the way you caught him starin’ at the girls in your class. He was one of the oldest fellas in town, maybe three times your age. He’s starin’ at you now, eyein’ you up and down in a way that makes your skin crawl.

“I’m doin’ well honey, thank you.” The sheriff chews on some tobacco, a habit you can’t stand, before pointin’ out the door behind him and askin’ with a stern voice, “That boy wasn’t givin’ you any trouble, was he?”

“Rickie? No of course not, he’s a good kid.” You’re quick to reply, not wantin’ to cause any trouble for the young farmboy. You and the sheriff look at each other for a moment or two, before you grow more and more uncomfortable, busyin’ your hands with the worksheets that’ve been left on your desk to grade. You clear your throat, “Is -- has somethin’ happened?”

“Naw, I just wanted to come by and see ya before your night class starts.” The sheriff’s spurs clink clink clink over to the desk where he sits himself down, right on the wooden table-top.

“Well, here I am. Can I offer you somethin’ to drink? Coffee?” You try your best to be polite, hoping that one of your night students -- adults from the town who never got to go to school when they were young -- might show up and come to your rescue.

“Not tonight, thank you.” He replies, making you sigh out with relief against your better judgement. He doesn’t notice, instead you can feel his gaze on your chest, “But, if you’re free this friday evenin’, I’d love to take you up on that offer.”

“Oh...I see.” Bile rising up in the back of your throat, you shake your head and try to reject him as politely as possible, voice clipped yet firm as you move from around the desk to the chalk-board where you erase the children’s lesson and prepare for the adult’s. “Sheriff, I’m sorry but, I’m not quite interested in seein’ anyone at present.”

“And why’s that?” He doesn’t leave you alone, and you begin to panic with the way he’s steppin’ closer to you, knowin’ that if he traps you against the board, there won’t be a clear path to escape.

“Well it ain’t allowed for a woman to be datin’ while she’s a schoolteacher.” You explain, your voice starting to wobble.

Something about that makes him chuckle, somethin’ sinister, his blackened teeth from all that damn tobacco too close to your face when he grins.

“Must be awfully lonely,” Sheriff runs his hand up your arm, “Missin’ the comfort of a man at night.”

“It’s not.” Your body shudders in revolt, and you try to side step him, blood pounding in your ears, eyes wide in distress as you feel sweat bead up and trickle down the back of your thigh, “I appreciate your concern but -- ”

“Let me just get one kiss then.” He doesn’t let you go that easily, grabbing your arm harshly and dragging you over to one of the desks where he pushes you with a rough shove. His hand grips your cheek too hard, forcing your mouth to pucker as you fight him.

“Sheriff, I said no -- please get away from me -- I don’t -- don’t touch me!!” You knee him hard straight in the groin, your panicked scream alerting the adults who had thankfully, miraculously, decided to show up for evening class early.

“Miss (L/N)!” A couple of cattle ranchers kick the door open and run to your side, tugging you away from the sheriff who laughs loudly. You smell the stench of alcohol on him, realizing he’s drunk as all hell, and cling to the strong rancher, tears threatening to spill over your eyes.

“Don’t you ever fucking touch our teacher again!” One of the ranchers, a nice man named Francisco, holds you tightly, protectively. You always liked Francisco, he treated you like a daughter he never got to have. The other, Jedidiah, stands firmly next to you, so ready to lunge at the sheriff that you can’t help but feel immense gratitude towards them.

“Everythin’s just fine son, run along now.” The sheriff chuckles, but neither Francisco nor Jedidiah move a muscle.

“Sheriff I think you need to leave.” Mustering up as much of your courage as possible, you speak clearly, willing your voice not to shake as the safety of Francisco’s arms give you strength, “Class begins soon, I’m sorry.”

The ranchers stare the sheriff down, and he stares back, before noddin’ with a sick understandin’ that you reckon means this won’t be the last you see of him. Spittin’ his tobacco onto the floor, that same floor he sullied with the mud under his boots after the children had so lovingly cleaned it with you, the sheriff turned on his heel and left, pausin’ at the doorway for a moment to send you a dark, threatenin’ chuckle, “You will be.”

“Are you alright Miss (L/N)? Did he hurt you?” Jedidiah takes his cap off and kneels in front of you, tryin’ to appear as non-threatenin’ as possible. Francisco releases his hold on you, and checks you for any marks or signs of stress, but you just let out a shudderin’ breath and shake your head. You’re not sure which question that’s meant to answer, but they don’t press you.

“Who do we call when the sheriff’s the one acting out?” Francisco wonders aloud, and you feel like there’s lead in your belly, because he’s right.

The only way you’d likely be able to avoid the sheriff and his wrath would be to leave town altogether, and well, you couldn’t do that. Who would keep after the students then?

There wasn’t any trouble during the lesson that evening, much to your satisfaction. The later it got in the night, the more you felt relieved, surely if the sheriff was going to cause trouble, he would’ve done so by now. Your students can tell that there’s something off about you though, a few of them approachin’ you after the class was done, wonderin’ if there was anythin’ they could do.

In hindsight, you wonder how different your life would’ve been, had you asked to stay with one of them for the evening, or had you asked one of them to stay with you.

The chokin’ woke you up, before anythin’ else. Smoke, thick black plumes of it pouring out of the windows, the doors. Smoke in your lungs that had your body joltin’ up and out of the little bed up in the attic where you lived above the schoolhouse, had you rollin’ onto the floor in a panic.

“No!” You shout, as the heat of red orange yellow flames begins to lick up the walls, eatin’ away at the wood structure of the building, the whole thing two steps from bein’ a blazin’ bonfire out in the field, “Oh god, oh god no!”

Frantic, you run, mind going blank, trying to focus on grabbin’ the important things, only the important things; a photo of your family, the money out of the dresser, a copy of your favorite book. That was it, all you had that you could think to grab, before trying for the door.

The handle burns, and you scream, shaking the pain away from the blisteringly hot doorknob. You’re fucked, oh you’re so fucked, you think as you back up enough to barrel your way through the door, the wood shattering and splintering. The fire reached all the way up to the attic, there was nowhere you could escape. You could jump out the window, but you’d break your neck landin’ on the hard ground. Outside, someone yells, revelin’ in the way that you scream.

“If I can’t have you, ain’t nobody gets to have you, hear that? You hear that bitch?” The sheriff cackles tauntingly, and the fear of death drips icy cold down your back, compels you to run as fast as you can down the wooden rickety stairs, into the blaze.

If you can just get out, if only you can get out of this building, maybe you’ll survive, maybe you --“No!”

One of the stairs has shattered beneath your feet, your foot stomping straight through it, trapped. You cough and hack up the smoke, it’s stinging your eyes, it’s in your lungs, soot in your mouth, you can’t see, oh god it’s so hot, the flames are surrounding you, and your foot is stuck through the stairs.

“Please, please come on you’re strong enough for this, you have to be strong enough for this, come on.” You sob, willing yourself, yanking your foot out in harsh movements as the laughter screeches around you in a drunken stupor.

Eventually, in all your efforts, the structure of the stairs give away entirely, and you try to grab onto something as the floor falls beneath your feet, sending you crashing down into the classroom below. The fire’s taken everything here; the wallpaper, the tables and chairs, even the shiny apple that Wendy sat on your desk, all reduced to ash, cracking and spitting in the flames.

You’ve hit your head from the fall, you can’t move. Somethin’s pinned your legs, you can’t feel nothin’. At least there ain’t any smoke down here, all of it risin’ up up up through the building. The smoke pushes the bells, make them toll. You wonder if they’re callin’ the Reaper, tears slippin’ down your cheeks.

“All the books, oh the poor children.” You whisper, thinkin’ of them all, watchin’ as the textbooks singe to nothingness, knowin’ that soon your body will follow, “Who’s going to teach the children?”

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

Kylo’s arm is around you, you realize, out there in the present. He’s stock-still, face gone pale, somber. He’s crying, you realize, jaw clenched tight, the muscle in his cheek flexing from the force of it. You’re crying too, wetness on your face. You watch as a tear plips into the rabbit stew, and you’re not entirely sure if it’s one of yours, or Kylo’s.

“The rest of the town came to my rescue, once the flames got so bright you could see ‘em from across the fields. They thought I was dead, when they found me.” You clear your throat, rememberin’ the details of the story that you had only found out after the fact, “I was covered in soot, breathed too much of it in, I wasn’t wakin’ up. I later found out that the sheriff didn’t let them give me a funeral, just told them to stick me in a coffin and gave me a shallow grave.”

Kylo remains quiet, but the arm around you tightens. You’re reminded of Francisco then, how he had protected you. You wonder where he is, what he’s doing. If he ever got to have a daughter.

“I was glad for that part at least, it wasn’t too hard to dig my way back out when I woke up. I must’ve only been there for a couple hours, the dirt wasn’t packed tight or nothin’, thankfully.” You sigh, not knowing when to stop, now knowin’ how to do any of this, how to be vulnerable like this. You ain’t had to be vulnerable in a long, long time.

“Must’ve been out of my mind, I had never thought about killin’ anyone before, you know. I was more angry about the loss of the school than I was for my own life, if you can believe. I hunted him down, the sheriff. He thought I was a ghost, and he hid from me. I found him in the end, doused him in kerosene and lit the sonofabitch on fire right on his front porch.”

You lean your head on Kylo’s shoulder, and ever so gently, he rests his cheek against you back.

“I was sixteen then, and “I’ve been burnin’ shit down to the ground ever since.” You whisper, voice almost lost by the trickle of the river as it flows down to Colorado.

“I’m sorry.” Kylo says, snuffling into your hair a little bit, holdin’ you close, a silent promise.

“It ain’t your fault.” You reply, fightin’ that sour feelin’ in the back of your throat, nudging your face a little closer into his neck.

“If I had been there, I would’ve helped you.” He says, even though you both know that there ain’t no changin’ the past.

“You’re here now.” You pull back enough to look at him, really look at him right in the eyes.

“Yeah, I am.” He nods.

You wonder, sometimes how life might’ve been different, but after all is said and done, this is the life you’ve got.

Kylo lies down then, one arm extended out from his body, an offer.

You don’t think twice about it, when you lay down next to him, your head usin’ that arm as a pillow. It wraps around your shoulder, tuggin’ you to Kylo’s chest, and for the first time in a long time, when you sleep, you don’t dream.

"I've always wished to be laid when I died

In a little churchyard on the green hillside

By my father's grave, there let me be,

O bury me not on the lone prairie."

"I wish to lie where a mother's prayer

And a sister's tear will mingle there.

Where friends can come and weep o'er me.

O bury me not on the lone prairie."

"For there's another whose tears will shed.

For the one who lies in a prairie bed.

It breaks me heart to think of her now,

She has curled these locks, she has kissed this brow."

"O bury me not..." And his voice failed there.

But they took no heed to his dying prayer.

In a narrow grave, just six by three

They buried him there on the lone prairie.

And the cowboys now as they roam the plain,

For they marked the spot where his bones were lain,

Fling a handful o' roses o'er his grave

With a prayer to God his soul to save.

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Taggin' some Kylo lovin' friends!