Summary: Jason Todd hates grocery stores. But heâll follow you anywhere, even the cereal aisle.
word count: 846 words
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A.N.: This can be read as a standalone or part of the "Can't Help Crushing (On You)" series
if you are reading this as a oneshot, the only context you need is that reader is an outlaw with Jason and they're in an established relationship
you can find the series in my masterlist or look up the tag #chc(oy) in my profile
requested by anon:
"WAITT CAN YOU PLEASE LIKE MAKE A QUICK DRABBLE OR A ONE-SHOT MOMENTS BETWEEN JASON AND READER RELATIONSHIP???? and of course pleaseee take your time if youre going to write it no pressure hope your feeling better. i love your writings soo much i could dieliterally. i know im late if i said i hope your leg is feeling much much better! ilysm <3"
gurl my leg is feeling greatt tysmm it was so fun to write <3
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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 âCome with me?â⊠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.
âWhich one do you like better?â you asked, holding up two boxes of cereal like you were presenting evidence in court.
Jason blinked. âThey taste the same.â
You gasped like heâd just committed treason. âExcuse me? Cinnamon Crunch and Honey Crunch are not the same.â
âTheyâre literally just sugar in different shapes.â
âJason Todd,â you said, scandalized, jabbing a finger at him, âyou take that back.â
He smirked, enjoying how your nose crinkled when you were annoyed. âNope. Gonna stand by it.â
You huffed, rolling your eyes and tossing both boxes into the cart with unnecessary force. Jason didnât commentâjust filed it away in his head. He made a mental note that you wanted both.
(He also made a mental note that youâd probably forget the cereal existed after eating half a bowl, but he wasnât about to call you out. He liked the way you got excited about little things. Heâd 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 didnât need to talk much. You filled the air with easy chatterâasking his opinion on pasta sauce, complaining about Royâs 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.
âThose are not on the list,â you scolded when he dropped in three packs of Pop-Tarts.
âTheyâre mission essentials,â he said, deadpan.
âFor who?â
âFor us?? Obviously.â
You gave him the worldâs most dramatic eye-roll. âYouâre impossible.â
Jason didnât reply. He just smirked and kept pushing the cart, pretending he didnât notice the way your shoulder brushed his arm every few steps. Pretending he wasnât cataloging every little thing you reached for. Pretending he wasnât quietly memorizing your grocery list like it was a tactical briefing.
Because hereâs 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 wouldnât trade it for anything.
By the time you got to the checkout line, the cart was an absolute mess. Half practical groceries, half Jasonâs chaos additions. You stood on tiptoe to unload everything onto the conveyor belt, muttering, âUnbelievable,â 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 wasnât doing that here. Not in public. Not with strangers watching. You deserved better than that. When he kissed youâreally kissed youâit 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 âirresponsible snack purchases.â
He wanted to help you unload the things onto the conveyor belt, but he knew that was your favorite part.
He knew his duty was to carry all the bags onto the car for you.
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synopsis: BOL CH 3: jason brings you along for his birthday dinner at the manor. heâs already been here way more than he likes because of stephâs birthday last week, and dukeâs earlier this week. plus, itâs his birthday, he wants you there. feat. jaseâs favorite tiny human
wc: 2.8k
an: this was meant to be posted on jason's bday, but unfortunately i cant ever stick to a posting schedule
Stephâs birthday was on Sunday, August 11th. Jason had been dragged along for both rollerblading and bowling before being forced to sit through dinner at the Manor. Though, Jason is man enough to admit, that the inclusion of Ms. Brown, Stephanieâs mom, or Auntie Crystal, as she insisted on being called, made the ordeal infinitely more bearable, considering she was, in a word, a hoot.
But that was Sunday.
Then came Dukeâs 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 youâd been unable to join in for Dukeâs Paintball Palooza.
An atrocity in Jasonâs opinion because the two of you together would have smoked the rest of his family, heâs still not totally sure it wasn't a conspiracy that landed you injured and unable to participate.
Heâd been hesitant to leave you alone in the apartment, even though he knew you probably wouldnât 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 heâd been anxious about you the entire time. And instead had to suffer his siblingâs 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 heâd even finished showering. You placed a candle in the stack of pancakes with a cheeky smile, as you said a sweet âHappy Birthday Jase.â
Heâd 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 Jaseâs face, loud and annoying, but Jason couldnât even hide his smile. Which only grew when Roy pulled out a glittery pink package, and a hand drawn card from Jasonâs 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 âhappy birthday Jaybird.â
And then it was the two of you in the apartment, and you were staring at Jason who was waffling about in the entryway.
âLoose your keys?â you smirk knowingly.
Jason sighs, finally turning to you, and your knowing smirk. âIâve been there three times in the last week,â he huffs, slouching onto the sofa.
âYeah for your siblingâs birthdays, and oneâ arguably necessaryâ debrief, especially given your fading bruises and my stitches,â you scoff back, sitting down gently on the coffee table so you can be directly in front of him.
âTechnically, Duke and Steph arenât actually my siblings,â he defends weakly.
Your smirk grows, âUh huh,â you nod, âsure.â
Jason simply sighs again.
âWhatâs going on? Really?â
âDunno,â he mumbles, and you roll your eyes, kicking at his foot. âFeels like Iâm pushing my luck, four visits in a week,â he shrugs.
âTheyâre your family, Jason. They want to celebrate you.â
âYeah, I know.â
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. âWhat do you need?â
Jasonâs eyes meet yours, and finally his shoulders drop, âCome with?â
âBelly of the beast?â you smirk.
âAnd back,â Jason confirms.
âIâll call Alfred,â you nod, standing up.
âYouâre the best,â he says, smiling that boyish smile up at you.
You wink at him, âdonât forget it,â you tease walking off.
When you get back to your room you scroll to Alfredâs number, and it rings once and then twice and on the third it clicks, âGood Afternoon Miss (Y/l/n).â
âHello Alfred,â you smile.
âI do hope he hasnât convinced you to bail him out of dinner tonight,â the butler sighs.
âNo, Iâd never let him ditch, you know that,â you tease.
âToo true, now, what may I help you with?â
âI was hoping you might have space for an extra tonight?â
âIf youâre referring to yourself, I feel I should inform you, Iâd included you in my original count,â he laments seriously.
You chuckle into the phone, âOf course you didâŠâ you trail as a thought occurs, âBut maybe youâve got space for our favorite two red heads?â
âI believe I can make that work, we shall see you later this evening.â
âAbsolutely, see you then!â
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.
âŠ
By the time you both had to leave, youâd both cleaned up a bit. Jeans and a nice shirt. Though youâd 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 wouldnât 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 itâs his birthday, donât slap at his hands, itâs not nice.
When heâs satisfied he puts the gauze back, and then smiles goofily up at you, likely aware you were being more patient with him than normal.
âLetâs go, birthday boy,â 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, youâre at the wheel, and Jason is reading one of the books youâd given him at breakfast, pausing every so often to hold up one of your notes. Thereâs 90s top hits playing in the background, Sheâs a Genius, Slide, and Brain Stew, had you mumbling the lyrics along, your eyes never leaving the road, though Jasonâs were more focused on you during those moments.
When you park in front of the Manor, thereâs 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.
âToo late to turn around, right?â
âYou talk a big game, Todd. But I think we both know youâd be disappointed to be anywhere else tonight,â 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 itâs enough to keep him from pausing again. By the time youâre at the front door itâs already swinging open, and there stood, regal as ever, is Alfred.
âHey Alf,â Jason greets, tone suddenly a bit bashful.
âHappy birthday, Master Jason, do come in, everyoneâs been anxious for your arrival, ah, and hello to you as well Miss (y/n).â
âHi Alfred, thank you for the last minute accommodations,â you smile.
âIt was my genuine pleasure,â he reassures, âtheyâve already arrived and are in the parlor with Masters Dick and Tim as well as Miss Stephanie.â
âThey?â Jason asks, brow furrowing as he looks at you and then Alfred.
âWhy donât you go see for yourself Jase,â 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.
âHAPPY BIRTHDAY JAYJAY!â she shouts, tiny arms winding around his neck.
Jason could feel his heart rate race in panic for the second before heâd fully caught her, and then calm as he hugs the little girl close. âThanks, squirt,â he mumbles back, squeezing her tight.
âLittle Wing!â Dick cheers, following Lianâs path over the back of the sofa and then squeezing him (and Lian) tight. âGood day so far?â
âYeah, itâs been good,â Jason nods, as Dick steps back.
âGood,â he smiles blindingly. âHappy Birthday Jay,â He says a little more seriously.
âThanks, Dick,â Jason nods back, and then Lian starts squirming.
Jason frowns down at her, but sees how Lianâs gaze has locked on you, talking quietly with Stephanie and Tim behind him, and rolls his eyes.
âSo Iâm just your favorite until she shows up, huh?â he teases the little girl in his arms.
âDonât be silly JayJay, youâre always my favorite, but I wanna say hi!â
âWell I guess I canât argue with that logic,â Jason shrugs, placing the little girl back to the floor.
âDuh!â she jests before taking off at you, and colliding full speed into your side.
Jason catches the small wince and so does Roy, because theyâre both beside you in the next second.
You flash them a look, Iâm fine, it says.
âHey there Bug,â 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 fewâ without her majestyâs approvalâ and nearly got her fingers bitten off for it. Jason only had to look at the little girl, and sheâd 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, itâs no wonder she was Jasonâs favorite.
Finally Jason seems to realize heâs being watched because when your eyes dart back to him and Bruce you find Jaseâs gaze locked on you. He quirks a brow and you tilt your head.
âAll good?â you mouth to him.
He offers you the slightest nod, you smile softly, and turn, leaving them to their moment. Youâre 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 Stephâs 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 Royâs hand, and donât bother looking contrite when he glares at you.
âI know you know nothing of what personal boundaries actually means, Harper, but I advise against invading mine,â 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.
âIâm okay, guys, seriously.â
They looked unconvinced.
You rolled your eyes again. âJase has me on a strict antibiotic and pain killer regiment, the hypocrite.â
âItâs a lot of stitches,â Tim notes.
âIâve had worse,â you remind all three of them.
âWe just wanted to check on you, gotta make sure my preferred babysitter is in tip-top shape, after all,â Roy smirks.
You shove at Roy, fixing your gauze and pulling your shirt back down.
Youâd been so focused you failed to notice when Jason and Bruce finished, but you felt it, felt him, he hadnât spoken, hadnât 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 oneâs actually looking at the two of you, so you lean back.
âHowâd you know?â he asks, lowly.
You shrug, looking back and up at him, âjust didâŠâ you trail.
Jason smiles softly at you.
âHowâd your conversation go?â
âIt was⊠better than I thought,â Jason admits.
You straighten and turn to him.
âHappy Birthday, Jase,â you whisper again.
âYou already said that,â he reminds you.
You nod, âI know, but you deserve all the well wishes,â you say gently.
Jasonâs smile turns a bit introspective, âHereâs to a year with good days, like today,â he decides, holding his mug up to you.
You clink your own with his, a promise as much a toast, sealed with Alfredâs spiced cocoa, and Lianâs shared marshmallows.
a good day indeed.
And then Alfred approached.
He had that glint in his eyes, the youâre stuck in my web and don't seem to realize it, look. It did not bode well for the two of you.
âI prepared a guest room, if I might convince you to stay?â 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.
âI believe there's some sort of special dinner tomorrow night, that we'll be back for,â you hint with a gleam in your eyes as you stare at the butler who falters and preens at the same time.
His birthday. Alfredâs. A formal invitation for dinner had come in the mail almost a month ago.
âIs that a concession?â Alfred asks hint of a smile.
â(y/n)âŠâ 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.
âWe 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,â 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.
âIt truly is a week of celebration isnât it?â he asks softly.
âAlfred-â Jason seems ro buck up but the older man places a gentle hand on his shoulder.
âYou needn't explain Master Jason. Knowing I will see you tomorrow is more than enough,â Alfred reassures him.
But you catch the flash in Jasons eyes, guilt, likely for not being able to give Alfred what he wanted.
Jason doesnât say anything. But when your hand brushes his on the way out, he lets it linger.
Just long enough for you to know: heâs glad he came.
And that maybeâjust maybeâheâs 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
summary: roy tillman ran you and your family out of town, claiming that the family's land deed was forged. gator helped you out of trouble once, but it isn't safe enough for him to do it again. you ask him to choose between the only life he's known and the life you could have together.
gator tillman àšà§ cowboy au àšà§ mutual pinning
âI thought it was agreed that you wouldnât be showing your face round here again,â The deputy huffed as you exited the saloon. He spat out the wad of tobacco that had been tucked against his lip, boots echoing as he approached your side.Â
You tipped your own hat out of respect to him, a sultry smirk painting your lips, âEvening, deputy. How can I help you?â
Gator glanced back into the saloon and then down the mainpass. It was a silent night for the town, but that didnât mean it would stay that way. Gator was quick to grab your arm and tug you into the little alley between the saloon and the general store. He pressed your back against the wooden wall, yet realized just how close you were again, after all this time. His eyes fell as he took a step back.Â
âWhyâre you here? Youâre sâposed to be halfway to Arizona by now,â He huffed.Â
Your brow furrowed at his nonchalant tone, âI thought you would sound more thrilled to see me.â
âThrilled by trouble? Sweetheart, if I know youâre here, itâs only a matter of time till olâ Roy hears the same,â Gator tried to reason with you, âYou need to saddle up and leave before heâ before I gotta remind you about the law.â
You let his words hang between you for a moment before asking, âSo you didnât miss me?â
Gatorâs hand smacked over his forehead in disbelief, âChrist, darlinâ, are you even listening to me? Iâ You canât let Roy see you here again, not after the chargers were dropped. We agreedââ
âI missed you,â You cut him off, taking a half step closer.
Gator froze, his hand dropping as he searched your face. Though his expression remained stoic, his gaze told you everything you needed to know. He never wanted you to have to leave town. He tried to stop the illegal land purchases Roy was making to drive your family out of business, tried to stop himself from his natural urge to protect you, and god⊠he had missed seeing your face from across the town square on busy afternoons.Â
Without a word, he ducked his head down and captured your lips in a kiss. It was rough, a clash of teeth and tongues that held all his frustration and all his desire. One hand settled at your waist while the other caressed your neck. He stole the air from your lungs with each press of his mouth, until you both had to catch yourselves.Â
âCome with me. You donât have to stay hereâŠâ You whispered, fingers clutching onto his collar.
His face fell, conflict brewing in his eyes, âIâ I canât do that. Roy, he wouldnât understand. Heâd send someone after me. Weâd never be safe.â
From down the main roads, you could hear the click of hooves. Another officer was doing their patrol of the town, and if they caught sight of you and Gator, thereâd be hell to pay.Â
You released his collar and lowered your hat, âIâll be gone by noon tomorrow. Iâll be waiting out by the plateau near the river until then⊠if you change your mind.â
With a final kiss to his cheek, you were gone before he could say or do anything. The phantom feeling of your lips haunted him as he ducked back out to the main road, acting casual as he passed by his fellow officer. He had work to do and not much time to find you again.
PLEASE MORE MOTHER HOSEA AND READER PLEASE IVE SCOURED THE INTERNET AND ONLY FOUJD YOU PELASE PLEASE PELASEïżŒ
ive been having the worst tummy troubles this whole week and id like to think he'd make his own medicine and rub my back as i writhe in pain and then sit next to me till i fall asleep
but imma try and put that thought into a cohesive imagine for you my precious anonđ
âïœĄâ§ËÊđÉËâ§ïœĄâ
you're a pretty independent kid, like you dont ask for much. you really dont. just food, water, and a chance to prove yourself during missions. and so far you've been doing really well, in fact just yesterday you and arthur had come back from some stakeout mission that he assumes went well. really any mission that ends with ya'll coming back home without any broken bones or scraps or gun wounds is a success in his book, but thats neither here nor there.
he remebers watching you two, you and arthur, relax near the fire with grimshaw in ya'lls ear talking bout your lack of hygiene and not appreciateing her and how when shes gone aint no one gonna be there to support ya'll like shes doing right now. its very motherly to watch her drone on and on as she isâswear he hadnt seen her this determined to see someone cared for like this since arthur has been a lil scrawny boyâbut its a welcome sight.
and despite the constant scolding he couldnt mistake the slight smile on your face as you eat the meal laid in front of you.
you look happy
and really thats all he can wish for you and his boy.
and by the end of the day he'd seen you head off to your tent and turn off your lantern
and he swear you'd been fine last night. he could have sworn you were
but by morning you werent. and it was sad, the state you were in. all sweaty and wincing in pain, wrapped tightly around a ratty blanket you insist on keeping.
the longer he watches you clutch you stomach in pain out the corner of his eye, the closer he inches himself to your lean-to.
...
"im dying, hosea"
"you aint dying, kid. just gotta let this pass an you'll be right as rain"
"thats what men say bout their dying dogs till they get the right sense to put em out their misery"
"you're so dramatic"
"leave me alone. i-i dont want you watching me like this. just leave me be"
...
and so he does
he leaves you be
you hadnt said what was hurting ya but with the way he'd seen you clutch your stomach he could surmise your agony born of something you shouldn't have eaten. its sad to say this isnt an unfamiliar issues he's recognized with you, always finding way to upset you're already sensitive digestion. its strange though if he thinks about it, you've spent how many years by yourself, surviving on whatever scraps of food you could find and powered through whatever slime or mold that laid upon it with uncertainty of when the next meal would comeâ"iron gut" you've likened to calling yourself during those years. but now, nearly a year with them you've been rendered a helpless damsel from a simple wedge of cheddar.
there isnt much for him to do at this point
but the best he can do is try to make your pain manageable.
...
you smell ginger.
that and leather.
someone must have come in to your tent while you'd been in wallowing in your pain
probably hosea
the longer you ponder on it, on the way you'd rebuffed his effort to try and be helpful, the more your guilt grew
you still cant keep your mouth shut when people try to help you. still cant say please or thank you. always have to find a way to push the nicest people away...its only a matter of time till you drive everyone that matters away.
the feel of fingers carding through your scalp brings you out of your sark thoughts.
"you feel any better?", hosea's voice piercing through the darkness of the tent.
"i thought i told you to leave me be 'sea"
"yea you did. and i choose not to listen. just like you choose not to listen to me before making yourself sick"
"...i didnt mean to..."
"...i know you didnt kid, i know."
...
you're his sick little baby an he wouldnt dream of leaving you alone in pain.
Summary: He was supposed to be dead and you were supposed to be married off to some new money oil tycoon in Carlsbad. Instead, you and Steve Harrington end up on the opposite ends of a pistol duelâyou as the outlaw that heâs been tasked with bringing to justice and him as the Sheriffâs Deputy come back from the grave. Or the Wild West!AU.
Pairings: s.h. x f!reader
Warning: Friends to lovers to enemies to lovers, Western!Au Outlaw!AU Deputy!Steve, angst, Outlaw!Reader, violence, smut, 18+
Prologue: Look in My Eyes and You Might Remember
Part 1: Cold-Blooded Killer If You Ask
Part 2: Is There a Chance Youâre Thinking of Me?
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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summary
you and barry decide to go on an adventure, but end up getting too drunk and stay at a hotel.
warnings
smut, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (f receiving), both are intoxicated, munch barry, fingering, mdni!!
you giggle as you make you way up the steps, feeling barryâs hand slide up and down your waist, keeping you steady. the second you hit the second floor, you inhale deeply, barryâs hands still wandering your body. âwhatâs our room?â you whisper, slowly stopping at a room that splits hallways.
âgo right, mama,â 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.
âfuck, fuck, fuck-â you cry, head falling back on barryâs 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. âoh, oh fuck!â your back arches off the bed, hands grabbing onto the sheets as barry pins your hips down, keeping you from squirming under him.
âshh, baby,â barry begins, pulling out from between your thighs to look up at you. âwant the people in the room over to hear us?â 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. âcome on, mama, give me one more,â barry moves to kiss your thighs, his fingers pumping in and out of you as he sucks on your skin.
âshit, barry,â 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. âthank you, baby.â you smirk, laying back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling as barry kisses his way up to your chest.
Life ainât too easy for a woman, âspecially not a woman on the run like you. With a bounty on your head and gunpowder in your nose, youâve grown adjusted to a life of solitude away from the hustle and bustle of civilization. That is, until you meet one particular man whoâs got a face youâd only ever seen in your dreams â or on wanted posters. And when he offers you a proposition that sounds too good to be true, well. You donât think your life will ever be the same againâŠ
Red clouds of earth kick up behind your horseâs hooves as they gallop far past the town line, hootinâ and hollerinâ all the while. The wind whips your hair around, your bonnet flung right off your head, held onto your person only by the wide ribbon thatâs kept it tied âround your throat. Adrenaline pumps through your body, makes your vision spotty, makes your heart beat fast fast fast, ridinâ like lightning away from Ragrock.
Kyloâs right beside you, makinâ just as much damn noise as you, his crooked teeth gleaminâ gold in the blazinâ Arizona sun. You ainât never see him grin this big, as he shouts and jeers too, challenginâ the canyons and the desert, darinâ them to take this moment away from the both of you.
âI canât fuckinâ believe you!â You laugh, voice nearly gettinâ lost in the wind, cheeks hurtinâ from the way youâre smilinâ so much, âGoddamn youâre so -- so -- stupid!â
Kylo laughs at that too, a deep rumblinâ sound that feels so much like thunder that youâre sure itâs shakinâ the earth. Or maybe thatâs Sam and Agnes, the way theyâre throwinâ their heads back and whinnying and stampinâ their hooves into the caked dirt below. Either way, itâs a good sound, one of them sounds that makes you ache in your bones; you canât remember the last time you heard someone else laugh so genuinely.
âYeah?â He finally decides to slow Sam to a halt, and you do the same, tugginâ on Aggieâs reigns to get her to calm just a little bit, the horses powerful legs cominâ to a gentle trot, both you and Kylo gulpinâ down air.
âYeah. Why the hell did you bring us through there knowinâ there was bad blood?â You reach into the saddle bag and pull out a canteen, measurinâ a careful sip or two of the fresh river water, before decidinâ to pass the jug over to Kylo himself.
Gratefully, he takes the same size sip as you, and you think thatâs mighty chivalrous of him once again, on account of heâs a much bigger person than you, and should clearly need more water. Still, you donât protest when he hands the canteen back to you, the lid screwed on nice and tight to avoid spillinâ.
âIt was the only place I could think of thatâs close enough.â He shrugs, and you frown ever so slightly at that, knowinâ that really, as long as you stay close to the Colorado River, youâll have just about anything you need.
Well, almost, anyway.
âClose enough for what?â Your curiosity gets the better of you, especially when he starts rummaginâ around in his own saddle-bag for somethinâ. You lean over, tryinâ 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 beinâ caught.
âFor this,â Kylo doesnât make you wait though, pullinâ out a couple boxes of bullets, but much more importantly, âAnd these.â
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 youâve 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.
âHoly shit, no wonder you were takinâ so damn long.â You urge Aggie a little closer to get a better look, darinâ to stick your hand in the bag and scoop up a handful of the coins. They were heavy, heavy and real.
âI figured you wouldnât be opposed.â 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, clearinâ his voice, âWeâll need it for Ruby City.â
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 elseâs 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 -- itâs less suspicious to travel with a man, and if youâre 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 weighinâ on your palm.
âJust take the fuckinâ money.â He says with a small smile. âI wonât hear any ânoâ, itâs yours too, for helpinâ me by distractinâ the townfolk.â
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.
âShouldâve warned me that you knew the damn bartender.â You scold him then, a little disgruntled that he had kept that information from you. If you were going to be a distraction, you wouldâve liked to know exactly who it was youâre distractinâ. âShouldâve told me yâall hated each other.â
You donât tell Kylo that you were flirtinâ with that Armitage, certain that he wouldnât like it. He sure as hell didnât like it when Amos was gettinâ 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, lightinâ it with a match and puffinâ smoke through his nose.
âHate?â Heâs got humor in his voice as he urges Sam forward, needinâ to get back towards the waterâs edge before the sun sank too low in the sky, âNah, Hux and I go way back. Heâs a good friend.â
You level him a dirty glare at that, if only he had told you he couldaâ 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 Armitageâs brother without any guns of his own, and all the damn fallout that came from it.
âDidnât seem to be actinâ like a good friend when he was aiminâ his shotgun at your face.â You point out, thinkinâ to yourself, men are so goddamn strange.
Kylo laughs again, and you find yourself growinâ dangerously used to the sound, so you just sigh and shake your head. He smokes and smokes, both of your horses leadinâ you closer to the water, havinâ galloped away from it ever so slightly.
âHe likes when I come rollinâ through, trust me. He always complains about how quiet his lilâ town of Ragrock gets, likes to give the folks somethinâ to gossip about every now and again.â Kylo explains, pattonâ Samâs neck and flashinâ you a gold-tipped smile.
âSo he really wasnât going to kill us then?â You raise an eyebrow at him.
âOh no he probably wouldâve if I let him.â Kylo answers quickly, ââSpecially after what I did to Brian. But heâll be fine with it in a couple weeks once folks tell him I wasnât the one that started nothinâ.â
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 werenât so sure what that wink meant, but if you had to guess, it could really only mean trouble.
âYouâre somethinâ else, you know that?â You lick across your teeth to prevent yourself from smilinâ and givinâ him the satisfaction of knowing that he entertains you. The grin he gives you tells you he knows it anyway.
âNothinâ that you canât handle though, I reckon.â Counterinâ with a slight smile, Kylo ducks his head and blushes, and that alone is enough to make you tap your heels against Aggieâs hide, to get her to go gallopinâ down the canyons again.
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Some hours later, when the world around you starts to cool off from the settinâ of the sun, you and Kylo set up camp near the river. He had gone ahead and scouted the spot out, made sure there werenât any folks who had already laid claim to that particular stretch of the bend, no one that could go cousinâ any trouble.
There was more than enough money now, to buy new stocks of food whenever yâall got to the next stop along the route, but that didnât 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, impressinâ you once again.
Itâs quiet, out there by the river. The sky has faded to a gentle purple, the silvery moon high in the sky. Youâve got a fire made, nothinâ too big or roarinâ, just tall enough to heat up the cast-iron pot that youâve got hanginâ over it by an iron stake. That rabbit is stewinâ in the pot, along with some water, beans, cut up carrots and a little bit of rice. You stir the pot, listeninâ 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 heâs breathinâ nice and even, the high tune of a melody makinâ 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, chewinâ on the side of your cheek, until somethinâ in you compels you to sing. Your voice is a little rusty, but it doesnât deter Kylo one bit, in fact, when he catches wind of you singinâ along to his tune, he plays a little louder, a little clearer, switchinâ 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 threeâ
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 ainât good to dwell on the past, you know, but sometimes, times like these, you canât help but think âbout it. Kyloâs blinkinâ away somethinâ 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 youâve ever had in your life, and you take it over to him.
He doesnât move, doesnât speak, not for a while. You simply sit down next to him, as close to him as youâve 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 whatâs goinâ on in his head.
After a couple bites of the stew, you rest your head on his shoulder. Itâs a tentative motion, a hesitant one. Kylo holds his breath, you can feel it in the way he tenses ever so slightly, but he doesnât tell you to move, and thatâs as good of an invitation to stay as any, you reckon.
âYou canât go lookinâ at me like that, by the by.â Breaking the silence, you slurp down a spoonful of stew yourself, lookinâ into the comforting vision of the flames which flicker and flare gently in front of you.
âHm?â
âIf weâre meant to be cousins,â You explain, voice soft and kind, knowinâ that youâve been too hard on him these past couple days. âYou canât be givinâ me those eyes of yours. Folks might see through the ruse.â
Kylo surprises you by shrugginâ with his other shoulder, his cheeks crinklinâ into a smile. His dimples crease, and he chews on his lip a little, keepinâ his eyes down as he blushes.
âFolks marry their cousins all the time, it wouldnât be so strange.â Kylo nearly whispers, almost like heâs afraid to speak the words, rushes quickly to try and change the subject as soon as heâs said it, âHell, my mother almost married her own damn brother on accident -- but thatâs a long and complicated story.â
âOh so weâre married now.â You smile, feelinâ the heat rise to your own cheeks. Itâs 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 feelinâ you ainât so used to.
âWe could be.â Kylo doesnât dare look at you, idly stirring his bowl, âWe could pretend, anyway.â
You think for a second about what that might be like -- but then you shake your head a little and sigh, âI made a promise Iâd never be a meek housewife.â
âAinât no one here callinâ you meek.â Kylo reassures you, and now itâs 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.
âBe my cousin, for just a little while longer.â You whisper, a silent plea to just give you some more time, âUntil we make it to Ruby City.â
âI canât get a good read on you.â Kylo hums, and youâre relieved to hear that heâs not got an angry or disappointed edge to his tone.
He really does respect you, you realize all of a sudden. Maybe itâs foolish to come to that conclusion so soon, so quickly after youâve met him, but you canât help but come to it nonetheless. Heâs done nothinâ but respect you this whole time, and you donât know what to do about that. Itâs never happened before.
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â You ask, a hint of a smile on your lips.
âIt means that youâre the most mysterious damn woman Iâve ever met.â He replies easily, a smile on his own.
âI have to be.â Shrugging, you eat another bite of the stew, wishinâ you had some spices to throw in it. You hope Kylo doesnât think itâs too bland -- before growinâ bashful again, at the thought that you want him to enjoy your cookinâ.
âWhyâs that?â
âBecause the more people that know about me, the less safe I am.â
âI told you -- â
âI know, you ainât gonna hurt me, I know.â You interrupt him, before sighing, wondering if you were really going to do this, if you were really going to tell him. âThatâs not what I meant.â
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 couldnât tell Kylo, you couldnât tell anyone at all.
âI didnât always used to be an outlaw, you know.â Setting down your bowl of stew, you fidget with the hem of your blue dressâ skirt, and look into the fire, your memory transporting you to a place and time that felt like a million years ago. âThere was a time, a long time ago, that I was a school teacher, in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere Utah...â
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You were young, when you started teachinâ at the school. It had always been your favorite place when you were growinâ 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.
âGood morninâ class!â 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, âO Bury Me Not On The Lone Prairie.â
âGood morning Miss (L/N)!â 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.
âI trust yâall had a good weekend?â You ask them, met with a chorus of overlapping affirmations, and you chuckle at their response to immediately wantinâ to tell you all about everything they did on their days off. âGood, Iâm glad. Now if you would buddy up and please take out your textbook, weâll pick up where we left off on Friday.â
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.
âWho would like to be the first to read what Iâve got written up on the board?â You ask, once theyâve 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.
âThank you for another wonderful day children, yâall be good for your parents now, you hear?â You try to encourage them to cheer up, even if it did warm your heart that they liked learning from you so much. âOh, Rickie? Could you come here for a minute? Youâre not in trouble, I promise.â
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, thinkinâ that he might do to ask for a trim when he gets home.
âYes maâam?â Rickie stands before the desk, and you hand him the earring, his eyes going wide as he recognizes it.
âCould you do me a big favor and deliver this to your Mama? She mustâve dropped it here last night and Iâm sure sheâs goinâ crazy lookinâ for it.â You smile, and he nods happily.
âShe sure is! Earned myself a smack upside the head I did, when she thought I snatched it from her dresser!â Rickie laughs, clearly glad to have been vindicated.
âWell Iâm sure sheâll be sorry when you bring it back to her, let her know I was the one who had it, not you.â You smile back warmly at him, but heâs already runninâ out of the schoolhouse, callinâ 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 doesnât 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.
âHello sheriff, how are you this fine eveninâ?â You present yourself as politely as possible, as the manâs spurs clink while those heavy boots of his walk across your floors, trackinâ mud in from the outside with little care.
You didnât like him, the sheriff. Didnât like the way you caught him starinâ at you sometimes, didnât like the way you caught him starinâ at the girls in your class. He was one of the oldest fellas in town, maybe three times your age. Heâs starinâ at you now, eyeinâ you up and down in a way that makes your skin crawl.
âIâm doinâ well honey, thank you.â The sheriff chews on some tobacco, a habit you canât stand, before pointinâ out the door behind him and askinâ with a stern voice, âThat boy wasnât givinâ you any trouble, was he?â
âRickie? No of course not, heâs a good kid.â Youâre quick to reply, not wantinâ 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, busyinâ your hands with the worksheets thatâve been left on your desk to grade. You clear your throat, âIs -- has somethinâ happened?â
âNaw, I just wanted to come by and see ya before your night class starts.â The sheriffâs spurs clink clink clink over to the desk where he sits himself down, right on the wooden table-top.
âWell, here I am. Can I offer you somethinâ to drink? Coffee?â 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.
âNot tonight, thank you.â He replies, making you sigh out with relief against your better judgement. He doesnât notice, instead you can feel his gaze on your chest, âBut, if youâre free this friday eveninâ, Iâd love to take you up on that offer.â
âOh...I see.â 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 childrenâs lesson and prepare for the adultâs. âSheriff, Iâm sorry but, Iâm not quite interested in seeinâ anyone at present.â
âAnd whyâs that?â He doesnât leave you alone, and you begin to panic with the way heâs steppinâ closer to you, knowinâ that if he traps you against the board, there wonât be a clear path to escape.
âWell it ainât allowed for a woman to be datinâ while sheâs a schoolteacher.â You explain, your voice starting to wobble.
Something about that makes him chuckle, somethinâ sinister, his blackened teeth from all that damn tobacco too close to your face when he grins.
âMust be awfully lonely,â Sheriff runs his hand up your arm, âMissinâ the comfort of a man at night.â
âItâs not.â 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, âI appreciate your concern but -- â
âLet me just get one kiss then.â He doesnât 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.
âSheriff, I said no -- please get away from me -- I donât -- donât touch me!!â 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.
âMiss (L/N)!â 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 heâs drunk as all hell, and cling to the strong rancher, tears threatening to spill over your eyes.
âDonât you ever fucking touch our teacher again!â 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 canât help but feel immense gratitude towards them.
âEverythinâs just fine son, run along now.â The sheriff chuckles, but neither Francisco nor Jedidiah move a muscle.
âSheriff I think you need to leave.â Mustering up as much of your courage as possible, you speak clearly, willing your voice not to shake as the safety of Franciscoâs arms give you strength, âClass begins soon, Iâm sorry.â
The ranchers stare the sheriff down, and he stares back, before noddinâ with a sick understandinâ that you reckon means this wonât be the last you see of him. Spittinâ 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, pausinâ at the doorway for a moment to send you a dark, threateninâ chuckle, âYou will be.â
âAre you alright Miss (L/N)? Did he hurt you?â Jedidiah takes his cap off and kneels in front of you, tryinâ to appear as non-threateninâ as possible. Francisco releases his hold on you, and checks you for any marks or signs of stress, but you just let out a shudderinâ breath and shake your head. Youâre not sure which question thatâs meant to answer, but they donât press you.
âWho do we call when the sheriffâs the one acting out?â Francisco wonders aloud, and you feel like thereâs lead in your belly, because heâs right.
The only way youâd likely be able to avoid the sheriff and his wrath would be to leave town altogether, and well, you couldnât do that. Who would keep after the students then?
There wasnât 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 wouldâve done so by now. Your students can tell that thereâs something off about you though, a few of them approachinâ you after the class was done, wonderinâ if there was anythinâ they could do.
In hindsight, you wonder how different your life wouldâve 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 chokinâ woke you up, before anythinâ else. Smoke, thick black plumes of it pouring out of the windows, the doors. Smoke in your lungs that had your body joltinâ up and out of the little bed up in the attic where you lived above the schoolhouse, had you rollinâ onto the floor in a panic.
âNo!â You shout, as the heat of red orange yellow flames begins to lick up the walls, eatinâ away at the wood structure of the building, the whole thing two steps from beinâ a blazinâ bonfire out in the field, âOh god, oh god no!â
Frantic, you run, mind going blank, trying to focus on grabbinâ 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. Youâre fucked, oh youâre 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 youâd break your neck landinâ on the hard ground. Outside, someone yells, revelinâ in the way that you scream.
âIf I canât have you, ainât nobody gets to have you, hear that? You hear that bitch?â 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 youâll survive, maybe you --âNo!â
One of the stairs has shattered beneath your feet, your foot stomping straight through it, trapped. You cough and hack up the smoke, itâs stinging your eyes, itâs in your lungs, soot in your mouth, you canât see, oh god itâs so hot, the flames are surrounding you, and your foot is stuck through the stairs.
âPlease, please come on youâre strong enough for this, you have to be strong enough for this, come on.â 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 fireâs 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.
Youâve hit your head from the fall, you canât move. Somethinâs pinned your legs, you canât feel nothinâ. At least there ainât any smoke down here, all of it risinâ up up up through the building. The smoke pushes the bells, make them toll. You wonder if theyâre callinâ the Reaper, tears slippinâ down your cheeks.
âAll the books, oh the poor children.â You whisper, thinkinâ of them all, watchinâ as the textbooks singe to nothingness, knowinâ that soon your body will follow, âWhoâs going to teach the children?â
-----------------------
Kyloâs arm is around you, you realize, out there in the present. Heâs stock-still, face gone pale, somber. Heâs crying, you realize, jaw clenched tight, the muscle in his cheek flexing from the force of it. Youâre crying too, wetness on your face. You watch as a tear plips into the rabbit stew, and youâre not entirely sure if itâs one of yours, or Kyloâs.
âThe rest of the town came to my rescue, once the flames got so bright you could see âem from across the fields. They thought I was dead, when they found me.â You clear your throat, rememberinâ the details of the story that you had only found out after the fact, âI was covered in soot, breathed too much of it in, I wasnât wakinâ up. I later found out that the sheriff didnât let them give me a funeral, just told them to stick me in a coffin and gave me a shallow grave.â
Kylo remains quiet, but the arm around you tightens. Youâre reminded of Francisco then, how he had protected you. You wonder where he is, what heâs doing. If he ever got to have a daughter.
âI was glad for that part at least, it wasnât too hard to dig my way back out when I woke up. I mustâve only been there for a couple hours, the dirt wasnât packed tight or nothinâ, thankfully.â You sigh, not knowing when to stop, now knowinâ how to do any of this, how to be vulnerable like this. You ainât had to be vulnerable in a long, long time.
âMustâve been out of my mind, I had never thought about killinâ 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.â
You lean your head on Kyloâs shoulder, and ever so gently, he rests his cheek against you back.
âI was sixteen then, and âIâve been burninâ shit down to the ground ever since.â You whisper, voice almost lost by the trickle of the river as it flows down to Colorado.
âIâm sorry.â Kylo says, snuffling into your hair a little bit, holdinâ you close, a silent promise.
âIt ainât your fault.â You reply, fightinâ that sour feelinâ in the back of your throat, nudging your face a little closer into his neck.
âIf I had been there, I wouldâve helped you.â He says, even though you both know that there ainât no changinâ the past.
âYouâre here now.â You pull back enough to look at him, really look at him right in the eyes.
âYeah, I am.â He nods.
You wonder, sometimes how life mightâve been different, but after all is said and done, this is the life youâve got.
Kylo lies down then, one arm extended out from his body, an offer.
You donât think twice about it, when you lay down next to him, your head usinâ that arm as a pillow. It wraps around your shoulder, tugginâ you to Kyloâs chest, and for the first time in a long time, when you sleep, you donât 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,
Ok but what if the outlaw from the royal x outlaw blurb has like... really dangerous pets... like... maybe theyâve got a few pets wolves, a mountain lion, maybe a couple of bears, or somethin... when the royal finds out about them, they kinda freak out but the outlaw is just like âyou leave my children alone!!â
"[ Y/n ], this is madness!"
"No! He's Charlie!" You cried, holding your Dire Wolf close to you, arms barely able to hug around his neck. The wolf was tamed, raised by you, and was currently tackling your into a hug where he tried to lay on you.
"[ Y/n ], please, my heart-" Your royal friend cut himself off, arms holding a tree, fearful of your pet. The shreek that left him as your mountain lion, Honey, made you laugh as she brushed past his leg towards the both of you.
"They're my babies! They don't do any harm, haha, Sketch! You old bear! Stop raiding in the garden!" You laughed, watching as the bear huffed, moving into the forest again to wonder some more.
The poor Prince could hear his own heartbeat, gripping at the tree as he yelled at you, his fear gripping his soul. Sighing, you managed to get Charlie to wonder back to your cabin, Honey following along as you walked to the shaking Prince.
"You don't need to be scared, your highness." You spoke softly, taking his hands in yours, your thumbs rubbing over his knuckles in an attempt to calm him.
"You... Have a fear of wolves?" You asked, bringing a hand to his cheek, so you could look him in the eye. Unshed tears filled his gorgeous green eyes, before he took a heavy breath, his arms wrapping around you tightly.
"I... I lost my Father on a hunting trip some years ago, and..." His voice shook, the memory coming to his eyes, and your heart dropped. You didn't mean to scare him so bad, and you wanted nothing more to comfort him, your own arms squeezing him closer to you.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't know... I thought the King had passed of illness- I didn't mean for you to scare so badly." You whispered, letting the Prince settle into the crook of your neck, hands running through his chocolate brown locks.
"It's fine just... Give me a moment. You didn't know." He said, his heart starting to calm, his eyes closed as you calmed him down.
The large cloak fell around your figure as well, the fur lining was warm, and the princes tall figure stood up again, cheeks flushed and he wiped his face.
"How about you come inside to relax? I don't have anyone in there." You smiled, taking his hand and moving forward, Charlie and Honey off to hunt or play around in the forest.
"I'd like that... Thank you."
"It's no problem! I only have a small house cat! He's rather friendly, but he goes in and out the cabin- but that's it. I wouldn't want to give my friend another scare." You smiled, opening the door to your humble abode.