[ if anyone had ever told wynonna she'd be achieving anything resembling a routine β in habit or in life β even two years ago, she would have laughed in their faces. structure, stability have always been inconceivable ideas, things other people get to have β but not her, not the latest earp heir, not the one who's been tasked with protecting a cursed territory from its own literal demons. you don't get to have a normal schedule when you're always out trying to save the world. so maybe this is her compromise, landing a gig that she knows she can actually wield some of her other, non-shooty skills in. fighting those threats when they come, but otherwise trying to have something of a life. because none of that will happen when she eventually goes back to purgatory, not until the curse is broken and bulshar's been blown to pieces.
she's embraced selfishness before, but not like this, not with anything that might actually matter in the long run, and even if asking him to stay technically falls under that category she can't bring herself to feel completely guilty, not when he slips away from her and drops a kiss to her forehead before promising a return.
the house is almost too quiet again, when he leaves, even if she can hear the occasional creaking floorboard that clues her into his guesstimated location; she shifts up amidst a twisting of bedsheets and then, in lieu of actually getting up at all, chooses to slip beneath them instead, scooting back to lay against the pillows with the blankets covering her. she won't fall asleep in the time it takes him to come back β hopefully β but she's too relaxed to make any greater movements.
she can hear his voice below, thanks to this place's thin walls, even if she can't make out what he's saying, that low register of his rolling up through the floor, and she allows herself a small, slow smile, savoring the lack of tension in her hips with an equally slow stretch beneath the blankets. ]
[ he's tried this before, taking on construction work in lieu of a distraction for something much quieter than he'd assigned himself prior. but there'd been too much unfilled space, days long with the constant flicker of memories pouring into his mind, especially in the late hours in the silence of a small, cramped apartment where only a few borrowed books could let his mind drift to something else for a few minutes at a time. he found partial success with his second attempt, going against settling in a different location to venturing through the country with no steady destination in mind, right up until he'd found beth's company, the first hint in ages at something more for him, something to counter the loneliness, before he realized the anger within him was still too untamed, ferocious and raging when opportunity struck for him to unleash it β and hurting her in the process.
this is an entirely new risk, this selfish decision to let this unnamed thing with wynonna simmer for a little longer, taking it minute by minute without a set decision on where it'll venture to whenever he finally does leave this house. maybe it's in knowing how messed up this town already is, in her knowledge of the bizarre and having an even more expanded history with it than he has, in her awareness of what he's already warned her regarding old scars.
perhaps he's still scrambling for excuses to secure this for as little time as it's allowed, but when he ventures downstairs, back to where it had all started there on that couch, shuffling through his jeans for his phone and shuffling through the contacts for his more recent hire, he doesn't feel guilt in bribing the part-timer to open the doors of the diner back up within the hour, promising to take over for him at a later shift (though he does shuffle back on his boxer briefs in the midst of the call, if only because he can't always be sure there won't be surprise uninvited company, whether in her place or his own apartment). after a fair bit of bargaining, he leaves his phone there on the table, amongst the empty glasses, choosing not to carry it back with him upstairs β he won't need that distraction.
marching his way back up the creaky steps, he hides a soft smile when he shuffles through the entrance of her room, watching her new position beneath the blankets, one that promotes excessive comfort and a tempting invasion of his own. quietly, he'll slide back upon the bed, this time, pinching up the sheet to slide within it with her before he lays there at her side, a casual palm stroking absentmindedly at her hip. ] Hey, you.
[ she doesn't do this, never sticks around and never asks anyone else to. she gets in and gets hers and then finds an excuse to leave, or to kick them out if they're in her territory. and she keeps weighing over her reasons for not falling back on those habits when he heads downstairs for a few minutes to call whoever he needs to β someone to open up in his place, most likely β and everything she comes up with in her head feels shallow, empty. like the fact that, well, she doesn't mind him staying because he'd made her come three times, and it'd be rude to kick him out now. or that there's plenty of space in the bed for them to rest adjacent to one another without necessarily touching. or that it's not weird to let a hookup spend the night (or the early morning) just because she's never done it before.
this is breaking new ground for her too, and she gnaws the inside of her cheek, still wrapped up in her own serious thinking mode until that one loose board on the staircase creaks and he comes back into the room a short time after, briefs clinging to his hips and hands empty β a surprise in itself, since she would've guessed he'd keep his phone within easy reach in case he's needed sooner rather than later.
all those excuses she'd come up with for asking him to stay fly out of her head when he crawls back into bed with her, lifting the sheet up to slide beneath it and share that cocooned warmth rather than keep the sheet between them, and she tilts forward when his hand drops to her hip, inching over until she can curve into the broadest part of him, her arms tucked in against his chest. ]
So... you weren't lying about getting shot in the ass, huh? [ she'd seen the scar when he'd gotten up to make the call, a dark circle with slightly mottled edges against an otherwise lighter curve of muscle, and he's tipped onto his side, which simplifies her ability to let one hand trail down and find it, trying to estimate exactly where to touch through the briefs. ] Did it hurt more, or less?
[ moving in beside her feels easy, far more than it should, but he doesn't even think of that possibility of keeping some sort of space between them, of his remaining above the blanket while she shuffles beneath it, or being confined to his own corner of the bed with a set distance between their bodies. it's mostly natural instinct that has him slip beneath the sheet and raise a simple hand to her skin to offer her to drift into his space, and it's expected and satisfying when she nestles in against his chest, one arm tucking beneath her pillow as the other curls to secure a gentle hold on her at the small of her back.
what he isn't certain of is whether or not they might immediately fall into sleep once they've ventured into comfortable positions. he can't guarantee his own will come fast, on account of old habits that often leave him restless, though exhaustion in his limbs does hint it might not actually be too difficult this time around. but he's surprised with the rise of her question, a brow raising up before he snorts off a small brief laugh, shaking his head as her fingers drift to the aforementioned injury. ]
Might've stung a bit. [ there'd been months for the skin to heal, but even with a light press through the fabric from a curious set of fingers, he does feel the faint remnants of a throbbing, noted with a subtle scrunch of his nose. ] Had to treat it with a bottle of whiskey and the shaky hands of a 15-year old in a dingy motel. Not my best moment.
[ the last time they'd done this, she thinks, he'd been the one with less clothing on and she'd felt the warmth of his body then, uncovered skin against her own bare arms, hands that had idly drifted over the planes of his chest, that defined abdomen. the pollen had warped her own perception, twisted her into thinking she had a right to touch him, and given her tacit permission when he'd responded in kind β but now, there's nothing motivating her hands on him apart from herself, and knowing that he isn't hesitating to reach out to her in turn creates a unique flutter from somewhere in her chest. ]
Just a bit? [ something tells her he's underselling exactly how much pain he'd been in, but he's also got countless other scars from presumably more bullets and other weapons alike, so his tolerance for that kind of thing is probably pretty skewed by now. just the same, she keeps her hand light on him, fingertips a gentle brush over the indent where the old wound resides before her touch ascends to a point midway between his ribs. ]
I β can't scar. Not really. Not the same way. [ not that he's been able to take the time out to glimpse every freckle, every mole on her, not when they were too distracted by what happened after all the clothes had come off β but she's noted the fact that bruises, cuts, scrapes have never taken that long to heal and once they do, there's nothing that stays behind to suggest she'd even been hurt at all. ] I don't know why, it's like β ever since I became the heir, nothing seems to stick. [ A grin finds residence in her expression, mouth curving up at the corners. ] Hell, I'd settle for an ass scar just so it looked like I'd actually been in a fight for once.
[ he knows he's caught in the lie, but the slight upward turn of his lips will let her know that he's plenty aware of that; there isn't much he can say about the agonizing pain of a bullet digging into such a sensitive area, the lasting puncture of the flesh there that he'd been forced to sit on for hours in a van before he could even get half-decent treatment for it (half-decent, semi-decent, he had to improvise). it was just one injury among hundreds he'd gotten again and again, just one before he'd be set on receiving a hundred more. ]
Yeah, I'd bet you'd look real cute with your little butt mark. [ he poses a tease to balance with her standard degree of humor, but his brows do knit together with her further description of her lack of scarring.
what she's said to him had been at a minimum, even if he'd known her to get mixed up with some supernatural elements fairly regularly, but he hadn't come to realize that she might fall under that category herself. still, the description fits, because for as little as he's been able to observe her body more closely, only just now getting a closer look when his mouth had venture down across it, more focused at the time on coating those patches of skin with a trial of kisses, he had taken note of the smoothness along a silky surface, no marks or hints to tell him silent stories of her extended history.
he draws his hand up, palm curving over her shoulder gently as his thumb strokes over the bone, his eyes softly gazing upon the surface there, stretched skin across her collar. ] It just heals on its own?
[ she's never known him to be someone who embellishes a story for the sake of being dramatic, or garnering more interest; if anything, he'd be more inclined to fall back on understatements, diminishing any kind of real pain he might have experienced especially the further removed he is from the event itself. time changes perception anyway, and maybe the more distance he has from the memory, the easier it is to downplay the severity of receiving that type of injury. but she won't harp on it for that much longer, especially once the conversation shifts to her inability to wear a mark for any significant length of time. ]
You could help me out with that. [ she flashes a smirk in his direction, trying to keep the conversation on the lighter end even while she senses it moving faster than she can keep up with. ] How 'bout I roll over and you just take a big ol' chunk out of it with your teeth?
[ but there's information he doesn't have yet, even if he's gotten smaller pieces here and there, already found out about peacemaker and why she has it, but not necessarily why she carries it. a soft sigh precedes her slowly pushing herself up to face him, propping her weight on an elbow as his hand gently tracks the shape of her bare shoulder. ] When I told you I was Wyatt's heir before, I β I didn't give you the whole story. Wyatt, uh, sort of found himself on the receiving end of a good old-fashioned curse before he died. Every outlaw he ever killed with Peacemaker, they're called revenants, resurrects when the next Earp in line to inherit hits their twenty-seventh birthday β and it's their job to use that gun of his to send them all back to Hell.
[ and this is the part where she usually anticipates the beginnings of an odd look, so she's already peering to his face in case one is starting to take shape in his expression. ] It's why I've got my own track record with weird. And why I can't ever seem to scar. And why, sometimes, my reflexes are sharper. Why every now and then I can toss a rev-head clear across a room without breaking a sweat.
[ she's thought about what could happen if she ever finds a way to break the curse, if she'll go back to being normal. but she'd give up all of this if it meant a chance at something good. if it meant alice's safety. ] Look, I'm no Buffy or anything, but β there's power, in what I've got. And I wasn't sure I wanted to tell you at first because I didn't want you to look at me any differently than you started to tonight.
I'll take on that challenge anytime, Earp. [ with regards to snatching a bite at her skin, or any other requests regarding making use of his teeth β all playful banter as they're prone to skipping about in, but there's a tease in there that might linger more on a promise.
if there weren't so caught up in something more eye-opening, the wake of her confession giving him insight on the plentiful holes that had been left about who exactly this woman is. if she expects a shift to his expression, she receives in, a light squinting that sprouts much less confused panic and more sheer and simple curiosity. it's similar to the way he'd been left to wonder about red and his ability to hear the impossible, whispers so distant and far out of ear shot (sometimes, i think you really might just be the devil, he'd said), only to later realize it'd been a blind man to somehow pull all those miraculous feats.
he's never been heavily exposed to those elements, things far out of his understanding, but it isn't that he's entirely resistant to believing in them, either, and when she sprouts her story, connecting the lines between that gun and what she's capable of withstanding, he accepts it as she tells it. ]
Y'know, it's like I said, I don't deal with that shit much, magic and β and curses. [ maybe he's had his experiences with hell, but somehow he doubts his and hers are one of the same. ] But I know it's there. Same way this place is showing that it does. Hell, I β I turned into a damn bear, for Christ's sake. [ he huffs a breath, borderlining a chuckle if he didn't get distracted with a brief pout of his lips, dreading the memory.
his fingers tuck in at her neck, thumb gently stroking the underside of her chin. ] But whatever you can do, whether or not your skin gets all beat to shit like mine does, that doesn't change anything. [ he shrugs gently, a swipe to his lip as he briefly gazes away with a momentary thought before finding her eyes again. ] If I'm β if I'm looking at you any differently right now than I did yesterday, you know that's for a whole other reason.
[ she doesn't wait with bated breath for his answer, but she knows they're both dealing from different decks here when it comes to tackling the supernatural; she'd made as much plain from the first moment they'd met, trying to leverage her track record in this sphere as further motivation for him to trust her at the beginning of it all, and even if his experience doesn't lie as frequently in the realm of weird that hers does, he's seen enough now to have more of an understanding of what she'd had to face back home, why she doesn't necessarily balk at the concept of magically tainted chocolate or spontaneous bear transformation.
and perhaps, by filling in more of those blank spaces on her backstory, he gets her more, even if she's still stopping shy of telling him everything. there are some pieces of her life that don't even have much to do with the curse, but they've defined her as much as it has. maybe even more. but those aren't stories she wants to share while they're curled up together in her bed, while she's listening to him for once instead of spilling further.
her head tips into the path his hand takes across the side of her neck, along her jaw, and when he glances away from her it's only for a few seconds, not long enough for her to second-guess sharing anything because he's already returning to her with the assurance that it doesn't change what's transpired, the seismic shift that's occurred in the waning hours of the evening, the diverging of their relationship onto a new path entirely. the relief that floods over her is palpable, and she ducks her chin down to bite back a grin, silently impressed at his ability to make her stomach perform somersaults without any kind of warning whatsoever.
but when she inevitably brings her face to his again, her fingers curve a loose hold around his wrist, thumb nudging to his pulse, and the steadiness of it centers her too, lips pressing together like she's mulling over what she can even say in response to that. ]
You're something else, Frank Castle. [ soft, a little marveling, and she shakes her head in mild disbelief while she settles into him, not in search of yet another round but not ignoring that impulse to show him her gratitude by closing more of that distance. ] You know that?
[ he's hardly in any position to cast judgment for the circumstances of her life outside of this town, especially in the scenario in which she'd been tossed into something that's entirely beyond her control. he imagines that it might not be the book end to whatever he story really is, especially in the case of whatever this "curse" really happens to entail, or why it's actually there to begin with, but he isn't pursuing more details, letting her exchange those few at a time for as long as she feels comfortable to do it.
when he'd warned her about himself, about the things he'd done, how they might change the way she looked at him, she'd told him that none of it mattered, not when she'd already made her own determination about what kind of man he is based on what she'd seen with her own eyes. she'd assured him that whatever it was he was still keeping close to the vest (literally so) didn't need to be shared if he wasn't ready to drag out that truth β and he still isn't, knowing the weight his scars really carry, and what it might mean for them, for whatever this is if he were bring out his past into this space they've created for themselves.
it's little to do with trust β he holds more trust for her than he'd have ever guessed during those complicated first meetings of theirs β and more to do with preservation, with savoring these minutes, these hours, while they can let it last. ]
Yeah, you got that right. [ he mutters with a playful tone, a soft chuckling that does prompt a parallel ducking of his head in rhythm with her own, one that's short-lived before he finds himself peering back at her, too hypnotized by the softness in her eyes to glance away for too long.
his wrist held by hers, he doesn't draw it away, even if he does drag his fingers lip slightly, allowing his thumb to reach over her lip, a soft caress running horizontally across before he presses a light kiss, chaste but still tender, his voice rumbling a low whisper. ] But nothing quite like you, Wynonna Earp.
[ she says it because she doesn't know where he'd come from, how he'd so effectively pulled down her defenses and made her want to know him β and even now, she's assured by their willingness to fall back on lightly teasing words in tandem with this new understanding, admissions that hold more weight to them. she's still not sure what to call this now, or even if that conversation is ever going to transpire so long as they're both here, but until one or both of them depart this place maybe they can reside contentedly in knowing that, for the time being, they're both a little less alone.
she hasn't given up all of her ghosts, hasn't asked him to share those weights alongside her, to shoulder those burdens once he becomes aware of them, and she's not about to demand that of him either. she'd said as much to him before, when the pollen had infiltrated her senses and made her more susceptible to this, to the wanting of it (whatever you want to tell me, or don't, it's β that's okay), and without that in the air around them now she's finding she feels the same way about whatever secrets he chooses to divulge. something tells her he doesn't want her to bear those responsibilities either, that pain that occasionally lingers in the set of his shoulders, in how he sometimes hesitates before giving her an answer.
but for all that they're still keeping locked away, there's enough they've shared with each other tonight to carry her through β into the rest of this day, and maybe longer than that. she's never really allowed herself to think about the future in those terms, and the more time that passes while she's in his arms, the more she starts to want to.
she turns her mouth to his, a small pressing kiss, and nudges their foreheads together in the aftermath, harboring a smile with eyes closed for those few beats β and then she tucks herself into him, head resting beneath his chin, her cheek turned along his warmth. ] You were wrong, you know. First time we met, you said I wasn't gonna like you very much. [ her head tips back to his shoulder so she can glance up at him, as her voice drops to a bare whisper. ] You were wrong.
[ as she curves her body into him, he welcomes that invasion of warmth, the press of her nudging skin on skin that should bring some discomfort in the warmer weather rising from the season but hardly bothers him in the slightest. instead, he merely scoops her hair beneath his fingertips to drag all the strands back from her shoulders, letting it all fall against his hand and the pillow, as his opposite palm brushes over the lower smooth skin at her back.
he doesn't recall the memory at first, trying to pick apart the exact moment before it stitches together slow, the literal lack of a visual making it difficult at first to paint the scene. but he does remember that day, sitting across from her with all of his reluctance, forcing her to put in a majority of the effort towards actually working together to get out of their share predicament. ]
Yeah? [ he asks softly in return when he finds her eyes, mostly because he doesn't have a precise response for it.
there still hasn't been enough uncovered, in his opinion, for her to really cast that judgement. the endless blood on his eyes, the faults that led to his train of losses β he knows the stain they leave on him, how that discovery has always changed the way he's been perceived by other eyes (frank castle, he's a lot scarier than pete), and even if he'd shared the truth of his name, it wasn't enough to unevil the truth of his guilt, of the monster he is. she might not still like him once she finds out who he really is β or maybe he's more worried that she'll know it all and still like him anyway.
he falls quiet briefly, a slight gnawing at his lip as he peers off into a distant corner of the room where light from the window flutters casually. ] I, uh β I had my hand on the button. Back then, right when that buzzer went off, I was ready to push it for you.
Yeah. [ she doesn't know what had called that memory back to the forefront of her consciousness now, of all times, as she settles in against his chest, shifting her weight down the side of his body until she can pillow her head on top of him, and she sighs out as his fingers sweep her hair back, the tips light against her nape and provoking a rise of goosebumps in their wake. she drapes one arm across his middle and traces the shape of his ribs, watching how they expand and contract with his even breathing.
but mentioning it allows her to reflect on the chaos they'd been plopped down right in the center of, without their sight and no easily discernable way to get it back, and she smiles to recall it now, the way she'd had to basically lay out her reasons for why she, of all people, was most qualified to help him in that situation, only the conversation had soon shifted to all the trademark talking points of what could probably be described as a blind date, albeit more literal in its meaning. they'd exchanged seemingly inconsequential information, subjects like favorite movies and colors, and toward the end she remembers her hand drifting toward the center of the table to feel out the edge of her button, stopping just short of actually hitting it before their time had run out.
she's not looking at him when he speaks again, but she feels the vibration of his voice under a cheek that tenses with a smile, slightly incredulous, as if he'd managed to subconsciously pick up on what she was thinking about before saying it out loud on his end. she'll even go as far as to laugh, softly, another exhaled sound as she turns her face into his skin, a brief nudge of her nose, and then it's her turn to speak up. ]
I almost pushed mine. [ her voice stays quiet, though, reflective, fingers still moving idly along his side. ] Though I think I managed to push enough of your buttons after that to make up for not doing it the first time, right? [ and just because he's staying here with her now, as the sun slowly comes up, doesn't mean he's not at risk for her doing it again sometime in the near future. she knows what those eyerolls spell, frank. ] You know, you never did tell me what your idea of the perfect date is. Still too advanced for me?
Did you? [ he barks out a small laugh, a rumble in his belly that vibrates softly against her with the irony of her response. he'd been so persistent then about the whole thing not working, so convinced there was no realistic way of developing genuine interest for one another under those circumstances β especially when a personality like his can often leave a bad taste in people's mouths, already convinced of her judgement long before she even had the chance to conjure it. there's a brief wonder as to whether things would have actually changed if they had clicked on those buttons then, if catching each other's eyes much earlier would have changed the track of their relationship at all. he wonders, albeit briefly because ultimately, it doesn't matter. he can't imagine it would have gone any better than this. ]
I didn't, did I? [ he'd forgotten about that too, the question too complicated then for him to answer without springing up some handwaved lie, which he'd voted against. but he hadn't taken her actual curiosity seriously either, though he knows when the question springs up now, it's with more genuine intrigue for an answer.
he doesn't respond immediately, letting his back simply sink into the mattress as he rolls more comfortably into it, holding her steady there against him, a set of fingers lazily drifting over her knuckles as they let wander a gentle caress over his skin. ] This. [ he realizes the cliche of the response, but his voice is so quiet, fairly relaxed, that there's nothing teasing in the tone, at all. ] It's just β shit's always been so loud. The things I see, the things I fight. That's kind of become the only thing I know how to do, long as I can remember. Even when I left the war, it just β never stopped, y'know? Like I said before, I don't β I don't know what to do when the silence comes.
[ there's more to it, he knows that. it's already more than he wants to say, but the warmth of her lets the words flow, honest on his tongue. ]
But this, I ... I feel like I'm breathing again. Like I'm remembering how to. And I guess, I just β I can't ask for something more perfect than that. [ his chest tightens, wondering if it's too much, knowing it's too much, but she's left his skin so unveiled, every core of him vulnerable for her taking, and he can't think of how to cover those corners again. so he mutters with a soft shrug, adding with a more casual air, ] That or front row tickets to a Springsteen concert.
[ she can't say for sure if genuine interest had been spurred that evening, driven by the shift of their conversation from random trivia to something closer to the edges of teasing, both of them extending that brand of remark that had prompted several quiet laughs and then, as it turns out, a mutual interest in hitting those buttons after all β which would have given them back their sight and the ability to see each other sooner rather than later. she might not have been completely intrigued by him, but she'd been curious enough to learn more, and eventually their paths had crossed again, her lured into his space by the sound of a familiar voice from the booth at the diner adjacent to her own.
now, she can't imagine those events happening in any other order, but it doesn't make it any less amusing to hear the truth of his side. she'd tossed out the reference to the question she'd posed, the one he'd refused to answer, partly as a joke, her hand maintaining that casual roaming over his side before his hand covers hers. and then he supplies that response he'd left her hanging on before, and her first instinct is to laugh with the misunderstanding that he's just teasing her β before he continues and she falls quiet, stills against him.
she knows she doesn't have any concept of the violence he's seen, whatever his hands have dealt; she's seen what's been inflicted on his body but it's always the wounds that exist beyond skin-deep that are harder to shake. he's told her before about trying to cope, to exist in the silence, true peace a concept that he can't quite embrace β either because he's never been given enough opportunity to try or because he doesn't know how. she hasn't been fighting her battles as long as he has but she gets not knowing who she is without them now, or what kind of person she'll be when, or if, the curse is ended. and she gets feeling like this is the first time, in a long time, that she's been able to shut off the voice in her head trying to tell her she doesn't deserve this.
she eases up to him, working one hand beneath herself to nudge up into hovering over him as he murmurs that last part, one eyebrow quirking as she nods a few times. ] Oh, or that, huh? Well, barring the sudden appearance of the Boss here in Deerington β
[ she bends low to him, hair slipping forward over bare shoulders to grace the sides of her face, and her gaze is warm as it shifts over him, the softness of her sentence dissolving by the time that she kisses him, slow and sure. ] Maybe I can keep giving you that other part.
[ he doesn't know why such a deep core of honesty springs out of him as it does. it still continues to coat multiple truths, vagueness in what exactly his wars entail, how it had carried on long after he'd made his final trip back to the city, only to watch everything continue to crumble around him. there's more to it even still than merely this moment in her bed, the stillness of his alternative work in town, the smaller moments with laura or diarmuid where he's reminded of what it means to care for someone like that again, like a father almost β it's all little pieces that come together to fill the space where the silence lingers, and add a different kind of meaning to what he's known his life to be.
but so many of those moments are consistently filled with her, her laughter, her smile, her scent, the fullness of her in his arms. as he lays here with her, that uncertainty that had lingered before about what this all could mean by the morning seems to dissolve, and what had originally felt like a halt to everything they'd come to have thus far, suddenly merely feels like a beginning to something else.
that shifting knowledge emboldens into something stronger with her answer, the press of the kiss feeling as more of a promise than a mere test. his palm coats her cheek, letting him peer up into her eyes, bright even in the continued partial darkness. ] I'd like that.
[ a promise, he thinks again, and it's nothing to do with the physical lust of it, the intimate entanglement that led him between her legs once, twice, three times; but whatever else comes with it, this comfort they can seek with confidence from one another if only for little spurts at a time whenever chaos erupts around them as this town is prone to providing.
he kisses her again to seal that, a tender caress of lips that assures her of his willingness to dive into whatever this is with her. even if he still fears, at his core, what it might mean when he's ready to let her in fully to the rest of his own demons. ]
[ there's still a lot she hasn't told him β not just about the curse, or how those heirs who it gets passed on to tend to have a pretty early expiration date, or even about those parts of her life beyond it, those aspects she doesn't get to keep safe for herself but are safer away from her. he doesn't know about alice, and she isn't sure what future situation is going to dictate the telling of that story. it isn't for lack of trusting him, but because she doesn't know how to launch into that out of context, or even without the necessary build-up to uncovering that true vulnerability.
someday, he'll get that story. someday, she can tell him all about how the best thing she ever did in her life was to decide to have a daughter, to bring something into the world that will hopefully hold all the good parts of her and none of the worst. she won't get to see that for sure yet, though, not until it's safe enough for her to even know where alice is.
but thoughts of what lies ahead for her are fleeting in the midst of the current moment, in the comfort she's sought here with him, warmth and safety in the hands that traverse her skin and a mouth that finds hers with certainty. she kisses him again, a persisting rhythm, and then once more with a quick peck, and then tucks herself in against him again, stretching out beneath the blankets and finally letting that tiredness sink deep into her limbs, her arm a heavier weight slung across his midsection. ] Me too.
[ she yawns, briefly covering her mouth with the back of her hand, and harbors no worry in closing her eyes, his presence already assured to her at least for a little while longer as her breathing starts to slow. ] Really hope you don't snore, though, because then I'd have to rethink all of this. [ even as sleep begins to tug at her awareness, she chuckles, hugging him to her one last time before succumbing. ]
[ he imagines he might tell her those smaller fragments of himself with time β about maria, lisa, frank jr. β more than those vague answers heβs provided thus far. she deserves to know, and more than that, heβll want her to know; those memories, theyβre as much of himself as anything sheβs already seen, and the only reason heβs who he is now. even if he knows thereβs a chance it might end up being too much, that thereβs too much blood on his hands to be forgiven for, heβd rather she held the whole truth than hold on to this without giving her the chance to make a choice with all the missing parts finally in her grasp.
for now, heβll bask in the hold heβs allowed, his fingers tracing over her naked back to secure his palm at her spine once she nestles closer into his chest, the warmth of her radiating over him. ] No snoring. I just drool a lot in my sleep. Cute image, actually. [ his own chuckle is a predecessor to that exhaustion finally settling in, and as the quiet replaces their banter, he knows sheβs dozed off, cycling through a small stock of thoughts before he finally drifts off as well.
he doesnβt know how long it is before he wakes, but he knows he feels rested. sunlight still flutters in through the curtains in an indication that it either might still be morning or theyβve ventured into the afternoon. he could crane his neck to get a view of the clock on the table, but his body is well curved into her, shuffled onto his side with his arms looped around her and the top of her head still pressed into his collar. somehow even still, he canβt think to move.
instead, he plants a gentle kiss atop her head, tender and lingering, fingertips tracing slow ghost lines across her back. thereβs no intention to wake her, not when heβs hardly ready to fully wake himself, but thereβs a pleasant warmth in his chest in knowing he still has her here like this even after sleep, that itβs all still continued to last even until now. ]
[ she dimly perceives the last bit of his words against her before ultimately slipping under, able to drift into dreaming in spite of the sun's steady rise to stream brighter light through the curtains, that thin, wafting fabric only able to keep out so much of the day from the quiet they find beside each other, her head pillowed on his shoulder and her arm drawn across his stomach, fingers maintaining a small clutch at his far hip. it's the closest she's ever slept next to anyone, save those occasional nights at the homestead after the heater would kick it and she and waves would be forced to curl up tight, spooning each other beneath a cocoon of blankets.
and she doesn't stir, save for the occasional incoherent murmur or shifting that precedes an unconscious nuzzling into him, like she's trying to burrow closer even from the recesses of her awareness. and she doesn't dream of anything, body and mind lulled enough to let her rest peacefully throughout the morning without her stirring. there's no blaring of an alarm to wake her the way it happens normally; instead, she dimly registers a small press against her head and something light, almost ticklish trailing over her spine, gradually tugging her from sleep.
she groans softly, nose scrunching before her eyes open, and she has to take a second to remember the events of the last few hours, remember how she got here and what happened prior to that, why she has warm skin beneath her cheek and her hand pressed firm along someoneβs side, why there's a pleasant looseness in her hips.
slowly, the room swirls into focus, and when she tips her head up to be greeted with the underside of a chin, dark hair coating a formerly shaven jaw, and a pair of dark eyes looking back at her, her smile is immediate, undefended, none of her normal guards coming down when she's still coming out of sleep. she stretches beneath the sheets, tensing briefly against him, and lifts her head to rest her chin on his chest, hair a mussed, wild tangle that streams down her shoulders. ] Morning.
[ he has more than enough time between that scrunch of her nose and the opening of her eyes to slip on a brief smile and let it falter away before it gets sighted. except he doesnβt put forth the effort to let it vanish, to simply fizzle out without notice. the smile remains at the sleepy gesture while he peers down to her partially still-dozing form as she pulls herself together.
fingers lazily brush her shoulders, the tips of them spinning small circles against her skin, still not fully recognizing any proper intention on waking fully. her hair bears a light fuzz, lightly from the vague combing of his traveling hand, running over the strands when heβd been caught in that peculiar in-between of dreaming and waking. ]
Morning. [ he repeats back, though his own tone is coarser, laced with deep rest still in his throat, realizing he might have lingered here even longer than he might be guessing.
still, the rush doesnβt fall over him, content to take these extra seconds, minutes, to slowly get out of that dazed state. because it might just be the result of that continued sleepiness affecting his more conscious decisions, but heβs still finding himself lulled by the position, by the weight of her pressed so warmly against his side and he knows he stands the possibility of getting closer to the acknowledgement of what it means to keep her there.
for now, he wonβt think of it as anything more than what it simply is. ] Sleep alright?
[ she's still blinking sleep from her eyes, most of their surroundings still a blur, but the closest thing to her β him β remains in her full sight and she shifts, stretches along his side again, wondering why it isn't her first instinct to pull away and start looking for her clothes instead. (never mind the fact that everything she'd been wearing last night is still downstairs.)
she'd been able to perceive the weight of him against her throughout the night, somehow sensing that she wasn't fully alone but not seeking to put more space between their bodies. she just doesn't do this, doesn't find a reason to curl up next to anyone for any prolonged amount of time, and she definitely doesn't search for an excuse to stick around in the morning either. if there's anything that she can fall back on here, it's her own selfishness β for not wanting to give up the quiet, the solitude, and honestly, he's going to take all the warmth with him when he leaves. can't have that. ]
Yeah, actually. [ she lets herself verbalize the surprise of it, the unexpectedness; his hand is a steady, constant stroke across her upper back and bare shoulders and she has to repress a sudden shiver as fingertips inadvertently tease that skin, rendered more sensitive when she's still waking up.
but she looks to him then, braces her hand against his chest, beneath her chin, and when she turns the question around on him she realizes she's actually genuinely interested in his answer. ] You?
[ he purses his lips, a gentle press of his mouth as if debating the question before he returns the answer fondly, ] Yeah, actually.
[ the surprise is shared, considering his habit for lack of sleep, for hours he attempts to lie in his bed only for his eyes to remain open for a good portion of the night. even when he finds that eventual doze, it's always interrupted, always filled with those flickers of a carousel, the echoing jabs of laughter that always transform into screeching screams. he's faced it head-on for years, accustomed to the pile of sweat he'll find himself in when he wakes, but it never softens the pain of it.
working at the diner helps, fills those later hours with something to keep his hands busy even if it's scrubbing hard at the tiles when there's a lack of customers. but this β he never found himself threatening to wake, never even had the faint imagery of those old dreams coming to tug at him. they'll return, they always do, but for now, he finds himself laying here in a small portion of peace. ]
Starving, though. [ he gives her back a firmer rub, palm rubbing over his eyes. ] Anything in your kitchen I can scrap together? [ doubtful; he's seen her fridge. had to fix it enough to know its lack of contents. ]
[ she's far too used to the patterns she's slipped into without trying β a shift at the bar either in the early afternoon or the evening, ending up back here with a glass of something dark to help her come down after so many hours on her feet, not so much slipping into sleep as passing out hard and waking up with a fuzzy tongue and bleary eyes. she'd usually either stumble through making coffee by this point or shove a toothbrush in her mouth before jamming on a pair of sunglasses, driving into town to pay someone to make the strong stuff for her, and the cycle would continue after that unless the town found itself besieged by yet another wacky supernatural phenomenon.
he's disrupted her schedule, leaving her with the compulsion to linger, to stretch out lazily in the bed and wake up to something that isn't her alarm β one she hits the snooze button on several times before finally getting up β but she still turns her face away from the sun in favor of glancing over his expression instead, dark eyes tilted downward before he rubs over them.
finally, she sits up, heedless of where the sheet falls to pool around her hips, and attempts another stretch, shoulders rolling before she tilts her head from side-to-side, removing any cricks acquired from sleeping at a certain angle. still, she's looser overall, no tightness in her joints, and she lets her hands fall down into her lap. ]
Why do you think I asked for the fries? [ she flashes him a quick grin; a trip to the mart's definitely on her to-do list, but that doesn't do them any good when his stomach's rumbling now. ]
Jesus Christ. [ his typical signal of annoyance, though it lacks any real sharpness, even if he supplies it with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, one of his arms drifting beneath his head to leave a supporting wrist there as he peers to her.
as she rises, the sheet rolls off of her skin, bare and smooth on display, but in place of any simmering fluster, there's only a flicker of adoration in his eyes, that conscious acknowledgement that she looks damn beautiful in this light, the sun fluttering in faint illuminated stripes across her body. it's a fairly nice way to wake up, dreamlike, he thinks, and his fingers caress faintly at the skin of her naked hip, not hinting at anything intentional, but simply absentmindedly still settling into this lazy morning. ]
How the hell do you even survive out here, Earp? It's farm land, right? Might need to start growing some damn crops. [ though he can't much say he sees her out there tending to fields and growing vegetables. hell, he realizes she doesn't even have a single plant in her house, leaving him to wonder if she can handle a fern in here. ] We're not eating soggy fries.
[ she narrows her eyes at him β a playful gesture that doesn't hold any significant annoyance, at least in response to his muttered remark and certainly not once he stretches out more decisively against the bed, the shift of muscle beneath skin when he lets that arm slip up to pillow behind his head. it's a sight she can't help but appreciate, gaze flickering down the length of him for a few seconds.
this is supposed to be way more awkward than it is right now. she'd fumble through an excuse while hurriedly attempting to retrieve her clothes, attempt some bullshit about calling him later, remain unable to locate her bra and have to go without for her latest walk of shame, wynonna earp edition. but she curves back, studies him down the round of her shoulder, his fingers idle at her hip, subtly leaning into that contact while her brain tries to reboot itself. ]
Mmm. Can you honestly see me up before the sun, going into the barn to milk the cows? [ she scrunches up her nose again, visible distaste at that mental image, and shakes her head with a corresponding sway of wavy hair. ] Look, if I'd known I was going to be feeding more than one person this morning, I would've ducked into Hart on the way home from work instead of my procrastinating norm. [ that's a lie. she probably would've put it off anyway until the last possible minute, when the fridge was down to a jar of one lone pickle and a box of cold, stale pizza from peter's. ]
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she's embraced selfishness before, but not like this, not with anything that might actually matter in the long run, and even if asking him to stay technically falls under that category she can't bring herself to feel completely guilty, not when he slips away from her and drops a kiss to her forehead before promising a return.
the house is almost too quiet again, when he leaves, even if she can hear the occasional creaking floorboard that clues her into his guesstimated location; she shifts up amidst a twisting of bedsheets and then, in lieu of actually getting up at all, chooses to slip beneath them instead, scooting back to lay against the pillows with the blankets covering her. she won't fall asleep in the time it takes him to come back β hopefully β but she's too relaxed to make any greater movements.
she can hear his voice below, thanks to this place's thin walls, even if she can't make out what he's saying, that low register of his rolling up through the floor, and she allows herself a small, slow smile, savoring the lack of tension in her hips with an equally slow stretch beneath the blankets. ]
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this is an entirely new risk, this selfish decision to let this unnamed thing with wynonna simmer for a little longer, taking it minute by minute without a set decision on where it'll venture to whenever he finally does leave this house. maybe it's in knowing how messed up this town already is, in her knowledge of the bizarre and having an even more expanded history with it than he has, in her awareness of what he's already warned her regarding old scars.
perhaps he's still scrambling for excuses to secure this for as little time as it's allowed, but when he ventures downstairs, back to where it had all started there on that couch, shuffling through his jeans for his phone and shuffling through the contacts for his more recent hire, he doesn't feel guilt in bribing the part-timer to open the doors of the diner back up within the hour, promising to take over for him at a later shift (though he does shuffle back on his boxer briefs in the midst of the call, if only because he can't always be sure there won't be surprise uninvited company, whether in her place or his own apartment). after a fair bit of bargaining, he leaves his phone there on the table, amongst the empty glasses, choosing not to carry it back with him upstairs β he won't need that distraction.
marching his way back up the creaky steps, he hides a soft smile when he shuffles through the entrance of her room, watching her new position beneath the blankets, one that promotes excessive comfort and a tempting invasion of his own. quietly, he'll slide back upon the bed, this time, pinching up the sheet to slide within it with her before he lays there at her side, a casual palm stroking absentmindedly at her hip. ] Hey, you.
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this is breaking new ground for her too, and she gnaws the inside of her cheek, still wrapped up in her own serious thinking mode until that one loose board on the staircase creaks and he comes back into the room a short time after, briefs clinging to his hips and hands empty β a surprise in itself, since she would've guessed he'd keep his phone within easy reach in case he's needed sooner rather than later.
all those excuses she'd come up with for asking him to stay fly out of her head when he crawls back into bed with her, lifting the sheet up to slide beneath it and share that cocooned warmth rather than keep the sheet between them, and she tilts forward when his hand drops to her hip, inching over until she can curve into the broadest part of him, her arms tucked in against his chest. ]
So... you weren't lying about getting shot in the ass, huh? [ she'd seen the scar when he'd gotten up to make the call, a dark circle with slightly mottled edges against an otherwise lighter curve of muscle, and he's tipped onto his side, which simplifies her ability to let one hand trail down and find it, trying to estimate exactly where to touch through the briefs. ] Did it hurt more, or less?
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what he isn't certain of is whether or not they might immediately fall into sleep once they've ventured into comfortable positions. he can't guarantee his own will come fast, on account of old habits that often leave him restless, though exhaustion in his limbs does hint it might not actually be too difficult this time around. but he's surprised with the rise of her question, a brow raising up before he snorts off a small brief laugh, shaking his head as her fingers drift to the aforementioned injury. ]
Might've stung a bit. [ there'd been months for the skin to heal, but even with a light press through the fabric from a curious set of fingers, he does feel the faint remnants of a throbbing, noted with a subtle scrunch of his nose. ] Had to treat it with a bottle of whiskey and the shaky hands of a 15-year old in a dingy motel. Not my best moment.
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Just a bit? [ something tells her he's underselling exactly how much pain he'd been in, but he's also got countless other scars from presumably more bullets and other weapons alike, so his tolerance for that kind of thing is probably pretty skewed by now. just the same, she keeps her hand light on him, fingertips a gentle brush over the indent where the old wound resides before her touch ascends to a point midway between his ribs. ]
I β can't scar. Not really. Not the same way. [ not that he's been able to take the time out to glimpse every freckle, every mole on her, not when they were too distracted by what happened after all the clothes had come off β but she's noted the fact that bruises, cuts, scrapes have never taken that long to heal and once they do, there's nothing that stays behind to suggest she'd even been hurt at all. ] I don't know why, it's like β ever since I became the heir, nothing seems to stick. [ A grin finds residence in her expression, mouth curving up at the corners. ] Hell, I'd settle for an ass scar just so it looked like I'd actually been in a fight for once.
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Yeah, I'd bet you'd look real cute with your little butt mark. [ he poses a tease to balance with her standard degree of humor, but his brows do knit together with her further description of her lack of scarring.
what she's said to him had been at a minimum, even if he'd known her to get mixed up with some supernatural elements fairly regularly, but he hadn't come to realize that she might fall under that category herself. still, the description fits, because for as little as he's been able to observe her body more closely, only just now getting a closer look when his mouth had venture down across it, more focused at the time on coating those patches of skin with a trial of kisses, he had taken note of the smoothness along a silky surface, no marks or hints to tell him silent stories of her extended history.
he draws his hand up, palm curving over her shoulder gently as his thumb strokes over the bone, his eyes softly gazing upon the surface there, stretched skin across her collar. ] It just heals on its own?
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You could help me out with that. [ she flashes a smirk in his direction, trying to keep the conversation on the lighter end even while she senses it moving faster than she can keep up with. ] How 'bout I roll over and you just take a big ol' chunk out of it with your teeth?
[ but there's information he doesn't have yet, even if he's gotten smaller pieces here and there, already found out about peacemaker and why she has it, but not necessarily why she carries it. a soft sigh precedes her slowly pushing herself up to face him, propping her weight on an elbow as his hand gently tracks the shape of her bare shoulder. ] When I told you I was Wyatt's heir before, I β I didn't give you the whole story. Wyatt, uh, sort of found himself on the receiving end of a good old-fashioned curse before he died. Every outlaw he ever killed with Peacemaker, they're called revenants, resurrects when the next Earp in line to inherit hits their twenty-seventh birthday β and it's their job to use that gun of his to send them all back to Hell.
[ and this is the part where she usually anticipates the beginnings of an odd look, so she's already peering to his face in case one is starting to take shape in his expression. ] It's why I've got my own track record with weird. And why I can't ever seem to scar. And why, sometimes, my reflexes are sharper. Why every now and then I can toss a rev-head clear across a room without breaking a sweat.
[ she's thought about what could happen if she ever finds a way to break the curse, if she'll go back to being normal. but she'd give up all of this if it meant a chance at something good. if it meant alice's safety. ] Look, I'm no Buffy or anything, but β there's power, in what I've got. And I wasn't sure I wanted to tell you at first because I didn't want you to look at me any differently than you started to tonight.
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if there weren't so caught up in something more eye-opening, the wake of her confession giving him insight on the plentiful holes that had been left about who exactly this woman is. if she expects a shift to his expression, she receives in, a light squinting that sprouts much less confused panic and more sheer and simple curiosity. it's similar to the way he'd been left to wonder about red and his ability to hear the impossible, whispers so distant and far out of ear shot (sometimes, i think you really might just be the devil, he'd said), only to later realize it'd been a blind man to somehow pull all those miraculous feats.
he's never been heavily exposed to those elements, things far out of his understanding, but it isn't that he's entirely resistant to believing in them, either, and when she sprouts her story, connecting the lines between that gun and what she's capable of withstanding, he accepts it as she tells it. ]
Y'know, it's like I said, I don't deal with that shit much, magic and β and curses. [ maybe he's had his experiences with hell, but somehow he doubts his and hers are one of the same. ] But I know it's there. Same way this place is showing that it does. Hell, I β I turned into a damn bear, for Christ's sake. [ he huffs a breath, borderlining a chuckle if he didn't get distracted with a brief pout of his lips, dreading the memory.
his fingers tuck in at her neck, thumb gently stroking the underside of her chin. ] But whatever you can do, whether or not your skin gets all beat to shit like mine does, that doesn't change anything. [ he shrugs gently, a swipe to his lip as he briefly gazes away with a momentary thought before finding her eyes again. ] If I'm β if I'm looking at you any differently right now than I did yesterday, you know that's for a whole other reason.
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and perhaps, by filling in more of those blank spaces on her backstory, he gets her more, even if she's still stopping shy of telling him everything. there are some pieces of her life that don't even have much to do with the curse, but they've defined her as much as it has. maybe even more. but those aren't stories she wants to share while they're curled up together in her bed, while she's listening to him for once instead of spilling further.
her head tips into the path his hand takes across the side of her neck, along her jaw, and when he glances away from her it's only for a few seconds, not long enough for her to second-guess sharing anything because he's already returning to her with the assurance that it doesn't change what's transpired, the seismic shift that's occurred in the waning hours of the evening, the diverging of their relationship onto a new path entirely. the relief that floods over her is palpable, and she ducks her chin down to bite back a grin, silently impressed at his ability to make her stomach perform somersaults without any kind of warning whatsoever.
but when she inevitably brings her face to his again, her fingers curve a loose hold around his wrist, thumb nudging to his pulse, and the steadiness of it centers her too, lips pressing together like she's mulling over what she can even say in response to that. ]
You're something else, Frank Castle. [ soft, a little marveling, and she shakes her head in mild disbelief while she settles into him, not in search of yet another round but not ignoring that impulse to show him her gratitude by closing more of that distance. ] You know that?
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when he'd warned her about himself, about the things he'd done, how they might change the way she looked at him, she'd told him that none of it mattered, not when she'd already made her own determination about what kind of man he is based on what she'd seen with her own eyes. she'd assured him that whatever it was he was still keeping close to the vest (literally so) didn't need to be shared if he wasn't ready to drag out that truth β and he still isn't, knowing the weight his scars really carry, and what it might mean for them, for whatever this is if he were bring out his past into this space they've created for themselves.
it's little to do with trust β he holds more trust for her than he'd have ever guessed during those complicated first meetings of theirs β and more to do with preservation, with savoring these minutes, these hours, while they can let it last. ]
Yeah, you got that right. [ he mutters with a playful tone, a soft chuckling that does prompt a parallel ducking of his head in rhythm with her own, one that's short-lived before he finds himself peering back at her, too hypnotized by the softness in her eyes to glance away for too long.
his wrist held by hers, he doesn't draw it away, even if he does drag his fingers lip slightly, allowing his thumb to reach over her lip, a soft caress running horizontally across before he presses a light kiss, chaste but still tender, his voice rumbling a low whisper. ] But nothing quite like you, Wynonna Earp.
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she hasn't given up all of her ghosts, hasn't asked him to share those weights alongside her, to shoulder those burdens once he becomes aware of them, and she's not about to demand that of him either. she'd said as much to him before, when the pollen had infiltrated her senses and made her more susceptible to this, to the wanting of it (whatever you want to tell me, or don't, it's β that's okay), and without that in the air around them now she's finding she feels the same way about whatever secrets he chooses to divulge. something tells her he doesn't want her to bear those responsibilities either, that pain that occasionally lingers in the set of his shoulders, in how he sometimes hesitates before giving her an answer.
but for all that they're still keeping locked away, there's enough they've shared with each other tonight to carry her through β into the rest of this day, and maybe longer than that. she's never really allowed herself to think about the future in those terms, and the more time that passes while she's in his arms, the more she starts to want to.
she turns her mouth to his, a small pressing kiss, and nudges their foreheads together in the aftermath, harboring a smile with eyes closed for those few beats β and then she tucks herself into him, head resting beneath his chin, her cheek turned along his warmth. ] You were wrong, you know. First time we met, you said I wasn't gonna like you very much. [ her head tips back to his shoulder so she can glance up at him, as her voice drops to a bare whisper. ] You were wrong.
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he doesn't recall the memory at first, trying to pick apart the exact moment before it stitches together slow, the literal lack of a visual making it difficult at first to paint the scene. but he does remember that day, sitting across from her with all of his reluctance, forcing her to put in a majority of the effort towards actually working together to get out of their share predicament. ]
Yeah? [ he asks softly in return when he finds her eyes, mostly because he doesn't have a precise response for it.
there still hasn't been enough uncovered, in his opinion, for her to really cast that judgement. the endless blood on his eyes, the faults that led to his train of losses β he knows the stain they leave on him, how that discovery has always changed the way he's been perceived by other eyes (frank castle, he's a lot scarier than pete), and even if he'd shared the truth of his name, it wasn't enough to unevil the truth of his guilt, of the monster he is. she might not still like him once she finds out who he really is β or maybe he's more worried that she'll know it all and still like him anyway.
he falls quiet briefly, a slight gnawing at his lip as he peers off into a distant corner of the room where light from the window flutters casually. ] I, uh β I had my hand on the button. Back then, right when that buzzer went off, I was ready to push it for you.
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but mentioning it allows her to reflect on the chaos they'd been plopped down right in the center of, without their sight and no easily discernable way to get it back, and she smiles to recall it now, the way she'd had to basically lay out her reasons for why she, of all people, was most qualified to help him in that situation, only the conversation had soon shifted to all the trademark talking points of what could probably be described as a blind date, albeit more literal in its meaning. they'd exchanged seemingly inconsequential information, subjects like favorite movies and colors, and toward the end she remembers her hand drifting toward the center of the table to feel out the edge of her button, stopping just short of actually hitting it before their time had run out.
she's not looking at him when he speaks again, but she feels the vibration of his voice under a cheek that tenses with a smile, slightly incredulous, as if he'd managed to subconsciously pick up on what she was thinking about before saying it out loud on his end. she'll even go as far as to laugh, softly, another exhaled sound as she turns her face into his skin, a brief nudge of her nose, and then it's her turn to speak up. ]
I almost pushed mine. [ her voice stays quiet, though, reflective, fingers still moving idly along his side. ] Though I think I managed to push enough of your buttons after that to make up for not doing it the first time, right? [ and just because he's staying here with her now, as the sun slowly comes up, doesn't mean he's not at risk for her doing it again sometime in the near future. she knows what those eyerolls spell, frank. ] You know, you never did tell me what your idea of the perfect date is. Still too advanced for me?
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I didn't, did I? [ he'd forgotten about that too, the question too complicated then for him to answer without springing up some handwaved lie, which he'd voted against. but he hadn't taken her actual curiosity seriously either, though he knows when the question springs up now, it's with more genuine intrigue for an answer.
he doesn't respond immediately, letting his back simply sink into the mattress as he rolls more comfortably into it, holding her steady there against him, a set of fingers lazily drifting over her knuckles as they let wander a gentle caress over his skin. ] This. [ he realizes the cliche of the response, but his voice is so quiet, fairly relaxed, that there's nothing teasing in the tone, at all. ] It's just β shit's always been so loud. The things I see, the things I fight. That's kind of become the only thing I know how to do, long as I can remember. Even when I left the war, it just β never stopped, y'know? Like I said before, I don't β I don't know what to do when the silence comes.
[ there's more to it, he knows that. it's already more than he wants to say, but the warmth of her lets the words flow, honest on his tongue. ]
But this, I ... I feel like I'm breathing again. Like I'm remembering how to. And I guess, I just β I can't ask for something more perfect than that. [ his chest tightens, wondering if it's too much, knowing it's too much, but she's left his skin so unveiled, every core of him vulnerable for her taking, and he can't think of how to cover those corners again. so he mutters with a soft shrug, adding with a more casual air, ] That or front row tickets to a Springsteen concert.
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now, she can't imagine those events happening in any other order, but it doesn't make it any less amusing to hear the truth of his side. she'd tossed out the reference to the question she'd posed, the one he'd refused to answer, partly as a joke, her hand maintaining that casual roaming over his side before his hand covers hers. and then he supplies that response he'd left her hanging on before, and her first instinct is to laugh with the misunderstanding that he's just teasing her β before he continues and she falls quiet, stills against him.
she knows she doesn't have any concept of the violence he's seen, whatever his hands have dealt; she's seen what's been inflicted on his body but it's always the wounds that exist beyond skin-deep that are harder to shake. he's told her before about trying to cope, to exist in the silence, true peace a concept that he can't quite embrace β either because he's never been given enough opportunity to try or because he doesn't know how. she hasn't been fighting her battles as long as he has but she gets not knowing who she is without them now, or what kind of person she'll be when, or if, the curse is ended. and she gets feeling like this is the first time, in a long time, that she's been able to shut off the voice in her head trying to tell her she doesn't deserve this.
she eases up to him, working one hand beneath herself to nudge up into hovering over him as he murmurs that last part, one eyebrow quirking as she nods a few times. ] Oh, or that, huh? Well, barring the sudden appearance of the Boss here in Deerington β
[ she bends low to him, hair slipping forward over bare shoulders to grace the sides of her face, and her gaze is warm as it shifts over him, the softness of her sentence dissolving by the time that she kisses him, slow and sure. ] Maybe I can keep giving you that other part.
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but so many of those moments are consistently filled with her, her laughter, her smile, her scent, the fullness of her in his arms. as he lays here with her, that uncertainty that had lingered before about what this all could mean by the morning seems to dissolve, and what had originally felt like a halt to everything they'd come to have thus far, suddenly merely feels like a beginning to something else.
that shifting knowledge emboldens into something stronger with her answer, the press of the kiss feeling as more of a promise than a mere test. his palm coats her cheek, letting him peer up into her eyes, bright even in the continued partial darkness. ] I'd like that.
[ a promise, he thinks again, and it's nothing to do with the physical lust of it, the intimate entanglement that led him between her legs once, twice, three times; but whatever else comes with it, this comfort they can seek with confidence from one another if only for little spurts at a time whenever chaos erupts around them as this town is prone to providing.
he kisses her again to seal that, a tender caress of lips that assures her of his willingness to dive into whatever this is with her. even if he still fears, at his core, what it might mean when he's ready to let her in fully to the rest of his own demons. ]
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someday, he'll get that story. someday, she can tell him all about how the best thing she ever did in her life was to decide to have a daughter, to bring something into the world that will hopefully hold all the good parts of her and none of the worst. she won't get to see that for sure yet, though, not until it's safe enough for her to even know where alice is.
but thoughts of what lies ahead for her are fleeting in the midst of the current moment, in the comfort she's sought here with him, warmth and safety in the hands that traverse her skin and a mouth that finds hers with certainty. she kisses him again, a persisting rhythm, and then once more with a quick peck, and then tucks herself in against him again, stretching out beneath the blankets and finally letting that tiredness sink deep into her limbs, her arm a heavier weight slung across his midsection. ] Me too.
[ she yawns, briefly covering her mouth with the back of her hand, and harbors no worry in closing her eyes, his presence already assured to her at least for a little while longer as her breathing starts to slow. ] Really hope you don't snore, though, because then I'd have to rethink all of this. [ even as sleep begins to tug at her awareness, she chuckles, hugging him to her one last time before succumbing. ]
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for now, heβll bask in the hold heβs allowed, his fingers tracing over her naked back to secure his palm at her spine once she nestles closer into his chest, the warmth of her radiating over him. ] No snoring. I just drool a lot in my sleep. Cute image, actually. [ his own chuckle is a predecessor to that exhaustion finally settling in, and as the quiet replaces their banter, he knows sheβs dozed off, cycling through a small stock of thoughts before he finally drifts off as well.
he doesnβt know how long it is before he wakes, but he knows he feels rested. sunlight still flutters in through the curtains in an indication that it either might still be morning or theyβve ventured into the afternoon. he could crane his neck to get a view of the clock on the table, but his body is well curved into her, shuffled onto his side with his arms looped around her and the top of her head still pressed into his collar. somehow even still, he canβt think to move.
instead, he plants a gentle kiss atop her head, tender and lingering, fingertips tracing slow ghost lines across her back. thereβs no intention to wake her, not when heβs hardly ready to fully wake himself, but thereβs a pleasant warmth in his chest in knowing he still has her here like this even after sleep, that itβs all still continued to last even until now. ]
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and she doesn't stir, save for the occasional incoherent murmur or shifting that precedes an unconscious nuzzling into him, like she's trying to burrow closer even from the recesses of her awareness. and she doesn't dream of anything, body and mind lulled enough to let her rest peacefully throughout the morning without her stirring. there's no blaring of an alarm to wake her the way it happens normally; instead, she dimly registers a small press against her head and something light, almost ticklish trailing over her spine, gradually tugging her from sleep.
she groans softly, nose scrunching before her eyes open, and she has to take a second to remember the events of the last few hours, remember how she got here and what happened prior to that, why she has warm skin beneath her cheek and her hand pressed firm along someoneβs side, why there's a pleasant looseness in her hips.
slowly, the room swirls into focus, and when she tips her head up to be greeted with the underside of a chin, dark hair coating a formerly shaven jaw, and a pair of dark eyes looking back at her, her smile is immediate, undefended, none of her normal guards coming down when she's still coming out of sleep. she stretches beneath the sheets, tensing briefly against him, and lifts her head to rest her chin on his chest, hair a mussed, wild tangle that streams down her shoulders. ] Morning.
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fingers lazily brush her shoulders, the tips of them spinning small circles against her skin, still not fully recognizing any proper intention on waking fully. her hair bears a light fuzz, lightly from the vague combing of his traveling hand, running over the strands when heβd been caught in that peculiar in-between of dreaming and waking. ]
Morning. [ he repeats back, though his own tone is coarser, laced with deep rest still in his throat, realizing he might have lingered here even longer than he might be guessing.
still, the rush doesnβt fall over him, content to take these extra seconds, minutes, to slowly get out of that dazed state. because it might just be the result of that continued sleepiness affecting his more conscious decisions, but heβs still finding himself lulled by the position, by the weight of her pressed so warmly against his side and he knows he stands the possibility of getting closer to the acknowledgement of what it means to keep her there.
for now, he wonβt think of it as anything more than what it simply is. ] Sleep alright?
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she'd been able to perceive the weight of him against her throughout the night, somehow sensing that she wasn't fully alone but not seeking to put more space between their bodies. she just doesn't do this, doesn't find a reason to curl up next to anyone for any prolonged amount of time, and she definitely doesn't search for an excuse to stick around in the morning either. if there's anything that she can fall back on here, it's her own selfishness β for not wanting to give up the quiet, the solitude, and honestly, he's going to take all the warmth with him when he leaves. can't have that. ]
Yeah, actually. [ she lets herself verbalize the surprise of it, the unexpectedness; his hand is a steady, constant stroke across her upper back and bare shoulders and she has to repress a sudden shiver as fingertips inadvertently tease that skin, rendered more sensitive when she's still waking up.
but she looks to him then, braces her hand against his chest, beneath her chin, and when she turns the question around on him she realizes she's actually genuinely interested in his answer. ] You?
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[ the surprise is shared, considering his habit for lack of sleep, for hours he attempts to lie in his bed only for his eyes to remain open for a good portion of the night. even when he finds that eventual doze, it's always interrupted, always filled with those flickers of a carousel, the echoing jabs of laughter that always transform into screeching screams. he's faced it head-on for years, accustomed to the pile of sweat he'll find himself in when he wakes, but it never softens the pain of it.
working at the diner helps, fills those later hours with something to keep his hands busy even if it's scrubbing hard at the tiles when there's a lack of customers. but this β he never found himself threatening to wake, never even had the faint imagery of those old dreams coming to tug at him. they'll return, they always do, but for now, he finds himself laying here in a small portion of peace. ]
Starving, though. [ he gives her back a firmer rub, palm rubbing over his eyes. ] Anything in your kitchen I can scrap together? [ doubtful; he's seen her fridge. had to fix it enough to know its lack of contents. ]
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he's disrupted her schedule, leaving her with the compulsion to linger, to stretch out lazily in the bed and wake up to something that isn't her alarm β one she hits the snooze button on several times before finally getting up β but she still turns her face away from the sun in favor of glancing over his expression instead, dark eyes tilted downward before he rubs over them.
finally, she sits up, heedless of where the sheet falls to pool around her hips, and attempts another stretch, shoulders rolling before she tilts her head from side-to-side, removing any cricks acquired from sleeping at a certain angle. still, she's looser overall, no tightness in her joints, and she lets her hands fall down into her lap. ]
Why do you think I asked for the fries? [ she flashes him a quick grin; a trip to the mart's definitely on her to-do list, but that doesn't do them any good when his stomach's rumbling now. ]
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as she rises, the sheet rolls off of her skin, bare and smooth on display, but in place of any simmering fluster, there's only a flicker of adoration in his eyes, that conscious acknowledgement that she looks damn beautiful in this light, the sun fluttering in faint illuminated stripes across her body. it's a fairly nice way to wake up, dreamlike, he thinks, and his fingers caress faintly at the skin of her naked hip, not hinting at anything intentional, but simply absentmindedly still settling into this lazy morning. ]
How the hell do you even survive out here, Earp? It's farm land, right? Might need to start growing some damn crops. [ though he can't much say he sees her out there tending to fields and growing vegetables. hell, he realizes she doesn't even have a single plant in her house, leaving him to wonder if she can handle a fern in here. ] We're not eating soggy fries.
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this is supposed to be way more awkward than it is right now. she'd fumble through an excuse while hurriedly attempting to retrieve her clothes, attempt some bullshit about calling him later, remain unable to locate her bra and have to go without for her latest walk of shame, wynonna earp edition. but she curves back, studies him down the round of her shoulder, his fingers idle at her hip, subtly leaning into that contact while her brain tries to reboot itself. ]
Mmm. Can you honestly see me up before the sun, going into the barn to milk the cows? [ she scrunches up her nose again, visible distaste at that mental image, and shakes her head with a corresponding sway of wavy hair. ] Look, if I'd known I was going to be feeding more than one person this morning, I would've ducked into Hart on the way home from work instead of my procrastinating norm. [ that's a lie. she probably would've put it off anyway until the last possible minute, when the fridge was down to a jar of one lone pickle and a box of cold, stale pizza from peter's. ]
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