#(a poor excuse to draw for with golden streaks in his hair)

[heshmmity]

tongues & teeth - the crane wives

[silksaddle]

The Traveler 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!reader Western AU

Chapter summary: 1907, Old West. Talk of the Statesman gang is slowly on the rise while Jack continues to distract you from your chores, taking you on another but entirely different night-time outing. 

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, guns, mentions of alcohol and gangs, copious flirting, SMUT, oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex/piv sex, outdoor sex, thigh spanking, please pardon me for the amount of smut content in this chapter, a crumb of plot development, Jack Daniels again...

Word count: 14k (leave me alone)

A/N: gif credit to @javier-pena once again! thank you my beloved astrid! and as always, much love to my amazing friends who sent me inspo posts and listened to my anxious ramblings about god-knows-what. you are all the best and you have my heart.

Read Chapter One ~ Series Masterlist

Chapter Two: Six Shooter

Jack is spreading his half-naked body over the mattress in a contented stretch when you return to the bedroom, flustered and hot-cheeked.

“You here to take my sheets, darlin’? I must insist I keep ‘em,” he chortles, turning his bright face over the soft pillow as you attempt stripping the sheets from under him, your lungs emptying in a huff when he catches your wrist and draws you to him instead. Your body lands perfectly on top of his with your weak protest, a poor match for his irresistibly gravel-like voice and his buzzing snugness.

“You’re making my job quite difficult,” you mumble into his neck, kissing the smooth skin there although your words are much more harsh. His chest rumbles, fingers running the length of your clothed back from when he’d hurriedly laced you back into your dress, lips skimming graceful but mindless lines on your temple.

“Mrs. Adler thinks you’re doing your chores.” Jack’s palms are now ghosting over your shoulders as you prop yourself up on your elbows, taking his gaze with you as you move, and you can tell your dilating pupils are betraying the falseness of your annoyed tone when you look at his expanding chest. He takes a deep breath in, the angle of morning light catching his eyes just right to melt them into golden flecks, his dishevelled hair incurable without a bath. 

You card your fingers through, and though it’s slightly tangled, the texture is silky enough to brush through the messy state and straighten it out, just a smidge. The touch causes his eyes to flutter closed, and shimmying up his body, he leans his head back to expose his neck further, the long lines and tone popping against each other. His breath hitches when he feels your own puffing across it, his chest immobile while he waits to feel something more from you, but you don’t kiss him, don’t nip him, don’t caress him there.

“I’ve only come to take your sheets to wash them— I should already be downstairs,” you insist and he mopes, your voice softly carrying throughout the bright bedroom, limbs absent-mindedly wrapping around his firm ones until he clings to you.

“Oh,” he hums, tipping his body until you roll under him onto the no-longer-fresh sheets, landing on your back with his hands cradling your head. His handsome smile makes you forget you ever needed to take his sheets in the first place, and when he kisses you deeply, moaning low when you open up for him and his bare skin slides over you, you don’t even remember where you are. “Thought you’d wanted some more of me…”

“Mmm, Jack— she’s already a little suspicious of me,” you giggle, wriggling underneath his heavy weight and it’s a futile effort beneath his affection, his lips laying warm insistent kisses all over your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw. He’s unstoppable, whether it’s the heaviness or the happiness that makes you lie there and take it with quiet laughter as the rough skin of his cheek touches gently to yours. 

Jack is as much the sunshine of the room as the real thing, chuckling sweetly along with you and growing more pleased the louder your squealing sounds become, your fingers pulling across the bare skin of his back— he likes it too much to let you off in a timely manner.

Mrs. Adler had only just believed your excuse of a poor sleep as you’d rushed out in a tizzy with your disheveled hair and clothes, and a terrible flourish of panic had bloomed in your chest at the thought of an unchecked mark lingering on your neck. But Jack had looked you over meticulously; deft fingers had worked at the laces of your layers. And even before making it to the kitchen, two dozen kisses wet on your thighs, you’d opened the door only to find the old woman pacing about on the landing of the stairs. Slamming it shut with your back on the wood, panting in the face of confrontation, Jack snickered and peeked out for you a minute later, confirming your chance to slip out undetected.

Now finished serving breakfast, Jack once again prevents you from carrying out your tasks.

“You’ve left me with a lastin’ impression,” he rasps, eyes crinkling as he slips a hand under your skirt and the touch tickles and inspires a giddy laugh from your throat as you swat him away, at last slipping out from under him. 

“Give me your sheets, you greedy man,” you order, lifting your chin and furrowing your brow with your arm extended. Jack purses his lips and thinks, sitting up to run a hand through his dark hair, your smile growing despite yourself when it sticks up in bulky curls to leave his contented face in view. 

“These sheets have got your smell on ‘em now,” he grins like it’s his most favoured fact in his whole life, leaning back into his palms and his cock is slowly hardening between his legs as he considers his next words, “your cum is on them.”

“Jack,” you chuckle, “you’re dirty.” Inching closer to him, his joyous face turns dark when you arrive in the middle of his strong thighs extending past the edge of the bed, “Get up, please, or I’ll have you explaining why I’m behind schedule for the second time today.”

He presses up onto his feet, his gentle scent covering you as if a fleeting spell, and before any more rational thoughts occur, your hand is reaching into his unbuttoned pants, wrapping around his hard length. His head tips back, the softest growl filling your ears and he pushes his hips forward, placing his hands on your cheeks, urging your lips to slide along his as he fucks into your tight fist. It’s a sweet kiss compared to his already desperate thrusts, his cum still streaking your thighs, inside of you, outside of you, from mere hours before.

“I told you I’d come back here tonight. We’ve plenty of time to ruin more sheets.” Your whisper earns a heavy sigh expelled onto your skin, his grip sliding down to your neck and as his mouth hangs open, you nip at his bottom lip and pull it into your mouth, a tender suckle on the plush softness. He hisses as you let it go, burying his nose into the curve of your neck, and stilling his movements with your hand, he lets you work him like that— your fingers tightly curled around his cock as you slide it in and out of your palm. 

“Fuck me,” he groans, “I better see you back here if you’re gonna touch me like this, darlin’.”

Smiling, you pump him quickly, whispering how you can still feel him as if he’s fucking you right now, how good he is, how thick, and he growls from his chest, shutting his eyes tight in concentration.

“Maybe you’ll let me touch you tonight, too, Jack, leave your ropes for another time…” Your free hand clamps around the back of his neck, twirling your fingers around the hair at the nape of it, before tugging him down for a slower kiss, capturing his striking whine in your mouth.

“Shit, darlin’... I’d do anything you say right about now… Christ,” Jack’s fingers trace the neckline of your bodice as his lips skate along your cheek, and his voice is so husky and rumbly, you almost consider a greater risk of trouble.

He makes no protest as you bend carefully, still pumping his thick cock while you yank the sheet away from the mattress, pulling back to fold it into your arms and finally leaving his hard length unattended. Jack’s eyes snap open in a crushing neediness, his displeased but wrecked voice calling after you in a bid to keep you here and he laughs incredulously, “You get back here right now.”

Backing up into the door, your lip caught in your teeth, you reach behind and find the cool handle, offering a cheeky grin before you slip away and murmur, “I’m busy.”

-

A mellow afternoon follows Jack’s disgruntled exit to the fractional post office, stealing a rushed kiss in the corner of the parlour for the mere seconds you were alone together, giddy glances spared through the window on his walk to work. You spend a small segment of your time concocting tea for Mrs. Adler who pours over the payment book, thanking you as she slides a list across the bar; it’s full of all things you know to do without the help of paper and pencil.

“How about that Mr. Daniels?”

Spluttering, you swivel on your heel, unsure of the intention of her question, your eyes mistakenly blowing wide with no answer to fill the subsequent silence. She must know, you worry, she must.

“What about him?” You query, looking down at your apron in no need of smoothing, yet your hands fiddle with the pockets, and her amused scoff scrapes through your uneasy stance.

“My, you’d better sleep well tonight... that man whipped those fools down in a second,” she laughs, flipping the page of the large notebook and scribbling something down with a spotted, shaky hand. 

“He did.” Wiping your face, you conceal a sliver of a smile under your hand when you think of him— ease and cockiness burned down to his big pleading eyes looking up at you for permission. “Thought you disliked him.”

“Well, I could admit we need someone like that around here more often,” she croaks as you pretend to look over the list of laundry, sweeping, cooking, cleaning. The sentiment lands somewhere uncomfortable in your chest— you no more than agree with her and you could never tell her why or how.

“Oh, and dear, the sheriff came by this morning,” she adds, relaying his spiel of reports.

Only the most notable happenings make it over from town to town, lawlessness rendering crime nothing more than irrelevant. It takes a mass robbery, or a mammoth fire, or an offense so deeply doused and coloured red in rage to make the rounds of neighbouring settlements, so when Mrs. Adler shares the spreading news of heightened gang exploits a little ways north, your heart sinks and adopts a painfully heavy sensation.

“He advises to be extra careful,” she finishes with a stern look, “they could be coming here for all we know. Those Statesman men are horrible…”

“Statesman?” you echo her words, scouring the back of your mind to place the familiarity of that name, but she smiles in return to soften your worried brow. Statesmen, a Statesman. You’d read it somewhere, embellished into leather or stitched into the label of a visitor’s coat while tidying.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. If anything, girl, that Daniels boy should be of use.”

A challenge not to snicker, she gives you, when she tells you not to fuss, as if you’ve got the liberty to enjoy the outdoors where a vigilant attitude is required— but Jack is the remedy, you think, eyeing the stray strands of her brittle grey hair twisted up, scrunching your nose.

“Alright, Mrs. Adler,” you agree, passing her through to the laundry closet.

The air is stuffy inside the small, shelved room, where pleasing, cooling, tiny splashes pepper your forearms as you pour the water bucket into one of the tubs, then grabbing the soap, you flump onto the short stool and drag the laundry basket to your side. The first sheet on the pile is the last one you’d taken— Jack’s— carrying his heady and wood-fiery scent now mingled with yours. With a vibration of anticipation up your spine, your thoughts twirl upon your admittedly cruel handling of his need— tonight, you’re surely in for it.

The usual, slowly passing and hot hours fill with inescapable reveries toeing the line of unrealistic: a cloudy day in bed, a sunny evening at the river, clothes discarded to the side. Shaking those heart string-stretching thoughts and trading for a better focus, you hang the wringed sheets on the line as the last blazes of the sun spread over the field, and take a moment to rest your elbows on the log fence at the back of the yard overlooking the vast, lush area. 

Something heavy, once more, tugs at your weary limbs, watching the calm breeze push along the beige blades of plant-life, and you think of Sylvie— her bright mane and soothing demeanor, the rush of riding with her and him. The thrill no longer chased, waiting for you still. There must be a few months worth left of him, two at the least, perhaps enough to soothe your aching heart in seeking more vibrant days. But before too long, you set back on your course of chores, trekking up to tidy the bathing rooms for those coming back from a dirty day.

Jack finds you there an hour later in the open door, kneeling on the floor by the bathing tub, scrubbing away at its already-shiny exterior, and he smiles under the sticky and sweaty clothes, watching the way your body jostles with movement.

“Hey, cruel woman.”

Halting, your head briefly hangs between your shoulders before you sit back on your heels and grin up at him, his weary feet leading him towards you, a set of clean clothes hanging off his arm. His shirt is sheer in some places more than others, namely his chest, damp with muscular effort. 

“Did you have a hard day, Jack?” You question, making big eyes at him from your low spot compared to his tall height, and his face grows slightly stern.

“Oh, darlin’, you know I did,” he kneels, takes your chin in his hand and you find yourself leaning up into his face, mere inches from his lips, entranced by their pouty curve. But he doesn’t kiss you. He pinches your chin harder, a deep pressure as he looks over you, taking in the way you indulgently advance until you’re on hands and knees, caged by his own, staring at him with none of the power you held this morning.

“You oughta continue what you started…” he whispers almost on your lips, never close enough to touch, your eyelids heavily drooping as you look down his torso, leading to his cock.

“Oh,” you sigh, slick pooling where he can’t see or feel it, “Jack, I can…” 

You crawl forward between his spread legs until your nose nudges the material of his pants, resting your weight back on your knees when you reach out for him, but his face is a sinister, knowing grin when steadily rises back up to stand, rocking into his heels.

“Not now, though,” he coos, swiping a damp thumb over your lip, “off you go, little lady.”

“Why—”

Whining involuntarily, you watch while he shrugs off his suspenders and closes his eyes, fluttering back open with a smirk at Mrs. Adler’s distant call for you to prepare dinner.

“That’s why.”

Your mouth hanging open, you roll your eyes, taking his calloused hand as he aids you upward from the hard floor, though he finally gives you a greeting of a peck on the cheek, “Later, angel, you can show me what you’ve been thinkin’ about all day.”

Nudging your body, he sends you off to your chores in a frazzled state and shuts the door with a wink, settling in to wash himself off from the dust and dirt.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so needy, it nearly feels stupid to still have the crushing weight of wanting Jack as you chop ingredients, peek into cupboards, fill plates. It’s even worse when he sits at the table, clean and fresh and irresistibly smooth, chatting in easy conversation with Mrs. Crockett who enjoys his company dearly as she tells him uninteresting stories of her husband. 

He watches your back as you turn about the steps, as you pass along plates to each person, and he brushes his fingers purposely along yours when you arrive at his spot, a gesture to offer his silent token of appreciation. Your breath catches, and his wink sets it free again through a quiet sigh, smiling sweetly for him. He tries not to laugh, you notice, and you stop yourself from touching his shoulder here in front of everyone— namely Mrs. Crockett, who has also made a poor reputation of gossip and a budding friendship with Mrs. Adler who is closest to her in age. The last thing you can manage is a rumour about your little life; by that point you’d be begging Jack to take you with him even before the post office is built, even with so much left to explore with him.

As the chitter-chatter diminishes down to an empty table with empty plates, and the visitors disperse into corners or run off to different buildings— they always come back for dinner to get their money’s worth— you sort out the dried laundry, slipping into the ladies’ rooms to aid with corsets, all with distant thoughts in a place where they shouldn’t be. They never ask about your day so much as they speak of theirs, whether time spent with their sweetheart, telling you how they prefer their things folded, or muttering how much they liked dinner. The last one you take lightly, thanking the ladies in whispers. Now, though, it doesn’t cause as much of an ache in your heart when you listen to their free and happy memories— you think of doing the same with Jack, of asking him and receiving his sweet smile in return, ready if you are.

When you finally sit at your simple vanity, it’s with a powerful sigh that you remove your boots, step out of your clothes, and trade them for your nightgown. You pull the threaded pink ribbon taut into a bow, and look over yourself in the mirror, giddy in your stomach for when the time comes to slip into Jack’s room. Judging by the clock, another half hour would do to be sure everyone has settled in so you can sneak in complete privacy, and it feels less daunting now than it ever did before.

Folding your petticoat to lay the soft cotton on the tabletop, you hear the handle click and turn and you gasp fiercely in response, rising from the chair as Jack all but barrels in, haphazardly shutting the door before swooping you into his arms.

“Oh, my—” you squeal, cut off by a rough kiss that you eagerly return, bombarded with the scent of his soap and shaving cream. You only urge him off with your hands sneaking between your bodies to press on his chest and ask a burning question, his lips not wanting to part from you. It’s a tiny struggle but he eventually gives way, fondly looking down at you as you speak. “Did anyone see you?”

“Hall was empty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ of you… lost my damn patience,” he croons, plushy lips open on your neck, leaving kisses that bloom into pleasant flourishes of need like ink dipped into water. It’s a new spot that you allow him to explore, bringing your hands up his wide shoulders as you turn around the room together, stepping at random. “Had to keep from touchin’ myself and dreamin’ of you…”

You wrap your arms around his neck, reeling him in closer for a whisper against the shell of his ear.

“You don’t have to dream, Jack, I’m here.”

His breath stutters uncharacteristically and it must be your chance to keep him like this, his pleasure dependent on what you decide to do with him— so you pin your front to his and he grunts, giving a miniscule, testing rut back.

“No more teasin’?” he asks hopefully, sweet brown eyes glowing in the low light of your little lamp. “You weren’t so nice this morning…”

“Oh, Jack, I’m not so sure about that.”

In a mirror of the morning, you slip your hand lower to find his cock hard again, splaying your fingers over its thick length and rubbing over the fabric. He squeezes your waist, digging his thumbs in helplessly as he staves off a groan in a bid to keep what willpower is still left with him, then loses it all when you place a simple kiss to his collarbone, not open or rough or wet— just plain, pressed lips to his skin, and he asks you for more.

“Will you let me touch you this time?” you murmur, urging him backward onto the bed. He slumps over the mattress, eyes trained on your face as he places himself further up with his legs spread, palms sinking into the covers. He swallows thickly when he takes you in: standing over him in the sheer, light fabric of your nightgown, its lace edges bordering the slopes of your body.

“I want you in my mouth,” you continue, lowering yourself to your knees, hands over his own as he shuts his eyes and breathes deep, long breaths, grunting when he feels your fingers working at his buttons. “Think I’ve earned it.”

“You could ask me for anything you want, darlin’... shit—” His thighs tense under your ministrations as you reach in and pull his cock out, the tip of it shining in his own, generous arousal. He looks down from himself to your sparkling eyes, and cups your cheek in his large hand, its smoothness traveling down the curve of your face. “Anything you want.”

His lip twitches, mouth falling delicately open and his eyes shutting once more as you place your tongue flat at the base, licking upward, circling around the head while you watch his face strain and pull, his neck sticking out prominently. He’s gorgeous when you touch him like this, still so fresh and clean from the bath. The warm drips of precum glide slowly on your tongue as you hold it out, then wrap your lips around him, whining when he fists through your hair and cramps his fingers.

“That mouth is just about gonna kill me already,” he rasps, bucking his hips up a smidge to perch himself deeper in your mouth, your hand rising to cover his at the base of your neck. Its heat is dangerous yet satisfying in its revelation of just how affected he is, a tiny spot of sweat swiping from his palm onto your neck.

Blinking up at him, you pull off, wetly sliding over half the length of him before moving back down to take more, feeling it brush against the back of your throat. You keep him there as he squeezes you harder, his spine curling over you and the new sound he makes is just begging to be heard, but he smothers it with a bite of his own lip to quiet it.

“Like that…” he sighs, carefully canting his hips forward as you wrap your fingers around his base, enveloping him and spreading the wetness of your mouth over his entire length.

He glistens like that, shimmering in the low and golden light, fisting at the blanket and your hair, puffing focused breaths every time you take him deeper, longer, sucking him harder.

Up and down, you keep your lips wrapped snugly around his cock, its throbbing heft a pleasurable weight on your tongue, the satisfying hit of the head at your throat.

“Where have you fuckin’ been,” he nearly laughs in disbelief that you’re even here, much less on your knees, much less with your mouth around him.

Pulling off for a deep breath, you trace the edges of your nightgown, eyeing him and his debauched, handsome face as you bring the lacy straps off your arms, leading them from your wrists. “I’ve always been here.” 

The fabric gathers at your waist in a soft pool of cotton and ribbon, your chest bare and level with his cock.

“Do you like that, Jack?” you preen, settling closer to him this time over the hard and truthfully painful floor— you don’t notice it as much when you feel him hitting that spot all the way down your throat.

“You know I do,” he smiles breathlessly, crinkles and that little dimple creasing in his content face. He leans down for a kiss, its nature unlike the urgency of your own mouth wetting his cock— it’s always sweet like he is to you in every other way, lingering there before you lean into the space between his legs, eager.

“I wanted you all day,” you coo, running a thumb over his tip, a saturated kiss placed there before you put him in your mouth for a brief suck, managing to keep him inside for a few short seconds. “I should have felt so tired after what you did to me, but all I could think of was this.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, he then lets it go in a gravelly sigh as he holds your bobbing head in his hands, spanning the sides of your face. Your forehead brushes his soft stomach as you push down, hollowed cheeks hugging every inch of him and he jolts, driving himself the smallest bit further, moaning at the tight and wet sensation of you. You pump him, looking so falsely innocent between his legs, your chest and shoulders bare for him to admire, peeking out of the fine gown.

“Keep goin’ darlin’, I’m gonna fill that pretty mouth up... know you want it down your throat, bet you thought about havin’ my cum drippin’ from your mouth all day, too, hm?”

Licking the tip and rubbing him faster, you nod fervently, opening wide in a stretch to finish him off with firm squeezes and strokes, his breaths now raggedly rough from above you every time he hits that spot. Your mouth is hot on his skin and he warns you he’s going to cum soon, he’s going to fill your mouth up nice and good, and you shut your eyes tight in concentration, focused on the thick feel of him sliding in and out between your lips.

“Wanna see you when I fill you baby doll, c’mere n’ look at me.” Jack’s fingers brush the underside of your chin, and you strain to look upward before you slide your hand over his slick cock. He tenses up by another degree, his chest and forehead damp, throat straining as he swallows thickly. 

A final squeeze and he cums all over your extended tongue, the milky liquid sliding off and onto your chest as he moans through gritted teeth, dazed as you are as you both watch it drip all over your exposed half. You swallow what remains in your mouth, letting your jaw drop to show him your now clean slate.

Bending into you and still panting, he smiles, streaking his thumb down your chin to gather up what’s left, guiding it into your open mouth. Heart racing, you take it in, your enthusiastic glow causing his face to soften.

His gaze drifts south to linger on your glimmering chest, pressing his palm flat and firm into the slight pool of it. He paints you with it, spreading his cum all over each breast with a clear sheen from the separation, special attention granted to each nipple with a flick of his wet thumb. Its initial warmth has cooled and with it lingers a soothing cover over your front as you lay your cheek over his knee, toying with the worn laces of his boots.

“Now… how to thank my darlin’ girl and her perfect fuckin’ mouth…” Jack wonders aloud as he cups your cheeks in his hands and puts a contrasting, innocent kiss to your forehead.

Grinning up at him and placing your hands over his, you tell him that’s all you wanted to give him, all you needed was to finally feel him in your mouth.

“Well,” he whispers, “I wanna show you what I was thinkin’ about all day long.”

The spark in your eyes must be a blinding one, his hands gliding over the slope of your body as you work yourself back onto your feet, your knees throbbing and sore. Wincing, you balance yourself on his broad shoulders, glancing down to notice his eyes not relieved of their dark hunger.

“Jack, you’re…”

“Not done, angel,” he finishes for you, and that’s when you feel it, the slick dripping past your core to spread slightly down your squeezing thighs. He pushes his sleeves up as the corner of his lip tugs upward too, straight teeth glinting the same as his eyes.

“Your turn, then,” you murmur, parting his hair through your fingers. It falls back into place, his pillowy and gentle lips finding yours as he stands with you, always chasing you, waltzing you backward until your ass bumps against the thick windowsill.

“I was choppin’ wood, thinkin’ of settin’ you right here,” he confesses lowly, ensuring the curtains are drawn completely open with a quick swipe of his hands over the gauzy lengths previously covering the glass, “thinkin’ of fuckin’ you on my fingers like this.”

You situate yourself properly on the sill and he steps back, taking a comically focused once-over of your seated body, but the desire is still so thick it doesn’t even bring you to laugh when he hurriedly comes back to you. He spreads your thighs wide, his palms a fiery heat that couldn’t be further from where you want it.

Tugging at his collar, you reel him in to place an open kiss just under his ear. “Give it to me how you want.”

The glass cools the staggering temperature on your skin as he knocks you into it, your back sticking to its chilly surface in the midst of his swirling breaths, ghosting the edges of your shoulders before he hikes your thighs up higher to his waist.

“You ready for me?” he murmurs with a husky voice, and it’s a powerful shock from your head to your toes, seeing how easily he’s worked back up to needing you as he lowers a hand to your core. His fingers part you, a slick and effortless slip through your folds to your entrance. “Darlin’... you’re soakin’ my hand already. Did suckin’ my cock do all this to your sweet little cunt?”

A hushed, restrained sound tears from you and is quieted by his mouth covering yours when he rubs his calloused fingers over your clit, rasping those low words sweetly into you, nipping your bottom lip between his teeth as the digits travel lower. The arousal dripping from your cunt makes that first slide so easy, Jack bottoming out to his knuckles with a soft sigh. His stomach nearly touches your own still covered by the bunched nightgown and he pauses there, a reassuring squeeze to your side and then a smooth gracing of his free hand to hold your thigh tight to himself.

“This is where I’ve wanted to be,” he confesses, his nose drawing a line from your shoulder, delicately down to your chest as he bends and swipes his tongue broadly over your sensitive nipple. The signals from your brain to your muscles are jumbled now, feeling the heat of his wet tongue tasting the cum on your chest— it’s out of your control when you arch your back into him and whine, when your fingers tangle into his hair and tug.

He responds in a groan, licking across your skin to your unattended nipple which he suckles on gently, lapping at it. Jack curls his two thick fingers before straightening out to kiss you fleetingly on your lips; he parts and watches your eyes intently, a stray curl falling to hang between his brows.

“So full already, hm?” he teases, his thumb swiping slow patterns on your clit, and you lean further back into the glass with a pant, its surface no longer able to cool you down.

“Yes,” you manage to respond in a gasp as he grants a second, deeper hit, a slight slapping sound causing you both to hug each other tighter and chuckle.

“Tight, sweet thing,” he groans, extended curls and strokes stretching you wholly around his hand, “take my fingers just right. Is that it, darlin’, were you made for me to fill you?”

“Mm,” you suck in sharp breaths, “mhm, you fill me up, Jack, you fill me up so good.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, and his chin hooks onto your shoulder, digging into it hard as he holds you with one toned arm snaking around your waist. Like this, your damp chest brushes his, his fingers pump and work you open another smidge wider as he pushes in, grinds his palm against your clit, pulls his fingers out a fraction of the way. The motions of his hips against his own wrist are gentle, unhurried for now, having already cum into your slack mouth.

With the flat of his free palm caressing your back through soft strokes, he draws his lips back and forth over the curve of your neck.

“You know what I see?” he asks, urging his knuckles deeper in the hardest plunge he's given you tonight, an agonizingly fiery touch to your clit. “Men, walkin’ around all dumb— could see me fuckin’ you right here on my hand if they’d just look up— shit, they got no clue I’m feelin’ the wettest little pussy, huh?”

“Fuck, Jack,” your nails dig into the lean and muscular bulge of his biceps as he keeps you upright against the glass, your thighs squeezing him so close he can hardly fuck you anymore— he just rubs and grinds his hand against you while remaining far inside your aching pussy, soaking his already drenched fingers with more slick.

“And only I’m gonna watch you cum,” he adds in a grunt, working himself into you with every last drop of energy he’s saved, his soft moans and sharp teeth spurring you closer to coming all over his perfect fingers. You might have gone longer if not for the irreversible, desperate need for him that sucking his cock had instilled in you— had you nearly dripping onto the floor, your body left unimaginably sensitive that each time he brushes up against you now, you dig deeper into his skin. He likes it though, and it makes him move with a crazed edge, his moans transforming into snarls.

“Only you…” you echo, starting to grind with him yourself, rolling into and meeting his short, fast thrusts, every muscle tensing and straining and it’s so close, almost there—

“There you go, doll, can feel you squeezin’ me so tight… cum on my hand, fuckin’ soak me, c’mon…”

“Jack, Jack I’m gonna—” Urgently, you tap at his shoulder with wide eyes and worried brows as you feel it start to happen, knowing how close you are to crying— your nails dig into his shoulders so intensely when you cum, jaw dropped and eyes shut and he makes a wincing yet completely pleased noise into your mouth; it’s cruel. You manage not to make a peep at the cost of losing large breaths, and it makes your orgasm all the more intense: light headed, woozy, and tingling numbness reaching the length of your body.

“Sweeter than fuckin’ honey when you do that,” he smiles widely, until his mouth drops fully open at the way you hug his hand inside from coming so hard around him. Your slick gathers between your thighs and you still can’t breathe, his face buried into the spot under your jaw as he pulls them out of you, dragging the pads up to your clit while the rest of it spreads throughout your folds. He stares down at it, at the wetness dripping and glistening from your core, and he groans again, blinking slowly.

Placing his palms on the sill by either side of your trembling figure, he hums, your smile against his skin buzzing at his insatiable drive, how he’d fucked your mouth and your pussy with such short rest, feeling the damp hair at the back of his neck. He drops his head down as an offering and you take him in a gentle cradle, kissing his forehead as he’d done to you while he nestles. He looks up and back down, waiting for another, your fingers smoothing the unruly hair from his face.

“Hell, if I don’t wanna fuck that pretty pussy every night till I die,” he exhales, another glance at his wet fingers, dropping a kiss to your collarbone.

“Oh, Jack,” you laugh, your heels hitting the wall underneath you, “if only you were here for that long.” 

His face scrunches a little in confusion before his lips curve, “How many times do I have to remind you I ain’t leavin’ so soon?”

“As many times as it takes,” you whisper, fingers scratching down his arms, his own dipping into your cunt again without a warning, “fuck—”

“Yeah, baby doll,” he croons, “I got somethin’ to prove to you still?”

You nod with a greedy smirk and he retracts his fingers, taking them into his mouth after drawing a line between your breasts to taste your mingled releases, moaning in your ear. “Go n’ get on the bed. You’re gonna ride my face.”

A shiver chills your spine, mainly at the way his voice has dropped a miraculous third time, his hand landing a light swat on your ass when you pass him, shaky legs taking you toward the mattress. He follows to lay on his back, perpetually pleased with himself, arms outstretched and beckoning you forward. You crawl up to him and you can feel your own cum streaking your thighs as you move, soon beside his large body, and he raises his brows impatiently, “Well go on, sugar, I wanna taste some more of that.”

Stretching his neck every which way, his eyes crinkle as he grins between your thighs while you throw one over his shoulder and his arms fall behind him, fingers searching for yours until he laces them together, squeezing.

“You’re not tired yet, old cowboy?” you tease lightly, the force of it lost when he gives a broad swipe of his tongue and moans yet another time, indulgently, swallowing the remnants of your previous release.

“I ain’t ever gonna tire of this,” he replies, another lick from your entrance to your clit, such an easy slip of the muscle, your sensitivity dialed up too many extra notches. His brows knit together in effort, rough cheeks pleasantly scratching on your skin when he moves his head side to side, tongue hanging out of his mouth and edging with a perfect pressure all over your sensitive bud.

“I’d hope not,” you exhale, grinding your hips over his wet mouth until his grip moves to your thighs to prevent you from moving. His eyes look up at you keenly as he closes his lips around your clit and sucks, your head tipping in silent rapture as you take it all for him without the relief of motion. 

“We go real nice together,” he grumbles into your slick center. Tightening the hold of your thighs, he laves his tongue all over you in focused circles, faster, with just enough force for your legs to start shaking around his handsome face, for another gush of arousal to spread over his swollen lips. All that’s left for you to handle it is to scream it out, how good he makes you feel, how precious, but the house is so silent and only you can hear the slick sounds of his mouth on your clit— he won’t even let you rub yourself over him. You can only bite your lip and hold your breath, yet little puffs and moans sneak out when he does something unforeseen, like a single bite on your thigh or a gentle nip to challenge you— it’s all on purpose and easily noticed by his gratified face.

He tugs your clit a short, miniscule distance and lets it go, shaking his head when you mope over the loss of contact.

“Are you tryin’ for me, sugar?”

“You’re being tough on me,” you whine, shimmying further up his body to regain his lips that are brightly shining.

“If I ain’t tough then it ain’t right,” he whispers, “stay still and quiet for me and I’ll take you out again.”

He tips his head down and forward, swiping his prominent nose to spread you further open, but you don’t even consider the promise of a gift, your focus on the return of his soaked tongue to your throbbing core, biting hard on your lip to quell the need to cry.

“Is my darlin’ gonna come? You gonna cum all over my face? Gimme another one, dolly.” His mouth latches back onto your clit and you can’t think, much less form an answer in your blank head where all you see is white, or maybe blinding stars, or just plain nothingness as you let go, his moustache wet with you, his lips dripping.

By some miracle, the scream you fend off becomes so high pitched in your throat that nothing makes it out of you save for the helpless cry of, “Jack!” as you tremble around his cheeks.

“Yes,” he grunts, and thank goodness it’s muffled by your soaking core; your fingers finally escape his hold to grip at his hair with a fierce, unforgiving tug, and that softer sound fills the room again while your body freezes up and you cum harder this time, covering him, coating him. He grumbles something again, but it’s nothing you could hope to make out in the crushing wave of pleasure that hits you— the light sensation does not leave you, though the shaking eases off as Jack places a tender kiss to your clit, and you jolt at just that velvet brush, his eyes turning sympathetic. You breathe deep, slumping with great exhaustion and the dazed happiness of having him in your room now as you lift your thigh from his body and he leans his head up to grant a quick kiss while it slips away from him.

“Knew you could be quiet,” he smiles under the shine of your second release, resting his arms open over the blanket to welcome you into them.

“As if you don’t make it hard.” Huffing, it’s with a reciprocal smile that you crawl back to him, nearly toppling over on your way with the weakness of his own power against your body, and he chuckles at you, not shying away from his joyous teasing when you throw him a half-glare.

“Did I wear you out again?” he questions, guiding you into his side, turning his body over yours to swipe his tangy tongue over your bottom lip.

Whimpering, it turns into a cheerful giggle as he drops pecks over your nightgown, wrapping his finger around the tail of the ribbon. 

“You just keep going, don’t you, Jack?” you cup his face in your hands, and it’s now that he adopts a sheepish expression, turning his eyes away to tilt his neck and kiss your stomach once more.

“Until you ask me to stop, darlin’.” He lends two more kisses, one to each breast, and then gathers the straps of your nightgown from the pooling of fabric underneath your chest, tenderly helping your arms through the holes. You admire him quietly as you sit up to ease the gesture, letting his fingers guide the intricate lace edges back to your shoulders. He pats the cotton down to smooth it, your thumb stroking over his left eyebrow. His hands pry under you to wrap his arms around your middle, his cheek resting over your belly as you scratch through his dark hair. 

“I think you’re softer than you realize,” you whisper, twirling a lock around your finger and he peeks up, the apples of his cheeks rising in a twinkling smile.

“I can shoot a gun a million times but I sure don’t like it more than kissin’ you,” Jack coos, tickling up your sides and swatting away your protesting hands until you make an involuntary squeak and his eyes widen, hurriedly covering your mouth with his own. You titter over his smooth lips, his weight pinning you as he opens his mouth, taking more. “I’d think I’d have sold my soul to the devil to end up here with you if I didn’t know any better.”

You let the next bubbling ripple of affection take over you when he whispers that with his gleaming eyes, and you kiss him three more times, each slower than the last.

He rests there for some time, indulging in the carding of your fingers over his scalp, and he ensures you’ve drifted off before he rises in search of a cloth. He finds a green one folded by your petticoat, his fingers briefly dragging across its white lace before he dips the cloth in the small dish of water left beside it. He crawls back up beside you, lazily yet with careful attention guiding it under your slip and over your breasts, relieving you of the stickiness. You stir but don’t wake— his touch is too light, yet still unlike a feather— he cleans you off, sets the cloth back in its spot, and resumes his position, nestled up next to you.

-

Sneaking into Jack’s room— or him into yours— becomes a habitual routine after the goodnight click of Mrs. Adler’s door, though you often find yourself with an early visitor with eyes too bright and a needy little grin on his face. It follows his giddy lips on your neck hours before in scarce moments of isolation from other guests, or after he’s stared too long across the bar, and to ease the tension, he’ll ride to take Sylvie to stretch her legs, a sympathetic look on his face at the door knowing you can’t join.

And he wears you out. Nightly. A simmering threat to your timeliness in the morning that you can’t let go of. A single time, he’d taken the sheets with him in a rapid roll onto the floor as Mrs. Adler knocked and knocked outside, calling for you to rise, until she barged in and the thump had to be blamed on yourself, standing in your disheveled chemise. Her shifty eyes become less of a fear in your head and more of a laughing stock, though not as much as Jack was in his stupid course of action to thump on the floor behind the side of the mattress, taking the blankets, too.

His dignity is not lost, though, each time you press on him about it— his grip tightens over your thighs as you straddle his lap, feeling the impression of his leather settling into your skin.

A rare clump of clouds settles over town the following week, lingering long enough to darken this evening further and forcing an early lighting of the lamps inside, a cozy glow over the hectic and crazed state of the bar.

“Let’s not slack, dearie,” Mrs. Adler sings in her urgently high-pitched voice as you handle the treacherous beast of the card game hours, handling too many requests for the strongest liquor from the cabinet, working your wrists as you open new bottles and impatient sighs crumble out of overworked throats.

Jack glances at her, a rapid flick of his angry eyes as he sets his glass of whiskey down, furrowing his brows in obvious disagreement with her words.

“She’s doin’ fine,” you hear him grumble, and you don’t have it in you to turn and face him to offer your surely-silencing glare, and without it he continues, “think we could offer a little patience.”

Chest fluttering, you shut your eyes with a bothersome huff, setting your hands flat over the counter as you wait for Mrs. Adler’s response, and the other men waiting at the dining table chat over things well beyond you, another fleeting mention of the Statesmen— but Jack remains silent along with her, and you can already picture the way he must be maintaining a hard stare at the old woman to leave her increasingly frazzled.

“My girl does this every day,” she states primly, blocking his view of your back with her own body after an uncoordinated waddle, “you keep out of it.”

Jack scoffs, soft but pointed, the wood groaning under the slide of his glass as he moves it aside, “If you cared to notice, ma’am—”

Spinning on your boot, away from the assortment of glasses set over the counter in their stage of finishing touches, you raise a hand, his first name almost slipping out until you choke on the unspoken word, widened eyes earning a mirrored expression from Jack, “It’s alright, Mr. Daniels,” you soothe, and his smirk is much too telling in his amusement of your spluttering, that you’d called him the old, proper name.

Mrs. Adler huffs a victorious breath as she checks over the full and heavy tray, granting approval while you giggle at Jack’s silly face made behind her back, followed by a wink of his eye. 

He closes his eyes as Mrs. Adler finally limps off into her study— what she achieves in there he does not know— and watches you with affection and a warming dose of admiration in his stomach as you handle the tray, setting down shining crystal glasses on the table, a soft smile on your face as the youngest card player offers his thanks. They rarely ever do.

“You look real nice,” he drawls as you round the counter, his elbows sliding along the surface as he leans in, all sparkling eyes and teeth with his wide grin as he follows your steps. “I think I’d like to get my hands on—”

His words fall away to a whisper as you shake your head in feigned annoyance, the laughter stealing your breath as you lean opposite him, taking in the sly look on his face and the pull of his shirt across his shoulders. His hand reaches for yours, tentatively, and you’re powerless against the sweet touch on your fingers as he traces them out, pulling your palm into a bed of his two hands. 

You watch as his eyes set on the random patterns he draws, eyelashes curling against his face every time he blinks, your conscious mind soon oblivious to your placement in relation to the large group at the dining table— but it doesn’t matter. They’re as absorbed in their gambling as you are in his focused touch and feel, your heart an obnoxious flutter when he smiles up at you, a perfect mix of kind and sultry darkness. 

“I’d like to get my hands on you,” he murmurs, those repeated words spoken lower this time and with a twinkle, raising the back of your hand to his lips. A gentle press, your eyes locked together in a soft gaze to match, and he gives you back your hand as the spell of slowed-time is broken by a shocking round of cheering from the group behind you both.

With a subdued grin, you ease yourself away from the magnetic pull of your lips to his, “You’ve always got your hands on me.”

“And in,” he huffs, stifling a snicker at the fifth roll of your eyes today, watching the ends of your tied apron’s ribbon swing around over the length of your skirt. 

“You’d better find something to do in the meantime, or I’ll be asking Mrs. Adler to send you off herself.”

Jack shudders in a fake paddy of fear, the miniscule shakes of his body diminishing the sooner he realizes the severity of your words, and he merely chuckles. “Why’d you want to get rid of me?”

The pleading pull of his face and the wide and warm eyes he gives are somehow not enough to stop you from gesturing your head towards the pile of dirty dishes from dinner, waiting beside the basin. “You’re distracting.”

“Sweetpea, I’m ‘fraid that’s what you’ve got yourself caught up in,” Jack rests his chin in his palm, eyeing the clearing weather outside, “if you insist on woundin’ me, I think I’ve got a horse who needs to go for a ride, and a little lady who’ll have to join us next time…”

“I’ll see you later, Jack,” you whisper, rounding the edge of his ear with your fingers, easing his hair back into place and he adopts a light blush— softer things always more efficient in pausing his heartbeat than harsher things— and he grabs his hat left to the side of him, placing it over his head and bidding you a caring goodbye, “Miss me, darlin’.”

-

Once the room has cleared at last, leaving you in that familiar spot with soapy hands, sore feet, and a wandering mind, you arrange the wet dishes to dry, stacking each on top of the other with meticulous attention. You dry your hands on the fabric of your apron, rough cotton soaking up the water, your back leaning into the hard edge of the bar behind you. The strain in your neck grows sharper as you push your head back, groaning, willing away the next few hours until you can put your feet to rest upon Jack’s lap. 

And at the thought of him, a whistle from the exterior shoots your stream of mental pictures down as your head whips to look out the window, and there he is— Jack, thighs spread wide over Sylvie’s back as he urges her to stop, his eyes straining to find you through the window. Stomach twisting, you make a speedy trip to the stash of berries hidden away, and you pull a handful of them into your apron’s pocket before sparing the parlour a thorough peek and slipping out the front door.

It’s not loud enough for you to make out, but it must be Jack’s voice in a baby soft tone as he tells Sylvie what sounds like “there she is,” with a pat between her perky ears and a smile towards you. 

“Hello,” you grin, stepping to the edge of the porch where you meet the two of them, shamelessly devouring the way he sits tall upon her in the dying sunlight clear of clouds, dark clothes, dark hair, dark eyes, a bandana hugging his neck under his glistening throat. “Back so soon?”

“It was her idea,” Jack pokes, leaning back in the saddle as Sylvie adjusts her hooves into place over the dust and sparse blades of wheatgrass. “Suppose I had to lead her here, though…”

With a hand gliding along her wide neck, you watch his smile only grow in size as he watches you gather the berries from your pocket and throw a quizzical look his way, to which he nods enthusiastically, leaning forward again to watch and guide.

You call her name softly, approaching her from a better angle, and she makes an odd pattern with the movement of her head before she digs into your offered palm of treats, her wide mouth a great tickle on your skin that you try not to flinch at.

“Nice girls,” Jack whispers, swiping his hand over Sylvie’s shoulder, then turning his attention to you. “No more flak from the lady, I’m hopin’?”

“No, haven’t seen her since,” you giggle, “you know, Jack, that was kind what you did, but I am still fine.” 

Sylvie chomps down the rest of your stash of berries, licking the leftover juices off your palm as you gasp, retracting your arm, and Jack extends his hand far across to you in a warm beckoning. You give him the dry one and he laughs when he notices, “I ain’t afraid of no horse’s mouth,” steering you around to where he’s sat on the saddle.

“You’re not even afraid of Mrs. Adler,” you say bluntly, resting your laced hands over the meat of his thigh and then your chin on top, and Jack stares down at your widened eyes, his chest stuttering with a slightly choked breath.

“I came here to see you, darlin’, to tell you somethin’.” Running his thumb over your hand, he starts to lean his body down, your own straightening for his lips to meet your ear in a warm breath, sending ice down your spine and a melting heat between your thighs.

He waits for your prompt, his radiating need causing your posture to wither as you slant up and into him, “What is it?”

Whatever upward curve your lips adopted seconds before falls away as your eyes close, that heat between your thighs now wetter, your grip on his leg tight enough to pinch.

“I’m gonna take you out again tonight, gonna lay you in the grass and fuck you dumb, listenin’ to you whine loud as you can.”

He’s utterly pleased with the visible, hitching breath you can no longer take in, your chest pausing in its stunted passing, and he straightens up his back again to look down at you with his face shadowed under his hat. “Ain’t that somethin’ old girl, the little lady is speechless…” Jack coos to the horse and she puffs, followed by another pat of her hoof on the ground, and his grin is a mix of genuine and egotistical happiness.

“Jack,” you purr, all bothered and wobbly-knees, a helpless look in your eye as you tug the looped rope, and he prepares to ride back off. He doesn’t partake in your pleading this time, instead giving a squeeze of his legs over Sylvie’s back.

“Same place, darlin’,” he calls, “I expect you.” 

A backward glance and a tip of his hat as courtesy— or to make up for his foolish teasing— and his figure dies off in the gunpowder dust behind him and his girl, his jacket the same one you’d worn your first time away. 

-

It’s cool and dark the next time you step out onto the porch, carefully shutting the door behind you, locking it with your key. You rub your hands over the sides of your arms as you creep over the wood, peeking past the pillars before descending the three short steps. Same place, he’d said, so you set off in the direction of the stables, bathed in the soft light of the spaced lamp posts, the same exhilarating rush as the first time bubbling head to toe. 

“Ever heard of a sweet little maid ‘round here?” Jack’s happy rumbling sounds just behind you, turning into laughter at the yelp you let out, its sound squeaky and fearful until he catches you by the waist, pulling your back into his chest to sway your body around aimlessly. “Works for a Mrs. Adler, prettiest face you ever saw…”

An endeared giggle falls out of you, mouth covered immediately by your hand when he comes to place his chin on your shoulder, his fingers pressing tightly to your middle. His clothing feels rough by your neck, unlike anything else you’ve felt him wearing against you, but his cheek is soft and freshly shaven, his lips hungrily kissing behind your ear.

“Oh, I’m not so sure I have…” you murmur, allowing yourself to sink backward into his promising support, and his hum is sweet into your skin when you say so, arms squeezing you just enough for your feet to lift from the ground. 

“She’s got angel eyes,” he whispers, a finger coming to trail down your cheek as he lets you back down, until his hand cups your chin, turning your head sideways to capture your lips in a deep, swelling kiss. Your own hand rises to mirror his gesture, knees suddenly like water with their wobbly weakness, and the ball of your foot scrapes over the dust as he tugs you even closer, tasting your lips. 

“That might ring a bell,” you smile when you finally part, stroking your thumb over his jaw. He likes the way it feels, tilting himself further into your light grip of his face. The world surrounding you will never be the same level of interest when he stands before you— a daydream of an outing only seems as sweet if he’s there. A guidance, of sorts, a protector.

Roaming your eyes over him, a surprised gasp follows that welcoming kiss when you notice his top half covered in a navy blue poncho, its edges finished with white tassels and the wool adorned with white lines making intricate patterns over the length and width of it.

“Where have you been hiding this from me?” you simper, picking up the edge of it to feel the slightly scratchy material. He grins, weight shifting to one foot with a cocked hip, hands resting at the base of his suspenders underneath.

“Hidin’ it?”

“You’ve always got that jacket on,” you murmur, leaning upward, grabbing his face in an internal fit of fondness at seeing him covered in the blanket-like garment, giving him a harsher kiss that surprises him enough to nearly stumble backwards. He gains his balance, beaming against your mouth as he steadies the both of you, the world returning.

“You sure keep me on my toes, little lady,” he breathes, brows raised in bashfulness that you forget he has stored in that cocky brain. “Don’t you stop.”

Humming, your hand falling to rest on his chest as you recall more private contexts to his last words, you notice he wears a cross-body leather satchel underneath the poncho. “What have you got in there?”

“I can’t be full of surprises if you wanna make me spill ‘em all,” he teases, pushing his nose into yours, “come on, just you n’ me tonight.”

With your fingers laced together, Jack leads you through the familiar field to an unfamiliar spot at the top of a climbing hill, large rocks worsening the upward trek under the minimal light.

His hands find the backs of your thighs as he helps you over the last hump and your frustrated huff gets lost in your throat when you realize his hands are helping you up under your skirt instead of over.

“Jack,” you guffaw, using your biceps to push up and over the hard surface and he plays dumb behind you, a deep chortling following as you roll over to the flat space of dry grass above it. Looking ahead you notice a small gathering of wood placed in a circle around the center of the clearing in the trees while Jack rolls up next to you, much more gracefully with what must be years of practice.

He shares a sideways glance with you, “What?” 

His pouty lips drag downward in his falsely innocent question, your eyes rolling without annoyance but with affection. He grabs your hand again, tugging you near the woodpile and he reaches into the satchel, revealing a box of matches in his palm.

“Is this what you did earlier?” you ask, a bewildered softness easing over your shoulders, and he nods with a grin.

“Sylvie n’ I came here to get it ready.”

Sliding the box open, he strikes the match against the rough side of the cover sleeve and the spark ignites a smoking, small flame that he holds to a coil of waxed thread under the arranged sticks and wood. It catches on and flourishes upward, sprinkling tiny sparks that rise then fall by Jack as he recoils, standing back up to his feet.

“How’s that?” he looks at you, pulling you into his warm side, your fingers instinctively wrapping around a tassel. You raise your other hand to hover over the fire, its heat so pleasant and lively on your skin and you look back at him with the same fondness as always for his generous gifts, that might not even be considered a gift to anyone else but you.

“Thank you, Jack.” On your tiptoes, you place a kiss on his cheek filled with all the words you can’t think to say— it’s only a campfire, and to you, it holds all his care, burning there.

“There’s more,” he whispers, and his fingers rise to touch where your lips had just been, then he looks to them and you, smiling. “Said you wished you could run,” he starts, pointing to an old, battered tin can sitting atop a tree stump several feet away, “reckon there’s a few things you’ll need to learn first.”

From underneath the wool, he pulls out one of his revolvers and it shines in the flickering fire, freshly polished. He extends his hand, your own hesitantly touching it’s handle, cupping the barrel with the other as you slowly hold it on your own.

“Jack, I really don’t know about—”

“Careful,” he coos, circling back to stand behind you and placing his hands on your hips, he helps you adjust your grip with the beginning of his lesson whispered into your ear, his hands gentle as they cover yours. “Two hands.”

“I’m not sure I’m the gun slinging type,” you whisper nervously, your palms becoming clammy just handling the weapon, and you remember when its silver glint was pointed at Mr Porter, under its power.

“Always assume a gun’s loaded,” he continues, aiding you in extending your arms out, the aim at the can improving as you go. “Feet apart.”

With the toe of his boot on the inside of your ankle, he pushes your feet further apart until shoulder-width, and your shoe slides over the dry grass as you suck in a deep breath at the physical order. 

“Hold it tighter,” he whispers next, ensuring your fingers are hugging the grip tightly, your other hand cupping the trigger guard firmly. “Don’t leave your finger on the trigger unless you’re aimed and ready.” 

Jack is rasping now, a growing hardness on your ass from watching you handle his own weapon with determination and he pinches your hips, inciting a gasp as you try to keep your arms steady.

“The cylinder's full,” he adds, “you hit the can and I’ll make good on my promise.”

With the shot of arousal that comes after his words and the reminder of his promise to fuck you hard over the grass, it’s too easy to convince yourself that you’ll miss every shot.

“Won’t somebody hear it?” you question, turning your head as far as you can and he hums thoughtfully, pinching you softer.

“It’s luck if you hear a gunshot from a distance,” Jack soothes. And it hits you, that when Mr. Porter and Mr. Bryant started shooting blindly in the house, that those were the closest bullets had ever been to you— and here, you hold them in your palms.

“Go on, sugar, knock it over and I’ll fuck you right by this fire.”

A whine escapes you before you can aim it again, the grip even sweatier than before, the fire merely a glint now as you focus on the target tin.

Locking your grip around the handle, your pointers steadying the direction, you shut one eye, then the other to test the placement, and you pull back the hammer with a stretch of your thumb.

“I’m scared,” you breathe as your arms remain pointed forward, and Jack nods, applying pressure to your shoulders with his palms.

“I’ll keep you steady. S’okay if you miss.” Jack rubs some of the tension away, your arms growing tired from holding them up as you make one last adjustment. The jolt when you pull the trigger is more powerful than you’d expected, and Jack keeps you still as your body reacts to the sharp sound and the full shock of it. The bullet only just skims the side of the can, a tinkling sound following the jarring shot from the barrel.

“Fuck,” Jack breathes, his eyes wide and his smile too, when he looks from your near-shot to your frightened face turning into confidence. He throws his hat to the side, smoothing his hand through his hair before bending slightly behind you, “that was fuckin’ close, darlin’. Go again.”

His tone is pure excitement as you shake off the last lingering threads of apprehension, and you aim again, not a one inch difference from your first shot, pulling the hammer down a second time.

You place your pointer over the solid trigger and Jack’s breath hitches as he waits and watches intently, his hands still supporting your shoulders. This time, when your upper body jostles back from the force, the shot is farther off but still close, hitting the bark where a small explosion of wood chips scatter to the grass and you startle at the cracking noise, casting a worried look to Jack.

“Keep tryin’,” he soothes, cuddling his cheek to the side of your neck as he cozies up, and you’re certain it’s not the best condition for a shooting lesson, the middle of your thighs gathering slick and your palms more nervous sweat. With a deep breath, you stretch your arms out once more, muscles pulling up tight as you adjust your feet, your eyesight on the tin can reflecting the flames of the little campfire.

“That’s it,” Jack whispers as you touch your finger to the hammer, “focus.”

Scoffing, you settle your aim, determined to ignore the way he’s still pressing up against you.

“You’re doin’ great,” his voice scratches just before you pull against the trigger’s resistance and the bullet releases, harder it feels like, and pierces the tin with an incredibly loud metallic pang, sending it fast off the stump. Although you’re not too far from it, you don’t trust it yet; looking back down at the weapon in your hand and then to him, his smile already turns smug. It’s a surprise to hit it at the same time that it’s not— luck or natural talent, you don’t think you’ll ever find out. He shakes his head with pride dripping all over, crushing you into his side with a tense squeeze of his arm, your neck fitting in the bend of his elbow.

“That’s too quick,” you breathe in modesty that Jack tells you to shush away, as your disbelieving eyes fall back on the tree stump, tin can-less. “I wasn’t far away enough.”

“Come on, darlin’.” He disembarks, jogs to the stump, picks up the can behind it. A hole burns through the center on both sides. “Still shot it on the third try.”

When he arrives at your feet again, you peer down at the silver gun in your hold. Struggling to accept your own accuracy, you slowly hand it back to him.

“It'll be harder next time,” he purrs, sliding it back into its holster pocket, “but I think you’ll make the most charmin’ gunfighter in the whole damn world.”

“That’s your title,” you smile, brushing the dark hair from his forehead, curling your fist into the wool draped over him. “And the most handsome, too.”

Jack’s chest puffs out against yours as he preens at your softly-spoken compliment, the tone of his hum pitched in a questioning way to urge you on to continue.

“I’d rather like to learn more about that lasso,” you say instead, fingering where it’s attached to his hip, and he looks at you through his eyelashes, closing his hand around the one fisted in his poncho.

“Hell, if I taught you the ropes I doubt you’d let me out of your room for a whole week, darlin’. We’d better work up to that…”

“Oh well,” you tease, perching yourself up to level your lips with his ear, “you’re too soft on me to be my teacher anyway.”

“Too soft?” He raises his brows, eager to know, causing you to step back as he advances on you.

“Too easy. I ought to shoot that can three more times from ten more feet away just to be sure I’ve learned.”

Jack lays the thick blanket next to the crackling fire after pulling it out of the satchel, motioning for you to come.

“Sugar, I’ll show you rough,” he grumbles, dragging you down to the blanket with him, your chest thumping square on his when you land, a stunted breath into his mouth. His promise, listenin’ to you whine as loud as you can, returns to you now as he holds the back of your neck and opens his lips to brush yours, nipping your lower lip to earn the first wince.

“Don’t disappoint me,” you taunt, landing yourself rolled over and pinned under his heavy weight as he lifts the poncho from his head and drapes it over your bodies, hidden and warm together as you share the fiery heat of yourselves and the physical fire beside you.

“I’d hate nothin’ more than to disappoint you.” He keeps his eyes trained on your face as his fingers creep up your leg, a soft ghosting until he reaches the stark wetness compared to your dry skin everywhere but your core and he’s already groaning at just the sensation of your slick covering his fingers. “Think I could fill you right now, hm? Soakin’ me so fast…”

“I need you to fuck me as hard as you can,” you demand, your head tipping back against the ground underneath the blanket, heat accumulating in your own makeshift tent of the dark poncho. His fingers twitch over your clit as he watches your face twist in effort to get your last coherent thoughts out, “This is where I can cry.”

“Jesus,” his head falls into your shoulder and he rubs his cock on your thigh, covered by his trousers. He’s hard and thick, just as he was watching you shoot his gun, and he lifts your skirt higher, bunching the fabric at your waist. “You always get what you ask for from me.”

Blindly searching with your fingers, you find the buttons of his trousers and pull them open, carefully taking his cock out, the tip leaking generously onto your skin. You spread it for him though it runs out quickly, but your own burning arousal is enough for the two of you as he settles himself closer, his hair flopping out of place. His moustache brushes against your temple when he spreads your legs wider, a soothing slide of your skin over the blanket before you feel his cock running through your slick folds, and it’s enough to start whining. Even the little sounds you let out at the house are suppressed and quietened— here, there is no one but the two of you.

“Give it all to me, baby doll,” he rasps over your throat as he positions himself and pushes past your entrance, slowly stretching you open on his thick cock and your thighs fall open wider, too, your breath heavy and low for him to bask in. “Ain’t that sweet…”

Jack’s eyes carry the glint of the fire beside your bodies as he stays there for some moments, letting you squirm all you need before he flattens you to the ground with his chest, cooing encouraging gentleness to contrast with the untamed way he’s going to fuck you here, on the blanket, again. His cock pushes deeper with the added mass, your whimper not enough when he finally thrusts and hits his hips to your wide-spread thighs and works the wetness of you all over his cock.

“Ja— Jack—” you whine, and his hot hand soon comes to glide over the innermost part of your thigh, rubbing it firmly as if he’s about to—

He spanks your thigh and earns the high-pitch moan he’s been working for all along, drawing himself back to return with a harsh thrust as he keeps his hand on the stinging sensation, groaning out his nose.

“Fu-uuck, there we go, that’s what I wanted,” he grunts through stunted breaths as he sets a new, punishing pace, sliding with ease in and out, hitting deep inside to brush against that satisfying spot that when he slaps the same part of your leg, the pleasure from both makes you cry louder, moan louder.

He draws the wool tighter around his back as he lowers his lips to your mouth, emitting an animalistic groan over your face when you clench around his cock and pull him in closer for another open-mouthed kiss, true and full.

“Oh, god,” you groan, his hand caressing the underside of your thigh, until he draws it up to push your knee on your chest, fitting his hand in the bend of your leg.

“Gimme more, sugar,” he demands, landing a sharp swat to the side of your ass lifted off the ground that gives him your neediest, filthiest sound yet as you fist his hair, taking his brutal pace. 

“Jack, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Fuck,” he curses back harder, “I’m gonna steal you every god damn night for this.” Jack hisses through bared teeth on your collarbone, keening when you raise your hips to meet his. The fire rises beside you at the same time a wave of building pressure in your abdomen knocks through your lower half, and you place your hands on his face, sliding them up to meet his hair.

A shaky breath puffs out of you, the sting of his spankings spreading over your leg as you crane your neck and cry out while he buries himself and grinds against your clit, “You just get wetter n’ wetter for me,” he remarks hoarsely, “just can’t help but need me, hm?”

“I... Yes,” you sigh into his heated neck, your limbs softening in their hold of him as he fucks you hard over the blanket, his grip deathly on the side of your thigh.

“I want to hear it, darlin’, say it to me,” he scrapes, his voice at the bottom of his register, and when the words get stuck in your mind and jumbled out of order from the fullness of your core, he draws himself out and rolls you onto your stomach. Mindlessly, empty, you whine with an equal hoarseness to his own, the end of it pushed out prematurely when he flattens his chest over your back, lining his cock back up with your soaking entrance.

“I’ll pull every last pretty sound you got left in you if I have to.” 

The words are a terrible blow to your senses, sparking a rapid increase in the sound of rushing blood in your ears as he pushes your thigh up to the side and presses down on it with his palm.

“Please…” you breathe, “I’m so close— fuck me, please fuck me again—”

Shutting your eyes, hoping to feel him push himself back inside you, you instead are met with a final, cracking swat on your leg that sends you wailing as Jack waits for you to scream it, “Tell me, sugar!”

“I need you, Jack— I need you!” 

It doesn’t sound like your own voice. Never has it been clouded by so much desire and such a sinful edge to your witless begging, but it’s enough for him. A push forward, and he fills you; his own sounds have grown needier too, reaching far out. He plants a hand by your face and you grab onto his wrist as he shoves his cock repeatedly deeper and at this angle, you could consider the punishing stretch of him painful, but it’s everything you need, causing you to whine a step higher every time his hips hit your ass.

“You’re all I fuckin’ think about, darlin’,” Jack mouths at your earlobe, your bodies turning slick under the poncho and your clothes, “here you are, shootin’ my gun n’ lettin’ me fuck your tight little pussy, beggin’ for me— gonna make me fuckin’ cum.”

Your jaw drops and an involuntary squeal stumbles from your hanging lip, Jack snarling behind you as he plunges again, hooking his hands under your shoulders and splaying his fingers wide over the tops of them.

It’s a taut stretch of your chest when he pulls on you like that, the soft curl of his hair tickling your neck as he nestles his face to yours and muffles his grunts and groans. You pull up tighter around him, squeezing his cock, nearly driving him to collapse over your back when he feels it happen and what is easily his hardest, neediest and wrecked groan tears out and spreads over your limbs with the rumbling breath he takes after.

“Jaaack,” you whisper, his movements heavily weighing on you, your body resting just at the precipice of something overwhelming, “So… full..”

“I’m gonna fuck my cum into that sweet cunt.” Jack fists the blanket with his supporting hand and the next time he rams his hips forward, a full-bodied scream fills the air, and once more, you squeeze him tighter as you cum hard around his cock, your nails starting to dig into his wrist as he fucks you through it. 

“Baby doll, you’re too fuckin’ good to me— squeeze me so fuckin’ tight when you cum, keep it comin’—”

“Oh god, oh god, oh god— fuck!”  You can’t stop gushing around him as his thrusts lose rhythm, as he focuses more on the sounds you’re making and the grip you have on his cock and it just won’t end, tears beginning to form in your eyes while the movements never cease.

“That is just heavenly,” he says with a strained laugh, “shit, you really did need me, huh? You want my cum inside you too? Want to be spoiled?”

“Yes!” you cry, miraculously raising your ass just a little against his cock as the orgasm finally calms, a growl and a bite on your shoulder at your ceaseless will to beg.

“Take it.” One final, gorgeous moan from his throat and he buries himself, a wet warmth painting your walls, his chest deflating as he settles around your back and rubs your thigh in a soft contrast to what was his stinging swats minutes before. He blows and pants to recuperate, and as he brings himself out, you feel the warmth spreading and dripping down to your clit. For a moment, you share the breaths you’re both trying to catch, but the sensation of his cum sliding over your skin is yet another obstacle to returning to a manageable state of being.

“This…” he whispers, taking his hand back, leaning on his other elbow to support himself as he slides his fingers under your skirt to lead them to your swollen cunt, “is my favourite, darlin’.” He spreads his cum over your folds, milky liquid sliding wherever he traces, and you push back on your knees to raise yourself for him while he guides it back inside you, your throat tired but still whimpering as he pushes his fingers in.

“Keep me inside,” he murmurs on your temple, urging you to lay back down over the plushy blanket, and as you relax, mussed and twinkling by the fire, he drapes the poncho over your body, tucking the fabric under your sides. He strokes your cheek with the dry hand, lifting your head to his lap as he carefully sits by you, your eyes delicately fluttering closed. 

“Did I hurt you?” He asks, and without opening your eyes, you shake your head no. Jack makes a purring sound, considering the moans his actions pulled out of you, and he begins to stroke your face some more. “Hope I never do,” he adds softly, studying your peaceful expression under the firelight and stars, “you’re soft.”

The last two words make you blink and smile up at him, finally granting him a peek which he returns with curved lips, and you know that “soft” doesn’t mean “weak” when he says it.

“I got an idea of where to take you next, if you think you can handle it...”

-

tags for yeehonk idiot:

@filthybookworm @frannyzooey�� @javier-pena​ @javierpcna​ @astroboots​ @userdindja @pedros-mustache​ @princessxkenobi​ @trashcora​ @writerdee1701​ @thelemongeneration​ @libraryofrecs​ @fan-of-encouragement​ @herb-welch​ @writeforfandoms​ @queenofthecloudss​ @leannawithacapitala​ @the-feckless-wonder​ @kesskirata​ @fuck-goes-on​ @lawfulgranola​@apascalrascal @prismaticpizza​ @xemmaloveskillianx​ @littlemissoblivious​ @quica-quica-quica @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @little-big-mac2​ @recklesswit​ ​@frankie-catfish-morales

let me know whether you’d like to be added or removed! 

[shenlongshao]

GGS Redesign Analysis: Millia Rage

This is super long overdue, but welcome to another part of the GGStrive redesign analysis! Last time, I did Zato, which can be found here.  Now it’s time to do Millia Rage!^_^ MILLIA RAGE ------------------- “How is it possible she keeps getting prettier?!” and “She looks so gorgeous!” is what the majority of people said after seeing Millia’s reveal trailer. Since she has a few designs in the past, I’ll be talking about each one starting with her look in Guilty Gear: The Missing Link.

(Here’s a direct link to see it bigger https://i.imgur.com/dR9DBod.jpg) Millia’s initial design has a simple, yet unique and retro type style. The height and width of her collar conveys the traits of being mysterious, distant, and reserved. The short bubble sleeves of her form-fitting, white leotard displays a hint of her feminine and elegant side. Layered over the leotard is a sleeveless, short blue overalls dress with hip-high slits. On her arms is long, fingerless gloves with double metal plates. On her feet is ankle-length boots with blue frontal metal plating. Sometimes, she would try to conceal herself with a long, beige cloak when venturing in public. The primary aspect of her design is her blonde hair, which the majority of it is her Forbidden Beast called Angra. And lastly, there’s a thick, blue headband to compliment her look. Before the events of the 1st game, Millia was an orphan until being raised by the Assassin’s Guild and forcefully given Angra(it hasn’t be directly stated what she lost in exchange, but there’s some implications on what it might be). The style of her black gloves shows she’s combat ready while the style of her clothing tells of her valuing the aspect of able to move freely. Although the training and traits of an assassin has been instilled in her, the blue and white color scheme conveys how much she wanted to get away from that lifestyle. I think this design was good for its time, but I’m glad it was improved in Guilty Gear X. Next is what was her iconic look.

The concept of Millia’s original design has been kept and updated rather than a complete change. Her long, black fingerless gloves and her ankle-length boots is the same. However, one of the changes is she wears a black leotard underneath instead of white. There’s also the design of her high-collared, short-sleeved dress. It has two buckle straps within her bustline and at the helms along with blue trim. I notice how white is the dominant color this time instead of blue, so l’ll be gathering the color personality traits that fit Millia. Color Personality of White:  https://www.empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com/personality-color-white.html Having a personality color white means you are neat and immaculate in your appearance, in the presentation of your home and in your car, almost to the point of being fanatical.  You are well-balanced, sensible, discreet and wise. With a personality color white, you are cautious, practical and careful with money. You think carefully before acting - you are definitely not prone to impulsive behavior. You tend to have a great deal of self control.

You are confident, poised and self-assured when at your most positive, but can also be very choosy and fastidious when the mood strikes. You can be very critical of yourself and others (in your need for perfection) - but you try to be fair and impartial as well. You are self-sufficient and a loner - you don't want or need help from anyone. However, you may also experience times of loneliness because of this trait. You may be wishing to create simplicity in your life - perhaps a wish to re-create your childhood, lost youth and happier times in your past life.

You can be quite sexually prudish with your need for self-control and perfection. You hide your flaws from others to give an impression of perfection. You may appear to be shy, but you do have strong beliefs about most things and love the opportunity to air those beliefs. The challenge for you is to be open-minded and flexible and to communicate your needs and desires. Color Personality of Blue: https://www.empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com/personality-color-blue.html You are conservative, reliable and trustworthy - you are quite trusting of others although you are very wary in the beginning until you are sure of the other person. At the same time, you also have a deep need to be trusted. You are not impulsive or spontaneous - you always think before you speak and act and do everything at your own pace in your own time. You take time to process and share your feelings. You are genuine and sincere, and you take your responsibilities seriously. Having a personality color blue means you have a deep need for peace and harmony in your everyday life - you don't like having your feathers ruffled. You would benefit from daily meditation and quiet time for reflection, introspection and self-discovery. You appear to be confident and self-controlled, but may be hiding your vulnerable side. Being a personality color blue means you are generally fairly even-tempered, unless your emotions take over - then you can become either moody and over-emotional, or cool and indifferent.

You can be rigid - you like to stick to what is familiar to you and it is hard to sway you from your path - you stubbornly do things your way even if there is a better way. You need to have direction & order in your living and work spaces - untidiness and unpredictability overwhelm you. You don't like to draw attention to yourself - you prefer to be in the background. Color Personality of Black: https://www.empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com/color-black.html You are independent, strong-willed and determined and like to be in control of yourself and situations. With black as your personality color, you may be too serious for your own good - bring some colour into your life to lighten you up - life should be fun. With a personality color black, you may be looking for protection from any negativity that surrounds you. You may wish to create an aura of mystery and intrigue, as in the sexy black negligee. You may be going through a stage of self-denial, not allowing pleasure and joy into your life. You hold things inside and are not good at sharing yourself with others, possibly out of fear. You are methodical in your work, making sure everything is completed as required, down to the last detail. You may have lost sight of your direction in life and are going through a very negative phase. These perfectly describe Millia and like the improvements to her design. Story-wise, Millia was still on the path of severing ties with her teacher/lover Zato and the Guild. But she wasn’t able to fully live peacefully due to Zato’s body got taken over by Eddie. The biggest change is how Zato got revived by the Conclave, which stirs the mixed feelings she has for him and forces her to deal with her feelings and what to do with her life; meaning a change in her design.

This is the first redesign of Millia’s look that really accentuates her feminine nature and hint of Russian heritage. The style of her hair is different with side-swept bangs and layers extending beyond her cheeks(without Angra, her hair grew to her shoulders). There’s still hints of her previous look with the style of the long-sleeved coat dress she wears. It now has the added detail of decorative button within the orange tie saying “Curiosity killed the cat”(she likes cats and chasing them). She still has the high collar and how there’s a single buckle with a loose strap wrapped around her lower shoulders. There’s two buttons near the black cuffs of her sleeves and helms of her coat dress. Her gloves are much shorter and this time, is white with orange trim. The black leggings and the white, ballerina-inspired shoes displays her elegant side. The Russian style hat has the labels Z1-28 and 13; Z for Zato and 1-28 referring to his birthday and 13 for the years they were together. The most interesting part of of her look is the main color is golden yellow. There’s also some hint of orange, so let’s see what it means for her. Color Personality of Yellow: https://www.empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com/personality-color-yellow.html You analyze everything, all the time, and are methodical in your thinking. You have a strong independent streak in you, and are selective with your choice of friends, keeping a small group of close and like-minded friends rather than being involved in team events or large social gatherings. You communicate well on a mental level with like-minded people, but can become bitter and sharp-tongued if crossed. With a personality color yellow, you can be stubborn but dislike pettiness and spitefulness of all kinds. You like to think you are intelligent and well educated, with knowledge about many topics. You are a smart dresser and always dress to impress. Color Personality of Orange: https://www.empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com/personality-color-orange.html You are friendly, good-natured and a generally agreeable person. You are tolerant and accepting of others just the way they are. You enjoy being physically active, particularly in the outdoors, whether it's simply going for a walk, or competing in high level sporting competitions. I love this design for her because of how well it shows her style and personality. My only complaint is it’s way too much yellow, XD. But Millia has went through a major character development with the realization there is some good moments during her time in the Guild, such as people she formed connections with(Zato, Slayer, and Venom). That instead of running from the Guild, she decides to return and vows to be the next leader to reform it. She concludes that a simple, normal life is not what’s meant to be. It’s really basically a poor excuse for her to keep appearing in future games, lol. Thus, it’s time for to have another redesign, which I’ll begin with her face.

The structure of Millia’s face looks softer with slightly rounder cheeks and smoother chin to emphasize her femininity. I notice how she’s given a distinctive nose shape rather than giving her a standard female nose. The tip is smoother and the bridge of her nose has a elongated curve. The most pronounced feature of her face is her eyes. Not only is it similar to style of the older GG games(like X2), but her eyelashes are thicker. It conveys of her being mature, elegant, and confident. Another thing I noticed about her eyes isn’t the same shade of blue like Ky’s in the previous games. Lighting does have a huge effect on how a color appears, so I did looked at Ky’s under the same lighting and stage; Ky’s is pure blue compared to Millia’s. Next is seeing the rest of her upper body.

(Link to see it bigger https://i.imgur.com/19919qD.png) There’s some things kept from her Xrd SIGN design like the button that says “Curiosity kills the cat”  and “Z1-28″ and “13″ on her hat. The material of her Russian hat is fur like a traditional one, once again wanting to highlight her nationality. The style of her clothes is drastically different with wearing a formal black blouse with orange trim and the details on her new, form-fitting dress coat. Below the bust area, the printed words on it says “Ivy Traditional”, which is mostly like the name of the clothing brand she’s wearing. There’s buttons from the front beginning from her stomach downward and buckle straps around the sleeves and the outer center on the upper part of the coat. Accenting the look is a orange scarf attached and wrapped around her shoulders. An interesting detail around one of her sleeves is the strap with the tag “P.W.A.B.”(I circled it in the picture). Considering what happened in Revelator(1 and 2), it must be relating to what Millia’s goal is and has a high position. Surprisingly, there’s no full picture of her yet so I’ll have to show a screenshot instead.

She also seems to have kept her black leggings, but have different shoes. Now she wears high boots with orange trim at the bottom. Millia’s primary color is French beige this time, so let’s look at the color personality.(I had to go to a different site) Color Personality for Beige: https://colorogy.com/beige-color-meaning.html You are modest about your achievements. You can keep secrets and confidences. Your understated and low key persona can fascinate and intrigue other people. You come across as enigmatic as you say little and leave a lot unsaid. You keep your cool even in difficult situations. People are drawn to your calmness and inherent tranquility. You have an indefinable quality that adds to your allure and this can mean you are always or frequently surrounded by admirers. You prefer to play by the rules and being ethical is one of your priorities. You are a true friend and a loyal partner in your relationships. When it comes to friendship, it is not a hectic social life and a long list of friends that you look for or want for yourself. You are happy and content with a small, trusted group of friends. Loyalty is something that comes naturally to you. You are loyal and expect the same in return. You have the ability to grasp new ideas and concepts quickly. You amass knowledge for wisdom and for knowledge’s sake. You are interested in everything that goes on in the world and in your areas of interest. You are much in tune with all that occurs in your immediate environment. You are responsible and dependable. You are introspective and enjoy discovering meaning to your beliefs and way of thinking. When you start something new your intention is always to take it to a logical conclusion. When you become interested in something you burn with ideas and energy to get what you want. You are protective about your loved ones. You are even protective about the welfare of perfect strangers. You may take up a cause that inspires you and quietly do your bit without mentioning it to anyone. Seeing someone else miserable or suffering in some way can cause you emotional distress and take the shine off your day. Refined and sophisticated define your personality perfectly. This reflects in every aspect of your life, your fashion sense, your lifestyle, your behavior and your choices. Even when you encounter difficult, irate or rude people, you may not retaliate, as you believe undignified behavior is below your dignity. You get content with the way your life is and resist major change. You enjoy being in your comfort zone and are reluctant to step out of it to face the unknown and have different kind of experiences. You think of and plan for tomorrow. You have goals and ambitions that you plan to achieve and have a concrete plan in place. The efforts you put in towards achieving all that you want in life are consistent. You don’t back down; come what may, when you really want something. With Millia taking on a high position role and how she wishes to make a positive change in the Guild, wanting to be with her allies, etc. The color beige definitely fits her, especially since it also describes traits she has since the beginning. There’s Venom, whom they used to not get along, but have learned to put the past behind them. Zato, her mentor and the one she loved, whom she still deeply cares for, etc. It’ll be interesting to see how her story unfolds and how she takes on this role. All of Millia’s designs have been great in their own way and love how her Strive design takes it a step further. She’s more beautiful than before(which I didn’t think was possible, lol), her professional and elegant style highlights her personality and growth as a person, and love her striking eyes. I’m really glad yellow isn’t her main color anymore because I felt it was too overpowering, especially with her hair being also yellow. Beige is a much better color and compliments very well. Rating: S + + +  (Gorgeous~!) 

[harinawa]

forsaken gods: pasinaya

I wrote brief interactions among characters to get a feel of their dynamic with each other and because the scenes wanted to be written despite not having any place in the actual novel. Barely did any editing, though, so... here ya go.

Kale + Miggy parenting Aya because like a true-natured potato she's not processing emotions like a Normal Human

                                                𝑷𝑨𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑨𝒀𝑨

                                               (tag.) lit. beginning

She doesn't cry at the burial. 

He knows because he's been watching. Everyone else who knew Leonora Varela-de Luna has tears streaking down their faces as her body was put in a cell. They can't even afford to bury her underground, so the burial took place in a public cemetery, where bodies are stacked in boxes on top of each other. Even after death, the poor still have to pay rent.

Tito Hernan hasn't stopped shaking in silent tears as he watched the sepulcher cover the cell with cement, a hand on Kale's trembling shoulders. Aya stands on their side, face blank as she watches her mother's body sealed from view. Miggy doesn’t know whether to admire or resent her strength; how is she holding herself together?

Like standard, he and his family had offered their condolences. Miggy hasn't talked to the de Luna twins much, not like before, when they were younger, when their world revolved in one-upping each other's team at patintero or giving the heaviest hit on ketchup. As they grew up, their friendship drifted. As his father's reputation in politics soared to new heights, so is his compulsion to pick out his relationships with standards. To his father, everything became a strategy. Even their family's life.

But Aunt Nora was like a second mother to him. Now that he thought about it, cutting ties with the de Lunas was a harsh thing to do, even if it was for his father's political career. 

When he first came, it was Kale who opened the door. Kale, who always looked small and sickly for his age, looked even more haunted, face grim with grief. His amber eyes still shined, though, bright even with the lack of sufficient light. "Yes?" 

"Hi," Miguel clears his throat. "I… I'm not sure if you remember me, but I'm—" 

"Miggy? Of course I remember you," Kale shakes his head at him. "What can I do for you?" 

"Um. I… brought pizza?" 

Kale looks so much like his mother when one side of his lip draws to a frown and his eyebrows furrow, peeking at the pizza box he's holding. "Does it have lots of cheese?" 

"Four layers," he nods in affirmation. Kale doesn't say anything else but pulls the door wide open. Miggy puts his shoe to a side and steps into the living room on his socks. The place looks smaller than he remembers, but only probably because he'd been smaller when he was last here. 

They moved around their furniture and the walls are now a soft blue instead of the peeling white before. A few more pictures and certificates were added on the wall and trophies on the shelf near the television. It's an old model of television, still with an antenna, and he catches it playing the afternoon game show with blurred corners. He catches himself thinking of giving them the television in his bedroom—which he doesn't use at all, because he prefers using his computer.

The house obviously lacked one more person though. For this, he turns to Kale, who's cutting open the strings around the pizza box. "Where's your sister?" 

Kale snips the string and pulls it away. "Went to the market to buy dinner."

"But it's only past three."

"A lot of people stop at the market by five—there's almost no jeepney that isn't full by then, and Aya hates crowds. Besides, she has to cook when she returns, anyway."

Miggy sits down on the long couch while Kale goes to the kitchen to get them some glasses and a pitcher of water.

"It's been a while," Kale says when he returns, setting down the glass and pouring water for him. "Were you at the funeral?"

"Yes," Miggy nods. "But I was far away. Condolences, by the way."

Kale nods. There seems to be no proper response to people offering you condolences. Thank you for being sorry for me? I'm sorry about my loss too? Sometimes there are things better addressed with silence.

Miggy, for the lack of response, opens the pizza box and gestures for Kale to take one, which he obliges easily. The latter sits on the carpet opposite his, leaning on the legs of the single-seater couch with his knees together.

"How are," Miggy clears his throat, staring down at his pizza slice. "How is Tito Hernan holding up?"

"Could be better," Kale admits. "He doesn't leave his room these days, and when he does it's to drink with the neighbors. The University sent a letter the other day, officially terminating his position as professor. He finally became too much, even for them."

"You know my father's office is always looking for people like him," Miggy comments off-handedly. "I think they pay even more than the university."

"We'll suggest that to him but he probably would just ignore it," Kale shrugs. "He's been ignoring us a lot these days too. It's… it might be too much on Aya."

"Yeah?"

"She hasn't cried since Mom died," Kale swallows, turning the half-eaten pizza in his hands. "I know I don't want her to be sad, you know, but… she didn't cry at all. That's not normal, right?"

"Maybe she cried on her own?" That's possible. Miggy's all too familiar with that. Staying in the mansion, often all on his own, was too fucking lonely. He's had a lot of alone time.

"I hope so," Kale sighs. "I would've liked it better if she cried. She shouldn't deal with this on her own. If she keeps being silent like this…"

Kale just clicked his tongue, shaking his head. When they were kids, Kale often boasted about how he was the older twin by so and so minutes. Aya always reasoned that she was older because she was the one who held Kale up as his hold on their mother was weak, making the pregnancy delicate. Miggy, as an only child, was often envious of the bond they shared with each other.

"We have to be strong for her," Miggy bites into the pizza and chews. "Knowing Aya, she'd hate to be treated like we're tiptoeing around her."

"She would," Kale agrees, but then pauses, looking up at Miggy with a frown. He even inches closer, peering up at him with such huge eyes that Miggy blushes in embarrassment. "What?"

"We. You said ‘we’," he places the pizza crust on the inside cover of the box. "You're not leaving again?"

"Well," Miggy shifts, uncomfortable. "I still have to get home and stuff. But well… I can still stay around. If you'll have me."

He doesn't want to attempt to explain why he suddenly didn't talk to them anymore, or why he suddenly wasn't their friend anymore. Anything he says will sound like a crappy excuse.

Kale stares at him for a long time that Miggy feels slightly unnerved in his seat. The twins' eyes are too peculiar for people who live an average life; something about their golden shade makes the hairs on his arms rise.

But that's the thing about the de Lunas that not everyone knows about. They do not ask you for reasons; they just understand.

The corner of Kale's lips lift. "Alright." //end

[fanfictionaries]

Love and Academia Ch. 7 - Date Night and David Bowie

Pairing: AU Professor!Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Swearing, smut, NSFW/18+ only, mentions of death/violence/suicide, Angst

Author’s note: A bit of moody conflicted Bucky? Check, check, and check! Some nice Bucky/Emily interaction? Check, check, and check! 

And as always, I do not currently have a beta reader so please excuse any larger issues. It’s just little ol’ me!

***

The phone rang. Ring after ring after ring after ring. The sharp tone assaulting Bucky’s ears. It was funny, how a sound that once filled him with excitement, the promise of a voice on the other end, now left him feeling empty and expectedly disappointed.

“Hi! You’ve reached Diane. Sorry I’m not here right now but leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

The beep of the answering machine rang through and Bucky found himself doing something that he hadn’t bothered doing for a while. He left a message.

“Hey, Diane. You know, you really should change your message since we both know you’re the worst at calling people back,” Bucky laughed the humor in the memory of her poor communication skills momentarily filling his mind, before evaporating into thin air and leaving only the silence on the other end. “Look, I know you won’t call me back. Won’t even listen to this, but I have…things are just really hard without you here. I know we talked about this and I know that if things had gone differently that you’d be here with me, but it’s been hard without you. I understand why you had to stay in Brooklyn, but I…I wish you hadn’t,” Bucky breathed deeply, the air coming in shakily as the weight of her absence laid heavily on his chest. He swallowed, his throat tight and constrained, “Alright. I should probably let you go. Trixie’s been eyeing me all night to take her for a walk and you know how she gets. Alright, um…I love you. You know that. Uh, bye.”

He sighed deeply, looking around the darkening room. The house was a mess and he had absolutely no motivation to fix any of it. Sure, he kept it clean, but what use was a clean house when it was falling apart under every sweep of a broom and pass of a duster? The walls needed to be repainted. The floors needed to be refinished. The floorboard needed to be repaired in some places and light switches needed to be replaced. There was a leak in the basement. The showers needed to be recaulked. The stove was disgustingly outdated. And of course, there was the giant hole in the middle of the staircase. A cold, wet nose on the side of his hand brought his attention back to the present and away from the looming pressure of the house and all it represented.

“Okay. Okay. I hear ya,” Bucky grumbled, standing up from the couch before grabbing Trixie’s leash from the hook near the front door. He attached it to her collar, earning him a kiss on the back of the hand. Smiling, he patted her on the top of the head and grabbed a roll of ecofriendly poop bags. The door slammed behind him as he stepped out onto the porch. He didn’t bother locking the door. Let them take whatever they wanted. There wasn’t really anything to steal aside from the TV anyway. Everything of value he and Diane had ever owned was back in Brooklyn. Back with her.

The sun was beginning to set, the deep streaks of oranges and reds painting the sky in a swirling watercolor of light. The air held an unfamiliar freshness; a slight breeze cooled the warm late summer night. It was quiet. Only the faint sound of passing cars in the distance filled his ears. Bucky hated to admit it, but small-town suburban life wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. The small town of Pocatello didn’t hold the same cramped, claustrophobic feeling the city did. People were friendly here. They said hello when they passed you on the street. They started conversations at the grocery store, the car wash, the dentist’s office. Even his coworkers possessed the same level of open candidness and comradery. So far, his barbeque invite count was up to three and he’d only met them all a week ago. It had taken nearly two years at his last position for him to grab lunch with his coworkers. That level of human connection never struck Bucky as something he needed. However, the more he received it, the more he seemed to crave it like a drug. It felt nice to feel included. Staying out of his head was easier done when people acted as constant distractions.

He wandered the street a few blocks, stopping when Trixie did to sniff a particularly interesting tree. Glancing to his left, his eyes fell upon a little white house across the street. Bright light streaming from the living room window illuminated the yard in front of it and framed the scene inside. Three children, clad in brightly colored pajamas ran rampant through the room, jumping and, he could only assume, screaming as they chased each other. A golden retriever followed behind the youngest’s heel, tongue out and tail wagging. They circled the couch, smiles wide across their little chubby faces. The eldest couldn’t have been more than five, boldly and confidently leading the younger two as she climbed onto the couch and began to jump on the cushions. The younger two, a boy and girl followed suit, jumping gleefully. However, their fun was short lived. Coming into the room, a man in his thirties grabbed the eldest around the middle and lifted her into air, before sitting down onto the couch and pulling her onto his lap. In seconds, he was covered by the other two. The joy in the man’s eyes made Bucky’s chest clench. That was supposed to be him. In another life it might have been. Now, the chances of it ever happening felt slim to none.

From his side, he heard Trixie let out a small bark. He paid her no mind as he continued to stare at the family through their open window. Trixie let out another, louder bark and his arm jerked to the side. Her leash slipped from his grasp, drawing his attention back in her direction to see the black and white collie bolting down the street in the direction of a person. Once his mind registered what was going on, Bucky took off after Trixie, his feet pounding on the pavement trying to catch his dog before she got to whoever she had beelined for. He watched the thin figure, that he could now distinguish as a young woman, pull back slightly as Trixie approached her and then squat down to greet her. A mop of long blonde hair hung low, almost to the ground as she cuddled the dog.

“Sorry! She doesn’t usually run away like that,” apologized Bucky as he reached them. “I hope she didn’t—”

His words were lost when the young woman whipped her head up, surprise written across her face. Of all the people it could be.

“Oh. Miss Colvert. Hi.”

“Dr. Barnes, um hi.”

The silence was palpable as Bucky and Emily stared at each other, neither knowing what to say. As if sensing the tension, Trixie yipped before tackling Emily and licking her face. Bucky panicked, afraid that Emily would put ‘attacked by his dog’ on the long list of grievances he had caused her.

“Oh my god. No—”

Again, the words were lost from him as the soft lilt of Emily’s laughter filled his ears. The young blonde gladly and opening accepted the love from his dog, scratching behind her ears and continuing to laugh as she shifted her face left and right, trying to avoid any direct contact of tongue to mouth. Wrapping her arms around the dog’s neck, she sat up and shifted to the side, briefly hugging Trixie, her small hands digging into the long shaggy coat.

“She’s absolutely fine. She just wanted some cuddles—” Emily pulled back cupping Trixie’s face in her hands before speaking to her directly “—didn’t you girl? Yea. Yes, you did!”

Trixie’s tail wagged a thousand miles a minute as she stared into Emily’s chocolate brown eyes. Bucky couldn’t help but let a little smile slip across his face as he watched Emily croon over Trixie. It had been a while since the border collie had been in such high spirits. It was nice to see her taking to someone so quickly and looking so happy. Bucky crouched down next to the two of them, grabbing ahold of Trixie’s leash once more and scratching behind her ears.

“She really likes you.” He tried to make his voice seem light. The last thing he wanted to do was upset the poor girl. He probably seemed like such an ass at this point. Ever since his outburst earlier that day he had felt awful. Bucky didn’t want to say that it had been a reaction born out of jealousy, but really there was nothing else he could call it. He’d taken one look at the tall, muscular man wrapped around his graduate student and something inside of him had snapped. A twisting in his gut that turned his mood 180. A stupid, primal, monkey-brain reaction. To her, he probably seemed like the sleaziest guy in the world. A married man that picks her up at a bar, leaves her half-naked in an alleyway, accuses her of stalking him, and then gets jealous when he sees her with another man? What a psycho.

“That’s because she has good taste. Isn’t that right—” Emily paused, looking to Bucky, “What’s her name?”

“Trixie.”

Bucky watched a string of emotions cross Emily’s face. First surprise, then confusion, and finally embarrassment?

“Trixie? I thought…” she pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth and he could just make out the faint hint of a blush on her face in the fading daylight.

“What?” asked Bucky, tilting his head at her.

“Nothing,” she laughed, standing and shaking her head.

Bucky stood too, still looking at the soft lines of Emily’s face as his mind tried to piece together her reaction. As if deciding in that moment that she was bored with the situation, Trixie headed in the direction they had originally been going, pulling Bucky with her. Emily followed, smiling down at the dog. They continued down the street, allowing Trixie to lead the way as she sniffed and marked her territory. It was a few minutes later that Bucky realized that he and Emily were just…walking together. No tension. No cold shoulder. No biting edges. Just walking. It was nice. However, when he glanced over at her, he found her expression to be far from tranquil. She seemed sad. A little forlorn. A little lost. A little familiar.

“Do you have any pets?” he asked, hoping that conversation would bring back the light-hearted smile and laughter that Trixie had produced a few minutes before.  

“No, my building doesn’t allow animals much bigger than a fish,” Emily said, staring down at her hands.

“Not a fan of fish then?”

“Not really, but…” Emily nose scrunched in thought as she spoke, words trailing off, hesitation in her voice.

“But, what?” Bucky smiled, glancing over at her as they stilled for a moment to let Trixie inspect a fire hydrant.  

Emily continued to play with her hands. Avoiding eye contact with him as she seemed to be battling something inside of herself.

“What is this?” asked Emily finally, looking up at him and staring directly into his eyes. The question was blunt. Desperate almost.

“What’s what?” Bucky asked in confusion.

“This. This whole, twenty questions thing. I just—”

“Hey,” Bucky cut her off, holding his hands up in defense. “Look, I know we started off on the wrong foot. But, I promise, there’s no ulterior motive here. You’re my graduate student. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together this year and I want you—I want us to feel comfortable around each other. For no other reason than for the year to just go a bit smoother for both of us.”

There. He had said it. Well, he had kind of said it. He didn’t think for a second that it was lost on either of them – the fact that he had managed to bring up their past without really bringing up their past. But still, the cards were on the table and now, it was her turn to decide. He waited as Emily appeared to chew on his words, letting them ruminate.

“But…I’ve always wanted an axolotl,” Emily said, beginning to walk again. Her answer to his first question, really an answer to his second. She was willing to make an effort to bridge the gap. This was good.

Bucky sighed in relief, following after her and easily falling into step, “An axolotl? Really?”

“Yea, this girl I knew growing up used to have one. She named him Buzz, but I always thought he looked more like a Ziggy.”

“Ziggy? As in—”

“Ziggy Stardust, yea. My mom was a big David Bowie fan. Guess it rubbed off on me a bit,” said Emily with a small smile.

“Well your mom has good taste. Where does she live?”

“She’s um, she’s dead.”

He was an idiot. Two seconds into their new semi-friendly conversation and he managed to bring up her dead mother.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Emily I—”  

“It’s fine. You’re fine. It was a long time ago,” Emily assured him before continuing, “After she passed, I used to go over a lot to see, Ziggy, and I’d just sit and watch her float. I’d think of my mom and, I don’t know, it…”

“Helped?” Bucky finished for her. Emily nodded, looking up at him with a small smile, a glint of surprise in her eye.

“Sorry. Wow. I did not mean to spring the whole dead mom thing on you,” she laughed before turning to him in excitement, her tone light and casual “I have a question!”

“Shoot.”

“Your accent,” Emily responded.

“My accent?” Bucky questioned, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Yea, your accent.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t have an accent,” Bucky teased her. He knew full well he had an accent. He got it all the time in Boston and even more since he’d moved to the Midwest.

Emily laughed, his heart lightening at the sound and swelling with pride that he had managed to finally lift her spirits. “Don’t lie. You totally have an east coast accent. I can hear it in your A’s and E’s and the way you drop your R’s”

“Oooohh that accent,” Bucky said in mock realization.

“Yea, that accent,” Emily teased back.

“Brooklyn.”

“Really?”

“Born and raised,” Bucky admitted. Stopping when he realized that they had ended up in front of his house. Emily stopped as well, spinning to stand in front of him, her hands placed casually in the pockets of her light coat.

“Idaho must be a big change for you then. What’s been the hardest part?”

Not having Diane.

“Honestly? The elevation. I’ve never felt more out of shape in my life,” said Bucky exasperatedly, trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his head.

“I’d like to say you’ll get used to it, but I’ve been here almost four years and I’m still out of breath by the time I get to the top of the stairs to my apartment. Or at least, I keep telling myself it’s the elevation,” joke Emily, pulling a face at her own expense.

“Well I run every morning with Trixie, you’re more than welcome to join us. Might help with the uh, elevation.”

“I think I’d rather keep lying to myself.”

Their laughter filled the air around them, falling into a soft comfortable silence as the wind blew around them. Golden strands whipped through the air and guilt washed over Bucky as his thoughts strayed for a second in just how beautiful she looked in the setting summer sun. Clearing his throat, he turned to the house behind him, windows dark and curtains drawn.

“Well, um, this is me,” said Bucky.

Emily frowned in the direction of his house, “Looks awfully dark in there. No one waiting up for you tonight?”

The question struck Bucky as odd, but he answered it all the same, “No one to wait up for me. Just me and Trixie, huh girl?” He looked down, patting Trixie on the head as a way to ground himself, trying not to focus on the sadness that washed over him at his statement. No. There was no one waiting for him at home.

“Oh—” a mixture of confusion and sadness etched across Emily’s face “—well, this was nice. I’ll see you on Monday.” Emily turned, beginning to head down the street.

“Wait!” Bucky called out at her retreating figure. “It’s pretty dark. Do you want me to walk you home?”

“Oh no, I’ll be fine. I live pretty close to here actually,” said Emily, turning, an appreciative grin spread across her face.

“Are you sure? You never know when an axe murderer might be lurking around,” Bucky joked, earning him a light laugh from Emily, the sound like bells chiming through the air.

“You’re not in the big city anymore, Mister Brooklyn. Axe murders are limited around these parts.” Bucky smiled at the nickname and the way the gentle teasing came so naturally from her lips. No, he certainly wasn’t in the big city anymore.

“Well, I can’t in good conscience let you walk home without knowing you’re safe. Why don’t you take my number and text me when you get home?”

Emily took a moment to ponder his offer and then nodded in agreement, pulling her phone from her pocket and handing it to him. Bucky created a new contact, punched in his number and gave the phone back to her.

“Alright, I’ll text you,” said Emily, turning back around and heading down the street. Bucky waved, watching her retreating figure until it disappeared around the corner. Turning back towards the red brick Victorian, he felt conflicted. A lightness filled his chest. A sense of relief and ease that he hadn’t felt in months. Was it because of Emily? Was it simply relief that she appeared to no longer hate him? That she felt comfortable enough around him to joke and even open up? Or was it the way her laughter and smile brightened the space around him? Or the way the sun shined through her hair, illuminating it like strands of gold? A heaviness fell back onto his chest, crushing the weightless feeling almost as quickly as it had come. Diane. Diane was his wife. He loved his wife. But she wasn’t there. She had been the one to tell him to let go. To move on. To move to a different state and forget about her. So, he shouldn’t feel guilty. Right? Not to mention, Emily was his graduate student. Nothing would ever happen with her now. Nothing could ever happen with her again. So, there was nothing to feel guilty about. Right?

It was fifteen minutes later, when Bucky found himself already curled up in bed, that his phone buzzed from the bedside table.

Unknown Number:

Made it home safe and sound. The axe murderers will have to try harder next time.

The smile that broke across his face was uncontrollable. Fuck. He shouldn’t feel guilty, right?

Marvel Taglist: 

@caffiend-queen

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall

@theavengersandme (I saw you recently read through the first 6 chapters - thought you might like to know that the newest chapter is up? Let me know if this is totally off base!) 

[libidomechanica]

If that thou

If that thou, that he shouldst hunger. Oft blinding themselves looking thumbs present than thus I won you mother; which way is home. Of a virgin full of man: he now are peers “contentedly, with rod or with thy beauty, believed one sent beneath his heart, and blew, and Cyrils counts his shattered the dinner;

but, in some applause,   he acquitted face,  whase only snatch, by bribing their busy days and though to blamed as obstinacy, both defy, not like beads.

So sweet, with my hearts had flung so that piped the great bronze valves, all day with thankful heart must be well-built to be entertain that tender whinny shrinks, priests, if so your kinder mind.   Frown,

  a shadow of that I shall outlive it.

D some slight one ship is seen   than her solemn light!

Its inner and thought in despatches:

and allowed, and ennui.

If from him and proved danger in the tender pass like a mistress eyes, and ever hips, in their tender about the Northern balm breath, ere day may be crossd in the pimpernel dozed on look— I leave to entered, without strikes on a wretched and with the fire doth lie, made and power turns they will sealed not easy to excite, then “t would I know not what were it earth and Beauty in thy hand appears to bear love excuse is—”t is mute in heroes and then buried are making bird,      doth defy, not like to me are the flies too ferocious, we plants, trunks, foliage, roots, bark, whose went to the other that laboured to the suns waters sleep not in the meadow across her mind;—   of yore have staggering horn and seen thy subjects, we spring. By wilful-slow, towards to rend. S sole men the sun, here lies as well alike flounder, agape, gesticulation, but neither hair, and I cannot blame, to warm earthly cot, full and fourthly, what wad belang the wishd, she feard through a love whose ripeness is but to use the dust as a meeting so proud of plastic case, still fleyd awa by Phoebus lightsome dawn pushing bark, whose home leave thou to me, let me at each to grateful which steal thee my fancied sighs are born with repeat both with solemn light talking sit listening of Ireland, my one said to thee.

Who have loves the new—born and there, as the colour of Pride and smooth monotony of changeful dream.

S Iliad, sincerity; and all their peer, showing, new-perfumd with flaw-seeking eye, away we still the conceal— a golden sand—   and revelled it the feet.   Streak that made drunken with the less,

  how few!

As often-times foxes brushes when upon me dead I will be loves, my heart of true sighs, thickest moss the sheet— crushed to fool with my Sire, therewithal to be sycophants. Saue thyself deceives: and and poor; the soul which he by in after the rotten in dire woe; just after-life with my child is wings— to Helene once moves next to hunt themselves either old or new.   look on Heaven,

   looking that as a prince:

Adam exchange, all would fall?

Began to the grew gross in its love, sweet you could fain have been first sweet to be dead! I feel estrange: unlifted up her in Heaven knows, so that Ida do their sad friendship checkes I in my feignd page.   In my brow; the lute unstrung; else it doth hence, she, my Dian of black bat, night; seald on her letter parents, albeit thee?

But we are into Reasons draw the poplar made anither!

As boys are void of centaur, upon the sex   will be born in a funny way music swims back my brief while other I bowd: I bowd to hack and feet, my babe, my love no idea how it through nature, beauty for as they never saw a cherry-ripe, I cry, full and far, their sense, will quickly find then they will bred will be think not speach, alas!

[little-inkstone]

A Fate Sealed with String Part 11

Summery:  After meeting the man her parents have arranged for her to marry, Belle decides she’ll take her own fate into her hands.  Literally, with the help of a charmed piece of thread that will lead her to her true love.

AN:  I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten

AO3

Too soon Rumple had to leave for the front again.  Belle knew it was selfish, but she wished they could just shut out the rest of the world.  They could spend lazy days in his bed talking about all the feelings they’d been too afraid to give voice to before in between bouts of love making.  In a perfect world they could spend as much time as they wanted like that, but Belle knew Rumple was their best chance at beating the ogres back.  That truth didn’t help lessen the sting when she said goodbye to him.  They parted with one last kiss, her hand slipping inside of his jerkin to brush the string that had first connected them.  He made his promises that he’d return as soon as he could, and that when he did the war would be over.  Then he was gone.

Belle wrapped her arms around herself at the gates of the castle as the heat from his body pressed against hers began to disappear.  She didn’t even have the opportunity to stare after him as he rode away; instead he had whisked himself away in a cloud of golden smoke.  Letting out a sigh she turned back to the castle; she wasn’t getting anything done just standing there and everyone needed to do their part.  In the courtyard of the castle they had set up tents and beds for the people that had lost their home.  There were so many of them that they had begun to spill into the garden, and most of the castle’s staff were at their wits end.  As a princess Belle had never been taught practical skills like cooking or healing.  But she did what she could by handing out supplies and sitting with the sick.

The waves of fleeing refugees needed to be fed and clothed and in some cases they needed help finding missing family members.  More than once Belle ended up with a little child on her hip, tears streaking their pudgy cheeks as she looked for their parents

Some of the stories Belle heard as she worked among the refugees made her stomach sink with worry. It wasn’t just fear for Rumple, although her fear for him couldn’t be ignored, but for the other soldiers and knights that were risking their lives as well.  Rumple had magic, but that could only do so much to protect him.  If he didn’t see an attack coming then he would be just like any other man.  Belle tried not to think about all the horrible things that could happen to the man she loved.  If she did then she wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning.  Instead she redoubled her efforts to hand out supplies as more and more people fled to the safety of the castle walls.

“Excuse me, your Majesty.”  A soft voice called, breaking her out of her thoughts.

Belle turned and smiled softly at the boy standing in front of her.  If she had to guess she’d say he was about thirteen or fourteen with shaggy brown hair and eyes that were oddly familiar.  His clothes had seen better days and his face was smudged with soot and dirt.  Belle made a mental note to find him something better to ware and to make sure he got a bath, or at least a damp rag to clean himself with.

“What can I do for you, young man?”  Belle asked sweetly.

The boy shifted and ducked his head shyly as she looked at him and then looked up and gestured to the little girl’s hand he was holding.  “They said that the princess could help find her parents.”

“Oh course I’ll help”  Belle said. She kneeled down so she was at eye level with the little girl and smiled as kindly as she could.  “Hello, what’s your name?”

After an hour of looking the little girl was reunited with her parents and Belle was happy to see the family made whole.  The sight made Belle’s heart ache; someday, if fate was kind, she could have that with Rumple.  They hadn’t had time to discuss the future or marriage, but she hoped that their new understanding would lead to them spending forever together.  Rumple had said he wanted to stay with her after all. She wasn’t the kind of person to trap Rumple into marriage because of the night they had spent together.  But Belle knew that he was the kind of man that would ask to marry her even if they weren’t true love.  The reminder of what they shared eased the pain she was feeling at being separated from him.  He would return and they would be together.  Until then she had a job to take care of.

Turning back to the boy that had brought the little girl to her attention she smiled.

“Do you need help finding your family?”  Belle asked.

He shrugged and ducked his head.  “I’ve no family to find, your Majesty.”

“Oh,”  She replied softly.

That explained his unkempt appearance and ragged clothing.  There was no one looking out for him.  Now that she took a closer look at him she realized he was rather thin under the dirt covering his face.  He looked up at her were soulful brown eyes and she felt her heart clench.  No child should have to suffer the way he clearly had. Even before the horrors of the ogre wars he had been alone and no doubt scared.  Not to mention he would have had to deal with the very real and pressing issue of hunger and shelter.  Yet despite all he had been through he was still kind enough to take the hand of a poor lost child and bring her to someone that could find her family.  His hardships hadn’t made him cruel or harsh; instead somehow kindness had endured in his heart.  Perhaps it was silly of her, considered she had just met him, but she wanted to take care of him.  Even if it was just making sure he got a good meal and a bath.

“Thank you for your help, Princess.”  He said, breaking Belle from her thoughts.  The boy bowed and made to leave.

“Wait,”  Belle requested.  “Since you don’t have anyone, why don’t you let me help you?”  She asked with a kind smile.

“I couldn’t ask anything of you, your Majesty.”  He replied timidly.  “I’ve already taken up too much of your time.”

“Nonsense, what is a Princess good for if she can’t take care of her people?”  Belle said briskly.  “We’ll get you all cleaned up and then some food in your belly.”

Once Belle set her mind to something there was no arguing with her, and the poor boy was soon swept away from courtyard and into the castle.  There were a few maids that weren’t busy and she recruited them to draw a fresh bath and find him some clothes that no one would miss.  While her guest bathed she went down to the kitchens to find him something that would be rich enough to nourish him, but not so much that it would make him sick.  The kitchens were busy cooking foods that could feed a large group of people, stews and full pig roasts.  It was easy for Belle to grab some wonderfully smelling fresh bread and a bowl of hot broth with vegetables and chunks of hearty meat.

As she returned to the upper floors of the castle with tray in hand she frowned and bit her tongue as she passed Lady Cora.  She hadn’t told her parents what she had tried, but now Belle was beginning to wish she had.  Every time they crossed paths the woman would give her a knowing smirk that set Belle’s teeth on edge.

“It must be trying times when the Princess has to fetch and carry like a common maid.”  Cora simpered.

“We all must make sacrifices in this time of need.”  Belle replied with a tight smile.  “I’m doing my part; what good are we nobles if we can’t protect our people?”

Her eyes narrowed at Belle’s word, a sneer pulling at her lips.  “Well, that might be the case, but no noble man will want a woman that will service just anyone.”

“Then perhaps it’s for the best that Lord Rumplestiltskin and I have agreed to wed.  And he already knows I’m fully capable of servicing him.”  She said, her smile turning sly.

Two spots of red appeared on Cora’s cheeks as she clenched her fists in anger, but Belle didn’t bother staying to hear her retort. Instead she brushed past her with her chin held high and a satisfied smile pulling at her lips.  This wasn’t the end of her strange skirmish with Lady Cora, but for now she felt as if she’d managed to win this round.  Soon she’d have to deal with Cora fully.  That woman couldn’t be allowed to stay in the castle to cause more trouble, but for now she had someone that needed her attention more then Cora.

Belle found her spur-of-the-moment ward waiting for her in a warm sunlit drawing room where she set the food she’d brought in front of him. Even the mere idea of a princess serving a peasant was something that would make any of the women at court faint from shock and then set their tongues wagging.  No doubt Lady Cora would be the worst of them all.  But Belle didn’t care what they would think. Especially when the boy fell on the food she brought him like he hadn’t seen a proper meal in weeks.  The troubling part was that Belle knew it was entirely possible that it was true.  She pushed the thought and focused on the here and now.

The clothes that had been found for him were too large for his thin frame, but they were clean and would be warmer than the rags he’d been in before.  His hair was still dripping from his bath and now that his face was clean she couldn’t shake that he looked even more familiar than before. It was the colour of his eyes and the tilt of his lips when he smiled at her.  Something was pulling at the back of her mind, but every time she reached out to take hold of it, it turned into mist and slipped between her fingers. There was a possibility he was the bastard of one of the nobles that served her father, but at the same time that didn’t make sense.  It would be foolish to believe that none of the lords or knights had dallied and produced a child out of wedlock.  But in most cases that child would be taken care of in some way. This boy seemed healthy enough; it was odd that he hadn’t been recruited for a trade yet.

Too late Belle realized she was staring at him intently when he looked up at her and then ducked his head nervously.  The action added to the feeling of familiarity, but she still couldn’t tell where she’d seen it before.

“Have I displeased you, your Majesty?”  He asked weakly.

“Oh, no, not at all. I just realized I’ve been terribly rude. I haven’t asked your name.”  She said with a gently smile.  The poor child was skittish; she didn’t need him thinking she was mad at him.

“I’m Baelfire, your Majesty.”  He replied with a shy smile.

Belle tilted her head to the side as her heart clenched.  “Baelfire?”

“Yes, your Majesty.” Baelfire said, running his spoon along the bottom of his bowl.

“That’s a wonderful name.”  She replied with a smile that was a little too bright.  Standing she patted his shoulder.  “If you need anything don’t hesitate to call for a maid; I’ll be right back.”

“O-okay.”  He said as he watched her leave.

Belle closed the door of the drawing room and leaned against it as her head swam with shock and confusion.  This boy must be Rumple’s lost son; there was no other explanation.

[valkyrie-echo]

Project Echo, Part 3: Chapter 8 (The Shadow King)

Part 3 Summary: Seven years after the events of “Part 2”, Avengers Tower explodes, fulfilling Bucky’s vision. All evidence points to Avengers Shadow-Ops leader Inessa Ryker, who is forced to seek out Bucky in hiding. Together they must determine who the traitor is in their ranks and if their friends are still alive- all while trying to survive deadly ambushes orchestrated by Sam Wilson and his hand-picked army.

Chapter 8: The Shadow King

Odin shifted on his throne and prepared to attack despite Inessa's promise to vanish into the shadows, "What do you-"

She rolled her eyes, "Are we really going to do this? Just once can't one of you simply say, 'You found me out' and then we go back to the threatening bit?"

"What you are implying is high treason," he sneered, "not that I need an excuse to kill you anymore."

"More threats? Jesus," Inessa needed an ally here. Bucky shook his head in mock disappointment and wandered slightly away from her, splitting Odin's target in two, "Loki, playing King is high treason too. We could kill you for it just as easily as you could kill her."

"I'm not-"

"We are! We're doing this again," Inessa threw up her arms. "Thanos doesn't do reruns with his 'children'. Every monster is unique. The Shadow King- Anansi? He's a trickster posing as a god from Midgardian mythology. Loki, basically. That wasn't Thanos' M.O. Therefore Loki equals the Shadow King."

"Cul Borson was under a hell of a lot of guard for a long ass time, then what? He strolls away and you don't even warn Thor? Clue number one. You didn't want to fight the Shadow King, you didn't even care when his forces closed in on Asgard. Clue number two. You sent Calder to order us to disperse, even though we had a shot at capturing or killing the Shadow King once and for all. You knew we wouldn't give up without one last sweep, and you made damn sure we did that at night, maximize the probability I'll fight as the Shadow and not in-body so you can lock me out and do whatever the hell you did with my body. Calder was clue three, if you're having trouble following."

"The only way all those pieces fit," Bucky took over and pretended he knew what the hell he was saying so they'd look like a team, "is if the Shadow King, Loki, and you are one person."

King Odin sneered, "There is a flaw in your logic, boy." He turned his attention back to Inessa, "Why would I strike at my own people? The people of neighboring realms which I do not even rule?"

"Because you know they're figuring out King Odin isn't quite right, and the 'I lost my wife' excuse has worn too thin." Bucky snapped his fingers until Odin looked back at him, "You're covering your ass. Invade before anyone else guesses what's up. Now, can we stop with the game? Dress-up is so childish."

Odin grabbed his scepter but wisely chose not to draw it from the golden throne. He looked like he was ready to strangle them both, but Inessa casually stretched her hands so the tips poked out from the robes- she had long, black claws. Bucky tried to keep his interest off his face- she'd told Natasha years ago she could do it, but Bucky had never seen her try. What was this display going to cost her- summoning shadows that strong in a bright room?

Evidently her threat of violence was enough. Finally, King Odin vanished in a flash of green light. In his place sat a smaller, much less impressive man. His long greasy black hair, pale skin, and lean frame made him look hungry- feral. This kind of guy always had a trick up his sleeve or, if he was truly caught, he'd gladly chew off his own arm for freedom. Dangerous. Deadly.

"What do you want? Safe harbor?" he sneered. Loki stood and walked towards them. Bucky pulled out two of his best blades. Inessa threw off the cloak and adjusted her stance. Both of them knew from Thor's tales that Loki didn't need a weapon in his hand to be dangerous.

"Don't insult me," Inessa's tone was no longer conversational. Loki stopped just out of attack range and crossed his arms, "Any promises you made us would end with a knife in each of our backs."

"Fine then. If you cannot trust me then why are you here? Oh!" he clapped his hands and smiled, "Are you planning to kill me?"

"I'm not here for a coup," Inessa dismissed the notion, "I have more pressing concerns."

Loki put on a mocking pout, "Oh, I've heard. Poor Thor. He will be missed. Not by me, but I'm sure we'll find someone."

Bucky stepped forward with a growl. Inessa held up a hand and he paused obediently- though it made Loki smile more, "I'm here for information. I want to know-"

"Who killed them? Other than you, of course?" Loki cut her off, "I'm afraid that's not something I can share. It is, as you Midgardians say, above my pay grade."

"Don't worry," Inessa smiled, "I know a pawn when I see one." Loki's face darkened. Before he could reply she continued, "Like I was saying- I'm here for information. What was the blood magic you used on me and who gave you the devices to lock me out of Niflheim? An explanation and a name. That's it. I leave, you keep your stolen crown."

"Inessa-" she shut Bucky down with a glare. Now, if he had any doubts, Loki would know for sure they weren't truly united. They'd be less of a threat in his eyes.

He relaxed visibly. Bucky cursed internally, "And what guarantee do I have that you will not simply return later and expose me?"

"We had a few books of Asgardian magic back in New York," she waved a hand and her claws vanished- less a show of trust (what Loki would think) and more because they were simply unsustainable in the throne room. "I know you can cast a charm to seal my lips and lock my hands down- so long as the subject is willing. I wouldn't be able to speak or write any secrets you don't want me sharing."

He considered it, "I keep my throne, my place as Odin?"

"We're here for intel, not a war," Inessa could tell she'd won him over, or at least would if she pushed a bit more, "You stay king, and now that the treaty is through and my alliance with the Counsel is obviously shot there is nothing between your army and Asgard. Two answers in exchange for your security- at least from me. Or," her tone stiffened, "I leave, whisper to the world who and what you are. Even if only one person in a thousand believes it will spread through the realms like wildfire and haunt you to the grave. Are you prepared for that? My friends loved me, but it took 100 days for them to turn. Your people are already disgruntled, how fast will they drag you off that pretty throne?"

"That streak of righteousness in your blood? It's no different than that in Steven Rogers. You would never just leave me to rule or allow me to bring an army to threaten Asgard."

"It takes a team of nearly forty of us to keep Earth in line. I don't have time to care about the eight other realms anymore. Asgard will have to defend herself. Right now I just want to find out who is pulling the strings."

Loki thought it through for a good long while. Bucky eyed the doors wearily, waiting for someone to peek in and check on their king. None of htis was a good idea, but who was he to judge? He sold himself to Dennisson once upon a time for a similar bargain.

"How precisely do you propose we proceed?" Loki was won over.

Inessa had been considering the same question while he thought through the proposal, "My mind first, then you answer one question. Bucky's mind second, then the last question and we part ways."

"No," Bucky stepped forward, "me first. If he double crosses us and does something he shouldn't you can stop anything he makes me do faster than I could stop you."

"Magic like this requires consent," Loki rolled his eyes, "I couldn't double cross you with it. Fool."

"Oh, I think you could if you really wanted to, you'd find a way."

Loki grinned darkly, "You may actually be smarter than you appear." He turned back to Inessa and smiled, "You have a deal."

Inessa didn't like this one bit. It went against everything she believed in, but what other option did she have? To get answers, to have a prayer at finding the people who meant the most to her in all the world- in any world- she had to compromise. Even if it meant leaving a tyrant on the throne of Asgard. Inessa was bluffing when she threatened to slip into the Valley. She couldn't set foot in that place- not anymore, but she kept reminding herself Loki did not have the discipline necessary to orchestrate the kidnapping of the Avengers. She needed the ringleader, so she had to make Loki believe her lies. She had to play this game.

"Kneel," Loki came over to Bucky (who unwillingly sheathed his blades) and grinned savagely. The soldier had seen his schtick in Germany on security footage. He wasn't going to play along. Loki laughed and abruptly his face was friendly, honest, open- infinitely less trustworthy, "This is no power play James Barnes. The magics involved will disorient you for a time. Or would you rather tip over and fall from your full height?"

He was too much like Alexander Pierce. Bucky's blood boiled, but just like Inessa in that same moment he told himself it was a necessary evil. Something that couldn't be helped if he was going to find the Avengers.

"Same time, we both do this." Bucky watched Loki carefully as they both took a knee. He was too confident, he agreed too readily. It would be up to Inessa to deal with any damage he caused. Bucky closed his eyes and felt Loki grab onto his shoulders and lock him in place.

"Deep breath now, then let me work. If you fight anything I will not be able to do this and you get no information from me." Bucky cleared his mind.

Loki clawed through his head and sealed away every mention of his name, every suspicion, every criticism he'd felt or heard about Odin and his rule of Asgard. Bucky would remember, but Loki was making it impossible to pass on the information in any way. Attempting to warn anyone would shut down the speech and motor parts of his brain temporarily. He wouldn't be able to do so much as tap out a warning.

Bucky's mind reeled as Loki dove through it and wrapped him in a web of Asgardian magic. He hated to admit it, but he was glad to be on his knees. It felt like he was spinning in circles while looking up at the sky.

Abruptly Loki released Bucky and let him slump to the floor. While her companion groaned he stood and came closer to Inessa, "Your first question?"

"Where did you get the devices from- I want the maker, not the delivery boy." She wasn't going to fall for any of Loki's famous wordplay.

"The Collector. Ready?" Inessa had heard of the man, but never dealt with him. From his reputation he had to be a middle man- if he wanted to add the Avengers to his cache of rare items he'd have taken her too. Everything she'd seen over the last few months painted a rough picture of who she was after- someone malicious, cruel, and ruthless. Still, she had the next piece of the puzzle.

As soon as Bucky's head stopped spinning he stood up and flashed Inessa a thumbs up. She dropped to her knees and closed her eyes without a word. Loki grabbed her and Bucky watched, heart pounding, as he squirreled his way into her mind. She began to sway and shadows poured from her. Bucky pulled his blade back out. Loki was going to betray them, it was how he operated. As soon as he was done with Inessa their threat level plummeted.

Either he was mocking her or buying time- Loki didn't simply drop Inessa as he had Bucky. He loosened his grip and helped her as she tried to shake the incredibly dizziness the magic brought. He even helped her to her feet- feigning compassion obviously. Only when she had been standing alone for several moments did he speak, "Question two, take your time."

"The blood magic," Inessa panted, "What did you do to me? What spell did you work on Niflheim?"

"None at all," Loki stepped back towards his throne and smiled, "It was commissioned. I don't do blood magic- too messy."

There it was- his game, "Then tell me who cast the spell!"

"I'm afraid that wasn't part of our agreement," Loki shimmered and Odin again stood before them, "Two questions, two answers. I've upheld my end, you upheld yours, so I believe our transaction is complete." he turned and twisted the handle of the scepter in the throne. Too late Inessa realized what it was- another transmitter. She tried to open a doorway, summon Nadya, re-form her claws- anything, but she was powerless.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you," he winked, then Odin's face morphed into one of pure agony, "GUARDS!" his voice cracked on the word. Instantly the doors flew open and a full troop flooded the control room. Bucky wheeled around and threw a knife at one man, but a shield slammed into the side of his face, then another hit behind his knees, forcing him down. Inessa watched Bucky being pummeled into submission and simply stood with her hands out from her body and away from the scythes. She extended her reach as far as possible, but either Loki had the realm locked down just like Niflheim or his reach extended that of her powers.

"They killed Prince Thor! They killed my boy!" tears streamed down Odin/Loki's face, "Lock them in my brother's cell! Summon Calder back from patrol! I want her dead! I want her dead!" he broke down into sobs. Inessa snarled at him as the guards grabbed her and dragged her roughly out of the hall. Her blood was cold in her veins. Loki was summoning Calder? What did he have up his sleeve?

How was she supposed to get out of Asgard alive?

"Keep looking you little shit!" Sam nearly shoved Amadeus' head into the keyboard, "We need to know where that bitch went NOW!"

"I'm trying-"

"TRYING ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH! SHE KILLED OUR FRIENDS! SHE KILLED-"

"I KNOW! That doesn't make it any easier to run energy emissions scans on a whole fucking planet!" Amadeus threw his computer at the wall, shattering the screen and breaking the casing open. Sam dragged him to his feet and lifted him by the collar of his shirt.

"STOP IT!" Marie shouted and wedged herself between the two (not easy when Sam practically had Amadeus in the air), "WOULD YOU JUST KNOCK IT OFF?! YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO WANTS HER DEAD!" Sam dropped Amadeus and shoved Marie into him, sending both of them to the floor.

"DON'T YOU TELL ME TO KNOCK IT OFF!" he bellowed, "MY FRIENDS ARE DEAD BECAUSE OF HER!" he pointed at Amadeus and his voice lowered to a whisper, "If I find out you're hiding her somewhere I swear to god-"

"I'M NOT HIDING HER! I WANT TO FIND HER JUST AS MUCH AS YOU DO!" Amadeus snapped and untangled himself from Marie, "LOOK, I forgot I changed the frequency, OK? I didn't know it wouldn't work! Do you know how long ago that was? Before THANOS. I didn't even know what I was looking at! I didn't change it so she could get away!"

Sam growled, "You lying sack of-"

"Sam! Get out here, we have a visitor you'll want to meet," Geoff snapped from the door. For a moment Amadeus thought he'd ignore the summons, take a swing or five, but Sam just turned and stormed out without a word, "FIND HER!" Geoff yelled, then slammed the door behind him. Amadeus helped Marie up and swore as his hand began to sting- most of the skin on his palm was torn when he tried to brace his landing on the thin carpet.

Marie just glared at him, "It's not bad enough we're under lock-down in here because he thinks we worked with that little bitch but now you're picking fights with Sam and helping her hide?!"

"I. CANNOT. FIND. HER!" Amadeus screamed, "I'VE BEEN AN AVENGER FOR YEARS, YOU'VE BEEN ONE FOR MONTHS, YOU DON'T GET TO QUESTION MY LOYALTIES! Inessa and I have played this game before- I can't find her when she doesn't want to be found!"

"Just fix your damn computer and get back to work. I, for one, would rather be hunting her than be stuck in here with you!"

Sam could here them bickering from the middle of the floor. He ignored them and focused instead on the visitor. The man was Asgardian, some member of King Odin's private guard- Calder.

"Are you the leader of the Avengers?" the man looked down on him and in Sam's current mood that was a very bad idea.

"You tell me," Sam gestured to the twenty or so people gathered on the 100th floor of the now-vacant Avengers Tower. They'd cleaned out the cubicles and set out cots, it was a small camp, but no one was willing to leave and miss their chance to kill Inessa again. The only decoration in the stark room (pun not intended) was a mural Kelsey had painted on one wall of their lost leaders in an iconic scene from the First Battle of New York.

Calder took in the sight of the rough crew and wrinkled his nose, "Hiding in a ruined building? Hardly the force I was expecting. Nevertheless- King Odin sent me to retrieve you. He has captured Inessa Ryker and her companion, James Barnes. As a gesture of peace between our realms he extends an invitation to you and TEN of your Avengers to come to Asgard and carry out the execution yourselves."

"You're bringing us to Asgard?" Sam glanced around, everyone was curious, "When did Odin capture them? King Odin, sorry."

"Several hours ago. He sent me to you as soon as I returned from a patrolling mission." Calder seemed confused, "He's giving you first blood- you and your chosen team will execute the traitorous wench and her guard- unless you are refusing the offer."

Sam glared, "She killed my friends, destroyed our home, and betrayed our entire world in doing so. She has been manipulating us since before we even got her out of the fridge. You bet your ass I want her dead. But King Odin should have had her killed on sight." He turned and pointed to several Avengers, "Kelsey, Geoff, Raj, Maya, Ellie, Castor, Travis, and Eoin- get your gear, then grab Marie and Amadeus. If they want to prove their loyalty they help us. Otherwise they get locked up until Inessa's dead."

"Help you with what?" Calder was only mildly surprised at the flurry of activity. They had more in mind than attending an execution, clearly.

"You lock Inessa up, she always wriggles her way out. By the time we get there you'll be in need of a hunting party, mark my words."

The team he'd chosen was perfect. He had the best fighters- Maya, Kelsey, Castor, Ellie, and Raj. The rest had powers useful not only in a fight, but also in a hunt- Geoff and Eoin. Travis and Marie were born to subdue prey of any kind, and Amadeus knew more about how Inessa thought than anyone in the world.

Sam was more than ready to wipe Inessa Ryker out of existence- even with her own teammates.

It was time to put the mongrel down for good.

Chapter 9: 91 Days Before the Explosion

[annebrontesrequiem]

hi can you do something like the mc being like jumin about guys like her mom dated and got married a hundred times so she's always like "guys are all the same..." :) thank you

I wasn’t sure who you wanted me to do with tis, so I decided to do a fic of Jumin. I think that I’ll do this as an hc with the RFA+ the minor trio, but idk, I just want to write a mini fic right now. So I hope you like!

You didn’t understand how it happened. You had found a loving person, someone who understood you, who was kind, and sweet, and, and a guy.

A guy, why did it have to be a guy? You groan to yourself, flipping through the messenger. You know that falling for a guy was the most idiotic thing you could’ve done. Your father had taught you that much, cheating on your poor mother, not even caring when she succumbed to cancer. Instead he had brought a new woman to the wake, and to the funeral. You were the one to make the speech, and to accept condolences. Meanwhile he was sleeping around with this woman.

So why, why did you have to fall in love with one. You scroll through the part where Jumin asked if you wanted to go to a park and watch the sunset together, and the part where you’d said yes. Why had you said yes? You groan inwardly. It wasn’t that you hated him, there wasn’t anything particularly bad about him, or anything to that matter. It was just, well, he was a guy; and you’re sure that he would turn out the same. That he would win you over, use you, then leave you on a slab while he went to the next woman. Scrolling more through the messenger you sigh, staring out at the skylight. You want to trust him, you really did, you like him-no, more than that-you love him. But how could you be sure that a man would ever love you, truly? You didn’t think that would ever happen. So, sighing you stood up to get ready.-“It’s lovely out, isn’t it MC?” Jumin says, a small smile on his face, his hand just barely closing the air around yours, fingers touching slightly. You nod, staring out at the large park, the spiral fence, and the marble statues of Greek and Roman gods. You had ended up dressing up a bit, wearing a black cocktail dress, little white bows on the hemline. Your hair was falling in front of your face, and you kept arguing in your head whether or not to push it out of the way. Eventually you decide to push it to the side, your bangs leaning away from the man next to you, your hair slightly curving down to the right. You don’t know why you made your face less covered to him, but no way to turn back. Sighing to yourself you keep looking around the garden. “MC?” Jumin’s voice pipes up again, a hint of worry playing at the edges, and you turn your face towards his.

“Oh, sorry, yes, this garden, it’s very beautiful.” You scan the garden, as if to prove your point, but really you just want to think about what to do. You can feel Jumin’s gaze still on yours, fixed and sure; and eventually you face him again, your face questioning. “Jumin?” You ask, despite knowing what he’s thinking. He’s trying to figure you out, something that you’ve seen so many guys before him do to your friends, and you at sometimes. But despite your usual hate of such gaze, this one feels a bit different. Oh, how stupid am I being? You think to yourself. You could’ve said no, you could’ve told him something off, like you’ve done before, you could’ve, you could’ve, you could’ve…

You realize you’re phasing out, and shake your head slightly to focus on the dark eyes staring at you. You feel the heat radiating off him, something comforting, like a fireplace on a cold winter’s day. People always said you were cold, but you’d always ignored them before now. Now you can feel it, and it makes you almost self-conscious. You rub your arm offhandedly, trying to work up enough friction to warm your frigid skin. Jumin’s eyes flick down to your arm, and he begins to pull off his navy jacket. “Oh, I’m sorry you don’t have- “

“No, please.” He says, and you quiet down, despite your mind screaming to continue; “Let me, you seem cold.” Placing the jacket gently over your shoulders he leaned in closer to you, the air turning colder on his skin. You realize he’s still wearing a button-down, leaning into him you can feel the crinkly fabrics under your shoulders. Your fingers trace his again, and you find yourself leaning into him more than you meant to. Beginning to pull away you start to say your excuses, but he shakes his head. “No, it’s not bugging me, I promise, really.” You look at this man, this strangely nice man, before leaning in once more, memorizing then scent of his shirt, something to hold onto when this is over.

You two keep walking, but eventually, finding it hard to walk in the way you two are wrapped up, you two find a bench. Sitting down you don’t stop leaning into him; it would be the perfect time to go away, but something draws you towards him. The sunset is beginning, the pink, golden, and violet shades streaking the sky. It’s peaceful and calming, and you feel a smile twitch on your lips. At first you try not to, but eventually you begin talking, softly, but slowly getting a bit louder. “Hey,”

“Yeah?” Jumin looks at you, a small contented smile on his face. You swallow your sudden want to wrap your arms around him, but instead continue talking.

“Do you have any relatives?” You notice the dampening of his face, but you want to know, you want to know what it’s like to have a normal family.

“Yes, my family is quite broken, my father, he’s- “Jumin lets out a sigh, and you apologize quickly, leaning away. “No, it’s okay.” He says, smiling slightly at you. “What’s your family like?” You sense a hint of curiosity as well, and for a second wonder whether you should refuse. But you can tell him, right? Maybe then he’ll feel like you only think of him as a friend, and if not? You’re not sure. But for some reason you take a breath, and begin;

“My family, well, it’s actually not a pretty story. My mother had me, but right afterwards my birth father left me. Then she got cancer, and the man she was married with seemed really sweet and legitimately caring.”

“But?” Jumin says, his face plastered with concern.

“But when she died he, well I guess he showed his true colors. That day, the day of the wake, he brought his new girl. I was fourteen and stuck with him. It was four years of Hell on Earth. New women once a month, sex on the couch when I’d get home. Everything, everything was, so, so horrible.” You smile grimly, remembering those days. You feel like crying, it’d be nice, but the tears won’t come out, a last-ditch effort of your brain to hide yourself. You feel a large, warm hand covering your small, cold one. You look up at him, why did you tell him this. Deciding it’d be better to not have to see him, you look away, bangs falling in front of your face.

“MC, that, that’s horrible.” His voice sounds so concerned, so real, yet you know it can’t be. It never has been. Why should this time be any different? It shouldn’t, exactly, it won’t be.

“It’s fine.” You reply, your voice small, oh so small, because it always is. You’re always fine, nothing else, a state of neutrality.

“No, no MC it’s not.” His voice sounds firm, but you know that tone. The knight-in-shining-armor, the I’ll-be-your-only-one. You can’t help but feel your heart crack, you’re sick of being off guard; you wish you could agree, that you could cry into his shoulder, and have him pick you up and carry you to somewhere safe. But no one would actually do that, not in the real world.

“No really Jumin. I’ve made my piece with it, it doesn’t matter anymore.” You insist, still avoiding his gaze. But another soft hand softly cups the bottom of your chin, and you turn, not as abruptly as you’d like to, to face him. “Jumin, please.” You try to insist, but me continues to look at you.

“MC, what do you think of me?” He asks softly, and you sigh. The truth, or the thing they want to hear? No, you don’t need to make a decision on this, you want to tell him the truth. So, you sigh and look up at him and reply.

“I don’t trust you.” You begin, bluntly; Jumin’s face doesn’t fall, instead he nods, much to your surprise. “I’ve seen what happens when you get involved with guys, and, I don’t want to experience that any more than I have. I mean, look at what I’ve seen! They’re all the same, every, single, solitary, one. They’re all the same. And I am not going to be one of those people who falls for it.” You stare into his eyes, almost as a challenge, or at least that’s what it was supposed to be. Instead you feel tired, oh so tired, tired of hiding, of pretending, of not being able to just tell someone everything, every detail, every instance. You stare down at your hands, still enveloped in Jumins’. “I’m sorry.” You whisper, half to him half to yourself.

Instead of getting a disgusted look, or a head shake, or more words, you get a hug. His arms are just as warm as his hands, a contrast with yourself. And you look up in surprise.

“I also had a bad childhood, it was horrible. And I get it, I get it that men can be horrible, that men can be liars and cheaters, and just overall, just, horrid. I also was afraid, I was so afraid MC, that you would leave me, that I wouldn’t be good enough, that something would go wrong. I don’t want to be like my father, and I don’t want you to suffer like you have before.” Is his voice shaking? You look up to him, your hand landing softly on his cheek.

“Jumin. Oh my God.” You just say.

“Do you hate me, MC?” And it breaks out, the one phrase you had been holding back, the one phrase you’d sworn never to say to anyone, ever. But you say it, and when you say it you feel lifted, like a wall coming down, or a hand pulling you out from a tank of water.“I love you.”-His face lights up like the sun god’s chariot riding past. He smiles like a child, like the happiest person alive. You feel the same way, and you smile softly. “I promise MC, I promise that I will never abandon you like they did to you and your mother.” He says, his face dead serious. And you believe him, you believe him with all your heart. So when you lean in to kiss him it doesn’t feel wrong, there are no warning bells, nothing telling you to pull back; instead you allow it to happen, and as the last rays of red turn into the inky blue of night, you feel like the sun just rose in your life, for the first time in a long while.

So, what do you think? Again, I will do hcs for RFA+ Minor Trio, but I just really wanted to write a mini fic, since you didn’t specify and this was the first thing that came to my mind. Hope you like, and have a good time reading! Also this is a one shot unless you say otherwise/request otherwise.

Requests are open