#<- punch in the face in the most light hearted positive way ever

[bettertwin1]

Also I broke my Bi friend yesterday using Cowboy PeePaw and I have no regrets >:3

Yes I made the picture rainbow for a reason :3

I love gay people!!!!!!!!!

[lvmimis]

Katsuki handles you extremely gently for the most part, which is why when you find yourself at the tail end of play-wrestling in the midday on Saturday, wrists bound together in a firm, one-handed grasp and a leg locked against him at the hip, you’re a bit surprised. Your lips form into a soft ‘o’ as you let out a pant; conversely, his breathing is still, having not exerted very much effort, but you can practically feel his heart pound in his chest.

Or possibly it’s wishful thinking, given the way your own heart races.

Katsuki pauses for a moment, then dips in close, kissing your forehead.

“Had enough?” he asks.

“What if I said no?” you quip. In reply, his face buries in the crook of your neck and he snorts softly.

“Why don’t we make love, not war?” 

You’d admonish him on the cheesiness of the statement, but you don’t have the energy to. By now, Katsuki has relaxed his hold on your wrists and your leg, but you let your thighs and calves find new positioning wrapped around his waist as he lowers his weight onto you. He’s heavy, but it’s a familiar, comfortable heaviness that keeps you warm.

“Don’t like roughhousing with you,” he murmurs softly, still unmoving. Your bodies breathe in and out together, and you let yourself hold him even closer, hooking your left arm around his neck gently and running your right through his hair. 

Perhaps somewhere this is another form of a wrestling lock, but you’re decidedly loving, letting fingers trace between the blonde spikes to scratch his scalp.

Katsuki appreciates your softness just as much as your feistiness at times, and perhaps the former he needs a little more at this time.

You lay together for a moment, remembering when you sparred for real once years ago while at UA, and how quickly he folded.

Perhaps you cheated, you think as you conjure up the memory.

…

Paired together for sparring despite your friends’ apprehensive looks, you take up the challenge gladly. Light on your feet, the two of you move in concert towards and away from each other quickly as you trade blows - a narrow dodge of a punch with a sidestep. You grab his hand, and Katsuki’s surprise emboldens you as you plant your foot firmly on the ground and use your momentum to throw him over your shoulder.

Collective gasps abound from your watching classmates as Katsuki hits the ground, hard. You smile once he’s quick to jump back to his feet, wider still as he grumbles out loud.

“You’re so goddamn sneaky.”

He resumes a fighting stance. The ring is relatively small, a chalky circle about 8 bodies in diameter, but he still hasn’t fallen out of bounds. Red-faced, he’s lunged at you again (Izuku in the crowd comments that he must be more upset that he can’t use his quirk than the fight itself) and you sidestep him once more before tripping him. He loses his balance just for a moment, but jumps back into a back handstand then rights himself. 

He does look like he’s getting his ass kicked, but your friend heckles him first with the truth.

“He’s blinded by love, go easy on him!”

Aizawa shoots her a disapproving look, and your cheeks warm, but you don’t let yourself get distracted. You won’t know how right she is until later, anyway.

Time elapses - you block another heavy roundhouse kick that causes you to skid but you stay standing as you brace for impact, your heels digging into soft ground.

“I told you I won’t ever go easy on you,” Katsuki hisses. 

He follows this up with a leg sweep that has you tumble over him, and you somersault to regain control, but Katsuki has your leg by the ankle, pulling until you dangle for a moment, but you land a punch straight into his gut despite your upside down position.

Your friend screams again to ‘get his ass!’ amongst your classmates and gets another look from Aizawa. 

But Katsuki has let go with the force of the shock and you shoot backwards and prepare for an axe kick. He blocks, but for a split second he loses his resolve - the look on your face is fierce, and he remembers exactly why he has a crush on you.

The two of you jump back and separate to the opposite sides of the ring.

“If you don’t get serious, you’ll lose,” you tease.

“I’m going easy on you,” he finally claims, gruffly.

“You literally said otherwise 15 seconds ago.”

An ooooooo runs through the crowd that makes him scowl, and he takes off again with another lunge. You block, a move that makes Shoto shake his head at the bad choice, and you skid backwards from the sheer power behind the punch, making it almost closer to the borders of the ring. The subsequent onslaught is hard and you’re about to make it out of bounds.

Until you try a desperate move.

Leaning forward suddenly as if you were to kiss him, red blooms on his face, and he immediately backs off.

Izuku cups his face in his palms.

A leapfrog jump over him and a slight push, and he’s out of the ring, having fallen flat on his ass.

Denki, Sero and Kirishima don’t let him live it down for hours.

…

You definitely did cheat.

And perhaps in a way you are now, because he’s putty in your hands as he melts into you. 

But you’re no longer fighting, whether playful or not - teeth, tongue, lips don’t clash but rather dance and glide together; fingers and palms caress and worship each other in your joint embrace.

No power struggle between you two to be found anywhere - if anything perhaps in a way, you’ve always had the upper hand, being fully adored by him.

Regardless of how much stronger he is than you, whether it is in physical ability or will or resolve, he’d still very easily and consistently succumb to your love.

[minus-plus-zer0]

One Good Grovel

♡ Genre: Fluff (trust me), little crack ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader ♡ Tags: Established relationships

You and Katsuki had your biggest fight in a while.

Both sides fought like they were out for blood. You two said things you shouldn't have, things that were hard to take back. It ended with Bakugou storming out of your shared apartment.

The moment he did, he regretted it. But he didn't know how to go back inside and say it.

Hours later after he came home from doing errands, Bakugou found you on the couch. You hadn't answered any of his texts, and Bakugou never felt so helpless before. He was already losing you fast, and he couldn't dawdle now. Bakugou dumped his groceries on the kitchen counter and then approached you. Neither of you said anything.

You still looked torn up about your earlier argument, your hair a little messy in a way that Bakugou liked. He'd prefer to be the one messing it up himself, but he knew he didn't deserve that privilege now. Bakugou threw an extra blanket over you, because you looked like you needed one.

"Yo," Bakugou said, sitting down beside you on the couch. "How've you been holding up?"

"...I don't wanna talk about it. Not with you."

Your voice was frail, quiet. It broke Bakugou's heart, knowing that he put you in this position.

He had to make it right.

"I'm sorry," Bakugou said. "For everything I said. I wouldn't be surprised if ya never wanted to talk to me ever again after this." You looked at him suspiciously. "It'd kill me if you did, but that's fine. 'Cause I value your feelings over mine. When I was out today, all I could think about was you and what I said to you. So I bought you some gifts and I really hope you'll love 'em."

Bakugou reached out to stroke your hair. "And I promise you, I'll never say that demeaning shit to you ever again. You mean more to me than winning that stupid argument, and I don't know where I'd be in my life without you by my side. I was wrong, okay? I was dead wrong for treating you like that, like anything less than the best. Most of all, I just want ya to take me back and love me. But I won't force ya to do anything. I can walk out that door again and leave you alone if you asked. And if you hate me forever... I understand."

You smiled at him. "...Okay, I hear you."

"...So do ya hate me now?"

You still smiled. "Only a whole bunch. You monster." You playfully punched him in the face.

"Sorry," Bakugou said, matching your sweet expression. "I deserved that. Punch me all ya want. Won't even stop ya."

You gave him several more feather-light punches. "You're soooo dead."

"Ya gonna call the cops on me too? Make sure I never do that shit again? Make sure I learn my lesson instead of forgiving me too easily?"

"Yes." You fluffed his hair. "They're already on their way. The conviction of a famous Pro Hero is gonna be the scandal of a century!"

Bakugou fixed his hair. "Well I'll still love ya, even while in jail."

You crossed your arms. "Only after you've served your 10-year sentence and repent through hours and hours of community service will I finally forgive you. Then you'll be free, we'll start all over, and we'll fall in love again."

"Deal," Bakugou said, kissing your forehead. "But I wanna skip to the end."

"No, that's the easy way out!"

"The hell? You're not actually gonna send me to jail for saying it was wrong to like Pepsi over Coca-Cola, are ya?"

"That's how the roleplay is going!"

"It ain't that serious! I said I was sorry babe! I'm sorry!"

You recalled what you originally fought about quite easily...

"Alright," Bakugou said. "I'm gonna head out for groceries. Any last minute changes to the shopping list?"

"Oh yes!" You rushed out to meet him in the entrance. "Could you get me some Pepsi? Pretty please?"

"What the fuck?" Bakugou looked at you like you grew two heads. "'Pepsi'? You want freaking 'Pepsi'?!"

You shrugged. "...Is that so bad? It'd be nice to have something besides Coca-Cola for once..."

Bakugou's eyes narrowed into slits. He shut the front door and approached you. "I didn't realize we had a freaking problem here. You're telling me I've been buying the wrong soda for you this entire time?!"

"Well... It's just not as good as Pepsi. It's not the same. I'm sorry... but I've always felt this way."

"Since fucking when?! When did things change?" Bakugou slapped a hand over his eyes. "What the hell did I miss?!"

Bakugou couldn't believe this. He thought he knew you better than anyone, just like how you knew him better than anyone. You two were the tightest couple ever. Bakugou had an engagement ring hidden in his dresser because he had already long since decided that what he wanted in life was you.

But now, he didn't feel like he knew you at all.

He'd still marry you though.

You remained silent. Bakugou couldn't stand it. He shook his head, then walked back to the front door, opening it. He stopped before he left, turning to you.

"Coca-Cola is better than Pepsi. That's just a fact."

Then he turned, and left. Instant regret washed over him, but he continued down to the front lobby. As Bakugou looked down upon his cursed shopping list, he couldn't in good conscious buy Coca-Cola anymore. Not when you hated it so much. He had to make things right.

He was getting Dr. Pepper instead.

"This is fucking disgusting, Katsuki," you said, halfway through your delicious can of Dr. Pepper at your dinner table.

"It was on sale, alright?!"

(I've read that a lot of people are unsatisfied with grovels in romance novels because they don't feel that the love interest apologizes well enough, so I wrote this just in case anybody needs one good quick grovel with none of the baggage attached. Btw, my favorite is Coke and it's not even close)

[sodapopper]

Thoughts on calling out toxic fan behavior and the recent musical drama

I don’t often talk about fandom drama, because I prefer to write about the positive instead of the ugly. But with what’s recently come out about a specific group of musical fans, I’ve seen an influx of posts across all platforms expressing outrage at the situation—outrage I share. That being said, the sentiment behind many of these posts confuses me. The anger, while absolutely justified, seems directed at the general fandom, instead of the people actually culpable.

Don’t get me wrong, bad things have happened in the musical fandom. I’m not making light of that; I have friends who’ve witnessed/been victimized firsthand by the toxicity. But many, if not most, of the situations/behavior being spotlighted are not the fault of the general fandom, but a few specific people—the folks in the group chat leaked on reddit.

Brody being ambushed at stage door? It was by that one specific group. Emma, Sky, Trevor, etc being stalked? That group. Weird comments in Soc Saturday live? That group. Rush line bullying? That group. Inappropriate/rude stage door etiquette? That group. Violent commentary and threats? That group. Bullying fans online? Guess who—yeah, it’s still that one specific group.

Make no mistake, I want these people banned from the theater and made pariahs within the fandom. They deserve every consequence coming their way. Their behavior is despicable, their words unforgivable, and the damage they’ve done to an otherwise friendly theater fandom can’t be overstated. These people have repeatedly engaged in unspeakable conduct with little sign of remorse, and our outrage is both justified and righteous.

But it’s because of us, the general fandom—and the efforts of the folks in the reddit thread and the facebook group—that these issues came to light. Management is tightening security, the cast has been made aware, and according to the most recent update, the perpetrators’ families reached out about the situation to say these young people are facing appropriate consequences. (Which is why I haven’t named them, at the request of their parents.)

Besides several extremely bad apples, the Outsiders fandom (for the most part) is a reasonable, friendly place. It hurts my heart to see posts lashing out against the fandom at large, as if 100% were responsible for this situation instead of a few.

Those kids are wrong, and it sounds like they’re facing punishment for their actions. But I hope we don’t turn their misdeeds into a witch hunt within the fandom. Most of the people I’ve encountered here are polite and respectful, who love the show and wish only the best for the cast. As much as we should continue calling out toxic behavior, it shouldn’t be at the expense of everyone who happens to enjoy the show.

Language is important, and when I see posts make sweeping accusations against “the fandom” for things only a minority of folks are doing, it saddens me. Call out bad behavior, but don’t pull your punches and end up hitting everyone instead. Be specific! Know who you’re accusing! And if you’re not comfortable naming people directly, please be cautious how you phrase your anger—don’t lump the many into the actions of a few.

Every fandom has drama. Every fandom has bullies who try to ruin the experience for others. Every fandom has scandals and bad behavior and hateful deeds. But in the grand scale of what’s out there, ours is surprisingly unproblematic, compared to most other fandoms, and I think we should acknowledge that more. I’ve been a fan of many things for many years, and this is the only fandom in which I’ve felt safe enough to stop my habitual lurking and take a place at the table.

I love our cute little fandom, full of artists and writers and imaginative minds. I’m sorry for the horrible things that have happened at the hands of people who called themselves fans. I’m sorry the cast was ever made to feel uncomfortable and unsafe. But I also believe the majority of us are good, kind people, and I will continue to appreciate the efforts they’ve made to keep this space as respectful as possible.

We should never take good fans for granted. To all the people who love the story, who love the show, who’ve been touched in some way by these characters and carry a piece of the magic inside your heart, and who are as grieved by the misconduct as I am—I love you, I see you, and I’m glad you’re here.

Stay gold, my friends! 💗✨

[b33zlebubz]

RECKLESS ABANDON--------

CHAPTER NINE - chicken scratch

TASK FORCE 141 X READER (PLATONIC)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || MASTERLIST || AO3 LINK || NEXT CHAPTER

TAGS: gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, slow burn found family, PTSD, trauma bonding, kidnapping, reader is a foster kid in high school, family drama, blood, violence, guns

"After your life falls apart at the seams very early on, you work hard to keep the small amount of peace you still have. Foster care is rough, work is draining, school is a drag...but you eventually find yourself in a good place. All of that quickly goes to waste, however, when your family's unfinished business finally finds its way back to you."

The beep of a heart monitor is constant background noise over the course of the next week.  Constant.  Rhythmic as the ticking of the clock across the empty, sterile hospital room, and just as annoying as the fluorescent lights above your head.  If it weren't for the throbbing pain of a concussion in your skull and the debilitating ache of dark bruises, you'd be restless in the quiet silence, but right now—all you really have the energy to do is sleep and think.

Think think think.

You only remember bits and pieces of what happened after Soap found you both.  You recall, vaguely, Price's countless apologies upon getting ushered back into another helicopter, the warmest hug you’ve ever received and a quick once over for any bad injuries.  You remember Gaz looking rather worse for wear as he limps down a runway—a twisted arm positioned carefully over Soap's shoulder.  Pale, dazed, jaw tight with pain.  You remember wrestling out of Ghost’s grasp to greet him, tearful and hyperventilating.

“Happens every time,” he had managed with a tight smile and a thumbs up, once you calmed down enough to breathe properly.

"Nice eye,"  you remember blearily telling Soap from where your cheek is pressed to Ghost's back later on.  A nasty bruise blooming across his face where flesh is nearly swollen shut, you had almost forgotten you punched him.  The front of his shirt is speckled with blood but considering he and Price the only ones relatively uninjured, you figure you don't want to know its source. 

"Nice brain,"  he snaps back immediately, eyes flitting across the dried blood that soaks your hair and the side of your sweater.  "Y'lose the last half of it in the crash, Mutt?"

Gaz chuckles deliriously at the comment.  For some reason, it makes you laugh too, and soon enough all three of you are laughing—relieved and hurting.  Even Price shakes his head, somewhat of a smile twitching across his face.  The Captain’s hand doesn't leave your shoulder once Ghost carefully slides you off his back.  Even he seems reluctant to let you go.

You remember throwing up in a bucket in the back of some SUV, then getting put in a hospital bed with painkillers, stitches, and orders not to look at anything too closely.  You aren't even allowed to have the TV on, but you do so sometimes anyway, even if the sight of your father's face on the news makes you nauseous all over again.

Things are quiet.  Too quiet.  For days after the talk with Price you don't get any visitors.  Just a few vague texts from Laswell and a call from Price that pretty much only consists of him dodging your questions.

You think a lot.  

Most of the sparse times you are awake are spent on the floor where all your father's letters are laid out at your feet.  Blue and black ink smudged across delicate, wrinkled, damp paper as you wait for them to dry completely before even daring to move them.  You've reread them all what feels like fifty times—looking for clues of his plans at the time, hints of Ghost, Nikolai, Laswell…anyone, really.  Dates.  Numbers.  Maybe a code hidden in the words?  You work at it every day, only stopping when you feel like you might vomit again.  You find yourself hoping Price will come through the door with orders to move somewhere—or maybe Ghost with more answers to quell your racing mind.  You want to know if Gaz is okay.  Hell, you'd be happy with Soap's presence if it meant conversation or something.

Beep.  Beep.  Beep.

There’s a knock at your door, about a week in.

Startled, you nearly jump at the disturbance in the silence, having dozed off on the floor.  Letters and neat cursive signatures swirling in your eyes before you blink the bleariness away.  You grunt as you push yourself up, stumble to the door.  Open it slowly.

You blink when your eyes meet a stubbled, tan face.  "Soap?"  

The soldier in question straightens himself.  He's not in fatigues, for once.  Instead, he's got a dark hoodie on—the hood pulled up over his head and sunglasses to hide the bruise around his eye.  

"Aye,"  The Scott replies, scratching the back of his neck and avoiding your gaze.  "You…free to talk?"

Your mouth opens and shuts again.  Suddenly everything you wanted to say, everything you thought would come flooding out the second you had a visitor flies from your mind.  Really, he was the last person you expected to come knocking.

"I’m due for surgery in an hour.”

A beat of silence passes and his brow furrows.  "Actually?" 

"No.  Joking."

"Cunt,"  he spits with a scoff,  then he straightens himself a little with a steadying breath.  "I owe ya' an apology, kid."

You blink for a second, more surprised than you ever expected yourself to be.  A part of you pegged him as too prideful to ever even toy with the idea, and you find yourself slightly shocked.  You shake it off quick, though, and lean against the doorframe.  "You owe me a little more than that."

"Can y'just…be serious?"  He insists, exasperated.  "For two seconds?"

You chew the inside of your cheek, feigning thoughtfulness as you consider his words.  Watch him purse his lips.  He looks a little worse for wear—stubble thicker than usual and mohawk not nearly as perfect as it usually is.  Instead, it sits on his forehead, sad and flat. 

You push yourself away from the side of the door.

"Alright,"  you say, gesturing for him to step inside your sterile little room.  "Come in."

He pads in after you, eyeing the paper scattered across the floor and the still-damp backpack that sits spread out on the bedside table—along with the lighter and a few multi-colored clumps of what used to be handfuls of string.  

"Watch your step.  You rip any of those letters, I'll kill you."

He huffs, shuffling over to the chair on the far side of the room.  "Aye."

You take a seat on your bed as he fidgets with his bandaged hands and the room feels suddenly awkward.  There's too much to talk about—so much that neither of you can really pinpoint where to start, what to touch on first.  In the end, it's Soap who clears his throat, fidgeting with his hands.  He’s got a tattoo, you notice.  A symbol you don’t recognize.

"So…"  he says.  "You and L.T…"

You, still, have no idea who knows that your dad was friends with Ghost.  You're sure Price does, considering everything, but you're beginning to think you overestimated how close Ghost is with anyone.  You think nobody really knows who Ghost is; what he's been through, why he's here.  You also like to think that, maybe, your dad did.

"Yeah,"  you nod.  "He's not that scary once he saves your life.”

He huffs in reluctant agreement,  "Aye.  Tell me about it."

"He's saved you before?"

Soap sits back in the seat.  Hands clasped in his lap, his leg bounces as he takes a breath.

"Kinda in the job description, Mutt…to save each other's lives,"  he explains with a shrug.  "But yeah.  I owe 'em, especially for all the times he’s saved my arse.”

You bring your legs up on the bed.  Cross them and grab your ankles.  Nod and purse your lips together before you ask sheepishly: “could you…tell me about it?”

He tilts his head, “about what?”

“One of the times.”

He huffs a breath, tilts his head and looks up like he might have more than a few examples to tell.  A moment passes before he sighs and sits back, settling on one.

“About two years ago, whenever I was first assigned 141.  Was returning to base from the scariest OP I’ve had so far whenever somethin’ came up.  Got ambushed, shot at, separated from the group,”  he says, threatening a smile like it might’ve been a good memory.  “Ghost kept my head on while I stumbled through a city floodin’ with mercs, bleedin’ out and everything.  All while shooting and running away from pursuers of his own. Never thought his stupid fuckin’ jokes would ever give him such a tactile advantage.”

You huff, “never expected him to care so much.”

That pulls a chuckle from Soap.

“Damn right,”  he agrees, crossing his arms.  “But anyone who levels that many Shadows in one night is a good man, in my eyes.”

Beep.  Beep.  Beep.  The heart monitor to your right fills the silence for a few moments before you speak up again.

"How is…everything?"  You say.  "With the others."

Soap's lips purse together.  For once, he seems nervous, eyes darting out the window next to you and brow furrowing tight.  Immediately, you tense, your heart rate picking up in your chest.

"It's Gaz, isn't it?"  You press, sitting up straighter.  "Did he die?"

"What?"  Soap chuckles, appalled, and he shakes his head.  "No—no, Christ almighty, Gaz didn't die.  He's fine.  They're all fine.  It's just…"

He clears his throat and gestures uselessly with his hands.

"...It's need-to-know."

You blink at him like he's got four heads.  Panic fades away to confusion as you raise an eyebrow at him, shoulders dropping.

"'Need-to-know'?" You echo.  "The fuck's that mean?"

Soap sighs, looks away again.

"'Means you're getting shipped back to the states, kid."

You think he might-as-well have dumped a bucket of ice water over your head.  Your mind goes blank, swirling questions and what-ifs sucked completely from your brain.  

"Price was supposed to break the news today,"  he explains further.  "'Figured I should stop by before he picked you up to clear the air, y’know?  Leave no bad blood.”

You’re too stunned by his words to really listen, too caught up in the thought that you failed.  You don’t have the codes.  You don’t have training or experience or any of the skills required to be anything more than just another body to protect.  A liability.  A name on a mortuary, if you don’t leave, hide, and stay hidden.  You’ve run out of time and failed.

Beep.  Beep.  Beep.

When you don’t reply, Soap lets out a breath and stands to his feet.

“It was nice knowing ya’,” He places a hand on your shoulder, gently squeezing.  “And I’m sorry.”

Your hands ball into fists, staring at the floor as you clutch the fabric of your sweatpants in your hands.  Your eyes sweeps across the countless letters and birthday cards that litter the ground—soiled, ruined by freezing water and snow.  Pen ink bled out and ruined.  Too late.  Your eyes land on the one he sent just before he disappeared as Soap’s hand disappears from your shoulder; a birthday card signed with the date.  

Beep.  Beep. Beep.

Soap closes the door gently behind him without another word.

Slowly, you slide off the bed.  You reach out and take the birthday card in your hands, still damp from the lakewater.  Six digits.  Circled in red ink.  Shaky handwriting.  There’s zeros after every digit.

Holy fucking shit.

Your feet move before you can even comprehend that you're up and out the door.  The IV track is ripped from your arm before you stumble out into the sterile hallway, alarms beeping in your wake.  Bare feet slide against the hospital floors.  You barely notice how someone yells for you at the counter as you pass, or the raging footsteps behind you.  Nurses, more than likely, that you ignore completely.

"Soap!"  You yell, waving the waterlogged card in your hand as your eyes catch the dark of his hoodie in the elevator.  Your legs burn and your head is pounding so hard from the sudden movement that your vision is dark around the edges, but you press on anyway until you slide into the elevator.  Soap grunts, reaching out to steady you when your legs give and your head swims.

“Jesus, Mutt, what—”

“Take me to Price.”

He blinks, squeezing your upper arms tight, “Price?”

“The code,”  you breathe.  “I know the fucking code.”

There’s a beep.  The elevator opens to the ground floor of the hospital, and suddenly you’ve got guns trained on you from all directions.  Black gear, dark helmets, riot shields and tactical vests.  You barely have time to freeze before Soap jumps in front of you and all hell breaks loose.

@brokenpieces-72 @warenai @karurururu @pertinentpostmortem @kaoyamamegami @hayleybarnesx @nostalgialeech @scuftryo @0alk0msan @synthe4u @stunkbiggu @bebobeboben @enfppixie @lyd14k4y @tlkonthestr33t @raye2000 @shinchanboi @orkwardx0

[twstfanblog]

*~Thanks Give Me~* Pt 3

A/N: Third part ready and served! Yes I passed out writing this at least twice. So you can probably see it but at this point it's just gonna have to be. I have plans to do what I'm gonna call 'Winter Cleaning' since I wont be doing a Christmas fic this year. So lots of time to look back at all of my posted fics to fix typos and the such XD Word Count: 3.3K Pairings: Ruggie/Leona, Cater/Idia, Vil/Rook, Trey/Jade, Riddle/Floyd, Epel/Ace/Deuce/Jack Warnings: Swearing, Trans-headcanons, Drug mentions, Lying about pregnancy

Prev

The dinner was surprisingly pleasant. It was a possibility, Trein knew that. His students, if push came to shove, could act civilly to each other for extended periods of time. It still made his heart soften seeing them all around the table engaged in conversations. If he craned his head a little to the left he could see Lucius seated at the ‘Kids Table’. Demeaning? Possibly. But he knew his familiar wouldn't complain if he was receiving human food, not to mention the small tumbler of cream he had in place of the fruit punch the other children and Grim were given.

Looking to his right, Trein watched Cater take photo after photo of his plate. It was filled to the brim, a little tasteful piece from the most colorful dishes. But seeing him only pick at the food, Trein realized that was only his ‘Photo Plate’. The redhead was routinely picking off of Idia’s plate who was to Caters right. 

Thinking over the conversation he had with Yuu earlier that week, Trein placed his utensils down. Dabbing at his mouth to make sure no food was on his face, he cleared his throat, “Cater?”

The redhead in question snapped his head up, the flash of his camera flickering as it took a photo, “Yes? Sorry, is the flash bothering you, sir? I'm trying to see what lighting is better.”

"Nothing is the matter Cater, I wish to speak to you on other matters.”

“Oh?” Cater leaned his arm on the table, “Spill the tea.”

Trein linked his hands together, leveling Cater with a steady gaze, “You were given the a title as a task I believe?”

“Lol, yeah. Yuu says I'm ‘Gay Cousin’. Wont really tell me what I'm supposed to be doing though.”

“Oh, well this works out perfectly. Yuu alerted me as ‘Grandpa’, it was my task to ask you certain questions.”

“Oh, thank the Seven. Actual direction…”

Trein pulled his phone from his inner robe pocket along with his reading glasses. Putting his glasses on, he opened the notes app, “Now, I've heard you children say a few terms that I'm not aware of…would you tell me what a…’Gyatt’ is?”

Cater turned to Idia, grabbing his attention from his tablet, “Switch seats with me.”

“There's two T's.”

“Switch with me right the fuck now.”

Leona ate as much from his plate in big bites as possible. Ruggie was no better, the hyena basically shoveling food down his throat without even closing his mouth. Looking to his other side, he had to hold back the urge to smirk.

Malleus Draconia, the bane of his existence and the most aggravating thorn to ever find its way to his side.

When he had visited Ramshackle to offer more monetary support, Yuu had given him a second task. They had revealed to him that they told Malleus Thanksgiving was a holiday of compromise and togetherness, meaning you weren't allowed to fight on the day. They then told him to do everything in his power to piss Malleus off.

Taking a sip of his beer, Leona glanced at Malleus from the corner of his eyes, “So, gargoyles…”

It almost made him feel bad seeing how quickly Malleus perked up, green eyes wide and sparkling.

“Yes? what did you wish to discuss about them?”

“What's your favored style? I can admit to having a soft spot for animal pieces, but the Savanna uses more geometric and plant designs.”

Malleus could have vibrated out of his seat and into the sun from how excited he became. He quickly launched into a lecture, noting the various styles and the positives of each one. Leona spoke up at points, giving actual opinions and thoughtful insights on the topic.

“I will say Kingscholar, I didn't expect you to have such knowledge on gargoyles! You must come to my club at a later date to speak on them farther.”

“I just might. Talking about grotesques is enjoyable-”

“Gargoyles.”

Leona raised an eyebrow, humming as he took another sip of his beer.

Malleus was still smiling, though his pupils had dilated into slits, “Gargoyles. We are speaking on gargoyles.’

Shrugging, Leona could barely hide his smirk from behind his glass, “Same thing.”

Leona watched in hidden elation as Malleus’s face slowly dropped the longer he talked. It was worth the days of learning gargoyle architecture just to give wrong definitions and terms, each new avenue of knowledge torturing Malleus in his urge to argue and correct him.

Soon Malleus was leaned on the table, head resting on his hands to give himself support while Leona kept talking.

Leona smiled, leaning closer to Malleus, “And you know what really gargles my goyles?”

Malleus gags hard and quick, managing to cover his mouth and steel himself.

“...Did you almost throw up?”

“I did. A little…”

The laugh Leona let out could only make Malleus more frustrated. 

Kalim had completely forgotten about the conversation topic Yuu recommended he try. He remembered as the plate of grilled and buttered corn made its second pass in front of him. Grabbing a cob, he looked across the table, “Hey, Azul. What's your opinion on The stalk market right now?”

Azul paused, closing the note app on his phone to give Kalim his full attention, “Kalim, have you been taking note of the stock market?”

“Yeah. I've only started checking on it the past week or so, but man! It's pretty wild, huh?”

Smiling, Azul moved to place another scoop of pasta salad onto his plate along with a third slice of turkey, “True. The stock market can be a bit of a wild west to the untrained. Do you have any predictions for the new year? My stepfather and I love to place bets on which company will have the worst spring quarter.”

"Hmmm. I don't know. I can't remember the companies by name still. But man, I read about one that lost half of their product due to outside issues. I'm just worried that prices will increase since they had such a bad production period. Other companies deal in their certain type of stalk, but this company was the biggest provider…”

“...” Azul placed his utensils down, giving Kalim his complete attention, “Kalim what sources are you getting this information from?” Azul doesn’t watch the stock market obsessively but he’d at least notice something so severe.

“Oh, I just Miraed ‘Stalk Market’ and started reading. You should really look up some stuff…”

“Jamil-”

Jamil didn’t even look up from his plate, grabbing a second helping of food, “Don’t involve me with this.”

Sighing, Azul turns back to Kalim, “There is no way, such a large shift happened without me noticing. Plus, if only one company is affected in production, then it wouldn’t raise prices if there are other competitors. What is this stock in?”

“Stalks.”

“Yes…Which stock? Do you remember if this company was in electronics? Services? What ddi this company do?”

“Stalks! Azul, do you know what the stalk market is?”

“Kalim, let’s not start that conversation. Tell me, in plain words, what kind of stock you were researching.”

“Corn stalks.”

“...”

Jamil had turned to them, looking at Kalim across the table, “Are you fucking serious?”

Cater had his head in his hands, Trein still beside him listing off old and newer slang that he wanted definitions of. The professor growing more and more disapproving with every new term he learned. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this.

“And…’boofing’, do you know what boofing is?”

WHO WAS BOOFING- “Pregnant. I’m pregnant.” Cater nodded to himself, using the trap card Yuu had given him to shift any conversation in his favor.

Trein raised a brow, “Is that what boofing is?”

Idia had locked in the second Cater said pregnant, looking at him in terrified confusion, “How are you pregnant?”

“...” Cater played with his hair, looking away from his boyfriend, “It’s not yours.”

Ortho quickly leaned over to narrow his eyes at Cater, Idia still stunned in silence, “Who’s the father?”

“...” Cater shifted his eyes across the table, silently watching as Trey contently ate his food.

Jade took notice, his own amused smile slowly falling from his face as he realized Cater was focused on Trey.

Feeling more and more eyes on him, Trey looked up mid-bite, “...What?”

Cater sighed, fully committing to his bit, “Trey, I’m pregnant.”

“...” Trey made the mistake of looking to his side, catching the unblinking stare of Jade’s barely contained emotions before looking back at Cater, “Why are you telling me?”

“It’s yours.”

Trey quickly reached his hand out, pinning Jade’s wrist to the table just as the mer tightened his grip on his knife, “Cater, we have…never slept together.”

Rook spoke up from Trein’s left, pouting at Cater, “Monsieur Magicam, how are you not sure it’s mine?”

Vil lost every ounce of amusement, glaring at Rook as though he was poisoning him with his eyes alone, “Why would it be yours?”

“Oh, mon amor. Love is a flighty and fickle predator, it hunts and snatches its prey with little to no warning.” Turning back to Cater, he placed a hand over his heart, “Are you sure it’s not mine?”

Cater could barely keep his face start, nodding as he watched Trey start struggling to hold Jade down from stabbing either of them, “I’m pretty sure. I’ve been craving violets and worrying about the teeth of children-”

Jade hissed under his breath, glaring at Trey and trying to grab his knife with his other hand, “How dare you impregnate someone else!?” 

“I didn’t!?”

Vil said nothing, glaring at Rook as the wine in his hand slowly started to bubble and turn black. His eye twitched as his boyfriend continued to lament and plea for Cater to tell him he was the father of his child.

Idia, breaking out of his spiral of despair and confusion, mumbling out, “Wait, you don’t even like vaginal sex. How’d you get pregnant?”

“...”

Trein spoke up, turning to Rook beside him, “Do you know what boofing is?”

Four glasses deep in the wine he brought, Crewel swirled his glass and picked at the ham on his plate. Eyes roaming the table for someone to target.

“Oi, Beakfish, hand me the red sludge.”

Riddle sighed, glaring at Floyd, “Don’t be rude to our professor and it’s cranberry sauce. Red sludge is very unappealing…Plus, it’s more of a burgundy color.”

“Eh? It’s a sludge though? It’s got chunks and everything.”

Silver raised an eyebrow, pouring more gravy onto his food, “It looks more like a jelly to me.”

While the three students were debating on what to call the condiment, Crewel grabbed the small platter but kept it close to himself, “I’ll pass it if you can tell me the boiling point of a frost potion, Floyd.”

“That’s a trick question. Frost potions don’t boil but they heat to temp.”

“Hmmm. Odd you know that but left it blank on your last test. Along with a number of other questions.”

Floyd groaned, rolling his eyes and moving to reach across the table and grab the platter in Crewel’s hand, “I didn’t wanna! Tests are so annoying, be happy I even wrote on it this time…”

Riddle glared at his boyfriend, “Honestly Floyd. You have to learn to put in more effort in your schoolwork. Your grades would be better for it.”

Crewel turned his eyes to Riddle, raising an eyebrow, “Like how you should be doing more cardio and strength training outside of Physical Education?”

“...”

“You can’t do five pull-ups, Riddle.”

Silver spoke around the spoonfuls of mashed potato in his mouth, “Riddle is able to lift a saddle during club.”

“By himself?”

“...” Silver looked back to his plate, poking at his side of vegetables, “The horses are much taller than him…”

Lilia laughed, his glass full of sangria having been drained for a third time already, “Oh come now Crewel! Children tend to try to avoid difficult things like schoolwork or exercise. We’re having a lovely meal, let’s drop the topic.”

“You have two essays you’ve yet to turn in.”

“...Um-”

“You’re aware that your Mistcord* status is public and shows you play Mortus Behind* for hours on end every night?”

“Well-”

Yuu spoke up, looking over as Deuce went back for a third helping of mac and cheese, “Slow down there, Deuce. Leave some for the rest of us.”

The spade soldier blushed, stopping from getting a second scoop before passing the dish over to Ace, “Sorry. It’s just really good, how many cheeses did you use in this?”

“Four. I call it Mac n Coma for a reason.”

“...You call it what?”

Epel hummed, biting into a deviled egg topped with a piece of ham, “Yur deviled eggs are really good, Deuce! Ah’ve never had them with chili powder before.”

Deuce smiled, “Thanks! My mom always made them with chili powder instead of cayenne. Cater confused me so much when I was making them…”

Taking another two eggs, Epel started to load his plate up again, making sure to refill his glass of apple juice, “This was a great idea. Ah’ve been meaning to get y'all together. Plus, Ah get ta really chow down without Vil bothering me about manners.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, watching Epel pile his plate high, “Eating is important, but you’re kind of…eating a lot. You know we can take leftovers back with us right?”

Ace looked from the side of his eyes, watching Ruggie eat without so much as stopping to breathe, “I mean, if there’s anything left…”

Epel had patted a hand on his stomach, “Well, you know. Eatin’ for two and all.”

Jack hacked and choked, an aborted spit take going down his windpipe. Sebek had dropped his fork onto his plate, looking at Epel with wide and terrified eyes, while Deuce seemed to buffer.

Ace sputtered, his half-chewed food falling out of his mouth, “You’re what!?”

“Oh, it ain’ yours.”

“Thank the Seven…”

Deuce held his head in his hands, staring at the table, “My mom is gonna kill me…”

“It ain’ yurs neither, Deuce. It’s Sebek or Jack’s but Ah’m not sure which…”

Jack still looked horrified, hitting his chest to clear his airway, “E-either way. I’ll step up to be there for you and the baby…”

“...” Sebek glares at Jack, “Why do you assume I wouldn’t be stepping up as the child’s father?”

“Why do you assume you’re the father?”

Slowly, Jack and Sebek’s tension escalated into an argument, the two larger freshmen moving to stand from their chairs or just leap across the table at each other. Both loudly proclaiming they’d be a proper provider for Epel and the child, unknowingly insinuating the other would not be.

While the two of them bickered back and forth, Yuu slipped Epel a twenty note bill under the table.

Sam finished off his second plate, looking around the the table. His task wasn't truly something he had to do, it was more of a get out of jail card for when the table was too rowdy for him. With two separate conversations at each end of the table dealing with possible pregnancies, a debate on if the production of corn counted as the stalk/stock market, and Draconia slowly coming to terms with the idea of manslaughter Sam decided he needed a little air.

He elbowed Crewel, stopping the wine drunk man from verbally dragging his students through the trenches, “I'm gonna go for a walk, you wanna come with?”

“To what? Have sex?”

“...” Sam shrugged his shoulders, “I mean, I was going to just…walk but we'll see how we feel afterwards?”

“...Yeah, ok.”

Floyd perks up, “Ah! Wait, shrimpy told me what your job was. I wanna come too!”

Lilia smiled, finally free from Crewel's judgemental glare, “Oh, a walk? May we join you? I even have my own…walk enhancers.”

Sam shrugged again, already standing from his seat, “Might as well.”

Their small group was barely noticed leaving, only Riddle and Silver taking account. Riddle raised an eyebrow, watching them walk out of the dining room without a goodbye.

“Where do you suppose they're going?”

Silver took the time to grab the cranberry sauce from Crewel's table space, “A walk. They should be back in about ten or fifteen minutes…”

“Why in the Seven would they go for a mid-meal walk? Once they were done eating I could understand, but Floyd's barely touched his second plate…”

“...” Silver looked over to Riddle, brows creased in confusion, “Riddle, They're going to do drugs. That's what taking a ‘walk’ means.”

The gasp Riddle gave was small but clearly horrified.

Dinner had ended, while a handful returned to their dorms (Idia of course, leaving the second Cater asked if he was ready to go, and Vil who finished his plate and dragged Rook out with him) most had decided to stick around Ramshackle.

The only reason he had stayed was the fact he did not have his phone for some reason. He tried to retrace his steps, checking around the now empty dinner table he found nothing but the nearly empty serving platters all covered again. The stray fairy watching him from little spaces, waiting for him to leave so they could pick at the food left improperly covered.

He checked the kitchen, finding only Crewel and Trein standing at the Island both nursing glasses of wine. Pouting, seated at the smaller dining table across from Vargas was Crowley. The headmaster begrudgingly eating from a plate, no doubt cursing Yuu under his breath for not actually inviting him to their massive friends and family dinner.

“Apologies for interrupting, professors. But have any of you seen my phone? White case with a rose popstand on the back?”

While most of the teachers shook their heads, Varga hummed before snapping his fingers, “The lounge! I think one of the kids had it.”

“Oh no…”

Walking into the lounge, Riddle had to hold in a snicker. Yuu had told him their family recipe for macaroni and cheese was known as ‘Mac n Coma’ and he could see why. Leona was passed out on the couch, snoring loudly face down in the cushions. Wedged between the back of the couch and Leona’s side was Ruggie. The hyena silent but sleeping just as hard with an arm draped over the back of Leona’s head.

The children were asleep too, each of them piled on top of Leona and Ruggie in a mass of limbs. Jack’s twin siblings squishing Cheka between them, the grey tipped twin sleepily gnawing on the lion cub’s tail. Deuce was also in the lounge, unfortunately unable to reach a couch or chair as he slept on the floor using a throw pillow as a blanket.

Looking around, he couldn’t see his phone anywhere. Groaning under his breath, he walked out to the back and to the patio. He quickly walked by Trey and Jade, the third-year quietly trying to calm his boyfriend who kept glaring at him. Walking around the garden, he finally saw his familiar white case.

The downside was that it was in Yuu’s hands, Floyd squished tight beside her in the pillow filled hammock swing. The two were whispering to themselves, giggling and pointing at the screen. 

He stood in front of them, hands on his hips and already tapping his foot in annoyance, “I would like my phone back, if you two delinquients wouldn’t mind.”

Floyd looked up, his eyes still rimmed in red from his ‘walk’ earlier, “In a minute, Goldfishie~. We gotta do something real fast.”

“What could you two possibly need my phone for?”

Yuu giggled, tapping on the phone and moving to place it against their ear, “We’re callin' your mom and seeing who can make her say a slur fastest.” “GIVE ME MY PHONE THIS INSTANT!”

*Twist version of Discord

*Twist version of Left 4 Dead

[hailthegodsong]

HIGH RIFT PLAINS: Chapter 11

Announcement || Masterlist || Taglist

Word Count: 14.7k+

𓄀 A/N: This is by far my favourite chapter so I hope you all like!! I'd just like to put a little disclaimer that some of the themes int his chapter seem reminiscent of some... controversial things spoken about in this fandom, and I want to make it clear that when I wrote this, I had absolutely no idea that something similar had happened in real life. This story is in no way me making a stance on whether I think the "real life" situation was okay or not, and I just don't want to go there at all. Completely irrelevant. This is a fictional story and I was honestly shocked to find out that I had written something that kind of reflects real life so please!!! understand that they are unrelated. Anyways thanks guys all love

𓄀 Content Warnings: One bed trope, hurt/comfort, illegal firearm possession/transactions, guns and shooting, thunderstorm, extreme portrayals of being cold, sexual thoughts, descriptions of poverty, theft, assault, public humiliation, cutting and scarring with shears, cuddling, SMUT 18+ INCLUDING: breast fondling, neck kissing, hand job, fingering, impropriety, orgasms, brief sexual shame.

𓄀

Jake spent the next three days fixing your fence. Or, he truly fixed the fence on the first day, but there always seemed to be something else to do. A jammed window, wobbly cobblestone and a faulty wagon wheel all kept him busy on the farm, and he suspected would keep him busy for a while. Between maintaining your ranch, eating, sleeping and bathing, he spent the rest of his time in town, scouring deals with men looking for firearms. 

He occasionally came across the dodgy few, but sold to them nonetheless. If they were looking to buy a gun, restricting purchase wasn’t going to stop them from finding one. 

That afternoon, Jake found himself in the most compromising position he thought he’d ever been in. After being set up to a meeting with a high paying buyer by a man he'd met while waiting in line by an outhouse, he made sure to check that his own pistol was loaded and hooked into the waist of his jeans. 

He shifted nervously, flushing in the humidity of the day and wondering when on earth this customer was going to show up. 

He was told to wait behind the saloon at twelve in the afternoon, and although Jake didn't have a watch, the sun had dipped well past the height of the sky by now. 

Boots crunching on dry dirt caught his attention, and he straightened immediately, eyes scanning the barren area for any signs of life.

He took a weary step back when a man dressed in suit trousers the same colour as the dirt, a pristine white shirt and a long overcoat emerged past the corner of the saloon. 

A lawman. 

The realisation hit Jake like a punch to the gut. Heart thumping in his chest a mile a minute, Jake tucked his hands into his pockets, feigning a look of casualty as he tipped his hat lower to cover his face. 

The man stepped forward, the silver badge on his chest catching the light as he sized Jake up with a steady, unwavering gaze. The silence between them was thick enough to cut with a knife, each second stretched out as tension crackled in the air. 

Jake’s mind raced as he weighed his options. He could run. He’d done it before, judging by his escapades only a few days ago, chasing down a tomato thief with ease, and the thrill of the chase still lingered in his muscles. But running now would only make him look guilty. 

Or, he could talk his way out of this. His father had always said he had the gift of gab, and Jake had spent a lifetime perfecting that art. He knew how to twist words, charm a crowd, and sell anything to anyone.

His hand flexed at his side, the weight of his pistol suddenly heavy on his hip. With a slow breath, Jake settled on his next move, the lawman’s eyes never leaving his. He’d have to be clever, real clever, to wriggle his way out of this one.

“G’d afternoon, officer,” Jake greeted, raising his chin high and letting his words hold subtle casualty. 

The officer, who bore an unreadable expression, gave the area a quick scan, assuring that it was truly empty. Seemingly satisfied, he took a few more steps forward, this time with a genuine look on his face as he tilted his head to the side. 

“Ah, at ease boy. I hear you’ve been sellin’ guns. And I uh, I’m in need of some.”

“You— what?” Jake asked in shock. He had been so ready to spill some bullshit excuse to weasel his way out of his fate, but never had he considered that this officer truly was a customer. 

“You heard me. You sellin’ or not?” he asked, frustration evident in his tone. 

“I— Yes, Sir. What were you looking for?” Jake asked, accepting that he would have to roll with it, as obscure as the situation was.

The officer kicked up dirt as he stepped closer, “Was hopin’ you might have a Winchester 73’.”

Jake's brows rose. The model was fairly new, but if you could get your hands on one you were a lucky fella. Its firepower was unmatched, best in the market, and it could shoot up to fifteen bullets a minute with higher accuracy than ever seen before. 

“You’re in luck,” Jake started, wandering to where Bessie stood, tied to a tree only a few feet away. Without turning his back, he unclipped the saddlebag and rummaged through it, cringing as the many guns he had clinked against one another. He looked away for only a moment to find the Winchester, before grabbing its stock and sheathing it from the bag. 

The sun caught the steel barrel with a glint as he walked the gun back to the lawman, whose eyes were bright with satisfaction. 

“Got my hands on her only a few weeks back. She’s just a little scratched up, but she shoots like a bitch,” Jake explained, holding the rifle in his flat palm for the officer to see. The lawman reached out to drag his thick, dirt ridden finger along the forestock, humming at the cool texture.

“May I?” he asked, holding his hand out to take. Jake hesitated, painfully aware that this customer had more power over him than he did, and it unnerved him heavily. But, Jake also knew that this sale would be monumental. He would earn more from the one sale than he had in the last half year. 

Begrudgingly, he nodded, passing the rifle into the officer's awaiting hands. The officer pursed his lips as he lifted the gun by its grip, pressing the butt against his shoulder and settling the trigger by his fingers. Lining the gun up to his eyesight, he aimed for a tree in the bush behind the saloon, clicking back the safety switch and breathing through his nose loudly. 

“Is she loaded?” he asked Jake. 

“Yes Sir.” Jake took a step back and folded his arms over his chest, watching as the lawman inspected the gun before pulling the trigger. 

The gunshot rang through the area piercingly, a heavy ringing settling in its wake, and the officer stumbled back against the recoil. He chuckled, letting the gun sag in his arms as he walked forward, inspecting the tree he had shot and ran his thumb over the bark. 

The aim was immaculate, cutting right through the centre of the trunks knot and burying itself almost six inches into the wood. 

“How much, boy?” he asked, turning back to Jake and handing him back the firearm. 

Jake sucked in a breath, praying that the price wouldn’t turn the sale around, “Fifty dollars. But I’m willing to let her go for forty-five.”

The officer stepped forward, and extended his hand for Jake to shake. Biting back a satisfied grin, Jake shook it firmly. The officer took his hand back and pulled out a light washed leather wallet from his chest pocket and sifted through it for the bills. 

“Fifty-five if you keep your mouth shut, how does that sound, son?” the officer added, rolling up the cash and clenching it tightly in a fist. 

Jake may as well have jumped for joy at the offer by the way his eyes lit up, “Sounds like a deal, Sir.” Jake reached forward to take the currency. As his fingers made contact with the paper, the officer kept his grip right, tugging backward to pull Jake forward a few stumbles. 

“And if I find out you’ve told a soul ‘bout this arrangement, you’ll be on the other end of that barrel, ya hear me?” he threatened through gritted teeth, voice gruff and angry.

Jake nodded frantically, heart thumping in his chest anxiously. The officer let go of the currency and Jake handed him the rifle. 

“You got something I can sheath this in, son?” the officer asked. Jake nodded again, knowing better than to question the lawman's motives with obtaining such a gun in secrecy. 

Jake swiftly pulled out a leather scabbard from his inventory, as well as a canvas cover, not bothering to ask for payment for the pieces. The officer took them from him, muttering a thanks before turning on his heel and walking away. 

Jake sighed once he was fully out of sight, scratching his head as he looked down at the currency in his hand. He practically skipped over to Bessie, shoving the money into his coin purse and giving her nose a hearty scratch. 

“D’ya see that Bessie girl? Daddy’s gonna ge’chu some new shoes, how does that sound?” 

Bessie grunted, and stomped her foot, kicking up orange dust in her wake. Jake chucked and looked down at her hoofs, dirty, worn and in desperate need of maintenance. 

After mounting Bessie and riding to the nearest food vendor, Jake treated himself to some cornbread and beans for lunch. Then, with a satisfied pep in his step, he decided to walk Bessie through the markets so that he could find horse shoes that fit, pulling her by the reins as he began his descent through the bustling strip. He kept an eye out for horse gear, stopping occasionally to inspect horse shoes, but moving on when the workmanship wasn’t up to his standard. 

Soon, he came across a stall with just what he needed, a large range of sizes, and all shoes made with expert craftsmanship. 

“Can I help you with anything, Sir?” 

Jake looked up to see a young boy behind the counter. Slightly startled at his age, Jake smiled. 

“Just looking for some new horse shoes, how much is a set of four?” he asked. The young boy, who had to only be eight or nine, readjusted his hat and wiped away a layer of dirt from his face. 

“Um,” he faltered, shuffling through the papers on the table beside him. He traced his fingers over the paper until he found what he was looking for. “Twenty five cents a piece, so… um….”

The young boy bit his cheek in thought, trying to calculate the maths on the spot, but failed. 

“S’okay, son. It’s one dollar for a set. I’ll give you a dollar-fifty if you can include the nails,” Jake offered with a kind smile, knowing that the nails would have cost merely five cents alone. 

The boy reminded Jake of himself when he was young. Uneducated, anxious and alone. Jake knew it wasn't a nice way to be, and all the boy needed was a bit of kindness. 

His eyes lit up at Jake's offer, “Yes Sir, that works for me.” Cracking an excited smile, the boy began to prepare the nails in a small nailbag, “Feel free to find which size fits you best,” the boy said. Jake nodded, picking up one that seemed to be the right size and crouching onto one knee. He gave bessies side a pat, before picking up her leg and bending it at the knee. 

She stood patiently as he held the shoes against her hoof, measuring each to find the closest fitting one. Once he was satisfied, he let her go, stroking her belly as he put the shoe onto the table in front of the boy. 

“I’ll take four of these please.” 

The young boy nodded, and took the shoe, reading the size and searching for its family. 

“What’s your name, son?” Jake asked, toeing the dirt with the point of his boots. 

“Billy, ‘s nice to meet you, Sir. And you?” 

“Jacob, nice to meet you too. Where are your parents, Billy?”

“Uh, Dad works at home on the ranch,” he answered. Jake knew better than to ask where his mother was. “Here y’go, Jacob,” the boy placed a small bag with the nails and shoes inside. 

“Thank you.” Jake took the bag and slid the currency across the table. The boy smiled at him giddily and took the currency. “See you ‘round, Billy.”

“See you, Sir.”

Jake continued down the markets, Bessie trailing behind him as he eyed the trinkets being sold at the stores. Unusually, a piece of jewellery from a passing stall caught his eye. Moving closer, he inspected the piece. It was a golden hair pin, with a small, wooden flower attached to the end. Somehow, the blacksmith had melted metal pieces into the wood, giving the flower detail, and Jake thought it was beautiful. 

He couldn't help but imagine what it would look like tucked into your hair, surrounded by the long, smooth strands and framed by the strays. He swallowed thickly when he picked it up. 

“Excuse me?” he asked, gaining the attention of the worker, an older lady. 

“Yes sweetheart? Oh, that is a gorgeous piece isn’t it,” she complimented when she saw the piece Jake held. 

Jake hummed in agreement, “It is, how much is it?”

“That one would be two dollars fifty.” 

It was pricey, but it was worth it, especially assuming the gold was genuine. Jake didn’t let himself think about it too much as he rummaged through his coin purse for the money, quickly thanking the lady as he dropped it into her open palm before taking the piece and leaving the markets all together. 

Back on Bessies saddle, Jake trotted down the familiar path back to your ranch. He peered up at the sky and shivered as a cold breeze passed him. Dark, foreboding clouds hung heavy in the sky and drifted closer from the east. They were still a few hours away, he noted, but it was safe to expect some rain overnight. 

You were sitting on a small stool when he arrived home, a large cow in front of you as you milked her into a tin bucket below. You turned when you heard the crunch of hooves against the gravel approach. 

“Hey, how was your day? Sell much?” you asked as he canted forward, eventually coming to a stop once he was in front of you. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he slipped off the saddle, boots hitting the dirt with a thud. 

“Yes, very successful actually. I bought Bessie some new shoes with my earnings… Was wondering if you’d be willing to lend me some tools to fit them?” he asked. The streams of milk from the cow you milked were loud as they hit the bucket below. 

“Of course, everything you need should be in the stables. Though, last time I checked, my clincher’s gotten a bit dull.”

“I’ll see if I can sharpen them for you,” he offered. He looked over to the stables, which were too far from you to continue conversation, and he fixed his hat nervously. “Can... could I give you some company? While I change her shoes, I mean,” he asked, clearing his throat. 

You looked up at him with a smile, “Of course, just tie her up to the fencepost there.”

He thanked you, and tied her up loosely beside the cow, before making his way over to the stables to grab the tools he needed. You watched Bessie watch him walk away with a smile. She loved him, and you could see why, with the way he treated her. 

When he returned, arms full with tools and gear, you were both silent as he began to unbuckle her saddle, freeing her from everything apart from the reins keeping her still. 

You watched through the corner of your eye as he kneeled, throwing a leather cover over his leg as he lifted her hoof and planted it against his knee for support. You stared intently as he took the nail pullers and removed the old, rusty nails from her hoof, throwing them into a pile on the dirt at his foot. 

Leaning back, he rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt and wiped a layer of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, the sun beaming onto the skin as he did so. He next grabbed the hoof pick and began to clean away the chunks of dirt buried inside the cave of the hoof. You took particular note of how his forearm muscles contracted in the movements. 

“Seems like we’re gonna have some rain tonight,” he said, eyes remaining on his work. The sound of his voice startled you from your apparent trance, and you sprayed a line of milk onto your dress. 

You cursed under your breath at the spill, “Yes, remind me to pack you some extra blankets tonight, it should get cold,” you said, glancing up at him again to see him watching you. 

You returned your gaze to the task in front of you, flustered by the way his eyes were following your motions.

You both remained silent for a long time after that, consumed by your tasks. Once the cow was finished, you walked her back to the paddock and looked for the next one to milk, crouching down to see whose udders looked the most full. The cows had all gathered around the fence, watching Jake curiously as they always did when he was working. 

One cow, who you’d formed a strong bond with since she was born, wandered towards you and nuzzled her face into your chest.

“Hello Maggie girl,” you greeted, giving her nose a firm stroke.

“You name your cows?” Jake asked jocosely, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

You smiled and turned to him, “Yes, this is Maggie and she’s my best friend.” Holding her head you leaned to press a firm kiss to her nose for dramatic effect.

Jake chuckled, “Can’t say I’ve ever known someone to call a cow their best friend… but each to their own,” he teased and you laughed. 

“Oh hush,” you bantered, giving Maggie one last pat before letting her go.

“Is she pregnant?” Jake asked, looking back over at Maggie's swollen belly. 

“Very,” you patted her pregnant side gently and stroked her lovingly, “She’ll be due any day now.”

Maggie moo’ed and Jake watched you interact with her bemusedly. Only you could make friends with a… cow, Jake thought. 

“Well, that’s exciting. Will the babe be your best friend too?” Jake joked, his grin so cocky and so big that it could reach his ears.

Patting one of the other cows on the behind to get her moving from the pen towards you milking station, you raised a brow at Jake. “Maybe,” you answered, sass coating your tongue as you spoke.

Jake chuckled and shook his head, returning his attention to Bessies hooves. You situated the cow, and introduced her to the feed to keep her still while you milked her, positioning a new bucket beneath her udders and cleaning them with a wet cloth. 

Once you started milking, your attention quickly grew restless again, and you looked over to Jake to watch as he took out new, shiny horse shoes out of his little pack and prepared the hoof to nail them on.

“Where’d you buy them from?” you asked curiously, admiring their flawless craft. 

“What, the horse shoes?” he asked and you nodded. “I bought them from the markets, from a young boy named Billy.” Recognition flooded through you at the name. His ranch wasn’t far from yours, and the family was lovely. 

“I know Billy. He’s a nice boy,” you commented and Jake agreed. “His mother passed away last winter. Of scarlet fever,” you added. 

It was the same thing your father had died of, and your own mother years before then. You knew exactly how Billy felt, being young and having someone so important to you taken away. 

Jake frowned, but didn’t say anything, bouts of sadness washing over him at the news. He couldn’t even begin to imagine losing his mother at that age. 

“Oh!” he exclaimed, almost dropping Bessies foot as he moved to get up, before he remembered what he was doing. “I got you somethin’, it’s in my saddle bag,” he explained, nodding his head to the saddle that sat atop the fence. 

“Got me somethin’?” you repeated, hands pausing on the cows udders. 

He nodded and wiped the sweat from under his nose, “Yeah, in that little brown bag, ye’ see it?”

You looked over and saw the little brown bag hanging off the billet keeper. You raised your brow as you stood, wiping your hands on your skirts. 

“You didn't have to get me anything,” you said, and he watched you carefully as you walked to the saddle. 

He shrugged, “Just open it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully before unlatching the small bag from the saddle. The cotton was smooth on your fingers, but he had tied the knot tightly, and you were struggling to untie it. 

“I can’t— I can’t open it,” you admitted embarrassedly. He beckoned you over, and you gingerly handed him the small bag, marvelling at how much smaller it looked in his hands than yours. 

He undid the kot with ease, and took out the piece of jewellery carefully. You stared at the shining gold piece in awe, taking in the beauty of the intricate detailed flower on top. 

“Oh my– Jacob! You didn’t have to get me this, it must have cost a fortune!” you exclaimed, accepting it from his hands as he offered it to you. 

He just smiled, “It’s the least I could do for you, for being so hospitable.” 

You smiled brightly at him and put the pin between your teeth. You reached back and gathered your hair atop your head, reaching for the pin and slotting it in place. 

“Ta daa,” you sang, spinning around for him to see it in your hair. You couldn't see his face, but he blushed manically at the sight, loving the way it looked on you. 

You spun back around with a smile and he nodded. “You— it looks beautiful,” he corrected, clearing his throat as he picked at his cuticles nervously.

You bit your lip and thanked him again, before returning to your little station. Jake chuckled when he noticed you were barefoot, as you always were when he saw you around the ranch, dirt clinging to the soles of your feet as a compliment to the way you had spent your day. 

The two of you settled into an easy, companionable silence, each focused on your tasks. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the evening chill crept in, you decided it was time to wrap up the milking for the day.

"Care to join me for supper tonight? I'm making beef stew," you asked, glancing over at Jake as he finished tightening the last shoe.

He glanced up at you, “Ah, no. I’ll be alright, thank you for—”

Jake stumbled back as Bessie bucked her back leg that rested on his knee, only slight enough to bruise, but harsh enough that Jake let out an ‘oof’ as it came into contact with his stomach. She dropped her foot back onto the dirt aggressively. 

“Ow, shit,” he groaned, clutching the spot where Bessie kicked. “What in the hell was that for, huh?” he asked, standing up and walking to reach her. She huffed when he tried to stroke her neck and stomped in frustration. 

“Maybe it’s a sign she wants you to have a proper supper tonight,” you joked and when she brayed, Jake raised his brow. 

“Hah! You might be right, ya’ know,” he said, also joking, though he was suspicious that you may not be far off. 

“I have too much produce anyway, I don't want to waste any. Please, join me,” you added, further coercing him into eating with you. Bessie grunted and Jake sighed in thought. Something held him back from getting too close to you, and he didn’t even truly know what. 

Without warning, Bessie stomped again and threw her head to the side, thwacking Jake's sternum. You laughed at her behaviour, watching as Jake frustrtedly told her off, and took a step back as not to get hit again. 

“Horses are smarter than you’d think, Jacob,” you informed teasingly, walking forward and running your hand down Bessie's nose. She leaned into your touch and you smiled, “You just want to make sure Jacob eats well tonight, don’t you Bessie girl?” you cooed. 

She neighed and leaned into you, rubbing her face into your own. You laughed as you scratched her fur and looked back over to Jake who was watching you with a smile. 

“Alright, alright. I think it’s time Bessie joins Buck in the stables for the night,” he joked, untying her rope from the fence to take her to walk her away. 

“Could you feed ‘em both for me while I prepare supper?” you called out before he reached the stables. 

“Yes, of course.”

“Alright, I’ll holler when it’s ready!” you said, finalising the fact that Jake was eating with you tonight.

You practically skipped back inside, nerves and excitement fuelling you as you gathered the ingredients to make the stew. You had made the same meal countless times in your life, but knowing that Jake was going to eat it too— and was going to be judging your cooking at that— had you feeling that it had to be perfect. 

Once it was ready, the house smelt of beef, vegetables and warm brothy stew. It had grown uncomfortably cold outside, and the heat of cooking warmed your home. 

Jake rapped his knuckles on the open front door a few moments after you’d yelled that supper was ready, despite the countless times you’d told him he didn’t need your permission to come inside.

“You don’t have to knock, you know that,” you reprimanded, meeting him at the door and shutting it behind him. He smiled shyly, kicking his muddy boots off by the door. 

“It smells amazing in here,” he complimented, following you through to the kitchen, where a large cooking pot sat atop the wooden counter. You pulled out two timber bowls from the cupboards, and set them on the counter. You scooped out your own serving with the large silver ladle before starting on Jakes. 

“Tell me when.” 

He peeked into the pot to scour how much you had, not wanting to waste too much, but when he realised that you had enough to last a family for a week, he decided he would cater to his appetite. 

Your brows rose with each scoop that landed in his bowl, marvelling at just how much he could eat, until finally, when the bowl was almost overflowing with supper, he kindly told you it was enough. 

“I was going to suggest we eat on the porch, but it’s grown too cold outside for my liking. I hope you don’t think me too improper if we eat by the couch,” you said, not really caring what he thought as you lifted your bowl and walked into the living room. 

“‘F course not,” he answered, trailing behind you. 

You sat back on the settee with a sigh, placing the bowl onto your lap and smiling as the meal's warmth spread through the wooden bowl and your skirts onto your lap. You kicked your feet up to rest upon the coffee table, and Jake smiled. 

He decided to take a seat on the wingback armchair beside you, and you tried not to frown as he sat, feeling slightly dejected at the fact that he wouldn’t sit beside you, but you had grown used to his reserved ways. He was a lone traveller, and as such, didn't like to get too close to people, it seemed. 

“This… this is incredible,” Jake complimented after swallowing his first mouthful of the stew. 

“Really?” you asked, not having tried it yet. You eagerly spooned some up and brought it to your mouth.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he warned. You smiled at him, blowing on the spoon to cool it before tasting it yourself. It was incredible, and you felt a strong sense of pride at the delicious dish you had made. 

You settled into a comfortable silence while you ate, something that you realised happened often between you. 

"What did you get up to today?" Jake asked.

You thought, “I stayed on the ranch today, made sure the cows had enough feed. I was goin’ to water the crops but I could tell that storm was comin’. Other than milking the cows, I baked some loaves to sell at the markets and harvested some strawberries to make jam. I’ve made a new recipe actually, would you like to try?” you asked. 

Jake hummed, swallowing his mouthful before speaking. “I’d love to.” 

You smiled and bounded from your spot to retrieve a small spoon and one of your new jars of jam. While you were in the kitchen, Jake stared into the fire. 

He felt entirely at home here, yet the comfort only filled him with a deep, unshakable dread. Dread as he knew he couldn’t stay— not for long. He knew that you would grow tired of him soon, your hospitality only stretching so thin, and he would inevitably have to move on. Move on to the next town to repeat the same days over and over again, selling guns and parts, but still barely scraping by. 

“Alright, here’s my old jam too, for you to compare the flavours,” you interrupted his saddened thoughts as you returned to the living room, two jars of jam in hand.

Jake tasted each with a teaspoon, and truthfully couldn’t decipher much of a difference, both of them sweet and rather enjoyable, but with the expectant look on your face as he tried the second one, he decided to play along. 

“Mmm. It is much better, what did you change about the recipe?” he indulged. 

“Well,” you settled back into the couch, “I was sure to heat the strawberries before the sugar was added this time. Oh, and I decided to add some molasses too, so it should be extra sweet.”

Jake hummed, “It’s lovely. Do you sell much of it at the markets usually?” 

You nodded, “It’s my highest selling product, actually. I guess you could say it’s famous ‘round here,” you joked, flicking your hair behind your shoulder dramatically. 

“Oh well, pardon me, I wasn’t sure I was in the presence of a big-shot,” he joked with a cocky smirk and you giggled, falling back into the plush cushions of the settee. 

“How ‘bout you? Are you successful in your work?” you asked, watching him carefully as he traced the edge of his thumb around the curve of the bowl. 

“I wouldn’t say successful, but I’m making my way,” he said simply, leaving it at that.

You hummed, looking into your nearly empty bowl as you bit the inside of your cheek. 

“Well, I best be off to bed, before the rain starts,” Jake said, standing from his chair and stretching with a groan. You stood too. “Thank you greatly for supper, I ain’t had a meal this good in… well, a very long time,” he smiled earnestly at you, though you noticed it was a little sad. 

“You’re welcome any time. Now, let me get you some more blankets. It’s goin’a get cold in the barn tonight,” you ordered, bustling past him to retrieve the blankets in your hope-chest by the foot of your bed. 

Jake lingered awkwardly in the living room, before deciding to take both of your bowls to the kitchen. 

“Is there any chance I can convince you to take the settee tonight? I really don’t want you gettin’ sick from the cold,” you asked, returning to find him cleaning up your dirty bowls by the sink in the kitchen. “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you offered, setting the blankets onto the counter to reach him.

He glanced at you over his shoulder, “I don’t mind. And no, I’m okay in the barn, truly. Thank you for your kindness.” He smiled at you genuinely before washing the rest of the dishes. You packed away the leftovers in the meantime.

Once dinner was cleaned up, you handed Jake the blankets, asking him once more if he would stay in the house. Unsurprisingly, he kindly told you that he would be okay, claiming he had suffered through much harsher weather than the cold, before he left you alone by the threshold with one last thank you, wandering off into the dark with only a dim kerosene lamp to ignite his path. 

Once inside the barn, Jake placed the lamp by the floor next to his bed with a sigh and stripped himself of his day clothes. He slipped on the loose cotton shirt and long cotton pants he had stashed in his saddlebags, shivering as the cold bit at his skin. 

He rushed to get under the covers, thanking God you had thought to give him extra blankets to protect him from the elements. 

Once he was comfortable, Jake stared up at the ceiling, small slivers of light seeping through the cracks in the wooden roof, letting the moon cast a glow over the thick beams. He lay like that until he fell asleep, like most nights, letting the monotonous image of that barred roof lull him to sleep. 

𓄀

Jake was startled awake when something cold and wet dripped onto his cheek, making him jump away in fright. Squinting in the dark area, he fumbled for the kerosene lamp, only to feel that the glass was soaking wet. 

“What the devil?” He suddenly became very aware of the sound of dripping water. Not just one leak, but many, pouring through the wood and into the barn. He could hear the steady rain outside too, and was thankful that none of the leaks seemed too bad. 

Accepting that there wasn’t much he could do about it until the morning, Jake shifted on the mattress so that the dripping water only hit the pillow beside him, leaving him warm and dry. 

He was somehow able to fall back to sleep, the exhaustion of the past few days' work pulling him under its embrace. Though, he soon found himself awoken again, this time by his own shivering. 

He shrugged the blankets closer to him, only to realise that they had been completely soaked by the rain, more faults in the wood accommodating leaks while he slept. 

“Shit,” he muttered, sitting up and inspecting the bed through the darkness. He reached up to rub his eyes, and a steady trail of water hit his elbow. He jumped at the cold contact, and glanced to his right where water streamed onto his pillow from a spot too high for a quick fix.

He reached up and noticed that his hair was already damp, and sticking to his shoulders. 

How he hadn’t woken up earlier, he didn’t know. But he knew that there was no way he was going back to sleep by that point. He was too wet, and too cold, and all that he seemed to be able to focus on was the way his sheets slowly took in more and more water from the leaks. 

Water began to drip from his hair onto his face as he sat, knees to his chest and curled into a ball on the mattress, staring at the wet sheets. 

Clarity struck him fast and rather randomly, as he remembered to check on his belongings. He swung around to check his bags and clothes beside his bed, only to find them completely soaked. 

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” he grunted, gathering his wet belongings into his arms and standing. He wiped the wetness from his cheeks with his shoulder and thought about his options. 

He could wait the storm out until morning, and spend the day fixing the barn and drying his belongings. Or, he could accept your offer and spend the rest of his night curled up on your couch. 

The decision was made easy when the wind outside seemingly changed, sending the rain flying a different direction and falling right through the cracked up ceiling at a new angle. When the water sprayed him, he bared his teeth as they chattered and looked away to shield his eyes. 

Suddenly soaked and absolutely freezing, he realised he had no choice. He made sure he had everything, even picking up your wet kerosene lamp before he kicked open the barn door with his foot. 

The rain was torrential, and the trees around your property were being thrown violently in the wind. He took a deep, readying breath before sending it, sprinting out of the barn and in the direction of your house with all his might. 

The rain soaked him from head to toe as he ran, and he felt it trickle down his back, the water agonisingly cold. His bare feet splashed against the almost flooded ground and his arms held his things tightly against his chest, despite the fact that there was no way to keep them dry against the downpour. 

When Jake finally made it to your front door, he hesitated by the overhang of the porch, sighing at the relief it gave him from the rain. He glanced to the right, where your bedroom window was pitch black. You were asleep, just as he suspected, and he was struggling to find it in himself to wake you up.

When the wind blew particularly hard, sending another spray of rain under the porch and onto Jake's back, the cold bite was enough to send his fist forward, rapping on the door gently. He couldn't hear movement inside the house over the heavy rain, but saw a dull light flicker on through the thin curtains of your window. 

You scrambled out of bed, stumbling sleepily through the dark hallway to the front door. When you opened the door, your eyes bulged out of your head at the sight of Jake, wearing close to nothing and dripping with water. His clothes clung to him like a second skin, and he was shivering violently. 

“Dear God! What happened?” you asked, ushering him inside quickly. 

“‘M sorry for waking you,” he mumbled. You shut the door behind him quickly and ushered him into the living room. 

“Well?” you questioned. 

“There was a leak,” he answered simply, despite his soaked state giving light to the true severity of said ‘leak’. Though you still felt immensely guilty for not considering the fact that the barn was old and faulty sooner. 

“Sit, while I get the fire started,” you ordered, and Jake sat onto the leather couch, his pants squelching at the impact. 

He swallowed thickly at the sight of you in only your white nightgown, his skin suddenly feeling much hotter than it most definitely was. Your nipples peaked through the fabric in the cold, and the thin material left almost nothing to the imagination, tracing the curves and contours of your form. Jake had to look away to redirect his sinful mind.

You rushed over to the fireplace and practically threw the logs into the pit, striking a match and lighting small kindling wood. 

“That should catch on quickly, keep an eye on it for me while I fetch you some dry clothes,” you instructed, rushing back out of the room and into your fathers old room in search of mens clothes. 

Jake continued to shiver in the living room, hovering near the fire and prodding it with a stoking iron. You returned quickly, floorboards creaking under your feet as you stomped around in haste and Jake returned to the couch at the sound of your entrance. 

He noted the mulberry robe that you now wore, covering your exposed frame from both the elements and his own wandering gaze, picking up dust as it trailed behind you. 

“Here, these were my fathers. They might be a bit big on you— he was a bit plump in his later years, but they’ll make do,” you explained, handing him some clothes and setting an armful of blankets onto the couch beside him, as well as a towel to dry himself off. 

“Th—thank you,” he stuttered through the shivers, hands shaking as he accepted the clothes from your hands. Hands on your hips, you stared at him expectantly as he stayed still, arms wrapped tightly around his body

“Well, what are you doing? Get undressed out of those soaked clothes, they’re only going to make you colder,” you ordered strictly. 

His cheeks went red and he quickly stood, grabbing the pile of clothes and staring at them, and then you. At the expectant look on your face, he reluctantly stripped his shirt off, the material clinging to his body like a second skin. 

The skin of his chest was pale— too pale, you noticed, and goosebumps riddled him as he shook. He avoided your eyes as he picked up the towel from the couch and dried himself off. 

Realising you were staring at him like a pervert, you returned your gaze to the fire to ensure that it was burning properly. 

When you turned around, Jake had thrown on the dry shirt, and you tried not to blush at how low the cotton piece dipped down his chest, sagging as it was far too big on him. He shifted his weight onto the other foot nervously, still dripping water onto the floor from his trousers as he stared into the fire. 

“What are you doing? Take your trousers off,” you ordered. Jake shuffled uncomfortably and swallowed thickly at your words, unable to avoid his dirty thoughts from picturing you speaking to him like that but under much different circumstances. “I wont look,” you added.

“I uh… I have nothin’ on under this,” he said nervously, picking at the hem of his wet pants. The fire crackled distantly, mingling with the sound of the rain hitting your roof.

You blushed a deep scarlet, having assumed he was wearing drawers underneath. “Oh, right. Sorry, I’ll give you some privacy.”

You hurried into the kitchen, and began to boil the kettle, sighing at the night's events. You peered out the window at the moon, which was high in the sky, indicating it was sometime around the middle of the night.

It had been a long time since you had had company like this. And never had it been a man’s. You were clearly rusty on your manners, and you feared your actions would come across as improper and overbearing. You had to remind yourself of the modesty you had been taught by your late mother in your youth, before she passed and you had been raised by your father who had little time for such meagre fusses.

After fixing Jake some tea, you lingered in the kitchen for a little longer, avoiding invading his privacy while he changed. 

When the sound of shuffling ended, you cautiously wandered back into the living room, cradling his cup of tea in your hand. When you entered, he was sitting on the floor by the fire, his palms open in front of him as he hungrily accepted the warmth, his body still shaking in the cold. 

“Here, it’s tea but there’s a bit of whisky in there too. Should help warm you up,” you said, alerting him of your presence as you sat the mug down beside him. 

“Thank you.”

You took some of the thick blankets and walked up beside him, not wanting to come off as pushy, but knowing he was in desperate need of warmth. 

“Here,” you offered, as you gently lay the blankets over his shoulders. You tucked his damp hair away from his shoulders and he shrugged the blankets closer to him. “We need to get your hair dry, you won't warm up with it so wet,” you said with a frown. 

We, Jake thought. He couldn't help but smile at your words.

“I’m alright, truly. Thank you for getting me dry, you can return to bed now,” he said, guilt riddling him for disrupting your sleep.

“Nonsense,” you countered, “You’re shaking, Jacob. Let me help you,” you pleaded. 

He sighed and crooked his head in your direction. “Okay,” he muttered. 

You smiled and set to work. Gripping the edge of the settee, you dragged it across the wooden floorboards until it barely brushed Jake’s back. With that in place, you rummaged through the leftover sheets on the couch until you found a dry towel.

Perching yourself on the driest spot left on the couch— as most of it had been soaked by Jake's drenched belongings— you guided him to sit between your legs on the floor. 

You brought the towel to his scalp, gently pressing it into his hair, rubbing in small circles. You rotated the towel frequently, using the dry parts to absorb more moisture, trying not to make his hair wetter than it already was.

Noticing drops of water trailing down his neck, you quickly swiped the towel over his skin, then threaded it through the roots of his hair, trying to dry the damp strands underneath. 

The silence between you was filled only with the sound of the towel brushing through his hair and the occasional crackling of the fire. Jake sipped his tea with care, keeping his head still as he drank, then leaned back into your touch as you resumed drying.

Jake struggled to keep quiet, barely managing to stifle the soft sounds that threatened to slip out as the towel moved through his hair. The warmth of your touch seeped into him, a comfort he hadn’t realised he craved.

When you stood to fetch a comb, Jake mourned the loss of your hands against him, but he took the moment to savour the warmth spreading through his chest from the tea and the comfort of dry clothes. When you returned, you alternated between the comb and the towel, raking the wooden bristles over his scalp, working through the tangles. 

You returned to the towel, blotting away at the dampness. Jake closed his eyes at the soothing sensation, the gentle scratching of the comb sending shivers down his spine.

“I haven’t let anyone touch my hair since I was a boy,” he admitted, his voice cutting softly through the quiet, almost as if the confession itself was surprising to him.

You quickly let go of the wet strands you were holding, not realising you had crossed a boundary, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“No,” he interrupted, “No, don’t stop… Please.” His voice was soft as he spoke, vulnerability seeping through his throat. With caution, you brought the comb back to his head and continued trying to dry his hair. 

He cleared his throat, drawing your attention instantly. “When I was a boy,” he began, his voice low and a little unsteady, “We were real poor. One day, my brother broke our father’s shears while we was helping out around the ranch, so I headed into town to get some new ones. If he’d noticed they were missing, or broken, we both would’ve caught a hell of a beating,” he let out a dry chuckle. “But I was stupid and greedy. I stole a little cake that caught my eye on the way. I dunno why.”

“You were probably just hungry,” you suggested gently, and he tipped his head in agreement.

“Maybe. Anyway, the shop owner caught me. He... he wasn’t a nice man. He found the shears in my pockets too, the ones I’d taken earlier that day. He made a whole scene, gathered a crowd to watch. I was too young to face charges, so some o’ the men helped him pin me down. Then he smashed the cake into my hair,” Jake’s voice softened, his eyes distant with the memory.

You winced softly. “That's awful, I’m sorry that happened,” you offered quietly.

He gave a short laugh, though it lacked any real humour. “I was so damn embarrassed. One of the older girls I fancied was watching the whole thing. Thought I was gonna die of embarrassment when I saw ‘er face,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair only to bump into your comb.

“Sorry,” you both mumbled when your hands collided, sharing a brief, awkward smile.

Jake dropped his hand back into his lap. “After that, they took the shears out and told me to say goodbye to my hair. I’d been growing it since I was just a little one. I screamed when they started cutting. It came off in chunks, all matted up from the cake. I fought them hard, but... well, I fought too hard. They sliced me a couple of times with the shears,” he explained, and you gasped softly at his words.

He reached up behind him, parting his hair to reveal a long, raised, white scar hidden beneath the thick strands. Your heart stopped. “Not sure if it was really an accident, to be honest,” he added, then turned his head slightly, revealing another scar behind his left ear, this one red and lumpy. 

“Lord, that’s barbaric,” you gasped, “How could anyone do that?” your voice lowering to a whisper as you traced your fingers gently over the scar. “I’m so sorry.”

He caught your hand in his softly, offering a small, almost weary smile. “‘S all right. It was a long time ago.”

You couldn’t quite shake the worry creasing your brow. “How old were you?”

“‘Bout Billy’s age, I reckon. But it’s all a bit hazy now,” he replied, his gaze drifting back to the crackling fire.

You couldn't help but imagine that young boy, poor and desperate, trudging through town with stolen shears tucked away in his pockets, hoping to avoid his father's wrath. Hoping to help his brother. And then, caught, humiliated and hurt, in front of the entire town. The image played over in your mind, twisting something in your chest.

You thought about the way he must’ve felt, pinned down and powerless as they cut away the hair he’d been growing since he was small, a part of himself he’d probably taken pride in. It was more than just losing his hair. You knew that, especially considering how long his hair was now. They’d stripped him of his dignity, his identity, right there in front of a crowd. 

Not to mention the size of the cuts. There was no way it was an accident, and you could only imagine how much blood would have been spilt, how much it would have hurt. It made your stomach turn with a hollow ache, and you had to take a breath to keep from tightening your grip on the comb.

He must have felt so alone then, you realised, as alone as he’d looked now, staring into the fire with those faraway eyes. The idea of him carrying memories like those all these years and brushing past it with a chuckle, trying to lighten the weight of it only made it heavier in your heart. 

You wondered if he’d ever told anyone else, or if this memory had stayed buried under that mop of thick, tangled hair, hidden like the scars he’d shown you.

A strange, protective feeling swelled in your chest, something that made you want to reach out and shield him, even now, from that long-ago hurt. You wished that you could’ve been there, somehow, to pull him away before those men could touch him, to offer him a kind word or a hand to hold. But more than that, you wanted to be someone who could help him forget that pain, even just a little, even if it meant staying right here beside him, brushing his hair as the fire crackled and the storm rumbled outside.

The thought surprised you, made you pause as you glanced down at Jake’s head resting so trustingly between your hands. He had let you in tonight, in a way that felt rare and delicate. And as you looked at him, you couldn’t help but hope that this moment of warmth and quiet care might be a balm to whatever wounds still lingered, hidden beneath the surface.

After a few too many moments of silence, he turned to you, noticing your silent stare into the fire.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up,” he murmured, taking your hand gently to get your attention.

You blinked, offering him a reassuring smile. “No, no, it’s okay. I just got caught up in my thoughts.”

He pressed his lips together, a hint of guilt in his expression, before turning back to the fire. You picked up the comb again, resuming your task of drying his hair, but this time, your hands moved with a tender, almost careful touch, as if trying to soothe away a little bit of the pain left behind.

His hair was starting to dry, but it was a slow process, each strand stubbornly holding onto the dampness. You knew that if you continued at this pace, he would have to go to sleep with his hair still damp, unless you continued until sun-up. 

But you weren't ready to stop yet, not while droplets still trailed down the back of his neck, collecting in the dips behind his ears. It was a small, intimate task, and you found yourself unwilling to rush it, even as the night wore on and the fire’s glow softened around you. You zoned out as you worked, listening as the wind thrashed the trees around outside and rain prayed against the windows. 

“Who was that man you were speaking with this mornin’? Around daybreak,” Jake asked, and you tensed at the question. You hadn’t known Jake had seen you.

“My… neighbour of sorts. Raymond. He shares a fence with me, on the ranch beside mine,” you answered, your tone dull and lifeless. 

“Do we… not like this neighbour, Raymond?” Jake asked, sensing your apprehension.

“No. No, we don’t” you said, rubbing the towel against Jake's head with a bit more force than you intended.

Jake was silent for a moment, biting his lip as he thought of the best way to ask, “Do you mind tellin’ me why?”

You sighed, accidentally catching a knot in his hair as you ran the comb through harshly. He winced as his head flinched back with the pull, and you muttered a genuine ‘sorry,’ putting the comb down and detangling the knot with your fingers. 

“He’s been after my land ‘ver since my father passed. He doesn’t think a woman can run a ranch on her own,” you admitted, your tone edged with bitterness. 

The thought had gnawed at you for so long, leaving behind a nagging ache. You wondered if, as a man, this life would have been less of a battle. Wondered if maybe the back-breaking days and endless challenges wouldn’t feel so insurmountable. Perhaps it was true, you thought, the doubt settling heavily in your chest. 

“Maybe he’s right,” you added softly, the doubt creeping into your voice despite your efforts to hold it back.

“He isn’t. I ain’t ever seen nobody run a homestead like you do,” Jake spoke quickly, surely, as if the mere idea offended him. 

You bit your check as you continued to brush and dry his hair, “He’s been harassin’ me ever since. Wants me to marry his son so that he can claim rights over my land. I’ve told him no, but I’m beginning to worry he’ll take it from me anyways. I mean, what can I do to stop him, you know?”

Jake scoffed, “How long has this been going on for?”

“‘Bout four years now. It’s gotten worse these past few months though. His harvest was poor last season, and it’s seemed to make everything worse for me,” you laughed, but Jake knew it was a front. You were scared, and the security of your home was under attack. “Worst part is, I can’t do nothin’ about it. Even though I’m payin’ my taxes and all, there's a few too many people in this town that agree a woman shouldn't be runnin’ a ranch by her own like me,” you explained, the feeling of Jake's hair in your hands becoming soothing as you explained one of your most difficult issues. “I’m sure it wouldn’t take too long for him to find others in town that agreed with him— that I either need to marry or get lost.”

Jakes blood boiled at your words. Although only having stayed for the past few days, Jake had found solstice in your home, and the thought of you being forcibly removed from your own land unjustly and unprovoked had him feeling an unbearable amount of frustration. 

“I’m sorry, I didn't know. If there’s anything I can do to help…”

“Ah, well. I’ll be sure to let you know if there is,” you assured with a smile, happy to move on from the conversation. “I’m not sure I can get your hair any drier than it is now without waiting ‘til daybreak. It’s still a bit damp though, is that alright?” you asked. 

He straightened, “Yes, yes. No, of course, more than alright, thank you.” He turned to move, but you placed your hands on his shoulders to keep him in place. 

“Aht aht,” you tusked, “I’m not finished yet.” 

He smiled at your assertive tone, and kept still as you gathered the strands into your hands. In a desperate attempt to keep the hair away from his neck, you decided to braid it. His head would still be damp and probably cold, but it would be better than letting the damp roots lay over his neck all night. 

Separating a chunk of his hair by his hairline into three sections, you ignored the way Jake's neck went limp with a sigh as your fingertips ran over his scalp. Braiding the first few pieces, you began to collect the rest of his hair in tufts to the braid, effectively reigning it in and away from his face. 

Goosebumps erupted over Jake's skin each time your fingernails scratched against his scalp, and he only hoped you wouldn't notice. He was painfully aware of the way your hands gentled even further when you gathered the hair over the scar on his head, and something warm and fuzzy erupted in his chest at the feeling. 

The moment had become so very intimate. You could hear him breathing, and he could hear you, but neither of you dared speak a word. Once the braid reached his shoulders, you pulled the ribbon from your own hair and wrapped and tied it tightly around the end of Jake's braid. 

Your hair fell loosely around your shoulders in waves, and you gently patted Jake's shoulder to let him know that you were done. He twisted and looked up at you, a lazy smile on his face and eyes gifted with fatigue.

“I’ll bring these blankets to the bed to keep you warm,” you said, ripping your eyes from his and standing. 

“The bed? I will sleep on the couch, it’s not a worry,” Jake argued, getting up quickly to stand before you. 

You shook your head, “The couch is wet, Jacob. Here, feel,” you took his hand and guided it to the wet leather which had been saturated by himself, and the wet belongings he haphazardly put down. You tried to ignore the feeling of his skin against yours, slightly colder but rough as a tribute to the hours of labour he worked each day. 

Jake cleared his throat, “I’m sorry. I’ll have it dried tomorrow for you. But please, I don’t mind sleeping here nevertheless.”

You sighed deeply marvelling at how stubborn this man was.

“You’ll get sick sleeping on that thing. Your hair’s already wet. I don’t have the time to care for you when you get a fever,” you countered, leaving no room for argument. 

Guilt crossed his face as his features softened. “I’m sorry to be such a bother… What about the guest room?” he asked, meeting your eyes only briefly before he cast them downward, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. 

“I’m sorry, You aren’t gonna have much more luck getting dry there than you are in the barn. Spare room’s been leaky for a coupl’a years now,” you said, biting your lip. “Maybe… maybe if you’re uncomfortable, I can take the couch and you take the bed,” you offered. 

Jake's head shot up and he took a step forward, shaking his head adamantly. “No. No, I couldn’t do that. ‘M not uncomfortable, only, I am afraid of making you uncomfortable. This is your home. I— it is improper for me to steal a half o’ your bed,” he explained, his fingers lightly brushing your wrist in a silent attempt to reach out to you— comfort you, show you that he cared. 

“My bed is large enough for the two of us. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be just fine,” you assured with a smile. 

He nodded hesitantly, clearly unhappy with the arrangements but agreeing nonetheless.

“Alright then, I’ll uh… I’ll go and set your bags and such somewhere to dry for the night, and you can get yourself into bed,” you suggested, leaving him to get comfortable without the pressure of your presence. 

He nodded again, his jaw tight as he cleared his throat. He muttered a quiet ‘thank you’, and you began picking up his wet belongings to hang in the kitchen. You heard him pick up one of the kerosene lamps, followed by the soft padding on his footsteps as he retreated to your bedroom. 

You sighed heavily once you reached the kitchen, dropping Jakes things from your hands onto the counters and reaching up to run your hands over your face. 

You had no idea what you were doing— what you were thinking. If anyone were to find out, or if Jake were to tell a soul about your sleeping arrangements, your reputation would be ruined. You already faced troubles in keeping your land safe against Ray, and if he were to ever find out about what you were doing… you would be forced to leave town. 

But you clearly didn't care enough, as Jake was in your bed in those moments, slipping under the covers and trying not to cry at the feeling of the soft mattress beneath his back. He didn't know when he had last slept in a bed that was as comfortable as this, or if he never even had. 

Your smell had completely engulfed him, and he let out a gentle sigh as he felt himself melt deeper under the comforter. He wasn’t sure if he should wait for you to come to bed before he fell asleep, or if he should at least feign sleep to reduce any anxiety you felt at climbing into bed next to him. 

Meanwhile, you sorted through his things in the kitchen, squeezing the water out of his rugged throw, admiring the woollen piece briefly as your eyes scanned over the earthy browns and muted reds, adorned with bold geometric patterns, its coarse texture softened by years of use and the American winds.

You took your time, nerves settling in at having to return to your bedroom with Jake settled beneath the sheets. Though, once each item of his belongings had been strained out at least twice each, you knew you couldn't avoid it any longer. 

Wiping your damp hands on the sides of your nightgown, you returned to the living room to starve the fire, before making your way back to the bedroom, each step creaking against the worn floorboards. 

The kerosene lamp in your hand cast a soft, wavering glow, barely enough to illuminate the room, but it highlighted Jake’s silhouette, curled up tightly on the far side of the bed. He clung to the edge, almost as if afraid of intruding on the space that wasn’t his to claim. His back was to you, shoulders hunched slightly, and though you couldn’t see his face, his stillness suggested he might have fallen asleep.

You set the lamp down gently on the bedside table, the glass clinking faintly. Shrugging off your dressing gown, you let it slip from your shoulders and fall in a whisper to the floor, pooling at your feet. You hesitated, then slowly lifted the edge of the comforter, slipping beneath the covers beside him. The bed felt smaller than it had before, as if his presence took up more space than his body did, and you struggled to keep the sheets from rustling too much as you stretched out.

You glanced over at Jake’s back, admiring the steady rise and fall of his breath and the way his braid trailed over his shoulder. You sighed softly and leaned to extinguish the lamp, welcoming the darkness that swallowed the room, save for the silver glow of moonlight seeping through the thin curtains. You settled into the mattress, trying to make yourself small and still.

With the darkness came a heightened awareness of every sound. The rain battered against the roof, a relentless rhythm alongside the constant drip of water cascading from the overhang onto the muddy ground outside. The wooden beams of the house groaned as the wind pressed against the walls, and you burrowed deeper beneath the covers, nestling into the pillow.

You shut your eyes, hoping to find sleep, but the tension from the evening lingered in your chest. Restlessness gnawed at you, and you reached up, fingers toying with the delicate chain that nestled in the hollow of your throat, rolling the little golden pendant back and forth between your fingers.

A sudden shift beside you made you flinch, the movement of the mattress reminding you that you weren’t alone. Jake stirred, and you realised he wasn’t asleep after all. He reached behind his head, flicking his wet braid onto the pillow, leaving a damp spot on his shoulder. His back rose and fell with a heavy sigh, and he tried to burrow deeper into the blankets, as if seeking a warmth they couldn’t provide.

In the dim light, you caught a fleeting tremor in his hands before they vanished under the duvet again. Squinting through the darkness, you saw it— his whole body trembling, a barely-contained shiver that rippled through him.

“Jacob,” you whispered, your voice barely louder than the rain. His head turned slightly, acknowledging you.

“Yeah?” he replied, but his voice wavered, strained through gritted teeth as if trying to suppress the chill that wracked his body.

“Are you still cold? You’re shivering,” you asked, sitting up slightly, concern knitting your brow.

He sniffled softly and rolled onto his back, looking at you with tired, cautious eyes. “No, ‘m fine.”

You watched him as another shudder ran through him, his hands disappearing further beneath the sheets. He turned his face away, trying to hide from your concern.

“No, you’re not,” you insisted, the words firm but gentle. He turned back toward you, and you saw the dampness in his hair, the braid still dripping from the rain-soaked night.

“You won’t warm up like this. Your hair is still too wet,” you murmured, reaching out to feel the damp strands. He shuddered under your touch, but didn’t pull away. “I could’ve sworn it was drier than this when I braided it,” you commented, faltering in confidence at the reality that you weren’t able to care for him as well as you thought.

“I’ll just go get some more blankets,” he offered, his voice rough as he began to sit up, but you placed a hand on his arm, feeling the cold seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“I don’t have any more blankets,” you said, glancing at the uneven pile that already covered him. “These are all I have.”

“Oh,” he said softly, settling back down, his eyes darting away from yours. “Well, I’ll be fine. Just... go back to sleep, it’s alright,” he added, as if he could somehow will away your worry.

You shook your head, a small, fond smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite the situation. He was so stubborn. Part of you knew that if he caught a cold from this, you’d end up having to nurse him back to health, which would be inconvenient, to say the least. But beneath that thought, you recognized a deeper concern. A quiet care that had settled within you, uninvited but persistent, over the days you’d known him. 

The thought of him lying here, shivering and unable to rest, tugged at something in your chest.

“No, it’s not alright. Come here,” you said, your voice softening.

He blinked, uncertainty flickering across his face. “What?”

You huffed, exasperated but gentle. “You’re not going to warm up by yourself, Jacob. It’s cold, and your hair’s still wet.”

He hesitated, his breath catching at your insinuation. 

The moonlight cast shadows over his face, highlighting the slope of his high cheeks and nose, as well as the uncertainty in his gaze. You could see him weighing his options, his pride fighting against the chill that bit into his skin. Finally, he sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Okay,” he murmured, barely more than a breath, and he leaned in, heavy caution laced through his tentative movements. With your faces already mere inches apart, you realised that he was too cautious of imposition to continue. 

“Here, I’ll turn over,” you suggested, flipping to your other side so that your back faced him. He sighed in relief at your movements, feeling less forward as he shifted close to your back, his body hovering behind yours. 

You rolled your eyes despite him not being able to see, and shuffled backwards so that his front pressed against your back. You could feel the chill of his skin through both of your clothes and reached backward to take his arm and wrap it around your front. 

He grunted quietly at your movements, his body now wrapped around yours, and although cautious at first, he slowly began to curl around you tightly, revelling in the warmth you provided as it settled in his bones. His head nestled into the curve of your shoulder, his breath a warm, unsteady exhale against your neck.

You felt his shivers slowly ease as he held you close, his fingers lightly brushing over your ribs. 

The scent of rain lingered on him, mingling with the earthy smell of the night, and you let out a slow, steady breath, feeling the tension in your chest unravel. He relaxed against you, his own breathing evening out, and you stayed like that, tangled up in the dark, the sound of the rain a steady heartbeat against the windowpane.

“Thank you,” he whispered, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it, and you smiled softly in the darkness. 

“‘S okay.” The bed seemed even smaller by now, your breaths mingling in the cool air as you tried to settle in again. 

His fingers, uncertain and still trembling slightly, trailed gently over your ribs, feeling the skin through the thin barrier of your nightgown. He kept a low, respectful distance, the nimble pads of his fingertips tracing along the folds and seams of the cotton, fiddling with the fabric.

The material between you felt insubstantial, a mere barrier against the heat of his touch. The closeness sent a rush of awareness through you, making you acutely conscious of every inch of him, the way his breath brushed the back of your neck in the darkness, and the way his form slotted against your own, legs brushing yours beneath the covers.

For a long, silent moment, neither of you moved, apart from Jake's gentle caress of the nightgown fabric. He held himself tense behind you, clearly uncertain, his breath coming out in shallow, barely controlled puffs. You could feel the hesitation in every fibre of his being. 

But there was an unmistakable, quiet yearning between you— a tension that stretched and held the air between you taut.

You suddenly became frenzied for his touch to stray. You no longer wanted to settle at merely his fingers by your ribs, and longed for them to wander.

Your hand, steady but slow, reached out from where you had them tucked beneath your head against the pillows, to gently take his wrist. Your fingers brushed his own cautiously, and his breath hitched beside your ear as you nudged it upward, guiding his fingers ever so slightly. 

He held his breath, and you grieved the loss of the warmth it provided to the skin beside your ear. You paused, feeling his uncertainty, his unspoken question at your more than suggestive actions. 

But then he let out a shuddering sigh, and you felt the way his fingertips moved in response, his knuckles brushing just under the curve of your breast. A tentative, nearly imperceptible touch, but it sent a shiver through your spine that you couldn’t contain.

You shifted back slightly, pressing yourself against the solid line of his chest, encouraging the closeness. Jake’s breath fanned out against the back of your neck, hot and unsteady, and his thumb hesitantly grazed the swell beneath the delicate fabric of your nightgown, sending a spark of raw lust through you. The touch was as reverent as it was uncertain, like he was afraid you might pull away at any moment.

Your own breath quickened, the rise and fall of your chest pressing you into his hand. Fingertips still travelling, he let his pointer finger fan out, the side of it running over the peak of your breast, and you bit back the noises that threatened to escape from the base of your throat. 

His fingers curled slowly, until his palm cupped the gentle swell of your breast, tentative, yet no longer trembling, as your warmth had radiated through him in your proximity. 

You arched slightly, pushing your breasts closer to his hand, and he tightened his hold slightly. You felt his chest rise and fall sharply against your back, the strain of holding back, of not crossing any boundary rippling his every movement.

And then, there was a shift— a careful, cautious press of his lips just behind your ear. It was a barely-there kiss, so light that it might have been mistaken for the brush of air, but it made your heart stutter in your chest. 

You could feel the heat in your cheeks, the warmth pooling low in your belly as his breath mingled with the stray tendrils of your hair.

Driven by some unknown force, your hand drifted back, finding his waist through the rough fabric of his shirt and gripping the taut muscle in desperation. His abdomen shifted under your touch as you traced the seam downwards, your fingers grazing his side and you smiled to yourself when a shiver accompanied your movements. 

His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he seemed to lean closer, the lines of his body fitting against yours as though drawn by some magnetic pull.

You let your hand continue its slow, deliberate path, brushing over the dip of his hip before moving lower, feeling the shift of his muscles beneath your touch. He almost whimpered as your fingers brushed a sliver of exposed skin between his clothes, and his breathing suddenly grew more uneven. 

He stayed mostly still, allowing you to touch him, his hand gently squeezing your breast in response as you explored the new, uncharted territory between you.

You exhaled a shaky breath as your fingers slid beneath his drawers, fingers brushing against the coarse hair beneath. Jake pressed another kiss against your skin, down by your neck this time, his nose nuzzling into the nook of your jaw. He barely pulled away before he kissed again, and again, his mouth exploring the supple skin desperately. His hand kneaded into your breasts, the respectable barrier having fallen as he pinched your nipple between his fingers through the fabric. 

You let out a quiet moan at the sensation, which sent a rush of feeling down his body. He smiled against you, and continued his movements as your hand explored further downward past his waistband. 

You came to an almost abrupt stop when your hand met his bugle. Jake paused his assault on your neck, and pressed his face against you, breath heavy and uncontrolled. 

“You… you don’t have to,” he assured, shuddering when your fingertips brushed against the skin, feeling the taught hardness that had been growing between you. 

You ignored him, and wrapped your hand around the base of him, squeezing gently and feeling the size of him as your hands explored its expanse. 

Unable to hold back any longer, Jake let out a deep, rough groan against the curve of your neck, the sound reverberating through the quiet room. The hand that cupped your breast tightened, fingers pressing firmly into the soft flesh, as if he needed to ground himself in the sensation.

With a shaky exhale, he let his other hand slide beneath your body, slipping between the narrow space where your body met the mattress. He moved with a deliberate, gentle urgency, his fingertips grazing along your side before settling on your other breast. 

His hold was firm yet reverent, the weight of his touch sending you in to complete, unbridled bliss. The warmth of his hands seeped through the thin fabric of your nightgown, and you could feel every inch of him pressed against your back, both of you lost in the heady, intimate moment.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. This was all so wrong. You both knew it, yet neither of you could find it within yourselves to stop.

As you slowly stroked your hand up the length of him, Jake began to move his arm downward, his forearm brushing your waist as his fingers traced over your sternum, and to your naval. His movements stuttered when your fingers continued their exploration, thumb running over the ridges of the head of his cock, now damp with precum. 

He hummed against your ear as his hands continued, passing your hips to your bent legs, feeling blindly for the end of your nightgown. In desperation, you kicked it up your legs exposing your bare skin to his own, and he tangled his legs with yours as his hands lifted the end of your nightgown to allow room to wander beneath. 

His breath caught when your finger rubbed against the vein on the underside of his length, caressing it up and down to a slow rhythm. With one hand still squeezing and massaging your tit, Jake let his other find the soft flesh of your inner thigh from beneath your nightgown. 

Your breaths grew ragged, each inhale filled with the scent of Jake— warm and somehow familiar as his sounds filled the space between you. His hands moved over your body with a careful tenderness, as if you were the most delicate, precious thing he had ever touched.

“Your skin is…” he pressed a wet kiss to your neck, “So soft.” 

You moaned when his hand stroked up your thigh and met your heated core, wasting no time as his fingers ventured through your folds, collecting wetness and spreading it across your flesh. 

“And so wet,” he whispered, though you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it. He smirked to himself against you, though his whispers trailed off to a groan as you began to stroke his cock with rhythm. He had grown impossibly larger and harder under your touch by now, and you revelled in knowing that he felt just as helpless to this sin as you.

The rain bellowed outside, and a gust of wind pressed threateningly against your window, but the sound was drowned out by the concoction of Jake's panting breath hidden beneath incoherent, desperate whispers. 

After sufficiently gathering your wetness on his fingers, Jake trailed them upward to the bud of sensitivity that nestled between your folds. You gasped at the pressure, your own hand faltering its strokes as he touched you. 

Your eyes closed in subtle bliss, moaning out a sound you could no longer hear past the thrumming heartbeat in your ears. 

Jake gasped as you picked up the pace against him, your strokes long but intense. “Sweet… Jesus that’s— ah, perfect,” he breathed through the silent whispers he bestowed upon our neck. 

You panted as he began to swirl his finger around your clit faster. Another finger reached down and probed at your entrance, tracing the skin delicately before he plunged it inside. 

You gasped, your spare hand rising to grasp his other which still rested against your breast, squeezing you in sync with your strokes along his cock. 

Time seemed to stretch then, each touch, each movement drawn out into the quiet darkness. There was no rush— apart from the undeniable need to bestow pleasure upon one another. The slow, careful discovery of what it felt like to be close was overwhelming, to let go of the hesitation that had kept you apart. 

The lust between you crackled in the air, but there was a gentleness to it, a careful understanding that neither of you wanted to break the fragile, quiet intimacy that had settled around you like silk.

Jake picked up his pace, his middle finger once moving inside of you at a painfully slow pace was now curling at near the same speed you were stroking him. Jake panted into your ear, and there was a moment where your breaths and hands synchronised, both giving and feeling and drawing in on one another. 

Jake's fine motor movements lost their rhythm against you as his climax crept up on him. He tried hopelessly to restrain himself, though couldn't help but thrust up into your hand, chasing his release despite never wanting the feeling to end.

He was mildly embarrassed at how quickly you had drawn him to a finish, and he attributed it to the sheer amount of time he had gone barren from the touch of a woman, but the thought left him as soon as it came, as you picked up your pace incredibly faster. 

His breaths came out in short, quiet moans and his fingers practically stilled inside you while he focused on nothing but the out of body experience he was feeling below. He clutched onto your body like an anchor as you continued your rigorous movements, chasing his release just as frantically as he was. 

With a strangled moan, Jake squeezed your breast tightly, cursing under his breath as he threw his head back against the pillows. A cold, wet spot was left behind on your neck from where his mouth and warm breath had been, but he quickly returned, kissing your skin as he came over your hand. 

Hips stuttering, and muscles contracting in an endless stutter, Jake's mind went empty, as though he was floating through an endless abyss with only you wrapped in his arms. All he could feel was your skin against him, your hand against his twitching cock, and your warmth still wrapped around his fingers. 

His hot release had coated your fist, though you didn’t seem to mind one bit. You stroked him through his high until he calmed, his breathing evening out as he returned to reality. 

As though motivated by some external force, Jake's finger began to move inside of you again, slipping in and out easily thanks to your own arousal, and you gasped at the sudden movement. Slipping another finger in, only stretching you slightly, Jake's movements turned relentless, greedy. 

His thumb circled your clit tauntingly as his middle and ring finger curled into you quicker than you knew possible. 

Your own release climbed up on you just as quickly, the feeling pressing against his movements and making you squirm. You bit your lip to conceal your cries, which silenced you to mere whimpers as you tried to take in every feeling, all at once. 

Jake's hot breath beside you, his wet mouth on your neck, nimble fingers twisting the peak of your breast, thumb rubbing your clit, fingers hitting you deeper than you had ever felt. It was so much, yet it was like nothing you had ever felt before. It was perfect.

Your release hit you like a wave, washing over you from head to toe and running vibrations of energy through you, a whispered moan accompanying the feeling. Jake continued his movements, curling his digits inside of you as he rode you through your high, only slowing as the pulsing of your walls began to steady around him. 

Your heavy breaths slowed as Jake tenderly slipped his fingers out of your slick, though he made no effort to move his hand from beneath your nightgown. You didn't mind, your own hand still nestled in his slacks as you both tried to steady your heaving breaths. 

Jake pressed one last tender and lingering kiss to your neck, his breath warm and soft against your skin, and his lips as gentle as ever. You sighed as your head sank deeper into the pillows, letting yourself settle into the peace that had somehow woven its way through the heat of the moment. 

The room around you, once filled with the loud sounds of the storm felt softer, wrapped in the heavy, comforting quiet that comes only after a shared moment such as that.

Your bodies, tangled together beneath the layers of blankets, found a natural rhythm, chests rising and falling in sync as the intensity slowly melted into something warmer, more tender. Jake’s hand, still nestled beneath your nightgown, stayed pressed against your skin, his fingertips tracing slow, absentminded circles against your inner thigh that sent little shivers along your spine. 

Similarly, your hand, tucked gently into the waistband of his trousers, remained as if it had found its rightful place there, an embrace that felt daring and delicate all at once.

Jake shifted behind you, the curve of his chest fitting snugly against your back, his legs entwined with yours as if your bodies pressed against each other still wasn’t close enough. You could feel the warmth of his breath against the curve of your neck, the soft rasp of his stubble brushing against your skin.

There was a weight to the silence that settled over you both, the kind that came with the knowledge that this was a moment stolen from the expectations of the world beyond the four walls of your room. It was a silent understanding that for tonight— just this one night— nothing outside mattered.

You let yourself lean into the feeling of his arm curled beneath your chest, pulling you closer as though he could shield you from the storm raging beyond the walls of your home. 

Jake’s fingers flexed slightly against your skin, as if testing the reality of your presence, before relaxing once more. He let out a breath that almost sounded like a sigh of contentment, a sound that wrapped itself around your heart and made it ache with a sweetness you hadn’t known you could feel.

You found yourself tracing the edge of his knuckles against your breast with your thumb, a small, unconscious movement that seemed to soothe you both. Neither of you spoke, but words didn’t feel necessary. 

In the stillness, in the way your bodies fit together, in the shared warmth beneath the blankets, there was an unspoken promise that, for tonight, you would let yourselves be vulnerable, give in to the closeness, and hold each other through the darkness. Through the cold.

Slowly, sleep began to pull at your thoughts, blurring the edges of reality. Jake’s breathing deepened, his body relaxing even further against yours. His hand, still nestled in a place where propriety would never allow, remained unmoving, holding onto that fragile intimacy as though afraid to let go. 

And though there was a lingering whisper of guilt in the back of your mind— a voice that told you what you were doing was so terribly wrong— you pushed it aside. You’d allow yourselves this one night, this warmth, this comfort. 

The world and all its rules could wait until morning.

𓄀

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[irisintheafterglow]

has rockstar!gojo been done yet because i have some things to say

"whatcha drinking there?" a second weight sinks onto the couch and you eye the figure warily from the corner of your vision. you can't see his face well but you think it's a guy; he's got bright white hair, round-rimmed sunglasses, and a half-closed black button up.

"not sure; it was ordered for me. something sweet and dangerous, fruity enough that you can't taste the booze," you answer, crossing one leg over another and propping an elbow on the back of the couch. your body was buzzing with warmth in the stale air of the house, and you'd lost sight of your cousin who begged you to come to the party with her. it was a wealthy colleague's 20something-eth birthday and she wanted to pretend to be in a higher tax bracket for the night. though most of the other people at the party radiated predatory vibes, the other occupant of the couch didn't, keeping a respectful distance from you as you continued to try to make out his face.

"i know a little something about being sweet and dangerous," he drawls and you catch the corner of his mouth turn up in a smug grin. despite the cheesy line, he still keeps a polite space between you two. you scoff at the contrast between the flirty words and the chivalrous body language, taking another sip.

"oh, goodie, another perv ready to slip something into my drink and take me god knows where until i'm a tragedy on the local news," you deadpan and, to your surprise, he laughs. his laugh is boyish and light; it sounds like sunshine. your heart and mind are at odds with each other, one telling you that he might be a good one and the other cautioning against sweet-talking men at parties.

"have people actually tried that on you tonight?" when his laughter dies back, his voice drops its teasing lilt for something almost...concerned? you shrug, leaning your head in your hand. he mirrors your position and you unconsciously scoot a little closer to him. to hear him better, you reason.

"eh, you know how it is."

"say the word and i'll have them out of here before you can blink." it's your turn to laugh at his pretentious arrogance, but you lock eyes with him over the rims of his glasses. they're electrically bright and calculatingly lethal, like clear blue water during high tide.

"what, you gonna tell your security team to kick them out?" you joke, continuing to nurse the remaining alcohol in your hand. you don't expect him to hum and raise his eyebrows thoughtfully; something in your head whispers that he might not actually be kidding. he was an enigma compared to the others that approached you. he hadn't tried to touch you, get your number, or look down your shirt. odd, yes, and admittedly intriguing.

"i could do that, if you want me to. i don't like it when creeps bother pretty people." he flashes another sly grin and his hair falls to the side as he tilts his head. he was pretty cute, but you were still skeptical.

enough. get down to the nitty gritty. "what do you want?"

"hmm?" his sharp eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"what do you want, if you're gonna call me pretty? you want my number, or my socials, or to take me home or something?" you stare at him expectantly and his eyes narrow ever so slightly like he was offended. maybe he wasn't used to people outwardly asking him if he was going to toy with them.

"truthfully, all i really want is to try your drink, and possibly get your name."

"oh," is all you're able to manage after any more biting words disappear from your vocabulary at his honesty. it was off-putting how nice he was, but you decide to humor him and hold out your glass. there's barely any liquid left in it, but he downs it in a blink.

"oh, shit. that's really good."

"right? i wish i got the order because i wanna be able to get that wherever."

"if you do get the order, send it my way too because that is delicious." from what you could tell, it was mostly vodka, with a little bit of strawberry or cherry punch on ice. there was another flavor you couldn't place, something fresh and earthy. maybe mint?

"i'll ask my cousin, then. hopefully she isn't too shit-faced to relay what she told the bartender." he laughs again, that breathy chuckle that made your heart skip a few beats. "how do you know the birthday girl?"

"friend of a friend of a friend."

"i see. this place not really your scene?"

"it is, sometimes. depends on the people present."

"what's your usual scene, then?"

"concerts, mostly." he runs a slender hand through his hair and you fight the urge to stare at its elegance. his voice was smooth and melodic and you leaned closer to him until it was the only thing you focused on. you're close enough to see his fingernails, painted alternating shades of red, blue, and purple. he looks at you like you're the best thing at the party and the rest of the noise fades into the background. "i like when music connects people. it's the closest thing we have to invisible strings tying everyone together, you know?" so he's the poetic type.

"mhmm. do you play any instruments?"

"i sing, sometimes. my band plays in this area."

before you can ask his name or give him yours, a tall man with his hair pulled back and a woman with a short bob steals the stranger away. he glances back at you apologetically, murmuring something about it being a pleasure to meet you. at the end of the conversation, you were left with an empty glass and an unshakable feeling of disappointment.

the subtle ache in your chest whenever you thought of him lasted several more days than you would have liked it to. you texted your friends about it numerous times for cathartic reasons but nothing worked. you wanted to figure out the mystery behind his identity and it was driving you out of your mind. the unrelenting feeling of restlessness was replaced by dread when your cousin dragged you to a concert in some underground venue, insisting standing as close to the stage as possible. you agreed on the condition that she order you another glass of the drink you had during the party.

despite the loud screams echoing through the chamber and the bodies knocking against your arms, the music wasn't terrible, especially when you had a few more drinks. as the night progressed, you found yourself constantly drawn to the lead singer. intuition said you'd met him before, even though it was impossible considering that he was one of the most popular musical artists on the planet. music officials called his innate talent and musicianship the most powerful of the time, earning him the nickname of "honored one." he had a reputation for being a rulebreaker, constantly voicing very blunt opinions regarding the older, more conservative artists of his genre. he was also rumored to be a player, always hopping around from lover to lover and never staying with one too long. it drove the fan accounts on twitter absolutely mad.

even if he was a heartbreaker, he was a professional nonetheless. he certainly knew how to put on a show, sweat dripping from his spotlight-shining hair and licking his lips enticingly while he sang sweet nothings to the audience of swooning fans. his crowd work was admirable and you found your face heating up when he crouched down in front of you between songs. his voice was raspy and overtly flirtatious, but it still bothered you that you'd heard it before the show and couldn't pinpoint where.

"hey there, pretty. you likin' the show?"

"mhmm, the 'drenched in sweat' look is really doing it for me."

"well, i used the last of my water to uh, baptize those ladies over there," he remarks, gesturing with the mic to a group of teenage girls that were shrieking at the top of their lungs. "mind if i get a sip of what you're having?"

"as long as you don't turn it into a super soaker."

inches away from you, you realize his eyes are a vibrant shade of blue and they crinkle at the corners from your joke. he laughs, boyishly happy and contagiously bubbly. you'd seen those eyes and heard that laugh weeks ago, on the night your cousin brought you to that party. in that moment, the realization collides with your body like a semitruck and your legs nearly give out. everything makes sense instantly: his voice, his hair, the way he called you "pretty."

you'd been flirting with gojo satoru.

and he was right in front of you, asking for your drink again in front of hundreds of people.

after a tense moment of stunned hesitation, you carefully hand him your glass and watch his face wash over in realization when he takes a sip. despite the screams from the crowd at the intimate interaction, all you could hear is his voice.

"oh, shit." he stares at you so intensely your heart does a backflip before slamming into your eardrums. the way he's looking at you tells you all that you need to know, all that you wanted to know ever since the night of the party. "that's...that's really good." he observes you for half a moment longer before he remembers what the hell he was doing. he stands to continue the show, but he flashes a knowing grin like he was telling you a secret.

"welcome to my usual scene, pretty."

your cousin is shocked, to say the least, when a security guard finds you after the show and requests your presence backstage.

how did this turn into 1.6k words i meant for this to be a drabble lol but anyways hope you enjoyed it

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[viviennevermillion]

to rise from the wreckage

✧ notes: day 4 of my "autumn remedies" event! if you liked this fic, consider reblogging and commenting! 💕 this was a lot more introspection rather than interaction but i like how it turned out!

✧ synopsis: dan heng loves a reader who has trauma from bullying. 1.3k words

✧ now playing: praying - kesha

✧ warnings: past trauma

It was late at night and you had woken up from another nightmare about your past; thankfully, this time, without stirring your sleeping boyfriend awake. Dan Heng was snuggled up to your chest and despite the terrors of the past haunting you, you couldn't help but smile at his soft expression as he instinctively pulled you closer when you shifted your position. You ran a hand through his hair as if to remind him that you didn't intend on going anywhere, even though you doubted that he would actually notice. He just seemed to let out a satisfied sigh upon feeling your touch.

Dan Heng was the one thing keeping you grounded during nights like this. Without him, you knew it would be much harder to quiet down the voices in your head; the sneers and laughter that seemed so threatening and yet so distant from you that you wondered whether these things even happened to you. Yet, your dreams were proof of it. They'd often replay scenes that seemed all too familiar; albeit under different circumstances. You'd close your eyes in some nights and you'd be back in the dark; chained to the whims of someone else, a punching bag for the hatred in their heart; longing for a taste of the winds that would carry you to a faraway future.

You'd fight back desperately each time. Every time you found yourself back where you started, whether it had been back then or in the dreams you saw, you were slowly but steadily fighting your way to the surface; to a place you belonged and a future you knew you had long since earned. Progress was slow, but it was there. You knew Dan Heng was struggling with a similar fate. Your circumstances had been different; yet he was also plagued by dreams he didn't connect to, memories that had been hidden from him for his own good. Like you, the past was trying to drag him back to the depth of helplessness and a fate that sometimes felt like he couldn't escape it. And like you, he was fighting up his way back to the surface and although he was struggling, things looked so effortless when you watched him. You wondered whether he thought the same about you.

Seeing Dan Heng fight for a new life, a future which he could call his own and a freedom that he could never take for granted, had kindled the flame in your heart even more. It made you long for that place in the sun; one that seemed so filled with that light and warmth that Dan Heng gave you, and once you had a taste of it you knew you'd be fighting for it for however long it might take or die trying. Both of you longed for a future in which there was no longer such a divide between what people saw and who you knew you were with every fiber of your being. Most of the fight was internal; your bravery only applauded by those who could see your journey for what it truly was, like Dan Heng did.

Few understood the loneliness that followed a childhood that had been scarred by false expectations, abuse and punishment for reasons you didn't understand. Few understood the struggle to step into the light and show what had been in your heart all along nor the bravery it took to look in the mirror every morning and telling yourself that your time would come despite. That people would see one day and the climb would get easier. That you'd catch up to the people around you who seemed so much further ahead. But Dan Heng did. You could feel that day closer than ever, almost in reach, in those evenings you spent with him by the water under the setting sun with a peaceful smile on your face. Making peace with what happened was easier on some days than others. But when it felt like you couldn't go on anymore, Dan Heng was there to pull you along until you had regained your strength. And you were ready to do the same.

You both carried a dream in your heart like a slumbering flame that was ready to ignite into an inferno and as you grew closer, they merged and became stronger, festering in the light of your love. You knew that after all that time your soul was lost in infinite space, you had someone you could count on to take your hand and walk those scary next steps with you. A net to catch you, should you ever fall.

Sometimes the things that took the most bravery for you were things that seemed so simple to others. Approaching new friends, opening up, asserting your will... But you wouldn't be a member of the Astral Express Crew if there wasn't something inside you ready to blaze a trail without looking back. To dare, despite everything, over and over again. Your past and those who hurt you had thrown rocks onto your path than seemed like they'd burn the soles of your feet if you dared walk across them but Dan Heng took your hand and encouraged you to try anyway. To push through and find, to your surprise, that a lot of them didn't hurt as much as you thought they would.

He didn't need a lot of words to convey that he was celebrating your achievements, whether they were big or small.

Imbibitor Lunae. Dan Heng had told you it meant "drinker of the moon". But to you, the one you loved had always been the sun for you, casting a shadow on you that challenged you to step out of it and walk the rest of the way by his side.

There was power to be found once you moved past the pain. A transformation much like his own, that would enable you to make things happen that felt like a miracle to you now. Dan Heng gave you a glimpse at a future version of yourself that watched over you like an older sibling, conscious of every new step they took in order to make you proud. One whose voice you could almost hear when you felt safe within Dan Heng's embrace, as if they were telling you that things were going to be okay. Both of you carried two dragons within your heart; one of the past who was steadily swallowed by the darkness of bygone times and the weight of new memories and one of the future looking back at you as though you were a child taking their very first steps. You were hardly at peace with either of them, but you knew deep down they both were telling you one thing. "Go. And don't look back."

You were pulled from your thoughts as Dan Heng eventually woke up beside you. He opened his eyes and you were reminded of all the times those eyes were the first thing you saw when you woke up in the morning. They carried so much love in them; as did the memories you made together that seemed to slowly drive away the horrors of the past. The days you had spent fooling around with the rest of your friends from the Astral Express. The afternoon you had spent exploring the Xianzhou Luofu with Dan Heng, forgetting all about Imbibitor Lunae and just talking about the history and food of Dan Heng's world of origin. The kisses you had exchanged and the gifts you had given each other. You had expected Dan Heng to ask you whether everything was alright when he woke up, as he had always noticed when you had another nightmare about the past. Instead, while you were looking into his eyes, he simply requested to know what made you smile. You hadn't even noticed your expression had changed from one of fear to one of peace just now. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, smiling against his soft skin.

"I'm just reminiscing."

[gilverrwrites]

Not What It Looks Like

Black Mask/Reader, 1.7K words

AN: This is an updated version of a fic, I originally wrote and published about 9ish years ago. Please enjoy, and if you've read them both please let me know which you prefer, or if you noticed any differences, I'm just curious.

Roman finds you in a pretty precarious position with one of his men. Obviously he won't stand for this, you'll both need to be taught very different lessons. Rating: 18+

CWs: Non-con touching, general crudeness, violence, yelling, swearing, slut shaming, spanking. Reader is GN but has long hair.

Please remember: to rest when you need to.

You heard it before you felt it, a familiar THWACK sound as a gloved hand meets your behind, making you yelp at both the sound and the sting. Instantly, you spun around, furrowing your brows at the faceless thug waving his guilty hand.

“A donkey mask, how appropriate.” You remarked, before spinning back around, arms folded. As much as you were dying to give the primitive creep a mouthful, you had far more important things to be getting on with. Most immediately, Roman was expecting you on the top floor for a very important business meeting in less than five minutes.

“Hung like a one too! Why’d ya think I chose this mask?” His meaty hand wrapping around your wrist, preventing you from going anywhere. He spun you back to face him and you catch a whiff of his cheap plastic mask. Instinctively, you try to pull away again, with no luck. His grip on your arm is like a vice. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Is that so?” You smile, feigning as much interest as you can muster. Time to change tactics. Slowly, you placed your hand on his chest, inching it down over his stomach, ever to slowly, until your hand hovers inches away from the growing bulge in his pants, you were ready to draw back and give it a straight punch when the sound of a deliberate cough catches your attention.

Heart sinking as you spun your head around, your eyes locking onto Black Mask himself. He leans in the doorway, radiating authority, control. The way the light hit his mask might fool someone into thinking he’s smiling, but you could only imagine the terrifying look of rage that most likely hid behind the layer of dark wood.

“I- It’s not what it looks like.” Was all you managed to squeak out before he strode over, not even stopping to look at you. Hook, line, and sinker… Roman slammed his fist into the man’s face, the donkey mask caved in on itself before the thug plummeted to the floor. His grip around your wrist never wavering, forcing you to topple down with him. As soon as he let go you quickly rolled away, using the closest wall as leverage to aid you in getting back on your feet.

You know better than to interfere, so you watch on, fascinated, as Black Mask delivers kick after kick to the man on the ground. Screaming obscenities to make a sailor blush, until his throat is red and veiny. There is no point in trying anything until he’s done letting of that steam, he’ll come back down to earth eventually, and you’ll face the music then.

When the time comes, your mule friend lays on the ground, silent and unmoving. Black Mask turns slowly to face you, giving you his now undivided attention. You could imagine a raised brow lurking beneath the Mask as he contemplates his next step. You remain silent as he grabs your upper arm, dragging you over to his private elevator.

Hastily, you gesture to the receptionist, silently telling her to check that the mule is still breathing.

With no grace at all, you’re forced into the elevator, the moment its metal doors close, Roman has you pressed to the wall. His breath on your neck, his hands patting and stroking at your skin.

“Are you hurt?” He questioned quickly; voice still laced with anger. “I didn’t mean to take you down too. I’m sorry, so sorry.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m okay, don’t worry.” You reassured him, reaching to place a hand on his shoulder only for him to shrug it off.

“Good.” He grunts between clenched teeth, plating a kiss on your shoulder before drawing away, turning his back to you. He paces around the small space before his fist makes contact with the solid metal wall. Your lips part, but you’re silenced by Roman wagging a finger in your face. “You’ve got a lot of fuckin’ explainin’ to do.”

Before you can say another word, the elevator dings, alerting that you’ve reach the top floor, Roman’s office. Two suited men stand from their seats before Roman’s desk as the door opens up. Presumably they’re the men you had business plans with. Both smile, reaching their hands for you to shake but Roman reached them first.

“Forgive me fellas, but we’re going to have to cut this meeting short.” He insists, walking straight past them, one arm pointed at his door.

“But Mr Sionis,” One of them spoke up, “We only just got here.”

“If you’d like to talk to Stephanie outside, Mr Sionis’ secretary, she’ll be more than happy to reschedule for you.” You smile apologetically, walking them to the door. “We hope to see you again soon.”

Before the door had even closed Roman’s hand are on you, pulling you towards the head of his office. You’re already slightly sore butt meets the cold glass of Roman’s desk with a thud, and you rearrange yourself until you’re seated more comfortably. Your hands wrapping around your chest as you wait for Roman to start yelling. It wasn’t the first time you’d found yourself at the brunt of his anger… and hopefully it won’t be the last.  

You watched him taking a deep breath, his chest rising and falling dramatically as he faced you, he almost looks like he’s trying calm himself, you know better.

“What the fuck? Where do I even start?” He begins, and you instinctively shrink away from his voice. “Tell me you ain’t fucking cheating on me doll. Tell me now. Tell me you’re not spending your spare time fucking that ingrate.”

“Of course I’m not cheating on you.” You respond quickly, fighting the urge to reach out for him, to beg for his comfort. He’ll touch you when he’s ready, anything sooner will result in a harsher punishment. “I would never do that, you’re all I could ever need.”

“Then why are you downstairs actin like a slut, rubbin’ up against my men, makin’ me look like a fool, while I’m up here workin’ my ass off?”

“That’s not what happened!” You exclaim, hoping to sound assertive without raising your voice too much. “He started coming onto me and I was about to push him away w-”

“That’s not what it looked like from my angle.” He snaps back at you, arms folding over his broad chest as he slowly begins to close the distance between you.

“I know but I swear, I was half a second away from punching him the dick.” You attempted to reassure. Trying not to let his closeness distract you from your point. Even as his hands met the glass either side of you. “I’d die before I did something so s-”

He cuts you off, hard lips push against yours with so much force it feels like hitting your face on a brick wall. His hands quickly begin tugging at the roots of your hair. He gives your scalp a sharp pull, and predictably you open your mouth to gasp, allowing him to shove his hot tongue into your mouth, licking up whatever he can reach. You close your lips around his tongue and suck, just how he likes it.

The kiss the permission you’ve been waiting for to touch him. Cautiously, your hands travel his chest, fingers fiddling with the lapels of his jacket. In return, his fingers run the length of your back, nails raking at your skin even through the thin fabric of your shirt, until finally resting on your already aching ass. Using your cheeks as leverage, he pulls you into a standing position, forcing your chest to chest and allowing him complete access to your body.

You knew exactly what was coming. His hand draws back before slapping straight back down on your asscheeks, with aim that’s far more precise and force that’s twice as hard as the man in the donkey mask.

Even with Roman’s tongue firmly in your mouth and acting as a muffler, you can’t help the loud yelp that escapes your mouth. Romans chest shakes against yours as he chuckles at your reaction, winding his hand back he spanks you again, and again, and again.

“Mine. This is mine.” He barks, not bothering to with draw from you long enough to make his words fully discernible. Unable to think straight, let alone speak, you respond by nodding, affirming his statement. You are his.

All to soon a strong hand crawls up your back once more, fingers thread into your hair again, jerking you back and forcing you to detach yourself from Roman’s tongue with a whine. Amused eyes burn into yours, soaking in your already heavy lids and parted lips, before dipping down.

You frown, but your objections are quickly silenced when you feel Roman licking his way up your throat. Hands grip either side of your shirt and pull it apart, allowing him more access. You make a mental note to pick the played buttons up later.

Impatiently he yanked your shirt down your arms, not bothering to completely remove it before latching onto your shoulder, nipping and biting at the skin. The hard lips of his mask leaving deeper marks than his teeth could manage. The tenderness of each indent soothed by the warm mix of your blood and his spit.

“Mine.” He repeats, the cool wood of his face brushed over your skin, making you shiver. “Who do you belong to? Who touches you like this? Who?”

“You.” You pant without hesitation. “You do. Yours, Roman.”

“That’s right…” He grunts, letting go of your hair and gently pushing you back against his desk. “Me.”

You watch with bated breath as he removes his jacket, reaching out to assist in undoing his tie, planting chaste kisses to his throat as you work.

“It really didn’t mean anything.” Now is not the time to reaffirm, to distract, but you can’t help it. You want your innocence abundantly clear; you would never betray him. “He had a hold of me, I was about to make him regret it.”

He chuckles again, brushing a stray hair away from your face. “I believe you.”

Smiling, relieved, you place his tie on the desk behind you before starting on the buttons of his shirt, placing kisses to the sections of his chest that aren’t concealed by his vest.

“But you still let him put his hands on you.” He remarks, a playfulness in his voice that never fails to send a shiver down your spine. His hands wrap firmly on each of your arms, turning you around and bending you over his desk. “I’m gonna have to punish you for that, how else will you learn?”

Request Info || Prompts || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

[pe0ple3ater]

also in your inbox to BEG for bloodhounds content. i think they would wrestlefuck for dominance and it would be brutal and hot and they would tear each other apart trying to dom one another, taking advantage of each other’s guards dropping and using it as openings to fuck each other and dominate one another.

alternatively. roier domming the fuck out of etoiles and taming the french beast, being absolutely downright cruel to him and laughing as he wrings orgasms out of etoiles. especially spider hybrid roier pinning etoiles… orgh. yeah.

- ✒️

YES you understand me. I am #1 bloodhounds fan ever. This ask made me so excited that I got dizzy. I love you requesting dom Roier because you will never catch me writing top Etoiles, I'm sorry that man is not a top in my head. He's the most eager to please sub ever. This in particular is a major w for me.

Naturally, they fall into bed together the same way they fall into anything together, competitively and aggressively.

Etoiles laughs and reaches down to help Roier up off the ground. Both of them have been restless, and the natural solution was obviously to beat the shit out of each other until they're too exhausted to move or think. Roier takes his hand and lets Etoiles pull him up and steady him.

"You are shit, man; I feel bad for you," Etoiles teases, playful, happy. Fighting with Roier gets his heart pounding. He's a good fighter. He fights like Etoiles, aggressive. He throws all of that hybrid strength into every blow. He makes Etoiles work for every win. It's good.

“No no no pendejo, shut the fuck up. You're so toxic," Roier complains, brushing dirt and grass off himself. Etoiles can't wipe the grin off his face. His hands are still resting on Roier's shoulders while they both catch their breath.

"Me? No, my bro, I am chill. Zero enemies." Etoiles' words trail on a giddy laugh; he pushes Roier lightly and stretches his arms above his head. He can feel how Roier's eyes trail down his body, but he says nothing about it.

"Fuck you, man," Roier says and punches his shoulder hard; it makes Etoiles grin wider.

"If you fuck like you fight, I would fall asleep in the middle, my bro," he's quick to reply, eyes cutting to Roier and watching his reaction. Roier stiffens, and all four eyes narrow in on Etoiles, head tilting. Etoiles pulls his eyes away and opens his inventory, checking his armor and weapons.

Etoiles' head is pulled back, hard, by a hand tangled in the strands. An involuntary groan rips itself from his throat at the feeling, the pain sending lighting down his spine and pooling heat in his stomach. Roier is behind him, one hand fisted in his hand and the other going to rest on Etoile's waist and squeezing hard.

"You think, culo? You want to find out?" Roier mumbles, voice low and close to Etoile's ear. Etoiles' body relaxes, and his grin returns full force, so it's like that, huh? He tilts his head back further into Roier's hand and exposes his neck.

"I think, yes," Etoiles laughs, voice already a bit breathy. Roier releases him and takes a step back. Etoiles shakes his head and turns to face Roier just in time to dodge a punch aimed at his face. Etoiles slips into a defensive position quickly. The promise of a good fight mixes with the lingering arousal from Roier's hand in his hair, and Etoiles' heart is pounding in his chest.

With renewed energy, Roier is fighting to win now, fast and aggressive. The way Etoiles likes him. He focuses mainly on defending, with no desire to really win this. He lands a few good punches and manages to block Roier most of the time, but Roier is determined, and Etoile's head isn't in the fight.

Roier gets him to the ground and Etoiles' brain kicks back into reality, the two of them grapple on the ground. Etoiles manages to get Roier off him and lands a hard kick to his chest, knocking him on his ass. Etoiles lunges towards him like an animal, but Roier is ready for him and gets a hard punch to the side of Etoiles' face. He yelps and rolls, spitting the blood welling up in his mouth to the side. Roier is over him, panting and intimidating.

Etoiles is hard. His vision is a little blurry from the punch. He pants and scrambles to get his bearings; Roier is quicker. He grabs Etoiles by the hair and forces his head against the ground, hard. Etoiles' head slams against the ground, and he groans, reaching up to scratch at Roier's face to get him to let go. Roier grabs his wrists in his other hand and forces them to the ground as well.

“Still bored, pendejo?” Roier growls, tone making his dick twitch in his pants. Roier laughs at him and releases his head, holding Etoile's wrists in one hand and bearing his full weight down to keep him.

Etoiles stops fighting and just stares at Roier.

He grins, forces a yawn, and stretches out languidly like a cat sunbathing. Roier's eyes flash, and he smashes their lips together, biting Etoile's lip hard enough to bleed and forcing his tongue down his throat. Etoiles moans into the kiss, and Roier grinds down hard against him. Roier kisses him like he's trying to prove something; he tastes like blood, and the smell of sweat is overwhelming between the two of them. All of these things only make Etoiles harder.

"I'm going to make you cry, Elotes," Roier mumbles, pressing his face against Etoile's neck and sinking his fangs into the skin. Etoile's breath catches, and his back arches a bit, eyes fluttering closed at the mix of pleasure-pain.

Etoiles laughs, rests his head back, and keeps his eyes closed. Focusing on Roier's hands slipping under his shirt, the way his nails dig into his skin. Etoiles' hips twitch up against Roier.

"Do it," Etoiles mumbles, barely resisting the urge to beg.

[thewitcheslibrary]

Grounding 101

Grounding and centering are two of the most important things a witch should know, especially because they often work with energy. The purpose of grounding and centering is to stabilise your energy, draw energy from the Earth, and produce a positive state of being.

Your energy reflects your emotions. It's your "vibe", where your mind has strayed, when you get goosebumps, frightened sweats, or happy tears.

I am sure you can feel your vitality if you concentrate hard enough. Unground energy might feel "fluttery": a racing heart, butterflies in the stomach, and stray thoughts. Noticing your energy is the first step towards grounding, and the more you practise it, the better you will get at tuning in.

Your energy is the first line of protection for how you move through the world: do you recall the proverb "sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will never hurt me"? Words have the potential to injure or heal, depending on your energy level. Have you ever felt that someone's words punched you in the gut? They basically pummelling your energies (particularly your solar plexus). Sometimes the punch continues to strike even after the person who delivered it has left. Anyone who follows the news knows this for certain! But it's not only about the "bad" stuff; when we're very excited about something, it may be tough to stay in the moment as we wait.

Even if you don't receive one of those gut-punches, you might sometimes lose your energy. Have you ever felt like you arrived home but your thoughts was still in the grocery store? Grounding your energy in your area can help you set clear limits for who gets your energy and when. It might make you feel comfortable and supported rather than unbound. Grounding may help those who don't have a secure physical spot to call home, as well as anybody dealing through trauma and facing triggers, discover a safe place within themselves while they manage the issue.

How to ground yourself-

Take a deep, deep inhalation through your nostrils and hold for a second. Exhale through your mouth until all of your breath is out. Repeat as many times as necessary to feel present.

Position both feet or hands firmly on the ground and concentrate on the four corners of your palms or soles in succession. Focus on your base to feel as stable as possible.

Take a bath or shower and cleanse yourself from the top down. Focus on sending unnecessary or unbalanced energy down with the water.

Take a few deep breaths while picturing a ball of light at the base of your spine. Use your mental skills to imagine it spinning and spinning, catching any loose energy (like spinning cotton candy into a bundle), and then pushing it down into the earth. For a more in-depth ritual, repeat this process for each of your energy centres, beginning at the top and working your way down.

To anchor yourself in your environment, sprinkle salt on the floor and spend a few seconds visualising it shining with rainbow light, connecting with your own light and bringing down any unwanted energy. Then sweep up the salt and discard it.

Make any activity that needs your focus into a grounding ritual: making coffee, combing your hair, writing, gardening, cooking, or anything else that speaks to your spirit and keeps you in the present now.

Light a candle and focus your attention on the flame. Firegazing has been psychologically proved to help focus your mind and relax your energies. If you're using a scented candle, take deep breathes and enjoy the aroma and warmth.

Hold a grounding crystal or use a grounding essence during any of these tasks to summon extra help. Darker-colored stones tend to be the most grounding, although even rock from outside works (and may even work best).

[laufyko]

— this song is for you.

// fluff, guitarist reader, modern au. 0.8k words.

kaeya hums softly as he and his guitarist lover sit together on their shared bed—with you on his lap and your guitar on your lap, smiling at your concentrated expression.

squinted eyes, sticked out tongue that rested on your top left lip, and the gentle, adorable hum when you play the right notes. archons, he couldn’t help to smile even wider.

and he’d whisper you a small praise, kissing the nape of your neck gently whenever you get the right notes, his grasp tightening around your waist as well. he was being sooo sweet—it didn’t only make your heart melt, he made your whole body melt.

“what song is this, by the way?” he asks, his warm breath and the soft pair of his lips tickling your nape, making you giggle quietly at the sensation. “pasilyo, by sunkissed lola. have you ever heard of it?”

“not really.” your lover shook his head, his lips still pressed against your nape, though he eventually moved his head to see the sheet music you have on the side of your lap. you’d make sure the head of your guitar didn’t hit his face too, which he appreciates a lot since he accidentally did this a lot.

“it has such a beautiful melody… what’s the song about?”

“marriage, i guess?”

“marriage, huh. i guess that’s why it sounds pretty lulling.” he mumbles, kissing your shoulder. “i wonder if this song could be played one day at our wedding…” he smiles at the thought, but quickly regained his composure.

“is it difficult?” he continues to ask, shifting his body and pulling you closer by the waist to get an even more comfortable position. his light blue eyes lingering on the music sheet as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“not really…” you began, pressing your guitar closer to your chest, testing the notes again. “i mean, it’s kinda hard, but i think i’m doing fine.” you explain proudly, turning your head back to facing him—only to give a small, quick peck on his cheeks, grinning softly.

the navy-blue haired man was surprised by your sudden antics. his eyes widened slightly, but he chuckled and brushed it off eventually. “really? that’s great then.”

despite not having a wide knowledge about music, he always felt so proud whenever you could play a song without much trouble. his mind constantly telling him that you’re the most talented and professional guitarist ever.

“can i hear the full version once you’re done?”

“sure, darlin’,” you muse, sticking out your tongue again as you continue to strum your guitar while looking at the sheet music, trying to get a suitable “nice sounding” note.

kaeya continues to rest his chin on your shoulder, pressing your body closer to him, watching intently at how your fingers move and play the guitar string. it might seem simple to you, but archons, he was so in love with your fingers. the way they moved is just mesmerizing, he swore he could just watch your fingers playing the guitar for hours.

after you finished, you let out a satisfied hum and another proud grin. his awestruck gaze now landed on you—clearly admiring your developed guitar skill.

“i think that’s all for tonight, i’ll ask xinyan about the chorus part next morning and—”

sensing a sudden quiet kaeya, you turn your head quickly to meet his pretty face, only to find his foolish awestruck gaze solely focused on you. as your eyes met his gaze, his eyes softened even more, as if he’s staring at the most precious thing that exists only once in the world.

you can’t help yourself to laugh at seeing this side of him, which looked so dumb and cute. “... what’s with that gaze?”

he laughs along with you, his hand making its way to hold your hand and squeezing it gently, before stealing a kiss on your lips. “you’re so gorgeous when you play the guitar, and— archons, your playstyle is really cool…!”

you felt your cheeks become hot and red at the kiss and the praise, punching kaeya’s lap playfully with your fist right after he praised you. “thank you,” you reply, smiling sheepishly. your fingertips brushing against his harsh palms.

but suddenly, you felt your guitar taken by him and placed right next to the bed, his muscular arms then started to lift you up, pinning you against the soft mattress. his quick yet unpredictable action surely caught you off-guard.

“but enough about your guitar practice, don’t forget about our deal earlier.” he smirks dumbly, nuzzling his head on your neck as he pressed his body against you hardly, making it almost hard to breathe properly.

such a sneaky bastard, isn’t he? but it would be a big ass lie if you say you didn’t like it.

with a defeated sigh, you wrap your arms around kaeya’s body, letting him clinging to you for the rest of the night.

[the-fifth-rascal]

Not your typical happily ever after

Chapter 1

In the desert kingdom of King Deshret, they say that it is impossible to ever dream. People simply weren’t allowed to have wills of their own. Because their very own king was a power-hungry, blood-thirsty tyrant who made sure that every citizen in his kingdom that was under his thumb FEARED him. Well… almost every citizen.

A peculiar figure, masked by the shadows of the night for his own advantage, held a can of purple spray paint in his hand and leapt across the roofs of multiple buildings gracefully without a sound as he sprinted across the kingdom.

He didn’t stop until he got to the heart of their kingdom, where a not-so-flattering portrait of the king was hung up.

Purely for the purpose of a narcissistic reminder for the citizens of their place. This strange figure landed softly in front of the portrait, a twisted grin stretched across his face as he uncovered his hood, allowing his white hair to flow with the breeze and his red snake-like eyes glinting mischievously in the moonlight. The boy shook the spray can a few times before spraying the most vulgar things that came to his mind.

Unfortunately for him, he was caught sight of by a few of the king's guards on their usual daily patrol. Of any unruly law-breaking citizens they needed to slay for treason.

Out of the corner of one's eye, they immediately noticed the bright purple streaks on their majesty’s picture, and then the culprit with his head covered before anybody could recognize him.

"Vandal!" the royal guard bellowed, pointing towards the perpetrator. All they saw was a shit-eating grin before he escaped into the night.

"Guard 0718 to all forces, we've got the infamous vandal on the loose! I repeat, the infamous vandal is on the loose!"

The vandal felt giddy as a bead of sweat dripped from his forehead when the adrenaline pumped in his veins. He had always loved a good chase after all.

He dashed into the alleyways when the purple lining of his hoodie sizzled to light, becoming seemingly electric as his eyes glowed similarly. With the guards hot on his tail, he somersaulted between the space in the 2 narrow walls and managed to clamber on the ceiling before the guards could even process what was going on.

But a few of them were already patrolling the rooftops, looking for the criminal. He had no choice but to deal with them directly. He pulled out a few strange-looking objects from his pocket and threw them. Upon impact, the items exploded with a spectacle of purple and gold glitters. "Shit," the guy muttered and cursed under his breath, "must’ve accidentally packed the glitter bombs."

He used the dazzling disasters (alliteration!) to use this chance to escape. But it didn’t deter them for long.

Multiple guards threw polearms at him, which he managed to avoid easily as he landed on the ground flawlessly.

He even fought a guard hand-to-hand, or hand-to-leg and hand and electric shocks in this case, it being obvious the criminal didn’t intend to play fair. He gripped either their necks or their arms and administered electric shocks from his glowing gloves and hands before punching them square in the nose or kicking them where it really hurt.

Finally, when he was sure that all of them were out of his way and absolutely no one was tailing him, he made his way to a more secluded corner of the kingdom and let himself breathe again.

He was satisfied he had his fun for the night and did the king a favour by painting over that ugly-ass portrait. So what was his course of action now? Suddenly, the angry exclamations of the royal guards seemed to be getting way closer. The vandal prepared himself for a fight, unbeknownst to him that a metal tube was positioned over his head.

Before he could even realize what was happening, the vacuum of the tube had sucked him in. He sped through the smooth, cold metal tube with a gust of wind (totally not screaming the entire time, no way) before landing in a heap.

When he got up, he recognized the room he was now in; flasks of strange alchemy materials and humongous shelves, stacked with books of all kinds and a giant wooden desk with papers scattered all over it.

When he felt a firm tap on his shoulder, he turned back to see a gray-haired boy with his arms crossed and beautiful bright turquoise eyes gazed into his and his lips curled slightly in an annoyed frown.

"And just what the HELL do you think you’re doing, Cyno?"

[radical-sky]

just a little bored, i'm feeling crummy ilsa/ethan one-shot. post dead reckoning part 2. nothing explicit, but very much so implied. no beta, just something i punched out quickly on my computer.

UPDATE: edited and posted on ao3 here

Ethan isn't sure what woke him up, but he's not complaining. Ilsa is warm and soft, tucked against him, face peaceful and relaxed in sleep. A strand of hair pulled from the braid she never took out has fallen across her face, breaking the line of her jaw, the soft curve of her cheek. He pulls an arm from where they're wrapped around her and tucks the hair behind her ear. She dyed it dark auburn, nearly the same shade as when they first met, before they settled at this safe house almost three weeks ago. His hand lingers on her face, fingers brushing over her cheek before moving to her neck, settling on her pulse point. He focuses on the steady beat under his fingers, the easy thrum of her heart pumping blood through her veins. He counts the beats, each one a visceral reminder that Ilsa is alive, here with him. The year of his life when he thought she was dead nothing more than bad memories now. He forgave her the moment she revealed herself to him, pulling him from the proverbial cliff and saving his life in more ways than one. They’d beaten The Entity, defeated the machine together, and killed Gabriel along with it. 

It’s been six months and Ethan is the most peaceful he’s ever felt. He’d been weary after Venice, exhausted in a way that settled deep in his bones and didn’t lift no matter how much he slept - or tried to. The grief of Ilsa’s death had weighed on him, haunted him in a way he never could’ve imagined. After the Entity, all he wanted was rest. Peace. Slow mornings, easy days, evenings wrapped up with Ilsa. A future without the fate of the world on his shoulders.

The safehouse they’re in now is remote, completely off grid. A cabin Ilsa set up early in her MI6 career, deep in Northern Sweden, nestled amongst steep mountains and well hidden in a dense forest. There’s no electricity except for a small diesel generator that powers the water pump and some lights if they need them. The single room is heated by a wood burning stove. It’s cozy, intimate, and domestic in a way he hasn’t experienced in almost 20 years. This is what freedom feels like. 

Ilsa is warm against him, bare skin pressed against his where they’re still wrapped together, touching everywhere they can. Even in sleep they both want the reminder that the other is there. The blankets trap their heat and keep them comfortable, but he can feel the chill of the air in the room on his face. They’d gotten distracted the previous evening and forgotten to fill the stove before losing themselves in each other. Ethan tightens his grip around Ilsa, pulling her impossibly closer and tucking his face into space between her shoulder and neck, kissing, tasting, always imprinting every bit of her to memory. 

As carefully as he can, Ethan extracts himself from her, slipping out of bed silently. He collects clothes as he makes his way across the cabin; soft sweatpants, wool socks, and an even softer flannel before he shrugs into his jacket, shoves his feet into leather boots and steps outside to grab wood and kindling for the stove. The air outside the cabin is cold enough to knock the breath from his lungs, and he quickly fills the canvas log carrier, the moon bright in the sky, forest around him muted and muffled under more snow. He slips inside, stepping out of his boots before making his way to the stove. It doesn’t take him long to fill the small stove, the little blaze warming the interior and quickly brightening the room with warm and soft light. He’s stacking the rest of the wood into the small rack next to the stove when he feels arms wrap around him from behind. In the past, he’d be raising into a defensive position, taking ahold of his attacker. His body doesn’t even tense, long relaxed, defenses shut down knowing Ilsa is the only one near him. Ethan smiles, looking up at her, and pressing back into her as she steps up and meets his body with hers. 

“I distracted you last night and the stove went out, didn’t it?” She asks, voice soft as she grins down at him. 

He brushes the bits of wood from his hands and brings them up to clasp her arms. She also picked up clothing as she made her way across the cabin and he rubs his hands across the sleeves of his own sweater she’s wearing before he pushes it up her arm. Gently, he kisses the inside of her wrist, finding her pulse yet again before he trails kisses up to her palm. 

“I’ll let you distract me anytime.” He stands and turns as he says it, slow as his knees and bad leg complain. She’s there as he rises, expression soft, happy. Ilsa takes his face in her hands, fingers already cold against his skin. He meets her halfway. The kiss is slow, gentle. Passion behind it but no urgency. They have all the time in the world. Ethan’s hand tangles in her hair, further messes up the braid, then other pulls her close, needing her body against his. 

“Come back to bed, darling, warm me up.” She’s barely pulled away from him, and her lips brush his still as she speaks. 

Ethan nods against her, hands still roaming, tucking under the borrowed sweater, fitting themselves around her waist. She works at the jacket he never took off, and he lets go of her only long enough to shrug out of it. It’s several minutes before they make it back the bed, lost and distracted in each other. 

They tuck together again, lips flushed but bodies still freezing, arms wrapped around the other, holding. Her face is tucked into his chest, and Ethan can feel her gentle smile as they settle against one another. Idly, he traces patterns on her back, working his way around her chest, and resting on the sweater where he knows the scar on her left shoulder is. 

“Ethan…” she begins, knowing where his head his going, a conversation they’ve already had many times. 

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you died Ilsa. I can’t imagine this without you. I don’t know if I would’ve walked away from the Sevastopol if you hadn’t been there.” 

Ilsa takes his hand, and moves it down, pressing it over her heart. 

“It’s in the past, Ethan. It’s not worth thinking about. I’m right here, I’ll always be here.”

Ethan leans down, pressing his lips to her forehead. 

“This is all I want Ilsa. Life with you, whatever that means. I never want to wake up without you.”

She shifts against him, this isn’t the way this conversation usually goes. Normally he starts talking about the mission, blaming himself. Saying he should’ve gotten to the bridge faster, planned differently.

“Ethan, you know that’s what I want too, life together. Just us.” Ilsa pulls pushes her fingers into the hair at the base of his skull, tangling into the still too-long strands. 

“I love you Ethan.”

He pulls her closer to him. How did he get this? How did he almost lose this?

“I love you too Ilsa, more than you’ll ever know.” 

They hardly need to move to press their lips together, slowly opening up to one another, touch tender and revenant as they undress each other. Ethan is smiling, eyes crinkled at the edges but happy. Ilsa grins back.

God he loves her. He loves this. He is hers, she is his. He never could have dreamed of a future so complete, filled with so much joy. He doesn’t hurry, hands slow as he explores her body, they have their whole future together, and he intends to enjoy it.

[xbalayage]

Last Night

Silvio/Reader Angst WC: 1,107 A/N: From the perspective that Silvio didn't change from the initial way we were introduced to him as but still fell for the charm he held anyways. It's tame while he's sober but during nights of drinking when things are supposed to be fun, he's drank way too much and it comes out with a force. Inspired by a song I listened too - pretty sure anyone could potentially guess what song it is.

[ - - . - - - . - - - . - - ]

Frivolous parties were what this kingdom was known for; constant music, extravagant sights, the liveliness was unparalleled to any other kingdom in comparison. But when they swam in untold fortunes and had a flourishing economy of frequent trade, why wouldn't they? Last night was no different - they'd spend it together under the glittering lights of a balcony, indulging in the finest wines and liqueur but food went untouched as she stared blankly off into the distance, no longer even listening to the words coming from his mouth. He was feeling it a bit more than her and that was saying something for once.

Incredibly insensitive and rude comments escaped past in his drunken haze all while wrapped around his smug smile, not even realizing the damage he'd be creating. She told him time and time again, yet she kept her rage to herself, focusing on the dazzling glow of lights with her hand cupping to support her chin. Radiant eyes refused to look his way. Now wasn't the time to stem out in that kind of talk, but she couldn't help the underlying resentment that whispered past her lips. "--I wish you were somebody I never met."

He heard it, of course he did. But, surely, she didn't mean that. Just like tonight's affairs, it was just the alcohol talking. She loved him. It was just one mistake he'd apologize for and wouldn't do again.

Right?

Just earlier that night when the mood was right, they both had their cheeks flushed with the passion they shared as she gripped the sea of sheets to their bed, crying out his name that he drank up like the sweetest song he's ever heard. Settled in what felt like miles of robes, she sat in his lap, fingers curved into his hair as they gaze lovingly into each others eyes. No one would know the wiser that they'd ever fight. Splitting a drink shared between kiss bruised lips, promising futures they'd hope to keep and sharing secrets of life that'd been left unspoken.

How did it come to this?

Their regular banter now turned into a verbal sword fight of who's right or wrong, positioning their sharpened words into the most vulnerable spots to hurt. He yells over her, she yells over him - neither of them were listening. The verbal warfare leaves a lasting scar forever etched into her mind, while he simply forgets like it never happened; like the wine wasn't laced with poison and shifted their tongues into pitchforks of hate. She couldn't bare another night like tonight.

Tonight was no different from other nights - she just refused to indulge in a fruitless endeavor after fighting. He's completely hammered and not listening to reason, or paying attention to those nasty comments he keeps spewing. Rio was right, and she should've listened sooner but that damn heart of hers always tried to see it through. 'Just let him go. He'll grow a pair and see how much of an asshole he's been once you finally leave him' his words rang fresh in her mind, trying to blink away the tears by the thought of the truth.

Silence beat in her ears for a few moments before her gaze turned back to him, curious to know why everything all at once seemed to stop. Like time had frozen in the moment to give her a reprieve to run. Her eyes met a passed out figure, snoring as he laid lazily in his chair. The urge to punch him square in the jaw but kiss his stupid face at the same time was too strong - she had to shake her head and stand, heading inside to pack her most treasured things.

Finally, she had enough. This would be the last night she would endure this. But she couldn't leave, not like this. Scrambling to find a pen and paper, her letter stated words intertwined with both love and sorrow; when their love was great, it was great - but when it was bad, it was like inhaling water with a ball and chain strapped around the ankle, pulling her down to the depths of her death. She undone the collar around her neck that she both hated and adored for multiple reasons, looking over once more at his slumped body on the balcony before resting the item with the note on the bed covers.

And almost as if he'd been listening in, Rio was at the door once she opened it, staring deep into her tear stained eyes that ran past her cheeks. His eyes gazed down at her luggage in hand before reaching her face again. No words were spoken, just a simple nob and Rio knew. He knew it was finally time. Her eyes turned once more for the last time at the man she loved the most, her heart ached - but she had to put a mental foot down; she couldn't change a man that didn't want to change. Or didn't know how to, even with her gentle guidance.

With her resolve strong, she slammed the door as she left, her resentment staying to linger in the absent room. He was too out of it, a simple action like that wouldn't have awoken him. She left, to never return.

Morning broke as he woke up, his body sore and mind swirling with no recollection of the previous night. He found himself on the floor, chair sprawled off to the side, empty wine bottle littered the floor. He lifted his head to find the food untouched on the table. His first thought was her, but he couldn't find her anywhere even when calling her name. As he got up slowly, he scratched at his head and groaned. Finally able to stand on his feet, he noticed a note and her collar placed on the bedding.

He read the note with a heavy heart; had he gone too far last night? What had he done? What had he said for her to have to write a note, leave behind the present he got her and vacate all her belongings as well, to leave in the middle of the night? For her to finally leave him. He gritted his teeth and held the note close to his chest, his other hand thumbing the beautiful collar that glittered in the sunlight. His eyebrows furrowed as hurt ridden eyes stare at the rising sun longingly.

Something told him that this wasn't the end of them, he held onto the hope that she'd forgive him. That she would come back to his side. This couldn't be. There's no way... that this was their last night.

taglist; @nightghoul381, @yvelk, @celiciaa, @drachonia, @alvieeru, @aquagirl1978, @here-for-gilbert, @widowbunny, @exhausted-courtroom-mom, @randonauticrap, @maries-gallery, @violettduchess, @strawberry-scum