#and maybe if i develop this man more the list can continue to grow as I learn what he deems important

[eric-the-bmo]

you mentioned that the rats had names. may i inquire as to the names of the saintly rats

Aaaaa of course! I tried my best to put some thought into the names of the rats- more specifically, since the character who named them is from the 12th century, I tried to find saints that were canonized before he was born, but were also related to some of his own interests and issues. It was a quick delve, so there might be a few inaccuracies over whether or not he would have actually venerated a few of these Saints (because if I'm assuming correctly, different denominations of Catholicism don't venerate the same saints as everyone else? idk im not catholic), but here's the current list!:

Tutilo (famous for the lyre)

Sebastian (patronage for soldiers and the plague-stricken)

Gertrude (specifically Gertude of Nevilles, invoked against rats and fevers)

Joseph (the saint associated with Aldwulf's birthday (but also for those in doubt))

Peter (involved against criminals)

Nonnosus (invoked against physical defects and chronic pain)

While compiling this list, I also decided to grab a few more names I could use for later down the line:

Leodegar (eye problems)

Hubert (patron of hunters)

Adrian+Natalia (again, guards and soldiers)

Gereon (knights)

Aldwulf also has another rat named Samson; I read somewhere that knights had long-ish hair as a way to emulate that same character from the bible, and while I'm not sure how true that is, I ran with it! Samson's his main rat, in the sense that he listens to Aldwulf a bit more; he's also the largest rat, so he visibly spends more time around Ald compared to the others.

Thank you for the ask, this was really fun!

[gaybananabread]

hellooo! for the fruit shop could you do pear + grapes with lee!miles and ler!hobie from ATSV? the idea I had in mind was that Miles would be stressed about being spiderman, and hobie would comfort him in his own special way (which would then include tickling Miles to pieces ofc) tysm!!

Fruit(s): Pears, Grapes

These two are incredibly fun to write for I swear- Miles would absolutely be one to way stress out over life, and I can see Hobie affectionately being a dork about it. Love how your brain works, Anon! As always, thank you for the request, and I hope you Enjoy!

Lee: Miles

Ler: Hobie

Summary: Miles is falling behind due to his duties as Spider-Man and majorly stressing out about it. Hobie helps him calm down, as well as adding a special twist to make sure he's all cheered up.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don't like that, scroll away!!

Miles ran through the halls of Visions High School, racing to get to class…well, less late than he would've if he wasn't running. A few papers fell out of his binder, but he didn't stop. They weren't important anyway…probably. Extra copies exist for a reason.

He had run into two villains that morning; some weird bird guy and a rhino. The fight trashed his suit, ripping it in places and leaving him bruised up. Lucky for him, a good foundation can solve any problem.

When he finally burst into the classroom, his history teacher looked less than impressed. She pointed to his seat before continuing her lecture, silently letting him know to stay after class. Wonderful. 

Time seemed to crawl as he half-listened to the lecture, knee bouncing furiously beneath the desk. The bell finally rang, somehow sending both a pang of relief and dread into his chest. It had just been that kind of week. She approached his desk, sighing and leaning on it. 

“Look, Miles… I know you’re a good kid. You pay attention, don’t talk unless it’s appropriate, and write me apologies when you’re late or forget an assignment. What I can’t understand is what’s distracting you so badly that you’re late every day and write the same date on your papers for a week.” Her voice wasn’t judgemental; she just sounded tired and wanted to know what was happening. He could relate to that.

“I…I just got a full plate.” It was a lame explanation, but it was the best he had. She frowned, though it was a look of mild frustration rather than disappointment or anger. “Maybe you should try to clear it a bit. At this rate, that plate’s going to get so heavy that you won’t be able to carry it anymore. I don’t want to see your plate shatter, Miles. Think about it.”

That wasn’t so bad. He felt horrible for lying, but that icky ache was growing more dull with each fib. “But. You have been late to my class four times now. You know the rules.” His heart sank; four tardies meant a write-up and a call home. Not so bad to most, though he had no good way to explain himself. 

“I know there’s more to this, so I’ll be nice. You’ve got a choice. Either take the normal reprimand or write me a one thousand word report on the development of political institutions throughout American history.” Damn it…

-

Miles frowned down at his ever-growing to-do list, tallying up his work for the weekend. He chose the essay for his history teacher; he couldn’t get another reprimand. His body ached from the fight, his mind dragging as he tried to focus on the political article. The word “exhausted” felt like a gross understatement.

The teen was so out of it that he didn’t notice things floating around the dorm, nor did he see the lanky Brit that came out of the portal. He did, however, feel the arms that wrapped around him and lifted him into the air. “Ey, short man! What’cha mopin’ for?” The small shriek he let out shocked both of them. Hobie set the boy back down, frowning slightly. “Damn, you al’ight? You’re jumpy as hell.”

That look…he decided he hated it. The worried, slightly pitiful look made him feel crummier than he already did. But…he could actually tell Hobie what was bothering him. Hobie was like him; a part of their crazy, high-pressure world. Miles actually had someone to confide in. “Nah, not really…”

Hobie bit his lip, sighing at the simple admission. His friend looked…tired. Tired and sad. He’d have to fix that.

The punk brought Miles to his bed, laying him down and sitting beside him. Whenever his friends are upset, Hobie has a special way of cheering them up. Miles’s cheer-ups include a special step, one he never sees coming; it’s always clear he enjoys it though.

Hobie wrapped an arm around his friend, pulling him into a tight and comforting hug. “Hey, c’mon Miles. You can tell me anythin’, bruv.” Miles sighed, leaning into the hug. Finally, someone he can talk to… 

“Uh…it’s just been a lot. With Spider-Man stuff, school’s been impossible, and my teachers are gettin’ closer and closer to callin’ my parents. I dunno how I’m gonna explain it if they do…” His voice trailed off at the end as he buried his face in Hobie’s shoulder. 

The taller man rubbed Miles’s arm, trying to help him feel better. There wasn’t much that could be done for his situation unless he told his parents; that was only happening when he was ready. “”M sorry, Miles; that’s just rotten. If ya want, I could ‘elp with some’a those assignments. Was pre’y decent in school, long as it ain’t Maths.” 

His eyes lit up at the offer; he had to bite his tongue before he sounded too desperate. “Y-yeah, that’d be awesome! Only if it’s easy for you, though; I-I don’t wanna cause problems.” Hobie huffed, deciding it was time for the special portion of his cheer up session. 

A squeeze on Miles’s side cut off his half-apologies, his words ending in a squeal. “H-Hohobie? What’re you- nYAHAhahaha!” Miles shoved at the other spider’s hand as it poked and prodded at his side. Seriously, that?! He didn’t mind it, but still…

“Isn’t it obvious? ‘M cheerin’ you up, lil’ man.” Hobie smirked, moving to spider his fingers on Miles’s stomach. He squeaked, his giggles occasionally jumping up to choked laughter. “I-Ihihi dohon’t neheed chehehEERIHING UHUHUP!” 

The teen squirmed and thrashed, trying to get away from his friend’s tickly touch. He was trapped; Hobie’s strong, firm grip on his shoulders was inescapable, his evil fingers going to town on Miles’s poor belly. “Course ya do, yer all mopey. Those giggles suit ya much better than a frown.”

Hobie’s wiggling fingers went exploring, landing on the younger spider’s ribcage. His arms slammed to his sides, trying to stop that hand from going any higher. “HOHOHObiehehe! Ihi’m hahappy! Y-youhu can quihIHIHIT!” 

The fact that he didn’t outright say to stop only made the punk want to go on forever. It was clear he wanted a bit more; that blocked spot was quite enticing… The arm around Miles’s shoulders moving out front, gathering up his hands and holding his arms above his head. Hobie smirked, the lopsided look sending a flurry of butterflies to Miles’s stomach. “Brace ya’self, giggles~”

Not wanting to wait any longer, Hobie dug into his hollows, mining for all the laughter he could find. And laughter he got. “HOHOHOBIEHE! NAHAT THEHERE! NAHAHAHO!” Miles bucked and thrashed, almost knocking them both off his bed. Hobie got ahead of the mess, pushing him down onto the mattress so neither of them could get hurt. 

Loud, boisterous, almost childish laughter rang out in the dorm, almost definitely going through the walls to his “neighbors.” He wasn’t exactly hating what was happening, but it was problematic. It was hardly the worst noise that had ever come through dorm walls, though he was sure someone would call in a noise complaint. That thought made his cheeks burn with embarrassment. “SOHOHOMEONE’S GOHOHONNA CAHALL SEHEHECURITYHYHY!” 

Hobie rolled his eyes, hating the logic; it was true, but he didn’t have to like it. He wasn’t ready to quit just yet. Instead of stopping completely, he moved his fluttering fingers to Miles’s neck. The boy’s raucous laughter calmed to sweet giggles, his struggling almost ending. 

Anyone who personally knew Miles could tell how adorably sensitive his neck was. Even the soft, gentle tickling had him giggling like a little kid. That person could also tell that he absolutely adored any attention on that certain spot; he practically melted.

Normally, he would’ve let Hobie continue with the gentle tickling. He had a lot of work, however, and was getting more and more tired with every giggle. Miles weakly tugged at his arms, whining through the sweet sound. “C-cohohome ohon! Plehehease?”

Hobie chuckled, seeing how tired the other spider was getting. “Bah, fine. Lucky I‘m feelin’ nice today, giggles.” He dragged a claw from Miles’s pit to his belly before stopping, giving his entire midsection a parting gift before he let go. Miles shrieked, curling up into a ball the moment he was released. 

The punk rubbed his back, chuckling softly. Miles flinched at first, thinking Hobie was going back for another tease. “Ey, I’m done, I’m done! Calm it down, Miles.” A small huff left his full lips as he looked over his giggly friend. “You al’ight, lil’ man? Didn’t go too far, did I?”

Miles shook his head, relaxing at the calming touch. “N-noho, you’re goohohod. Just…just tihickled.” That got a laugh out of the other hero; guess some things never change.

Once the teen had fully calmed down and regained his composure, the two got to work. Well, Hobie started on one of the essays while Miles finally got a much-needed nap and meal. After he got his rest, they both worked on assignments, music playing in the background to help them focus. Every so often, Miles would groan in frustration, earning him a quick and reassuring poke to the side. And you know what? He didn’t mind it one bit.

[chemicallywrit]

It’s Audio Drama Sunday and this week was full of bangers! This list is not comprehensive but it is what stuck out this week. Let’s goooooooo

🔥 The Heart Pyre continuously leaves me with the perfect impression of being in middle school reading under my desk. It’s so good it feels like I’m getting away with something. Maybe it’s because Rena is such a relatable protagonist. She’s just a normal girl! She’s just a little teen! What is she supposed to do! And that makes her even more heroic. As always, the choice this week was impossible and I can’t wait to see how it shakes out. Also, Logan And Finn Should Kiss 2k24. @theheartpyre

🗡️ SIDEQUESTING 😭 This episode is so SWEET. I love when Rion grows a little—Sidequesting is episodic and doesn’t lend itself to like, substantial character development. That is fine; it’s not the point of the show. It makes the moments Rion does grow, though, stand out like little jewels. This episode shone. @sidequestingpod

🗝️ Palimpsest is doing its slow burn thing, referencing itself over again as its name suggests it will do, and in this story, I am Very Concerned About That Man Lenore Married. He is condescending and dismissive and he is isolating her, and I DO NOT TRUST HIM.

📼 Within the Wires—oh my gosh, I literally screamed when the canned noises stopped. What is your game, Tony? What do you want with Brian?

🅿️ Podcube was short this week—Podcube is always short—but this episode had me cracking up at work. I love that this team manages to find new conflicts somehow. Man vs man, but they’re assassins and one of them is convinced the other is in love with the target. Why does this work? Why is this so funny? Please listen to Podcube. @podcube

🩸 Hemophobia continues to make my skin crawl. This episode reveals that the characters are Church of Christ, which, for those who don’t know, means they have a really specific set of beliefs about baptism that I KNOW are going to be perfect fodder for the Horrors. And yet it’s all so normal so far. Creepy. Oh, another thing this episode does is portray with perfect gut-wrenching clarity how strange and awful it us to be a devout teenager, and in like, four different ways. Incredible work.

🎣 Eeler’s Choice has some FANTASTIC sound design this episode as Ran comes into their own as a storm chanter—FRICK. I am worried about them. And their new ship. Please be careful and don’t get eaten by fungus. @eelerschoice

✨ Stories from Ylelmore is brand new and SO GOOD, oh my gosh, I am in love with the earnest delivery, the characters who are absolute BABIES, the genuine fascinating mystery. I can’t wait for more. @storiesfromylelmore

🍔 Midnight Burger’s THREE HOUR FINALE brought us home with Clementine. It wasn’t what I expected, and I think that’s kind of Midnight Burger’s MO. The fact that the tone of the dialogue, that the characters themselves, are so cynical and hard—it will trick you into believing that it’s a cynical show. Maybe it is! But it also fights over and over again for the idea that things can be fixed, that love matters, that you can save people and you have to try, you always have to try. And sometimes you win. And that’s how the universe is meant to work. It kills me every time. Also, shoutout to Alan Burgon, always the best, who I love to hear doing his actual accent. @midnightburgr

🐦‍⬛ Leaving Corvat. Oh my word. It’s a wellness cult. Sleeper’s in a wellness cult. I am really pleased with the development his character’s showing, being decisive and brave.

🍵 Gastronaut is going some places and I am OBSESSED. The relationship between Oscar and Polity is everything to me, and the fact that Oscar has gotten to the point where he refuses to ignore his responsibilities, he refuses to leave people behind—he is sometimes stupid, but he is trying and I’m proud of him.

🧟‍♂️ We are getting to the final episode of Precious Cargo in the Dead and y’all….it’s gonna get juicy. I’m not exaggerating, one of the zombie actors used watermelon to get things sounding juuuuust right. Our next story might be even better, too, I can’t wait to show you.

Thank you for reading! If you like what I do, buy me a ko-fi!

[alexbkrieger13]

This is EXACTLY what we're talking about when we're saying women's football shouldn't be a copycat of men's football!

Zecira for president. She put it well 👏

Soon we players will be nothing more than radio-controlled cars

Football on the men's side has long gone in a direction that I don't really like. Money makes more and more decisions and soon we players will be nothing more than radio-controlled cars. Now women's football is starting to catch up and follow in the footsteps of men's football, a part of football that was previously largely spared from the money trap. FIFA's Infantino wants to grow the sport but the only thing I see is all too scattered showers. The money, on the other hand, rolls in according to plan.

The other day during a press conference, FIFA president Gianni Infantino presented the idea that the Club World Cup on the men's side should be expanded to 32 teams and that the concept should also be introduced on the women's side. While we players beg and plead for consideration, for our health to be higher on the priority list, FIFA is thus adding more fuel to the already strong fire. Increasingly intense matchmaking has led to limited recovery periods, which is already and will continue to have devastating consequences for players around the world. Physical wear and tear on bodies and mental illness are strongly growing trends. The red flags have been flying high for a long time. Yet the decision makers seem to be color blind.

That increased matching affects the men's players negatively is something we have already received an answer to. That it will affect the women's players even worse, we will get even more answers to. Why? In the world of women's football, development has not come far enough so that all teams involved have enough resources to give their players the best possible conditions to be able to perform match after match. Among the absolute top teams, the conditions are good, but after that the teams are already having a tough time as it is. Limited number of physiotherapists, how the team travels, how the pitch where the matches are played and where training is done looks like, or how big the squad is. A few isolated examples where it differs extremely between the teams. Some examples that make it unsustainable to play several matches a week, week in and week out.

Football is something that brings extremely many people together, it is a joy that we have shared together for a long time. As players, the love of the sport is the biggest reason for many why we do what we do. That's why we put ourselves under so much stress every day - because we love it. What Infantino and the gang are doing is creating a football world that is only about money, which it already does in a lot of directions. Quantity instead of quality seems to be the motto. How money is made quickly seems to be the question. To the common man, it mostly looks like scattered showers.

I would have liked FIFA, UEFA and all these big pampas to sit down and start steering the ship towards something that is sustainable in the long term. That they started at the end about how they can develop what already exists into something better, without adding a lot that will only destroy. How can we develop the Women's Champions League to make it even better? How can we make the Club World Cup on the men's side even more attractive to the whole world? Sustainability is success and it is something that will benefit all parties. I am absolutely convinced that the money will still be able to come in to them, but where common sense is also included as an ingredient. A common sense that avoids destroying the players. But maybe I'm naive in my thinking. Maybe you only want quick leavened buns at the top. After all, I'm just one of those radio-controlled cars.

[nerdwhoauthorinserts]

A collection of Me(s).

Here are some of my self inserts.

   You’re probably already well-acquainted with the first two, maybe even the third, but the last ones I’ve barely talked about.

   Originally, I was going to add three more, but I haven’t actually designed them yet, so I didn’t want to design a character AND draw them out for this at the same time.

(S/Is brief explanation listed below the cut. From left to right, top to bottom)

1. Copycat - My Marvel Comics S/I.    He primarily exists in his own continuity I call ‘The Copyverse’ (Which is based on early-MCU, Ultimate Spiderman, and a few other versions of the Marvel universe + My own interpretations.) 

   He’s a shapeshifter who’s the son of literal Death and was assassinated by a drug lord to get access to his powers. He follows Loki as their assistant at first after empathizing with them, but they grow a friendship that ends up turning into a mutual pining mess.

2. Plague Rat - My DC Comics/Batman S/I.    He’s an explosive-happy pyromaniac who was...basically kidnapped by a group of scientists after getting accidentally injected with rat stem cells. The ensuing experiments left him with abilities over pest animals and disease.

   Before he was kidnapped, he met and subsequently bonded with Jonathan Crane, aka, ‘The Scarecrow’. This bond eventually became romantic in nature.

3. [Still doesn’t have a name, oops.] - My Slasher S/I.    An artist who was raised in an abusive household with his witch-sister. After the death of his childhood pet cat, his sister tried to use her magic to bring it back to life, but it went horribly wrong, resulting in the S/I absorbing his cat’s essence, gaining an extremely high prey drive, predatory instincts, and cat-like abilities. (He also has the ability to transform into a were-cat, but let’s not worry about that-) 

   After his sister left, he started taking his aggression and prey drive out on local wildlife, leading to his religious parents locking him in the attic for being a ‘devil child’. His parents...mysteriously disappeared after that. Leading to his sister inheriting the house and discovering him still there. I use him occasionally for Blahms and Blakael stuff, but it’s mostly just ordinary me, lol.

4. Vulpenire - My Cuphead S/I.    A vampire fox who made a deal with the devil to gain the abilities of the stars. He can turn into a fox constellation, shoot stars, and has basic vampire powers as well. (He also has a hidden mouth on his tail, but let’s not worry about that-)

   He becomes one of the Devil’s lackeys as a result of the deal, and is originally seen as a rival by King Dice. Dice eventually realizes though, that Vulpen doesn’t want his position, and ends up developing a bond with him after he decidedly starts bothering him to take better care of himself.

5. [Another without a proper differentiate-able name] - My Arcane S/I.    A man who approached Viktor during a big celebration looking for an interview. They quickly ended up getting along, as Viktor found that he had some interesting ideas for Hextech. This more or less ended up turning...you guessed it, romantic. Eventually, though, Blake disappeared. 

   An accident occurred leading to his disappearance, so he replaced his missing parts with mechanics. (He lost parts of his face, limbs, and had to replace his spine.) The accident also left him with gaps in his memory due to how traumatic it was.

  When he returned after the events of Arcane, he looked like he does in the picture, attempting to steal some of the Hextech. Turns out, he was in the custody of Silco all that time, developing a sibling-like bond with Jinx in the background.

6. Kabel - My ‘The Dragon Prince’ S/I.    A Human/SkyWing elf hybrid created using Dark Magic. Because of the nature of his creation, he’s able to use Dark Magic and Sky Magic, while not needing to sacrifice to use Dark magic for the most part... or at least that’s what they assume. Though that isn’t entirely true. 

   Aaravos concocts a test at one point, hiding a magic creature under Kabel’s bed, and finding it dead with all it magic sucked out of it the next morning. Kabel, essentially, is a magic vampire, siphoning magic from any magical creature he sleeps around without realizing it in order to keep himself alive and also in order to fuel his ability to use dark magic.

   Aaravos and him start with Aaravos using Kabel’s near-instant crush on him as leverage, but Aaravos slowly ends up being endeared by him to the point of actually returning his feelings.

[koyangii]

Had a good potential but got lost on the way: Never Let Me Go (2022-2023) review

Rate: 7/10

Hello my fellow BL watchers. February 28th was not only the last day of the month, but also the day of Never Let Me Go’s last episode and, honestly, I hope your February ended well, ‘cause this series certainly did not - at least for me. But maybe it’s my fault, I had too many expectations for NLMG and, unfortunately, I was very disappointed. Well, enough with the complaining (for now): let’s start the review! 

Never Let Me Go (a.k.a. NLMG) tells the story of Nuengdiao (Phuwin Tangsakyuen), the son of a very rich man who runs a hotel business. Right at the beginning of the first episode, we can see that Nueng is very close to his parents, even though they have lots of expectations on him to continue the family’s legacy.  Sadly, on the day of Nueng’s birthday, his father is murdered and, because of that, his life completely changes. Nueng’s mom, Thanya (Rasee Watcharapolmek), starts to lead the business, not allowing Suphakit (Nat Sakdatorn), his greedy uncle, to take over the presidency of the company. She also hires a bodyguard, Palm (Pond Naravit), to guarantee Nueng’s safety. Palm is the son of Chanon (Pitisak Yaowananon), the closest employee to the family and the person who does everything for them: from driving them everywhere to escorting and protecting them. 

Nuengdiao and Palm don't have much in common, starting from the most obvious difference: their income. Nueng is the heir of a very important company, meanwhile Palm is a boy who was raised on the coast, spending several hours in a fishing boat to make some money. Nueng is interested in studying, but Palm prefers to exercise the muscles rather than the brain. Nueng is assertive, stubborn and self-centered. Palm is reserved, lacks self-confidence and gives a lot of himself (maybe too much) to help others. 

However, they do have some similarities: they’re both teenagers and don’t have friends who they can count on. And that desire to feel important to someone, to love and be loved - that was enough to create a sparkle between them and make them grow closer and closer to each other. 

I confess this plot was very appealing to me, not because of its originality, since it is pretty clichè, but for its maturity and its characters, who were far away from being perfect. I was very curious about the path each one of them would take and how they would work to overcome their obstacles and grow throughout their journey. And that’s where my list of disappointments begins, so beware: spoilers ahead! 

Palm

As I said before, Palm and Nueng don’t have anyone else to rely on apart from their parents. This is very coherent for Nueng, because of his past being filled with people who would always approach him with second intentions. He is a rich boy after all. When it comes to Palm, on the other hand, we don’t know much about his past, but he didn’t mention anyone in particular nor seemed to be missing someone, so a lot of his personality analysis is based more on speculation than on actual facts. And that’s the major problem for me in this series: while Nueng has a really good character development, Palm is “just there”. 

Palm doesn’t have a proper backstory. He’s there just to be Nueng’s significant other and follow him everywhere. Apart from being with Nueng, Palm doesn’t have any other interests. Every decision he makes is somehow related to Nueng, even the one from the last episode, when he decides to take care of his mother’s bar. At first, one can think he wants to pursue his mother’s dream, but he actually left because he didn’t want to be a burden to Nueng. Even if the first reason was true, it would be his mom’s dream anyway, not his. 

“Ok, but maybe this is what they wanted to portray: a person who lives only to see someone else happy.”, some may say. Sure, it could be that. My Beautiful Man is a good example of a story in which the protagonist puts his love interest on a pedestal, showing reverence and adoration for them as if they were some kind of god. This show portrays this kind of dynamic really well, especially because it explores the characters’ motivations, unlike NLMG. 

So yeah, the love between Nueng and Palm could have been intentionally planned to represent a relationship like that, but I strongly doubt it and that’s mostly because of how Palm was described in the first episodes. 

Given he was raised in a very humble way, Palm didn’t seem to have much life perspectives or plans for the future. My first thought was that this was going to be the key for his character development, since, in the beginning of the series, the theme of “is important to pursue your dreams” was approached a lot. Nueng, for example, didn’t like the idea of taking care of the family business: he wanted to study music. It was the same for Maggie (June Wanwimol): she wanted to live her own life. Palm’s mother, Mam (Panadda Ruangwut), also says she left him and his dad because love wasn’t enough for her. Even Palm argued a lot with his dad because he couldn’t understand why Chanon was so devoted to someone else’s family instead of his own. 

Unfortunately, by the end of the series, Palm is pretty much the same character he was at the beginning. But he deserved a better storyline.

2. More script problems 

Of course NMLG’s script has a lot of problems beyond Palm’s plot and I’m going to highlight here the ones that annoyed me the most.

The first one is the relationship between Ben (Chimon a.k.a. Wachirawit Ruangwiwat) and Chopper (Perth a.k.a. Tanapon Sukumpantanasan). I really liked Chopper’s storyline because it was very consistent, from the beginning to the end of the series. His love for Ben was always there, so his confession was expected to happen. Ben, on the other side, had feelings for Nueng, but then when Nueng leaves the picture, he starts to like Chopper out of nowhere. 

Another thing that bothered me a lot was that Nueng and Palm were constantly going back and forth with their relationship. They would make a fuss about not being the right one, but every conflict would be quickly solved in a very simplistic way. After some episodes I wouldn’t be worried about anything anymore because I knew nothing major would happen. Actually, the whole series was like that: there was no depth to the story, we always knew who was behind everything and that, eventually, things would be sorted out somehow. Even that tale of the couple that could only meet once a year, which was brought up quite a few times, didn't seemed to be important anymore. Actually, this foreshadowing they made with the tale was so pointless that itself became an item to my list of disappointments. So let’s talk about it, shall we?

3. The totally unnecessary foreshadowing 

In episode four, Palm tells Nueng about Qi Xie Jie, the Chinese festival that celebrates the tragic love story between the cowherd and the weaver girl. In the tale, the lovers are separated by a river in the sky and can only meet once a year. I guess, like me, many of you also thought this was a foreshadow - I’ve seen a lot of analysis about it on Tumblr. Also, as I said, this tale was referenced more than once in the series. 

However, by the end of the last episode, it seemed to be just a plot hole and I really wish it was - but it wasn’t. In fact, they made this whole drama just because, in the end, Nueng would study music abroad and visit Palm once a year. I mean… really? This is what it's all about?

Ok then.

“Okay, but it wasn’t all bad, right? After all, you’ve watched the whole thing.” Sure, NLMG is not a bad series, especially if you’re new to BL. It’s an entertaining show, visually beautiful, the actors have great chemistry, the women are very strong characters and I should highlight Chopper and Nueng’s storyline, because the script nailed both of them, especially when it comes to Nueng’s development. Nueng was always an intelligent boy, but he was very self-centered and full of self-pity. Throughout the series, he started to use his abilities to take action and protect his loved ones. He was a very interesting protagonist and I really admire him as a character.   

In conclusion, do I recommend Never Let Me Go? Sure, mostly if you are new to watching BL content, but be careful not to have many expectations about it. 

And that was it for today’s review, guys. Thank you very much for reading and feel free to share your opinions with me anytime =) 

Bye, bye! 

[newagesurvivalist]

Questions and disputations

Life offers us a variety of problems and matters for consideration. Thought, that boundless source of occupation, is moved uncontrollably between day to day affairs, mantras, abstract speculations, aspirations to greatness and success (or perhaps we should say, sensibleness), and, of course, our search for meaning.

Certainly, it seems we need a lot of affirmations during the day, and this is a common theme in wellness buzzwords, that one needs to affirm one's own happy existence - his sweet life as Shakespeare called it (Midsummer Night's Dream) - to be more content or presumeably see some great, as of yet unperceived joy about his or her life. However, to me it appears as if ones true intrepidity, his richness and luck, is verily found in a certain sternness of spirit, in fact, why in nothing more than persevering or holding out during one's time, or, in fact, continuing forever with the simple routine God has deemed him fit to perform.

The process of acquiring factual truth is terrifying. Frankly, we are often taken aback when attempting to fathom excellences in concrete theory. Speculative confrontalism is unlimited, but foundations are found in divine contemplations. The how and why of predicaments is full; however, in principle there may be a difference in the conflagration of contemplative derailment and psychology. By all means, amendment has to set the particulars of confusion to a directive. Eternity, in a theological sense, aids us in the assention of hope in a valid and actual showdown between liminaries and cognitivities. The graphic, of nominal disputation, is full of diminishings in the wholeness of distinct areas of freedom. The capability, of sheer remembrance, has some relation to the simplicity of significant description, and yet the revolution of commemorative indomitability may aid us in a discrete way, but this will always haunt us in the last analysis.

These are crazy things, but the strangeness of life is always going to make us say unusual things. The inner and the outer are distinct. In our inner life we move chaotically to find some fixed point or foundation; in our outer life we state the obvious and rail against enemies, or seek to stand our ground somehow, but as someone once said: there are no enemies here.

A well-known Dutch author referred to the television as the "treurbuis" or weeping tube. I am moving into my own place this month and one of the things on my list is to purchase a television. However, in a weird way it frustrates me. I love to just sit and allow time to pass; in a way, this is my main hobby, but some - weeping, sorrowful - part of me does desire a television in my house, as if it wouldn't be a house otherwise: that's almost the thing, that I am just desecrating this entire zone of my own house to another man's idea of "home", of having a spell at home. Somewhere I am thinking I don't even want a television. It's like, you can just hae a room with maybe a radio, bookcases, a piano even - and then you can dwell in your house in contemplative concentration, doing what you like and frolicking a bit. It is all about the "duur uw uur" of Albert Verwey. Life is really not composed of acts, but rather of routines, and our mission is truly to be the best we can be in the limited time we have: to do something meaningful, to develop our repertoire, to be happy in our work.

In practice, there is no knowledge: from there comes the notion that academic philosophy is not knowledge, but sport, custom. However, there is a time and place for philosophy. A man can consider the mysteries of the universe, but he can also fight for them, wage a war. In any case, waging a war is the only time ideas are completely relevant. Not because war is supposed to destroy another. On the contrary, we see that the philosophical war is aimed at growing each other in knowledge, to some extent. The capital is the cerebral. We strive in life to achieve some degree of elevation, to escape from our wretched predicament. The thing is, we can find ourselves involved in a variety of art forms, and each genre gives us opportunities to become fuller, wiser individuals. The point is to take on certain projects. This is all more than simply passing the time.

We decide what is good. Religion is dealing with humans. Yes, we can't always understand religion, but all religions have a cause that keeps them together, a design and order. We don't need order, but we do need a cause. This is how people congregate.

So we see that there is no way to fix our attention entirely on an idea. All ideas constantly vie against each other. Conquering oneself is an illusion, for if it isn't the cosmic truth that satisfies us, then it will be some passing problem that bugs our mind. But so we do see that we don't really need anything to relate to our fellow man. All we need is a cause. I will state that the best thing for us is to embrace a certain lifestyle. It could be Punk Rock, but frankly I feel more attracted to more national themes. The best thing for us is to find some common ground in the metaphysical quagmire.

Life is truly diverse. We move from the inner to the outer, and then we are swamped by crazy problems, but there is a simpleness to the foundation of the world that can be found even in an untroubled, easy stance to life's affairs.

[nickgerlich]

Have A Drink On Me

It’s fun to watch the generations grow up and become shoppers. I confess to having had a great time raising my two daughters, not just for the usual rewarding aspects of parenthood, but also because they gave me great insights into how shoppers develop preferences and habits. They were quite literally my laboratory.

I purposely gave them a lot of leeway in shopping decisions from an early age. I wanted them to think through things, to consider their options, to make wise choices. Yeah, of course I was there to backstop just in case they wanted to do something completely stupid, but they were pretty much on their own, able to spend their allowance as they saw fit, or, as was true much of the time in their very early years, my money.

They are both Gen-Z adults now, and can do whatever they want. And by virtue of them being among the most recently minted adults, they are the darlings of marketers. After all, they probably have 60 more years of consuming ahead of them, maybe more. It behooves marketers to court them, woo them, do whatever it takes to bring them into their fold.

It’s just that as this generation emerges into their own, it is proving a tough target to hit. Beverage makers in particular are scrambling to figure out what this cohort wants.

One of the biggest takeaways is that Gen-Zers are increasingly shunning alcohol. Roughly 27% do not drink at all, which puts Gen-Z as the biggest tee-totaling generation since Prohibition forced it on everyone. Beverage makers are now left scrambling, trying to create products to meet this demand. Generally speaking, turning 21 is a rite of passage with alcohol, and while a person may have had their sources while they were younger, when they hit 21, they’re able to buy like everyone else.

And now a significant percentage is not having it.

As for the 73% who drink alcohol, they are proving to be just like craft beer drinkers in general: promiscuous. That’s a polite way of saying they drink around. They are more than likely to exhibit loyalty to a category, like craft beer drinkers do, but within that category they are anything but loyal. Serial monogamy is the best they can hope for in a crowd that likes to sample from the buffet before them.

Furthermore, Gen-Z is showing strong preference for spiked beverages as well as those with low alcohol content. There is no shortage of spiked mash-ups these days, including the forthcoming Sprite and Vodka blend. But what many overlook is that these punchy versions of familiar brands do not have the high-alcohol content you might think when you utter words like “vodka.” If they did, they probably could not be sold in supermarkets and convenience stores in many states. Don’t believe me? Look at the ABV—Alcohol By Volume—listed on each can or bottle. They’re all lightweight beverages.

Longer term, if Gen-Z continues along this path, it is going to be tough sledding for beverage makers, because it means they must continually innovate, offering a steady stream of new products to try to pique the curiosity of a generation not particularly enamored of settling in to one brand of anything.

This is an issue that has increasingly bedeviled the craft beer market. Turns out that those who like to try craft beer also like to try as many different ones as they can. They—I mean we, because I’m looking in the mirror—are loyal to craft beer, but are not loyal to one particular brand like mass-market consumers are, or, as in the case of my Dad and Grandfather, once were. We’re not having any of this “Budweiser Man” thing. The result is that craft brewers are pushed to continually come up with new varietals to keep our interest. We are the people who come into a store and stand there admiring the beer selection, picking ones we have never had before.

Maybe that’s why New Belgium keeps refreshing its Voodoo Ranger line of IPAs. Yes, they keep the original, but are always introducing new twists on it for short-term gain. They help keep their IPA drinkers intrigued, although even that is not always enough. Their 12-pack samplers (with three cans each of four varietals) are nice, but I still don’t buy it every time. New Belgium is thus forced to keep coming up with more. How many more IPAs can I possibly try, though?

Imagine if people conducted their private relationships like that. We wouldn’t have families anymore.

While I am three generations removed from Z, I completely understand the promiscuity aspect. Marketers would love for us all to develop brand affinities, because you can get lifetime customers. It’s much easier sledding in that environment. But when customers are constantly looking for shiny, new, and different, it gets a lot harder.

And as generations go, I’m having fun watching this one. Good luck, marketers. This is going to be a tough nut to crack.

Dr “Ring Side Seat” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[myyeehawacademia]

ACCEPTED! EIJIRO KIRISHIMA

For you:

Character Name: Eijiro Kirishima

What is their quirk?: Hardening, his quirk gives him the ability to harden and sharpen any part of his body at will.

What powers and limitations do they have:

Powers: Kirishima has enhanced durability, hardening his body to become jagged- he can use this both defensively or offensively. Whilst using his quirk Kirishimas strength also significantly increases. He can withstand several attacks whilst using his quirk. He has an ultimate move called "Red Riot Unbreakable" in which he reaches maximum hardening ability/level as he turns his whole body hard. However he can only maintain this form for less than a minute it is extremely useful with allowing practical invulnerability towards physical attacks.

Limitations: There's a limit for how much damage he can withstand before his hardening abilities start to dissipate. Not only this but using his quirk to take hits uses up energy/stamina which can cause him to struggle to maintain the hardened state.

Personality: Kirishima is a chivalrous 'bro' who appreciates manliness- often commenting on manly and unmanly behaviour. He is very honest and will call people out for negative behaviour- especially if it's talking bad of others or being a coward. He is competitive and loves a challenge, both physically and academically. Respect is an important thing in his life, having a motto of 'treat people the way you want to be treated'. He holds his friends highly, being extremely loyal. Due to his inspiration- Crimson Riot- he is dedicated to the hero cause.

What has your character been doing since canon?: I'd say he's been working hard, training up his quirk and working hard in education to be the best he could possibly be. Pretty much just trying to survive life, ever since the Paranormal Liberation Front raid he's been talking to his family and friends even more than before. Treating every moment with people like it could be the last.

Preferred relationships: The most obvious person that I'd love for a friendship for Kirishima being Bakugo. I also think Kaminari, Sero, Mina and Jirou would be a great match! And definitely TetsuTestsu! Any rivalries or ships are welcome- however I have no specific preference!

Please list your goal(s) for the character: I'd love to explore Kirishima's mental, with him often being seen as a positive and outgoing I think it'd be interesting to explore the self-confidence issues he had with his quirk when he was younger to maybe arise again. I want him to explore the negative emotions that I feel he'd tend to ignore and learn how to cope with them! Exploring his sense of 'manliness' too. Not only that but he himself has the goal of increasing stamina even more, being able to take more hits and be more durable during combat. Long term wise I would just love to develop the friendships and relationships he has made and will continue to make!

Why do you want to play them: I have always adored his character, I love the whole concept of him finding things "manly" and "unmanly" as it adds a slight element of humour which I adore and would love to play out! Not only that but I'd love to have the opportunity to play an outgoing and confident character. Including his chivalrous nature, something I feel like I could have fun with! I also love how despite all his strengths his character has weaknesses to it, his backstory showing he wasn't always the confident man he is today and how he grew from his mistakes and learnt how to be better. Overall I just think he's an amazing character who I would love to play and develop with, as I work on growing my skills as a roleplayer.

For your character:

What do you think about UA's University Villain Rehabilitation Program: "Everyone deserves a second chance! Sure they've done bad but they were most likely products of their negative environment. Everyone needs saving, including villains- if we can help them it'd be unmanly to not do so! We gotta help as many people as we possibly can. It's the right thing to do."

Scenarios:

"A friend is going through a difficult time, how do you comfort them?":

Eijiro Kirishima cares lots about his friends, a indisputable fact even. So it was no surprise that when he noticed the slightest change in character from his friend that he'd end up right outside their door ready to knock- and there he was, standing right outside of the fiery blondes dorm. Raising his hand he softly tapped on the door, unsure on whether or not Bakugou would be asleep. "Hey bro.. it's me- Kiri." Kirishima could hear subtle movement inside yet no response. "I know you're in there, I just wanna talk-" he was cut off by a sharp 'go away'; he wasn't going to back down this easy. Instead he decided to go the different route of talking to him through the other side of the door, letting out a low sigh he ignored his friends 'polite' way of asking him to leave and begun speaking. "I noticed you weren't one-hundred percent earlier so I just wanted to check up on you. You weren't the loud Bakubro I'm used to." No response. "So if you need me, I'm here. Y'know it doesn't make you less of a man or a person to talk bout how you're feeling!" With that the door slowly opened.

"You have moments of peace outside of class and hero work, what are you doing in your free time?"

The clocks in the gym read 5:54 in the morning as the moon slowly started to make its way down for the sun to rise, yet this never stopped a certain red-head from attending the place in early hours of the morning. Being the only one within the gym (as most people would sleep in on their day off) he could grunt and puff as loud as he wanted without worrying about distracting or disturbing fellow gymgoers. Yet he was always 'on the grind' and personally loved the feeling both before and after exercising. Often being found in the weights section lifting as heavy but safely as he possibly can- after all he doesn't want to injure himself. Completing his final rep he let out multiple sharp breaths and an enthusiastic "Lets go!". Feeling proud of himself he started to get packed up, ready to leave the gym and get ready for the full day ahead of him. After all, he had made plans with his most of his friends.

[sugarylawliet]

remember when L and light were chained together for a while ? well, bear with me, what if Light’s gf (the reader) wanted to have sex with Light during that period of time which leads to somewhat of a threesome?

i love this idea omfg

> warnings: nsfw/smut, threesome, spit kink (i couldn’t help myself idk how i manage to fit this into every fic i write), i’ve never written a three person nsfw fic before so..,, bare with me. why did this develop lowkey lawlight undertones as i wrote it idk. also i didn’t proof read so if there are mistakes i’ll fix them later LMAO

> tag list: @deidarascumdumpster  @v3inbunny @ygm1slt @dracomalfoys-wh0re

“Ryuzaki, tell me again how long this’ll be for?” You fiddle with the long chain of the handcuffs, one end connected to your boyfriend’s wrist and the other to L’s. Tonight was supposed to be a movie night between you and Light, maybe something more, but of course, like always, some aspect of the investigation got in the way; this time being the raven-haired man who sat on the other side of you. 

“Well Y/N, like I said, until I can be 100% sure Light is not Kira, the handcuffs will stay on for monitoring purposes. I’m sorry, really, I know you’d like some alone time, but you can just pretend I’m not even here.”

“Pretend you’re not here?”

L nods innocently, apparently oblivious to how fucking weird it would be for him to just sit on the side lines while you have alone time with Light. 

“Ryuzaki...no offence, but it’s pretty creepy to just have you sit there and watch while Light and I...Especially since you guys can’t really even move much without the other moving too.”

“Well, we’ll figure that out when the time comes, I suppose,” L sighs, “but I’m afraid I can’t take the handcuffs off. You’ll have to think of a solution- Light is a very smart man, I’m sure he can think of something.”

You sigh deeply, turning your attention towards Light, who’s fingers began dancing up your jaw, pulling you into a short kiss.

“Light, c’mon...”

“Hm?”

“Ryuzaki is right here...”

“Shh, it’s fine. You don’t mind, Ryuzaki, do you?” He looks at the man who sat quietly next to you.

“Me? Oh no, I don’t mind at all. Please, continue.”

Light moved his lips down to your neck, licking and sucking at the soft flesh. The chain around his wrist clatters against itself as he moves his hand to tightly grip your jaw, roughly moving your face to bring your ear close to his mouth.

His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, “You know Y/N...don’t think I haven’t noticed you have a little thing for Ryuzaki...”

“H-huh?”

“Don’t think I don’t notice, the way you’re always touching his arm or lingering around him too long, bending over in front of him when you drop something. Is it to get my attention? To make me jealous, hmm?” You could practically hear his smirk through his words.

“N-no Light, I promise.”

“God, you’re such an attention whore. Wouldn’t you say, Ryuzaki?”

“Oh, well...” L purrs, throwing his arm on the back of the couch behind to you move closer, “I’d say I’d be flattered, if that were the case.”

“Well, if she’s so desperate for attention, maybe we’ll give her some attention, hm?” Light traces his pointer finger along your body, moving from your neck down to your collarbones, your stomach, and inching closer to the place you wanted him most. He gently rubs your inner thigh, not daring to touch you as a means of teasing.

“Mmm, I think we found the solution to our little handcuff problem...” L dances his fingers along your collarbone, softly making their way to your cheek and gently pulling you into a kiss. L was attractive, you’ll admit, but something inside your chest still felt a bit weary at L kissing you so tenderly right in front of Light. It’s not that you didn’t want it, no- you wanted this more than anything. Perhaps it was the prospect that Light would be dripping with jealousy, his ego hurt yet again by the detective; that the two of them would treat this as another pride game.

Light’s hands finally make their way under your skirt, pulling your panties aside and dipping a long slender finger inside you. You gasp, arching your back and picking up your hips slightly at the sudden pleasure. L places his free hand on your hips, guiding them back down as he hums in your ear- his lips were so close to your ear you could practically feel his smirk and his silent breathy laughs tickled the side of your head.

L slides his hand up your shirt, cupping your breasts for a moment before moving his fingers to the clip in the back. “May I?” He purrs. You nodd, allowing L to unclip your bra and push your shirt up- you help him pull it over your head so you sit bare chested before the two men.

You inhale sharply as L attaches his lips to your chest, swirling his tongue around your nipple. The touches from both of the men already began overwhelming you, as Light quickly slipped a second finger inside you and L stimulated your breasts. You rake your fingers through L’s thick charcoal hair, bucking your hips in pleasure as Light picked up his pace. “Mm, fuck, Light...”

L brings one of his hands down to rub your clit with his middle finger, his speed not showing any mercy or hesitancy. Your moans grew louder and louder, Light maneuvering his fingers to twist and curl inside of you to hit your sweet spot.

Yes, there was no doubt, the two enemies saw this as yet another competition for pride.

Your breath hitches in your throat as your hips buck higher. The two men notice your approaching climax and quicken the movement of their fingers. You release before getting the chance to even say anything or restrain yourself- you hoped Light wouldn’t be upset.

Light pulls his fingers from you, scissoring them together to watch the stickiness string together and pull apart. “Open up”, he commands, pushing his fingers into L’s mouth. L swirls his tongue around Light’s fingers, the brunette pushing them further down the detective’s throat before promptly pulling them out. 

“Y/N, be a good girl and get on all fours.” You obey, placing yourself on your hands and knees on the couch. 

“Ryuzaki,” Light states blankly, looking at the dark-haired man in front of him. L stares in Light’s eyes back, nodding. L then moves in front of you as Light moves behind you. Somehow, the two men always knew exactly what the other was thinking verbatim- you guessed it comes in handy in times like these.

You hear the clicking of Light’s belt behind you as he unbuckles it, folding it in half and smacking your backside with it, causing you to yelp. Light chuckles,  “Mm, I love those pretty little sounds from you...”

Both L and Light pull their pants down slightly to pull themselves out, releasing the strain against their pants. L runs a few fingers through your hair, gently cohearsing you to look up at him as he gazes in your eyes with a slight smile. “Open that pretty little mouth for me...”

You flatten your tongue against L, slightly sucking on the tip of his cock before he pulls your head up slightly by your hair, spitting on you. “Don’t tease.” He says sternly. You nod meekly, allowing L to bottom out your mouth as he begins to thrust his hips into you.

Behind you, Light teases your entrance, slightly putting the tip of him inside you before bringing it back out in a agonizingly teasing manner. You whine around L loudly, desperate for Light. The vibrations from your sounds cause L to throw his head back with a throaty groan, moaning your name. 

After enough teasing, Light finally pushed inside of you. He rocks into you, the sensations from both men overwhelming your senses. Your moans grow louder and the echo of your whines and the other mens’ heavy breaths and pants filling the room.

“Mm, fuck, Light...Ryuzaki...” 

L pets your hair, smiling as he watches you, “You know my name, Y/N, say it...”

“L....fuck, L....” You cry, feeling your second orgasam approaching. 

L pulls out from your mouth, releasing on your face with a deep sigh as you stick your tongue out. Mouth now free to talk, you moan Light’s name, “Light, I’m gonna...”

“Do it, Y/N. Cum for me and Ryuzaki like the little attention whore you are. God, you’re such a fucking slut. Getting off on two guys, such a bad girl....”

Light’s words only egged your climax on, and soon you came with a loud moan of both mens’ names- Light finishing soon after.

You collapse onto the couch, the three of you breathing heavily. L pulls you into his arms, your back against his chest, and holds you caringly. It’s a type of loving touch you never felt from Light, but it felt nice nonetheless.

“Light, be a darling and bring some towels?”

Light nods, leaving the room to fetch a few towels to clean up. You’re left in L’s arms on the couch, your eyes fluttering closed in comfort as he strokes your hair.

[jekde04]

Home

One-shot for Gruvia Day/Greige Day/Gruvia Family Day 2021

Summary: Coming home from a mission is always better when there's someone waiting for you.

Word Count: 2,483 words

You may also read it on FanFiction.net and AO3! Check out my master list for other Gruvia fics.

Tag List: @shampooneko @fbflame94 @juviaafullbuster @unvalley @gruviaftw11​ (Wanna be tagged, lemme know)

“Mommy, we’re back!”

Looking for her blue head of hair had become second nature to him, so he quickly spotted her among their friends as she stood up to gather the running Greige into her arms. He followed right after, though a lot calmer.

“I finished my mission with Daddy!” the four-year-old boy with dark blue hair exclaimed as he reached his mom, still a little breathless from running. “I made big blocks of ice for the party, and Daddy crushed them to make snow cones for everyone!”

Greige prattled on excitedly, demonstrating each point with his hands and arms and making Juvia smile. Arriving at her side, Gray put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and kissed her temple. She embraced him back, giving him a quick squeeze before letting go and turning back to their son.

Gray chuckled. It seemed like ages ago when Juvia would welcome him with a half-hug, half-tackle to the ground while shouting, “Gray-samaaaaa!” Now, all her attention was on their son.

“That’s great, darling,” Juvia told Greige as they all sat side by side, with both of her boys on either side of her. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

Gray rolled his eyes. It was so like Juvia to get worried over a simple mission of making ice sculptures and snow cones for kids at a birthday party, even though she was the one to spot it on the job board.

At first, she got really excited as she saw it as an opportunity for family bonding. But with her six-month pregnant belly, Gray wouldn’t risk it even if it was just an easy and harmless mission.

It ended up being a father and son bonding with his little ice mage apprentice.

“Relax, Juvia. As if I would let something happen to our son,” Gray answered after taking a gulp of the ice-cold water waiting for him at the table. Mira passed by and set a hot bowl of udon in front of him, giving him a light pat on the back.

“Of course you won’t, Gray-sama,” his wife answered with a smile. “But Juvia will always worry for you two. It’s just the way it is.”

She turned to Greige and held his elbow to pull him closer but was surprised when he yelped in pain.

“Greige-kun? What’s the matter? Where does it hurt?” Juvia asked in a concerned voice, trying to look for any bruise or cut on his son’s well-covered body.

Gray also turned to look at him with worry. “Did you get injured, buddy?”

“N-nothing. I’m okay, Mom,” Greige answered, squirming from Juvia’s fussing and a bit embarrassed about his outburst.

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me, young man,” Juvia said in her stern mommy voice that meant business. She rarely used it to both Gray and Greige, so both of them knew better than to defy her in any way when she was in one of her moods.

And being pregnant, those mood swings escalated tenfold.

Greige let Juvia remove his outer coat, allowing her to quickly spot the source of the problem: a scratch on his elbow. It wasn’t that deep or big, but it definitely should be cleaned, or else it would get infected.

Suddenly, Juvia snapped her head towards her husband and glared at him with her fierce blue eyes.

“Gray-sama! You said you won’t let anything happen to our son!”

Gray gulped and scratched the back of his head. All they did was make snow cones, how the hell did Greige get that?!

“Juvia, I swear, I didn’t let him out of my sight! I don’t even know where he got that,” he answered as he moved to Greige’s other side, examining the wound. “Besides, it’s just a small scratch. It’s no big deal.”

He immediately regretted his words the moment they came out of his mouth. He felt goosebumps prickling his skin as Juvia’s glare intensified.

Really, this woman means the world to him, but she could be scarier than Erza sometimes.

But before he could appease his wife, Greige said in a small voice, “This was from yesterday.”

Juvia turned to their son. “Yesterday? What happened? And why didn’t you say anything about it?”

With his head bowed, Greige mumbled something he couldn’t hear. Gray was about to ask him to speak louder when he saw him chance a glance at the pink-haired girl just three tables away from them...

And blush.

Holy Mavis.

He knew that look. He used to steal glances at Juvia with that look.

But his son was just four years old!

“What did you say, Greige?” Juvia’s voice broke through his thoughts (and internal panic), and he tried his best to focus on his son’s answer instead of his pink cheeks.

“I-I... scraped my elbow while Nasha and I were trying to hide from Aunt Lucy,” Greige answered, and Gray swore his son’s cheeks flushed some more.

Okay, he and Greige need to have a long talk when they get home. He was just four, but who knows what ideas and thoughts were running through his head now? Better nip it in the bud while it was still early.

And maybe he would tell Juvia tonight, but he had to be really careful because it might trigger the waterworks. And God knew how extremely sensitive she was, especially now that she was pregnant. Just last week, they ran out of milk, and she bawled her eyes out over it.

“Next time, be more careful, darling,” Juvia said, seemingly oblivious to what just happened and already arms-deep into her first aid kit.

Juvia had always been like that whenever he returned from a mission. She would have a first aid kit by her side and a glass of cold water and a serving of whatever the meal of the day was already ordered for him. At home, there would always be a feast.

He had to thank her failproof Gray-sama radar for always getting the timing of his arrival right.

She started dabbing alcohol on Greige’s wound while blowing at the spot to ease the pain. Greige flinched a little, but he put on a brave face while his mom cleaned his wound, his eyes traveling now and then to the nearby table where his bubbly friend was busy playing with her mom’s keys, unaware of his stolen glances.

That talk was definitely happening the moment they get home.

“All done!” Juvia exclaimed, lightly patting the band-aid she placed over the abrasion. “Now, for the finishing touches.”

She puckered her lips and lowered it to Greige’s elbow to kiss the boo-boo away, as she always did whenever her son injured himself. But just when her lips were a mere inch away, Greige saw Nasha looking at him with her big brown eyes, causing him to push his mom’s lips away from him.

“Ahh, stop it, Mom! I’m a big boy now!” Greige blurted, crimson cheeks and all.

Lisanna, who was delivering some drinks to a nearby table, smiled widely and ruffled Greige’s hair. "Aww, you are so cute, Greige-kun!" This made the boy even redder.

Surprised, Juvia locked eyes with Gray, and he tilted his head towards the table where his rival’s family was staying. She saw Nasha looking at Greige, and she looked at her husband and raised one of her eyebrows.

“Okay, Mommy understands,” she told Greige as she smiled at him and smoothed the band-aid on his elbow. “But promise me one thing, darling.”

Greige looked up at her and waited.

“Promise me that even though you’re a young man now, you won’t give Mommy a grandchild yet, okay? Mommy’s too young for that.”

Greige just continued looking at her, brows furrowed in confusion. Gray, on the other hand, almost choked on his udon and shouted, “Juvia!” at his giggling wife.

“Really, I can give Mommy a grandchild? How?” their son asked, excitement twinkling in his eyes.

Gray took a gulp of cold water before turning to his son. “Alright, that’s enough. Greige, don’t listen to your mom. And Juvia, stop putting ideas into your son’s head!”

Juvia covered her mouth with her hands. “Juvia’s sorry, Gray-sama. Juvia just thinks it’s so cute that Greige-kun already has a --”

“Greige?”

A little girl’s voice interrupted them, and they all turned to look at Nasha, who had quietly made her way to their table. Gray stole a glance at his son and saw him giving the girl the tiniest of smiles.

Just like the smile he used to give Juvia when he was still fighting his growing feelings for her.

All of a sudden, the innocent-looking girl jumped on Greige and locked his head under her arm, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Aunt Juvia, Uncle Gray, can Greige and I get some ice cream?”

“Ow! Let go!” Greige exclaimed, suddenly finding himself in a headlock with a giggling Nasha. He escaped her grip and glared at her while his mom answered, “Of course, sweetie. Just don’t go far and don’t take too long.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Nasha excitedly answered, dragging a sulking Greige after her. “Come on, weirdo. Let’s get some ice cream!”

“But I just ate a snow cone!”

“Whatever, you’re coming with me!”

Gray followed the two kids with his eyes, watching them hold hands as they made their way to their Aunt Mirajane.

That was his son, alright. Before long, he would be all grown up and meeting Nashas from different worlds and seeing snow dolls of Nasha and having enemies conjure up fantasies of him and Nasha in a perfect, happy world and --

“Relax, Gray-sama,” he heard his wife say, bringing him back to Earthland. “It will be a long time before all your thoughts would come true.”

His wife’s Gray-sama radar probably got an upgrade as it apparently developed mindreading powers now. And since when did his mind start running off to fantasy world? After all these years, Juvia’s powerful imagination must have rubbed off on him somehow.

Gray stretched his sore muscles and popped the joints in his neck. “Don’t joke about grandkids again. It’s scary.” He placed his hand at his wife’s round belly. “‘Sides, we’re not yet done having kids.”

Juvia looked at him, the most beautiful smile gracing her face. “Juvia knows. Now, get naked.”

“N-now?” Gray stammered, surprised at his wife’s sudden request. Sure, he would love to try having more kids, but --

“-- so Juvia could examine you thoroughly for any wounds. And change your bandages,” she continued, eyes feigning innocence. But he could see a small smile tugging at her lips, satisfied with the little joke she pulled.

Gray rolled his eyes and took off his shirt. He let Juvia’s light fingers explore his body and carefully remove the old gauze wrapped around his broad chest. “It’s almost healed already,” he remarked.

Juvia just continued applying antiseptic on his injury, not looking up at Gray. His wound was by no means fresh, but it was a deep gash he got from one of his missions with Team Natsu. He threw himself in front of a kid to protect her from one of the bandits, which earned him a cut over his breastbone. Good thing Wendy was with them; it could have been fatal if she didn’t treat it right away.

“Still not totally healed. Gray-sama should keep the bandages clean to avoid infection.” She looked up at him and added, “And Gray-sama should be extra careful now that our family is growing.”

Despite her steady tone, he could see her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. He remembered the first time she saw his injury and how she tried to muffle her sobs so that Greige wouldn’t think something was wrong.

Gray wiped the tears that escaped her eyes and kissed her forehead tenderly. “I will. And no matter what, I will always come back home to you.”

Juvia nodded and gave him a small smile. She wrapped fresh bandages around his chest in silence.

“All done now, Gray-sama.” She patted her handiwork and started putting all the stuff back inside the first aid kit. When she was done, she stood up and was about to return the kit to Mira when Gray thought aloud, “How come she does it for Greige but not for me?”

Juvia turned to look at him. “Are you saying something, Gray-sama?”

Gray looked at her sheepishly while scratching his cheek. “Ah, nothing.”

“Juvia’s sure she heard something about doing it for Greige but not for you. What is it?”

Gray’s cheeks turned pink. “Well, it’s just that...” He puckered his lips towards her.

“Eh?” Juvia asked incredulously. “Juvia’s not sure she understands what Gray-sama’s talking about.”

Gray sighed and picked up his shirt. “Forget it. It’s silly.”

Juvia sat beside him again, thinking aloud to herself. “Hmm. What does Juvia do with Greige that she doesn’t do with Gray-sama?” After a few moments, her face lit up. “Aha! Does Gray-sama want Juvia to kiss his boo-boos too?”

Gray’s face flushed some more, but he couldn’t help the smirk from crawling on his face. “Well, you used to do it, right? I’m just curious how come you don’t do it anymore.”

It was now Juvia’s turn to blush. She put her hand over her mouth and said, “Is Juvia hearing this right? Gray-sama wants Juvia to kiss his body right in the middle of the guild?”

Realizing what she was saying, Gray suddenly burst out, “What? No! I was just asking!”

But it was too late. Juvia’s lips were already pressed onto a scar by his collarbone.

“Does this still hurt, Gray-sama?” She then moved lower to his chest where the bandage started, and kissed it softly. “How about here, hmm?”

Gray froze as Juvia’s lips traveled even lower, now kissing his hard abs covered by his bandages. He clenched his fist as he could feel something else hardening.

“Is Gray-sama feeling better now?” Juvia asked in a sultry voice, looking up at him with those beguiling eyes, a tiny smirk on her luscious lips as if challenging him.

Oh, she was definitely teasing him.

But why did she have to look this sexy?

Around them, he could hear some of their guildmates snickering and hollering.

“Get a room!”

“They’re being lovey-dovey again.”

“Give your wife what she wants, Gray!”

He was flustered alright, but he only knew of one way to turn the tables on his wife.

He grabbed her shoulders and straightened her so that they were at eye level with each other.

“You missed a spot right here,” he said, pointing to his lips. But before she could react, he angled his head and kissed her full on the mouth.

That will teach her, he thought.

Amid all the teasing, gagging noises, and catcalls, a little boy eating his ice cream a few tables away yelled, “Eww, Daddy and Mommy are being gross again!”

***

Happy Gruvia Family Day, loves! 😘

[silksaddle]

The Traveler 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!reader Western AU

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

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

Word count: 14k (leave me alone)

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

Read Chapter One ~ Series Masterlist

Chapter Two: Six Shooter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

“How about that Mr. Daniels?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, cruel woman.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why—”

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

“That’s why.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jack, you’re…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you tryin’ for me, sugar?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hidin’ it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jack, I really don’t know about—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jack, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you, Jack— I need you!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

tags for yeehonk idiot:

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

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

[lunacellestia]

M!Drider x F!PlusSize!Reader

"Goodbye Mrs. Baker!"

"And to you too dearie! Stay safe!"

The basket rested on your arm as you said your goodbyes to the lonely woman.

A widower she was, left alone by her husband who passed on several years prior.

"He was my first love, and at my age, it's simply too soon to go after another. Besides, he was all I ever needed and he's still here.. Not physically but I hear his voice every so often, telling me to go on and that he'll see me soon, only when it's time." She had said one day, her shaky hand resting over her heart, her face scrunched up with a content smile.

Your eyes glanced towards her ring, the shade of emerald in the shape of an oval.

Somehow it was still gleaming, despite it being decades old.

You wondered briefly if she ever got it polished, but decided to keep that question for another time.

You sipped your tea and smiled at her, nodding as she went into her tales of her past.

"May I see some old photos of you both Mrs. Baker?"

"Why of course! Just give me a moment dear."

Together you both looked at the photos of her beloved and her together.

In her youth, her hair was a bright orange, going from flowy and wild to a nice pixie cut as the pages went on.

Her love, a man a bit taller than her, had on biker clothes in select photos, his hair darker than the women's on boxes you see on hair dye boxes.

"He was such a mad lad that one. Always getting into trouble."

"He was your little trouble maker."

"Indeed he was." She giggled

You let out a small sigh as your memories of that day came to an end, instead opting to focus on the small dirt path in front of you.

"What a wonderful lady. But still.. I wonder, is love really that strong?" You muttered to yourself.

You had never been in love; it was a bit odd to you, but you've just never felt the connection.

You've had crushes, had your fair share of cry days when they were taken. You've had those that fawned over you and vice versa, but its never been like others describe it.

"I guess I'm just too.. Myself for love." You sighed and continued on your journey towards your home.

You checked your basket once you arrived, seeing that the goods you purchased were still in tact, not a thing gone and not a thing broken or spilled.

"Can never be too careful these days, those in the forest are mischievous and take what they want. Pranks and all." One of the local men had told you.

The fairies that inhabited this area were a bit too... Chaotic for their own good.

They loved to play pranks and annoy the people when they could, sometimes getting upset if they didn't get the reaction they wanted.

You headed inside and closed your door, locking it and listening to the click.

All was silent for a moment as you checked around silently for any signs of something.

You didn't want to deal with a fairy that had snuck it's way inside by mistake or even purposely.

Heading into the kitchen, you unpacked your things and put them away then headed to your couch and went onto your phone.

'We can cross that off the list. I need to get some silks tomorrow and get to working on some clothes.'

A knock sounded as you jumped a bit and held your chest, caught off guard and frightened a bit.

"C-coming!"

'Could that be one of the fairies playing pranks? No... I don't want to play their games right now. Besides, I'm already inside.'

You headed to the door, albeit a bit cautiously and peaked out the window first.

You squinted a bit seeing a hint of something but nothing too clear.

Besides, you didn't want to make it obvious that you were staring.

Letting out the smallest of breaths, you unlocked the door and opened it a bit, peering out and up.

"Yes..? Can I.. Help you?"

"Apologies for coming so abruptly my dear. I wanted to catch you before you came all the way to me later tomorrow."

You blinked and opened the door more, seeing your supplier of the very silks you needed.

"Raveed!"

"Yes?" He asked, raising his brow amused.

You opened your mouth then closed it, getting a little shy and embarrassed under his gaze.

'Worried for nothing.' You thought with a small sigh.

"Sorry.. It's nothing. I just couldn't help but to get a little scared. Anyways, what was it that you needed again?"

"Well, I won't be available tomorrow. I have some matters to attend to. So I wanted to provide you with some silk now."

"Oh that's fine! I could've waited though, you didn't have to do that for me."

"Nonsense, I couldn't let my favorite girl go on without her supplies. What kind of supplier would I be hmm?"

"I suppose you have a point. Come in! I'll make you something?"

"I'll just take some water if that's alright dear."

"That's fine, give me a moment." You said and stepped aside so he could come in.

It was a bit of a squeeze, his lower half having to turn a bit in order to come in.

Raveed was a drider, and like many, he had the lower half of a spider.

Though he only had two arms instead of four like some, he had 8 legs, each slim and proper.

His hands as well were slender, with beautifully manicured nails, evident of how well he'd taken care of them over the years.

Just as his appearence had showed, his aura and air were the same, not once betraying him.

He had a handful of admirers, even those who feared driders, mostly due to their fear of spiders.

His skin was like the shade of mocha, his eyes, 6 in total with three on each side, were dark and dreamy.

His hair, long and braided to the side, was the color of night, mixed with some white as he had dyed it in (or, you assume so, you never asked if that was natural for him).

His lower half was also a simple black with some crackles and specks of fuchsia.

You had thought he hailed from a prestigious family with his looks and way of speaking, but he always waved you off and let out a small chuckle.

"Had I been, I would've had you as a queen by now. You, by my side, as we ruled together."

You had brushed his words off each time and chuckled nervously.

He always had a way of making you flustered, so much so that you may have developed the smallest of crushes on him, though never anything too grand to consider it love.

You closed the door behind him once he was safely inside, and proceeded to make your way to the kitchen.

He stayed and instead looked around while you poured him a glass of water and came back out.

"Here you go Raveed."

"Thank you dearest. Now, shall we get started?"

"Huh?"

"With my silk."

"I-I'm not sure how I'm supposed to be of assistance."

He chuckled lightly and shook his head a bit.

"I'm not as shy as I was when I was younger. I used to hate others seeing me produce it. But it is my job now."

You turned away and pretended to busy yourself with a task.

"I-I see! Well! I'll leave you to it! I still don't wish to intrude on you."

"You aren't, and this is your home after all."

"Y-yes but-"

"Dearest, you aren't scared of me are you? I hope I don't frighten you so at times." He said somberly.

You turned back quickly and waved your hands.

You have shied away from him before, but not necessarily because he was scary, you were just a bit nervous to be around him.

"Its not that really!"

He inched towards her a bit and gently cupped her cheek after setting down the cup

"You're so beautiful you know?"

"What?"

"You're so beautiful. And so bashful too. I absolutely adore that about you, my dearest spider lily." He said softly, his thumb stroking your cheek.

You swallowed and felt a nervous laugh bubble up in your throat, not knowing what exactly to say or do.

"Ahh, is that so?"

" 'Is that so' Indeed it is. I would never lie to you. Well, maybe aside from another part of the reason on why I came to see you. I did come to see you to give you the thread you needed for the silk but.. I also came to see YOU. Do you understand me now?"

"I... I think so? I'm - you're here for me?"

"Spider Lily, I'd like to take you on a date."

Your mind felt boggled and your mouth dry; a date?

"Are you sure about that? I mean I.. Don't know if I can give you the best company and-"

"You are already wonderful company dearest."

"I think I'm immune to love!"

He blinked, all six of his eyes in unison as he bit his lip holding back a small laugh.

"And why do you say that?"

"I've never.. Fallen in love."

At that, his eyes widened a bit, before a calm smile graced his lips.

He stepped back for a moment and opted for your hand, dipping his head down and pressing a small kiss to it.

"Will you be so kind as to grant me the honor of allowing me to show you just how you may fall in love?"

You swallowed, a bit scared of his words, scared of disappointing him if you didn't feel the same love he felt.

You had a crush on him... But was that all? Strangely, you felt something growing in you.

"I... Alright."

He grinned, one full of teeth, sharp and on display.

"Oh dearest spider lily, you will not regret this choice you've made. I can assure you of that and then some." He declared, kissing your forehead.

"Now! Onto the silk finally!"

You both laughed a bit; onto the silk he goes.

[dabilove27]

How Far We've Come

Paring: Dabi x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, Smut (female-receiving oral), A Cocky Dabi, Cussing, A lot of Pet Names

Word Count: 7.8K

A/N: This is my contribution to the Smut Pile Apocalypse Collab! If you have the time check out some of the other amazing pieces! Everyone has worked so hard to make some beautiful fics!

Thank you so much to my wife @lady-lunaaa for reading, encouraging, brainstorming, and helping me the whole way from start to finish. I have said it before but I will say it again. You are absolutely amazing and this fic wouldn't exist without you! 💜 Also thank you @/deathcab4daddy (not sure if you want to be tagged) for taking the time to read through and for your advice!

You've seen all those movies, the decaying zombie hoards, the massive explosions that wipe out nations, or an unexpected illness that mysteriously kills off the population. But you had never really expected for any of those apocalyptic things to become true in your own world.  They were just fiction, never something that could actually occur. Yet here you are faced with the reality of a hoard of rotting zombies. Like you have been thrown into one of the many movies or TV shows yourself.

People aren't even sure how it happened, especially in a world full of quirks where this should be somewhat controlled, right? Wrong, whatever caused this zombie apocalypse also seemed to nullify quirks over time. There was so much speculation whether it came into the water supply or passed through the air. But none of that really seems to matter anymore when you are fighting for your life every day.

And as the mass of decaying, walking corpses steps closer and closer to you, it seems like your end is near too. The smell of organs exposed to the air and sun stink up the room.  You can see the blank, milky white eyes of the undead that somehow can still find you even though they can't really see.  You've had a partner, at least—the man who has stood with you during this entire shit show.

He stands close to you, a single rusted knife covered in stagnant blood, not nearly enough even combined with whatever you could find for fighting off the seemingly endless mindless bodies coming your way. He's covered in burn scars and rusted staples that pull at his healthy skin. People used to jab at him for looking like the walking dead before all this went down.  His firepower from before would have solved this problem in an instant. This rotting mob wouldn't have stood a chance.

But instead, it looks like it's the conclusion for the two of you. Memories flash through your mind. A memory of escaping the daily struggle of your mundane life by sharing take-out on your old couch.  Or how his kisses always felt like burning flames against your lips.  Your regular life consisted of trying to numb the pain of the past with alcohol or working endless hours.  Even though you didn’t have a traditional relationship where you could go on public dates, being in a relationship with a well-known villain was worlds better than this. But if you were going to die, at least it was together. Solidarity in times like this seems to help the never-ending dread that the Reaper looming around every corner ready to take you.  Every moment in this new hell had you wished you had more time to develop your romance with him instead of the tragedy that was about to befall you. You wished you had more time with this romance and that it wouldn't end in tragedy. It's hard to believe that there was ever a time when you couldn't stand this man, but even now, that's a fond memory for you.  You would give anything to return to that old bar where the two of you met and relive all of these memories.

It really isn't a surprise that you met Dabi in a dark, run-down bar near Kamino.  No, not the "bar" run by Kurogiri; everyone who lived in this area knew that it was just a setup. This bar is a tiny little hole in the wall with paint chipping off the walls and where the seats were hardly held together anymore, but that didn't really matter to people who lived in this area. You didn't come to this bar for a luxury experience.

The main reason people came to this bar was its location.  It sat deep in a seedy area which meant no police patrolling nearby so you wouldn’t need to look over your shoulder constantly.  Plus, the cheap liquor was enticing enough.

Every Friday night, you were perched on one of the worn-out bar stools as you nursed your gin and tonic.  This was your place to unwind after another hellish week of your mundane job.  It was still early enough in the evening that the bar wasn't thoroughly packed with bodies trying to get their drink.  The music was still soft,  later it would blare whatever song was currently sitting at the top of the Billboard charts. You were able to turn your brain off and listen to other patrons' mindless chatter in the background.  You could just sip your drink, maybe take a shot or two if you felt like, and then head home to pass out.

You relished this little getaway, an oasis in the slums that made up your small world.  The bartender and regular patrons didn't bother you, so you could have your own peace.  But your Eden got interrupted by a cocky, fire-wielding asshole who had set his sights on you.

You didn't stir when said asshole plopped himself down in the barstool next to you with a thump.  It wasn't until the jerk actually spoke to you that you were brought out of your mindless daydreaming.

"Hey, pretty girl, what are you doing in a place like this?"  He said with a smooth tone.  You didn't even have to look at him to know he had an arrogant smirk plastered on his face.

Who the fuck does this asshole think he is? The irritated thought instantly pops into your head.  Anyone who frequented this bar knew you were from around here.  You weren't some soft, delicate flower that wasn't supposed to be "on this side of town."  Preparing yourself by putting on your best "I'm not interested face," you maneuvered your body to face him, ready to tell him off.

Your words caught in your throat as your eyes met his two endless pools of cerulean.  Your gaze shifted to take in the burnt skin clinging onto the shining staples that were rooted in his healthy skin. A familiar black coat spread across his frame that was even more recognizable than those eyes, and the patronizing smile that you wanted to slap off his face. As much as you wanted to throw up your middle finger at him and tell him off, you knew who this was. Hell, everyone knew who this was.

The League of Villains didn't necessarily keep quiet around here. They didn't have to. This is the area where they recruited people to join them. You didn't just flick off and ignore a LOV member. Especially the infamous Dabi, who wasn't really known for his kindness or compassion. More for his ability to burn anyone who defied The League to a crumbling crisp.

But still, who did this asshole think he is? Waltzing in here like he owned it and saddling down into your escape from the world only to tell you that you don't look like you should be here?  Fuck that nonsense, League member or not.

You swallow down a bit of the initial anger as your eyes narrow into a glare at the cocky asshole.  "Thanks but no thanks, I'm not interested in being involved with the League. So if you don't mind going somewhere else to scout, that would be great." You try to say without a tremble in your voice as you wave your hand in a "shoo" motion.

You aren't sure what you expect Dabi to do next., burn down the whole bar you included? Tell you that you have no choice but to join, and you're coming with him? Rip you out of your seat and reprimand you for disrespecting The League? But instead, none of those things happen.  Instead, he does something you don't expect, and his grin grows a little wider as the staples begin to pull more at his healthy flesh.

You can feel your anxiety rising. Get out, get out, get out, this asshole will kill you, leave NOW, your mind is practically sending off every warning signal it can.

Your chest tightens when Dabi lets out a low chuckle. "Oh no, sweetheart, you've got it all wrong."  He says with a dark tone. "I'm not recruiting you for work. My interest in you is personal."  Dabi points at you and then at himself and finishes with an infuriating smirk that seems to be mocking you.  He's moved his hand and placed it on your forearm that was resting on the smooth bar top.

A shiver runs through you as the mismatched textures of his skin and the cool metal of the staples.  You feel your anger bubbling up again.  How dare this jerk think that you will just fall for him like a desperate fangirl.  You are livid at this point, frustration coursing through your veins, fuck the niceties and preservation. He needed to be put in his place.

"I know you think you are some big shot because The League is doing so well right now but fuck off asshole.  I'm not a League groupie that will just kneel down and suck your dick just because you want it." You spit out at him while shrugging off his hand and moving your body to face the way you were initially sitting. Grasping your drink and lifting it to your lips, you try and down what was left so you could leave immediately, any extra moment around Dabi was a moment you didn't want to have.

You were sure Dabi would have given up or at least killed you by now. You can't imagine that he is used to being rejected by women.  He's handsome in a way that doesn't fit with the norm.  He fills in that bad boy check-list like it's his job, which it practically is given his profession.  Again though, Dabi surprises you with his response. He doesn't yell, he doesn't use his quirk, and he doesn't kill you. He lets out another dark chuckle like he's enjoying this and continues the conversation you had tried to cut off.

"I didn't say anything about sucking dick, but if you're offering, who am I to turn down a gift?"  That smooth tone is back as he moves his hand to your hair and runs it through his fingers.

Bewilderment overcomes you, and you can't even stop yourself before you are turned towards him again, glass in your hand, ready to throw what's left of your drink on him.

As if he anticipated the response, Dabi moves quickly and grabs your wrist in a tight grip.  "Now, why would you want to waste what you have left, doll? That's not a very smart choice." His grip tightens a little more around your wrist, and you can feel the staples begin to dig into your skin as he lets out a deep chuckle. He moves your hand back down to the bar but doesn't let go even after your glass has left your hand.  "There we go, good girl.  Now let's talk just a bit." He says sweetly, loosening his grip just a bit, but not enough for you to move your hand.

If looks could kill, Dabi would have died a cruel death by now. You are seething at this point.  But instead, you're stuck there as he continues to do whatever it is that he’s trying to accomplish.  "What were you drinking?  I'll buy you another one and then leave, okay doll?"  He says playfully and with a cunning grin on his face as you mumble out your drink order.  You just want him to leave, and you really hope he plans on keeping his word.

Dabi motions for the bartender's attention, gives your drink order and plops a few bills on the bartop. He still hasn't let go of your wrist, and each and every moment he is even touching you, you can feel your annoyance continuing to build.  You want to ask him if he's done yet and will kindly get the fuck out, but you have a sneaking suspicion that he likes the cat and mouse game, which would just lengthen the amount of time he sticks around.

The bartender finally delivers your drink, and it takes everything in you not to rip your wrist out of his grasp and grab the new glass to pour over Dabi's head.  "Okay, one last question, and then I'll leave."  He drawls out as you put all your focus into the condensation forming on your glass.  You stay silent, waiting for his stupid question so you can move on and never see him again.  Dabi continues with that condesending tone that is starting to cause your head to ache, "How often do you come here? I'd love to see you again."

Your heartbeat picks up, and little shots of adrenaline start to flow through you as you contemplate how to respond. Of course, you don't want this asshole to know when you come here. This is your escape from the world. You never want to even see Dabi again,  but something from this interaction tells you Dabi isn't going to give up easily. So you tell him your regular time that you show up at the bar every Friday.

Dabi squeezes your wrist a little bit before letting out another "Good girl, sounds like a date.  I'll see you then." You never want him to know how those few words send a shiver down your spine. He saunters out of the bar without having a single drink himself. Patrons stare dumbfounded between you and the doorway that Dabi just exited, trying to comprehend what just happened.

You let out an exasperated sigh before leaning your head down into your folded arms.  The bar top isn't necessarily the cleanest of places to lay your head, but it’s pounding and racing with thoughts, and you can't really bring yourself to care right now.  You try to formulate a plan so you won't ever see him. You'll just move your regular day to Saturday instead of Fridays.  But then that stubborn anger flares inside of you again, and you sit up straight, glancing at your newly unwanted drink as the ice slowly melts, lifting the remaining liquid in the cup.  No, I'm not going to let that asshole ruin my spot for me.  He can come around here every Friday, but I'll turn that jerk down a million times. You think a little smugly to yourself.  We will see how the big bad Dabi feels being turned down over and over.  Maybe that will sting his ego.

And so you and Dabi play this game of cat and mouse. He comes every Friday when you are there without fail, buying you a drink, chatting to you with sentences filled with pet names, and planning another "date" each time.  And every time you tell him you aren't interested or to go away, or really anything to try and get that stupid fucking smirk off his face.  But it always remains cemented there as he watches you get fired up.  And what you don't realize is the two of you are getting to know each other.  Dabi adds in little questions, "what's your favorite food, least favorite, what do you do for work?"  And the questions go on and on.  You don't realize your walls coming down as the two of you find similarities in each other.  And if there is one thing anyone who sees these frequent interactions between the two of you can say, it is that Dabi is determined.

You are so used to Dabi's Friday visits that they don't bring headaches anymore, and you realize something more has developed when he doesn't show up one week.  A mixture of feelings rests in you, anxiety, confusion, anger.  You wonder if he's okay, or has he finally given up.  And then anger if he has.  You don't want to admit it, but you miss his company, and you don't even have a number to reach out to him.  You feel a sense of loss in your chest.  How could he just give up?  He's been trying for months!  You think as tears begin to sting for a moment in your eyes.

You leave the bar that night not feeling uplifted or relaxed but sad and angry.  And you aren't necessarily looking forward to returning the week after, but you do come back to your regular spot and hope Dabi will show.  Your heart almost stops in your chest when you see him walk through the entrance of the bar, and before you can contain the words, they tumble out in a frantic sound, "where were you last week?"  You are standing in front of him now, looking up at that little grin he always has on his face whenever you get annoyed with him.  You cross your arms over your chest and exclaim, "Well? I'm waiting."

"Aw, did you miss me, baby girl?"  His poker face never falls, but his grin grows a tiny bit wider as he stares into your fiery eyes.  And without warning, he wraps one of his long arms around you, pulling you into a tight side hug.

A small eep escapes you at the movement, and you move to push him off.  "What the hell are you doing? Answer my question, you jerk!" You practically yell as you push away from him.  He doesn't let go and just pulls you tighter to him, and you find yourself not struggling anymore as you take in the weathered texture of his coat pressed against your arm and the smell of cigarettes on him.  You feel your walls starting to fall entirely, "I was really concerned about you." You let out in a whisper, not really wanting to admit it to him, but you weren't sure how you would feel if something like this happened again.

"Aw, babe, you did miss me."  The delight in his voice makes you shiver a little.  He gestures you over to your regular spot at the bar, and the two of you sit down in the weathered chairs.  He puts a calloused finger under your chin to bring your gaze to his.  You stare into his cerulean depths that you used to hate and find yourself softening a bit.  "I had to do something for The League, but I don't have your number, love.  So I couldn't call and let you know I wouldn't make our date."  His face relaxes a bit as he watches your frown turn into a bit of pout.

"Okay, well fine, I'll give you my number.  But don't just text me randomly, okay?"  You huff as you lay your palm flat and motion for his phone.  Dabi chuckles and shakes his head before handing you the phone without another word.  Lifting the phone, you type your number into the cracked screen and hand it back to him.  "Okay, now text me, so I have yours. " You say, moving to grab your phone to wait for his upcoming text.

"Hmmm, I don't think so, doll,"  Dabi says, taking in your furrowed brow and then relishing in the way you roll your eyes at his taunting.

"Fine, whatever, Dabi.  Just text me next time you can't make it."  You say sourly while searching for the bartender to order your drink.  You don't want Dabi to see the slight sting of hurt in your eyes because he won't give you his.  The rest of the night goes as expected, drinking and talking, and you find yourself laughing more, not realizing how much you truly enjoyed this time with him.

The two of you depart with another hug, this one much shorter than the first, but you find yourself leaning into the warmth that radiates from him instead of wanting to push him off.  As you begin walking down the street home, you feel a buzz in your pocket.  Pulling out your phone, you unlock it to the message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: Hey babe, see you same time next week - D

A small smile comes to your face as you type a response back.

The following year you grow in your relationship with Dabi.  There are never really any titles between the two of you.  Just that the two of you are together.  You never meet The League. Dabi is insistent you aren't involved with them in case things go awry.  But you spend a lot of time together when work or villain work doesn't take up the time.

Your relationship together comes to a head at the very start of the apocalypse.  The two of you sit snuggled together on your worn-out couch watching the news as a young reporter stands in front of a local research building in town and goes through the facts of citizens becoming "mindless and violent in a matter of hours."  And how they have people under lockdown who are experiencing symptoms of this "mysterious illness."

A slight shiver goes through you as the reporter goes on.  "That's really scary. No one knows what's causing it,"  you reflect aloud while you lean in closer into Dabi's outstretched arm that is resting around your shoulders.

"Aw, babe, don't be scared.  Those mindless fools wouldn't stand a chance if they tried to lay a hand on you while I'm there,"  Dabi says with a glint of amusement in his voice.  He always sounds so condescending, but you know it's the truth.  Remembering a time at the bar when a guy wouldn't take no for an answer-not that Dabi really followed that either- but Dabi didn't hesitate to let the guy know you were already taken.  He flirts and likes to jab a lot, but there’s a complete shift in the atmosphere when he's serious.

"Ugh, Dabi, you know I don't mean them attacking us. It's whatever is causing it that worries me. What happens if one of us gets it?  There's no cure right now,"  You say and worry your lower lip between your teeth.

Dabi picks up on your anxious state, and his cocky facade fades.  He pulls you on his lap so that you are fully facing him with legs pressed on either side of his.  Dabi holds one large hand on your waist, and the other he presses to your cheek.  Leaning your cheek further into his hand, Dabi moves his thumb to trace over the slight marks in your lip where your teeth were just placed.  "Hey, listen to me, nothing is going to happen, okay?  I won't let any of these maniacs hurt you, and we won't catch whatever they have,"  Dabi says tenderly as he gives you a small smile.

It's nice to see him like this- when his mask of superiority disappears, and he's focused on encouraging you.  It doesn't happen often because you like to keep walls.  Comfort from Dabi doesn’t need to happen often but you can’t say you don’t like it when he does.  You enjoy these softer moments with him that only you get to see.

You pull Dabi into a light kiss.  The gentle pressure of his mismatched lips fit seamlessly against yours.  You pull away after a moment to look into his deep blue eyes that now captivate you.  Dabi has that coy smile still on his face, and as his eyes meet your in that moment, it's like the horrible events of the world aren't happening anymore.  All that seems to exist is the two of you, not the TV still prattling in the background or even the noises outside your city window.

Dabi lightly caresses your cheek down to the length of your neck and finally ending near where your collarbones sit.  Everywhere he touches leaves behind a trail of goosebumps on your skin.  Even with these simple touches, you can feel yourself starting moving against him, trying to create a bit of friction.  Dabi knew how easily he could rile you up with simple touches.  It was frustrating at times, and you wished you could have the same effect on him.

"I love you, babe.  And no matter what, I won't let anything hurt you,"  Dabi tells you, and you swear his voice seems to be cracking, but the moment is gone before you can think about it.  Dabi lives on being mysterious most of the time, and you rarely get to see this vulnerable side of him.  Even if he doesn't say it behind that mask of cockiness, you can feel that there is fear of what's happening right now.  Or at least that's what you think the fear is from, but Dabi will never admit the fear is from losing you to whatever this is.  He isn't sure he could survive this hell of a life he's been given without you.

Your heart aches at his sincere words from earlier, and you whisper back, "I love you too, Dabi."  Drawing him into a more intense kiss.  Dabi begins to run his fingers along the hem of your t-shirt and delicately brushes the skin right under with his fingertips.  You feel a moan bubble up inside of you, but his mouth moving against yours swallows the sound.

"I want you so bad, doll.  Let's just forget what's going on right now, let the world fall away,"  he says in a husky voice after breaking away from the kiss.

You nod to him before letting out a content sigh and letting your eyes fall shut while Dabi continues to trace his hands over your body.  Dabi trails his massive heated hands under the thin shirt you are wearing and down to your hips.  You can feel the bulge of his cock through his jeans as it begins to press against your clothed core.

Opening your eyes, you meet Dabi's half-lidded lustful eyes and bite your bottom lip and allow yourself to give into Dabi taking over you.

You can feel your heart beating a little faster, watching Dabi drink in every ounce of you.  Dabi is one of the only men you have ever trusted like this.  To have you so totally vulnerable.  It's strange how someone you didn't want anything to do with for months has become someone you rely on for everything- love, comfort, pleasure.

Dabi places open-mouthed kisses along your neck that leave you breathless.  "Fuck, I'm obsessed with every inch of you,"  Dabi growls out before returning to kissing and sucking your neck and exposed collar bone.

You grip Dabi's shoulder to ground you back from floating away into complete bliss and tip your head out to give him more access to your neck.  Dabi's mouth is like a flame that licks at your sensitive skin as he continues to trail his mouth all over.  You could be trapped in this pleasure forever.

Dabi grasps the back of your head and roughly brings your lips back to his.  With your mouths slotted against each other, you moan as Dabi finesses you to where you are lying on your back on the old couch, and he is hovering over you.

You break the kiss to quickly pull off his jacket and expose Dabi's scarred arms.  And just as you have only trusted Dabi fully with yourself, he has done the same.  Of course, the two of you have had sex with other people, mostly with lights off clothing still left on to hide the imperfections.  But with each other, there is no more hiding.

Heat begins to pool in your belly as you watch Dabi pull off your shorts and slide his warm hands all the way back up your leg and massage the plush skin of your thighs.  Once your shorts are removed, Dabi brings himself back to your face and, with a lustful sigh, traces kisses on your jaw and neck.

"Just relax and let me take you away from all of this, love.  I want to hear every sound you make." He growls as he moves down towards your pussy and lays himself between your spread legs.  Dabi lifts your thighs to rest on his shoulder as you let out a little gasp.  You can feel the excitement and heat rising in you.

Dabi kisses down the inside of your soft thighs and stops to suck at certain spots, leaving minor marks in their place.  He stops for a moment until you are looking directly into his captivating gaze, and then he licks a stripe up your pussy over the cotton of your underwear.  You let out a breathy moan at the sensation.   That jerk knows precisely what he's doing.

Dabi then grabs the thin material of your underwear and rips them away from your body with a tear. Groaning, you are about to curse at him for ruining another pair but are cut short when he sleekly licks up your folds. A delicate, playful moan leaves your separated lips.  Your eyes close, and you cling onto his white shirt to ground yourself.

"Baby girl, you're soaking wet," Dabi teases as if you weren't aware but cuts off any retort again with a quick suck to your aching clit. You can't hold back the loud moan that bubbles up in your throat.

Dabi smiles against your lower lips and continues his ministrations.   His mouth is open wide, so he can move back and forth from quickly licking up and down your sensitive pussy as well as suck softly on your clit.   You feel light-headed at the extended sensations, little whimpers and moans falling through your lips.  Dabi has always been able to leave you speechless with just his mouth.

"Dabi please," Your breathing hitches, and you moan out as he flicks his tongue repeatedly over your small bud. You can feel that hot pressure building in your stomach as Dabi continues. He laps at you like you are holding the only source of liquid left in this world, his tongue working wonders on your dripping hole.

Dabi pulls back and looks up at you as you eagerly meet his blue eyes, begging him to continue.  He smirks before lowering his mouth back down and laps at your sopping core teasingly.  Fucking bastard.  Always a tease from day one.

Dabi licks his lips before returning to eating you out even faster as a series of cries and obscenities continue to fall out of your mouth.  You can't hold them back.  His mouth is so hot and wet against your core.

With another curse, you tell him you are close. A sigh escapes your lips, and your head tosses back onto the cushy arm of the couch.  Dabi pulls away but inserts two fingers inside of you in place of his mouth.

"Fuck, sweetheart, as much as I want to hear you beg and plead for me,  I want to taste you right now."  Dabi lets out with a rough voice filled with desire.  You whimper as he continues to fuck you with his fingers.  He smirks at your blissed-out face and then returns his mouth to your pussy.  His tongue flicks over your clit repeatedly as whines and cries continue to be let out of your mouth.  Back arching, you bite at your lip, barely able to even process the words that came out of Dabi just a moment ago.

"Oh, fuck, Dabi, please. Please, I'm gonna cum soon." The words fall from your lips, and your mind feels numb to everything except the feeling of Dabi's tongue on your pussy.

Dabi grunts and gives another hard suck to your clit before pulling away just a bit.  "Hell yeah, babe, come all over my face."

Your eyes roll back, and your mouth opens with another cry as your legs begin to tremble as the tension starts to rise in your stomach. One more lick, and you know you'd come. Dabi's continued suckling of your clit sends you careening over the edge. Your cries fill the room, and your back arches as your legs try to squeeze around his head.  Dabi continues to suck and lick as you orgasm.  Panting and with your eyes twisted shut, you cling to his shirt as you start to come down.  A final curse gently leaves your mouth as you wait for your legs to stop shaking.  Dabi takes one last long slow lick before sitting back and wiping his face with the back of his hand.  You can't bring yourself to move from the couch, still panting and weak.

Your mind starts slowly coming back to you as the bliss begins to leave.  The realization of everything happening in the world washes over you.  But you were thankful Dabi took the time to distract you from the horrors of what's going on.  You move over so Dabi can cuddle with you on the couch.  It isn't much room, but it feels good to be this close with him, wrapped in each other's arms.  You both slowly start to drift off to sleep, but you don't miss Dabi's final words mumbled into your hair, "I'll never let anything happen to you."

Shortly after that, the world seems to descend into madness.  The illness grows more and more rampant.  People are getting infected every day.  Whether it's through the original source of contamination or by those contaminated biting or scratching someone.  Panic spreads throughout the country.  But through all of it, you and Dabi stick together.

From the moment it was declared an emergency Dabi was banging at your door, insisting the two of you find somewhere safer than your run-down apartment.  Because while the two of you needed sleep, whatever these things are could go non-stop, and your apartment was not fortified.

You and Dabi lost your quirks a month after the emergency declaration, along with the rest of the population. People couldn't fight these zombie-like creatures off anymore.  Like all the movies and TV shows, the bodies became more zombies than actual living people.

After a while of jumping around from a destroyed place to another, the two of you found yourself in an apartment building that had a sturdy enough entrance that the zombies couldn't break through.  The daily struggles were still hard, though. Finding food and water to survive became a daily task for the two of you.  Through all of this, he never left your side. He always insisted the two of you stay together.  And so you did.  Fighting the living dead, but sometimes the living too when things got even more terrible, and scavenging was your everyday routine now.

You lost track of time and could only follow when the seasons changed.  But Dabi was really the only thing getting you through this.  Seeing people destroy one another for food or shelter destroyed you inside.  Never knowing if these zombies you were killing were someone you had known at one point, or just another faceless dead person tore at every corner of your brain.  Dabi stayed strong for the two of you.  Holding you every night on the ripped blankets, you could gather for the strange bed the two of you slept in.  You would sob into his muscled chest about how you couldn't live in this world anymore, how you couldn't kill another person, alive or dead.

But Dabi would never let go.  He would hold you close and let your never-ending tears stain the only shirt he had now.  He would rub your back with his warm hands; even though his rusting staples would catch on your shirt and rip from his skin, he still did it.  He would hold you until you fell asleep, whispering how strong you were and how he could never do this without you.  And after all the tears, you were thankful too.  Because without him, you'd be dead or alone.  You knew that without Dabi, you would have never survived this long.

But you could see Dabi was hurting too.  You couldn't find supplies to treat his decaying skin.  He hid his daily pain from you, but when Dabi thought you weren't looking or listening, he would hiss at the pain of another staple pulling at his burnt skin or let out a huge sigh when he would try to put it back together, but it wouldn't cooperate.

The only hope the two of you held onto was each other and that possibly a cure would come soon.  Not that either you could really access that information with no electricity; there wasn't any way to get information other than hearsay.  You survived the best you could in this world.

And as much as this wasn't what you would have picked for either of you, at least you had each other.  You tried not to think of a time when you wouldn't be together, even though the chances of that happening were high- it hurt too much. To survive in this world without Dabi would be too fucking much.

It's almost as if fate chose to play a cruel game with the two of you.  It seemed like a "normal" trip out to scavenge for food and water.  The two of you had to expand your search area since places closer were mainly empty.

This time you found yourself outside of a convenience store, a reasonable distance away from your home.  It hadn't been completely destroyed by some miracle and was not overrun by the zombified people.  Still, in a state of decay, though, Dabi was quickly able to kick his heavy boots through the door and get the two of you in.

Sauntering through the gas station, you quickly begin to pick up canned food and stale bags of chips and shove them in your worn backpack.  Dabi is doing the same on other aisles until he lets out a chuckle.  "Hey babe, look what I found."  He says with a cocky voice holding up a few boxes of wrapped condoms above the aisle for you to see.

You roll your eyes.  "Thanks, Dabi. Is sex really what we want to be thinking about right now? Let's just get this shit and get out."  You let out with an annoyed huff and continue to push the limits of how much your bag can hold.

Dabi comes over to your aisle and snakes his arms around your waist with your back pressed to his chest.  He places his chin on your shoulder and whispers in your ear.  "Yes, all I can think about is getting your beautiful body back home and finally being able to finish in you, and with these, I can."  He lets out a dark chuckle as he pulls you closer against him and bucks  his hips playfully.

"Okay, horn dog, let's get this shit done, and then we can do whatever you want back home."  You let out with an eye roll.  It's hard to stay mad at him. You know he's trying to keep things light for you, to keep you happy because he can see how hard this is.  And his regular teasing is one way he knows will bring a smile to your face.

As you are finishing up trying to take inventory of anything else in the store that you can take back, you spot the clear plastic that holds the cartons of cigarettes behind the cashier counter.  While you didn't necessarily want Dabi smoking, you knew he missed the vice. Cigarettes were just as hard to find as medicine in this new world.  Smiling to yourself, you move behind the counter and reach for the plastic flap to lift it up.

As you try to lift the latch, it doesn't budge. You look around for what might be blocking it before seeing the tiny silver keyhole to one side of the compartment.  Crap, of course, it's locked.    You really wanted to surprise Dabi with this.  Maybe you still could. The key had to be here somewhere, right? You think while scanning around the counter.  You try searching through the counters for a hidden key but no luck.  Letting out a heavy sigh, you call Dabi over.

Dabi wanders over to your annoyed face and can't help but smile at your slight pout.  "I wanted to surprise you! But I can't open it. Can you get it, please?"  It comes out almost like a whine as you gesture to the cigarettes.

Dabi's smirk turns into a genuine smile, and he pats the top of your head before saying, "My sweet doll.  Thank you for thinking of me. Let me help you out."  You could smack him, but instead, you watch as he hastily rips the plastic covering away and slips his hand below it to grab one of the wrapped cartons.

At that moment, everything changes.  The fun times the two of you were having shatters as a loud alarm rings through the store.  Panic floods your system as you stare at Dabi wide-eyed.  "There is no electricity. What's happening? There shouldn't be an alarm."  Horror is laced in your voice as words spill out of you.  Every walking corpse within miles will be here soon with the sound.

"Fuck, must have had a battery attachment. Come on, let's go."  Dabi's usual playfulness is gone as he abandons the cigarettes and grabs your hand.  He's grave now.  Getting the two of you out of here safely is his only goal.

You follow Dabi quickly, a hand grasped tightly in his as he runs towards the broken-down front door.   And that's when even more terror settles into you.  Zombies are pushing their way through the open door.  Their rotting bodies and white eyes focused on the area where the alarm is coming from.  There weren't many around when you broke in, but now it seems like they are multiplying by the moment.

"Fuck fuck fuck." Dabi curses under his breath, quickly turning around and pulling you towards the building's back exit.  You follow behind adrenaline surging through your veins fueled by your flight response.  Dabi grasps at the metal handle to the back door and shakes it only to find it locked.  "Damnit!"  he shouts before kicking the door violently.

Your heart is pounding, and you feel helpless as you stare at Dabi while he continues to slam himself at the door.  While the front door was glass and flimsier, this door was only budging slightly.  With all your focus on the door, you don't notice the continuously growing herd filtering into the gas station.  Not until you feel one brush against your shoulder.

Your eyes widen as you feel a scream bubbling in your throat.  This is it.   This is where the two of you die and either become fodder for a herd of living dead or turn into one yourself.   Your brain is pure panic as thoughts fly through faster than you can catch them.  You don't even realize you have screamed out Dabi's name until you see his face turn towards yours.

His typically blue eyes are almost entirely covered by his dark pupils as he takes in the monstrosities behind you.  But unlike you, he doesn't hesitate. He pulls out a knife he keeps in one of his pockets and slams it into the decaying skull of the zombie that is right behind you.  Splurts of dark blood hit your cheek as he pulls out the knife, and the creature behind you crumples to the floor.

"Keep trying the door! I'll keep them off you."  Dabi shouts, pulling you into the spot he previously stood.  Your heartbeat is so loud you can feel it in your head, and you can't even make a coherent response as you begin to slam your body against the solid surface.  You can feel it give a little more with each push of your body, and everything in you is screaming not to give up.  Doing your best not to glance at Dabi's grunting and movements as he continues to try and put down zombie after zombie.

You can't give up; this can't be the end . Desperately your brain is screaming as you continue to feel the door give more and more.  Your shoulder hurts from the continued impact, but you aren't letting it slow you down.  You can feel it; it's almost there.

Suddenly the door gives, and you can see the sun shining through on the other side.  You cry out in  relief and turn back to tell Dabi to come with you.  But as your eyes meet, fear fills every ounce of you.

He's still fighting them off, but there is a gaping bite wound on his right arm— rows of teeth marks embedded in his skin.  You feel like you're going to be sick. There is no coming back from this; there's no known cure.  At any point within the next twenty-four hours, he would be another one of the walking dead, no sense, no logic, and looking to consume others. This can't be happening, this can't be happening.  Your heart is sinking with every second that ticks by.

"What the fuck are you waiting for? Get out! Get out!"  Dabi screams at you as he embeds his knife in another zombie.

"No, no, I can't leave without you!  I-we can find something.  I'll find something, please! Come on, Dabi, I can't do this without you!"  You are sobbing now, hot tears streaming through the dirt and blood mixed on your face.  An ache in your heart starts to form.  You know you don't know how to help him, but you'll do anything to not leave him behind.

Dabi lets out a grin despite the feral dead people closing in on him.  And gives you a wink before saying in a voice that seems too calm for the situation, "Come on, doll, you are the most intelligent person I know.  You have to go.  Live for us, babe.  Look at how far we've come.  Go show this world that it won't ever break you down. I love you, and I'll come to find you wherever you are in the afterlife and annoy the shit out of you.  Now go!"

It's like your heart is being ripped into a thousand pieces. Your breath comes out in short huffs, moving towards hyperventilating.  You want to go back to Dabi and cling on for dear life, but you won't let him die in vain.  Not after that speech.  That would be an insult to everything the two of you have overcome.  So with all your strength, you give your lover, the man who has come so far with you, the last look before letting out a final "I love you too" and burst out the door.

You don't look back, aching feet propelling you forward as tears continue to stream and fall off your face.  When you first met Dabi, you would have never thought you'd miss him.  But you will , you'll miss every snarky comment, every flirty glance, and the tender way only he has loved you.  The man that you were sure was just some asshole trying to get laid became the love of your life and sacrificed himself so you could live.  And you could never let that go to waste.

[avengersassemble-fics]

Stark Legacy

part 01/?? "the only person"

master list

word count 4.3k

an: :3 welcome to a new fic bc idk how to control myself

WARNING: this part does depict alcohol usage, and mentions of other substances a character uses to cope (though nothing is explicitly mentioned).

“An unemployment and housing crisis skyrockets to higher levels as people still struggle to adjust and accommodate the population we had years ago. Streets are littered with people seeking hope-”

“According to world economists, the surge in loan denials is leading to an unprecedented end, leaving the experts scrambling for a way to get the economy back on track, also claiming that the Global Repatriation Council may be asking for too much-”

“Protests break out across Switzerland as support for the group known as the Flag Smashers rises, with the Global Repatriation Council denying any comment on the matter, as well as refusing to comment on the rumours that the newly titled Captain America is investigating the matter-”

“What can we expect from Stark Industries now that Tony Stark is no longer with us? Pepper Potts, while having led the company in a positive direction prior to the Blip, has had no new developments over the last six months. With these newfound challenges the world is facing we’re left to wonder.. Who is going to step up as the ingenious mind behind new innovation? Will the youngest Stark continue on in the steps of father and brother, or are we seeing the end of the Stark Legacy?”

Click.

Silence filled the blue colored cottage that was tucked away at the end of the street in Ransdorp. Though dim and lifeless inside the cottage, outside the sun shined while birds chirped away happily and the sound of children playing echoed through the air. But inside the cottage, all alone, someone stood and tossed a television remote back onto the couch that was once occupied. They shed the blanket that had been wrapped around their shoulders all night while listening to all the different news reports, and entering a small bedroom and dressed in the dark. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and after shuffling through the cottage to grab a few things, the back doors were pushed and locked open, and a breeze blew through the house.

You squinted as you put a sun hat on and oversized sunglasses, overlooking the green oasis you had worked on every day for the last six months. Pushing away the thoughts of what the news had been saying, you stepped down onto the wooden patio that lined the back door and carried a hefty packed bag with you to the garden you had planted. You set the bag down and kneeled into the soft grass, and got to work on picking on fresh vegetables to use for your dinner later. Lucky for you, the soil was perfect here.

So… How have the last six months been for you?

Well the garden was a distraction your neighbor had suggested after finally catching you one day while throwing out a bag full of alcohol bottles you had consumed. You could see her take a second glance over your disheveled appearance, but she ignored it for the most part (which thankfully she did, you were a little sick of people telling you how to feel at the time). Naturally, instead of working through your problems, you distracted yourself from them.

But in all honesty… It’s been hard. Maybe it was selfish of you to think so, but you felt like you had been dealt one of the shittiest hands from the universe. The pressure from the world after… After Tony’s death was suffocating. As more paparazzi followed you around, the worse that anxiety had gotten. With that newfound attention, you had also been summoned by the United States government to attest for your time as a HYDRA agent. Lucky for you, in some way, they dropped any serious charges due to your restraint under the program, but sentenced you to weekly therapy sessions (since SHIELD had denied to disclose your mental capabilities). To your knowledge, Bucky Barnes had been offered a similar deal. The therapy lasted all of a month before you… Negotiated your way out of it, and returned to this safe place.

You drowned yourself in drinks and other activities after leaving New York, which in turn made your black-out episodes reappear, which had become evident as the photographed wall in your second bedroom started to be crossed out fast. You couldn’t help but twitch at the thought, and steered clear of that subject. But as of five months ago, you were all but cut off from all things Avengers.

Everyone had gone their own separate ways for the most part. Wanda was off the radar, Sam had gone and gotten a contract with the Air Force, Clint got his family back, Rhodey was some top notch Air Force guy (you didn’t really know what he was up to nowadays), Thor was gone offworld, Scott was making up for lost time with his family, and Bucky… Well, you didn’t know much about that situation either. Sam had tried to reach out after everything, but in one of your drunken states you threw your phone in the Weersloot river. You didn’t need a reminder of that day, or those few weeks even.

You never played the message Happy had given you from Tony. You never had the courage to do so, and you had it tucked away in your room safe and sound. Honestly? You were starting to think you never would be ready to hear what Tony had to say to you before he died. You just couldn’t bear to hear it, never would… Because if he even mentioned someone’s name you didn’t know how you would react.

When you started to think about Steve, you picked up a drink to take your mind off it. You had yet to come to terms with him leaving, because it still hurt like the day it happened.

Losing Tony was the worst thing that could’ve happened in your eyes. He was your family, though Pepper and Morgan had become your family too, Tony was the last piece of your family you could hold onto. The last shred to the past you fought so hard to remember and cherish, and now him and that part of you was gone. He was your everything. He always would be.

But Steve? Losing Steve wasn’t something you had ever even considered. While Tony was your soul, Steve was your heart. Despite everything you two had been through, the feelings hurt and the years it took to make it back together, Steve always had your heart. He was the man you wanted to fall asleep with and wake up to. He was the man you talked about growing old with, what life would be like if he gave up the Captain America mantle, he was supposed to be your future...

And then he stayed in the past, and left you here confused. Hurt. Alone.

You lost the two people you had left in the world. Your heart and your soul. And it was the most devastating blow you had ever felt… Everyday you wondered how someone comes back from something like that, if it was even possible.

Your thoughts were interrupted when a hefty softball landed in a thud in your garden and smushed one of your little tomatoes. You blinked at the sight before grabbing the ball and looking up to see the familiar short boy next door pulling himself up on the fence that separated your yard from his, and you grabbed a rag from your bag and wiped the softball off.

“Je vernielt in zijn eentje mijn tuin, weet je,” (You’re single-handedly ruining my garden, you know) you said to the boy and looked up at him through your sunglasses.

“Vergeef mij,” (Forgive me) he said and rested his head on his hands to watch you finish wiping his ball off. “Mijn vader wilde niet met mij spelen” (My dad wouldn’t play with me).

You stopped wiping for a moment and could see the sad look in the kids face. You smiled softly and stood, making your way over to the fence and handing him his ball back, though his expression didn’t change.

“Vraag het me de volgende keer dat je wilt spelen, oké?” (Next time you want to play, come ask me, okay?) You told him, and the smile reappeared on his face and he gave you a nod. You ruffled his hair as he jumped back off the fence and played once again. You went back to your bag, now full with vegetables, and picked it up to head back inside. You had a sweet pasta recipe to try tonight, and you think what you selected should work great-

You stopped in your tracks right before the back door. You lowered your sunglasses and lowered your gaze to the ground as you tried to focus on the sound in the air, the shift in the environment. You may have been slightly hungover but the presence was not hard to miss. You straightened your stance and gripped your sunglasses in your fist.

“Sam?” You called out. At first there wasn’t any rustling, but after a few moments you heard your back gate unlock and creak open, and that’s when you could hear the extra set of footsteps. You slowly turned around to face who had finally tracked you down, and were met with Sam Wilson… And Bucky Barnes in tow.

“What are you doing here?” You more so asked Sam. The pair glanced at one another and Bucky nodded his head at his partner in crime (God, you could just tell they were up to something) and Sam shoved his hands into the jacket he had been wearing.

“We came to see you, check in on how you’re doing,” Sam said. You chuckled a bit, and shook your head.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” you called him out. “What are you really doing here?”

“We need your help,” Bucky said. You bit your tongue and looked them over, maybe just a little curious as to what was going on. Just a little. “We stumbled onto something that I think you may have some information on.”

You hummed to yourself for a moment, thinking it over. Truthfully, the last thing you needed was whatever this was. So you shook your head and shrugged your shoulders. “I’m afraid I can’t help, but thanks for thinking of me.”

You turned your back on them and stepped up a couple steps into your house, and was all but ready to close the door to the world and close yourself off from Sam and Bucky, but Bucky took a step forward.

“There’s more super soldiers out there,” Bucky said in a serious tone. You stopped in your tracks, gripping onto your door for a few moments before looking back out to the pair. Bucky was watching you intently, in a stare you had only seen on him once before (which you didn’t want to recount at the moment). There was movement near the fence, and your eyes darted there to see the neighbor boy peeping his head over to see what was going on. When his gaze met yours, and you gave him “the look” he disappeared just as quickly as he appeared, and you looked back at the pair standing in your yard and against all better judgement, motioned your head behind you. Understanding your cue, Sam led the way inside, and you shut the door quickly behind Bucky.

You moved around the burly super soldier and brushed past Sam to set your bag of veggies in your kitchen. You had to take a moment to compose yourself before facing the duo who had been watching you intently. “Okay.. Go on. What do you mean there’s more super soldiers?”

Sam grabbed something from his pocket, a phone it looked like, and pulled something up before handing you the device. You hesitantly took it and looked down at the phone, where a video began playing of the recent Gasel Bank heist. You watched as someone got beaten to the ground, but what was astonishing was the sheer strength the masked person showed. Captivated, you carried the device into the living room and plopped down into the cushions of your sofa and watched more footage, this time up close from what you could guess were Dumb and Dumber who moved to hover over you.

“We were hoping you might know something,” Sam said. You handed his phone back to him which he graciously accepted, and you tapped your fingers together in thought before looking over at Bucky.

“What makes you think I know anything?” You asked. Bucky seemed to huff in annoyance at your questioning him, in all honesty you just wanted to hear him say it.

“You and I both know what went into the replication of that serum, your program especially,” Bucky said. You felt a lump form at the back of your throat and you casted your eyes downward. “You were still there after me… Did they perfect Stark’s serum?”

You looked back up at his question, and you held his gaze for a moment. You couldn’t believe this was how your day was turning, and you were pissed that he of all people were bringing up your past, like you volunteered for any of that shit.  You lightly bounced your leg as you fought to remember what you had known.

“HYDRA had been unsuccessful in using my father’s formula of the serum again, even after you managed to escape their hold,” you started. You swallowed the lump in the back of your throat and leaned back into the couch, averting your gaze from Bucky to the floor as you searched your memory. “They brought in a scientist, but it wasn’t my op, and it was on a need to know basis. The only reason we knew they started the research again was they started taking people from the Phantom program to test the serum on.”

“Phantom program?” Sam asked.

“That’s what they called us,” you mumbled. “All of us were deemed dead so… It was only fitting.”

“Did the scientist perfect the serum?” Bucky asked. You shrugged your shoulders and met his look again.

“Didn’t think so,” you answered honestly. “So if there’s serum still out there, he has to be your guy. Though I can say I didn’t see any kind of sign of that activity when working with SHIELD.”

“But it’s a start,” Sam nodded and Bucky looked his way. The two started sharing odd glances, and you watched in confusion. Sam suddenly looked your way and motioned around. “Think you could spare some time and do this mission with us?”

“Sam-” Bucky began to say as a warning, but you chuckled a bit which made him stop.

“I don’t do this anymore,” you told them as you motioned between them.

“Come on (Y/N),” Sam tried to reason as you stood up and walked your way back into the kitchen and opened up a cabinet in search of tonight’s bottle of wine to go with dinner. “I get that you’re going through it, I really do, but-”

Just as you managed to select the perfect medium-bodied red wine, Sam had come up beside you and took the bottle out of your hand. “This isn’t going to help you.”

“Yeah Sam and what is?” You asked while crossing your arms. “Because right now the only thing that would help me out is to see my brother again but guess what! It’s not going to fucking happen! It’s just me, here, and all by myself. All by myself…”

Your words trailed off as a heaviness grew in your chest. The atmosphere in the room was a lot more stuffy, and you would rather curl up and disappear then let Sam (and Bucky) see you cry. But here you fucking were, with Sam seeing the tears build up in your eyes and the look he gave you, you wanted to be mad but the only thing that you could seem to feel was just sad. You blinked back the feeling and took a glance back at Bucky, who stood in your living room and averted his gaze. You looked back at Sam, and put on the best front you could.

“You’re welcome to stay for the night, someone can take the bed in my room and someone can take the couch, but tomorrow? We go our separate ways again,” you said in a low tone. Sam’s look at you was… Disappointment. Before the sentiment could settle on your already guilty conscience you turned around and grabbed your keys and a peacoat and stopped at the front door. “Help yourselves to whatever you need.”

With that, you pulled the door open and just as swiftly shut behind you. The cottage walls shook for a moment before settling to a silence inside. Sam looked down at the bottle in his hand and set it back onto the counter before looking Bucky’s way, who still looked annoyed.

“What?” Bucky defensively asked when he noticed Sam’s stare. Sam shook his head at him and pushed the wine bottle to the back of the counter.

“You pushed that too hard,” Sam said, to which Bucky scoffed.

“Me? You’re the one who asked her to join us which, by the way, where did that come from?” Bucky questioned as Sam came back to the living room and sat down on the couch. Sam leaned forward with his arms on his legs and rubbed his hands together.

“Take a look around Robo-cop,” Sam emphasized and Bucky let out an annoyed sigh. “You’re seeing what I’m seeing, right?”

Bucky looked around at your surroundings. He wouldn’t peg it as chaotic, but he also couldn’t pin it as put together. There were personal touches here and there, but it didn’t feel like you belonged here. Bucky wasn’t blind to what was going on here, but he also didn’t see how that pertained to what Sam was suggesting.

“Sam, we came for some information, we got it, so why don’t you tell me what you’re trying to say,” Bucky replied. Sam rolled his eyes and leaned back into the cushions.

“We let her come here, by herself, even knowing how devastated she was after Tony died,” Sam explained. Bucky’s eyes darted to the floor at the memory of him following you out to that shed the day of Tony’s funeral, and the empty expression your eyes held. “Hell, we don’t even know how she felt about Steve. We should’ve been here for this. And that makes us shitty friends.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say we’re friends-”

“Oh I’m sorry, who's the one that said she owed you a favor?” Sam asked and Bucky shrugged his shoulders.

“I did, but that doesn’t mean-”

“Nah ah,” Sam cut him off and Bucky rolled his eyes. “If you two owe one another favors, then your friends.”

“That’s sound logic, Sam,” Bucky sarcastically said.

You tossed your glass bottle of whatever the hell it was you drank earlier into a trash can on your way back home. You pulled your keys out of your jacket pocket and jingled them around until you found your house key and hipped quietly. Your cottage was just in view and all the lights were out. You grumbled to yourself as you neared, forced to remember what had happened earlier in the day (and boy did you work hard to forget that Sam and bucky were at your lace haha). You stumbled up the two steps to your door and used the wall to steady yourself, before quietly shoving your key into the door and pushed the door open.

It took a second to adjust to the environment, but the whole cottage was pitch black, besides whatever light from the moon managed to filter in. You carefully walked around the couch and glanced down at who occupied it, and when you saw Sam peacefully asleep you then looked at the door to your room and shuddered at the fact Bucky must’ve taken residence in there. You huffed a bit, and pulled a spare blanket out of a basket and moved to the back door. When you finally got outside and shut the door to not disturb your guest you tossed your blanket onto the patio sofa you had and kicked your shoes off.

After shedding yourself of your peacoat and plopping down on the hard cushions, you inwardly cursed the two men inside. You were doing just fine before their arrival, you had a schedule of self loathing and drinking then sleeping that they were interrupting. You just weren’t looking forward to the repercussions of tonight’s sleep. You laid back across the sofa and looked up at the sky, though nothing was there anymore. Or at least there wasn’t anything you could see.

Let’s be honest here. The reason you had turned to drinking was because of the fuzzy feeling you got after awhile. Your mind got to drift to something else besides the memories of your past, like… what to drink next, or in this case, is that a star or an airplane? It made the moment more simple, it made you forget who you were until you woke up again. That didn’t mean you didn’t resent yourself for your actions, but you just added that to the list of reasons why your endgame was the best resolution. You just weren’t ready to tell anyone what that endgame was.

Your gate creaked and you tilted your head to look in that direction. You could barely make out the figure as they neared, Bucky’s face became more clear. You looked back up to the sky and shook your head a bit to yourself. Bucky came to a stop close to you, and sighed a bit.

“You should go inside,” He said quietly.

“You should just leave me alone,” you quipped back to him. Though you couldn’t see it, Bucky rolled his eyes at your drunken response. You suddenly felt a lot more sober, and you turned your head to face him. “You had no right, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked and you huffed.

“You had no right to bring up the Phantom program. I didn’t tell anyone about that, not even Tony,” you admitted to him. Bucky bit his tongue and looked up at the sky for a moment to collect himself. “I didn’t want anyone to go digging into the extent of that.”

“I didn’t know,” Bucky admitted. You blinked at him as he caught your gaze again. “Look… I’m sorry.”

You fell silent before letting out a small sigh and adjusting yourself to be a little more comfortable, your head finally starting to feel dizzy again. But Bucky wasn’t ready to settle this, he shifted his weight and turned to face you.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Bucky asked. Your eyes fluttered back open and you looked over at him. He had taken a step closer, and hovered over you, and you raised a brow.

“What are you talking about?” You asked him this time.

“The drinking,” Bucky pointed out. You huffed and turned your head in the opposite direction into the cushions, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “It’s not going to help you know.”

“Yeah and how would you know?” You asked and looked back at him. Bucky leaned down to get in your face, and you tried to move back from him.

“Because I’m probably the only person who really knows what’s going on in your head.”

You bit your tongue, and Bucky backed off. In a bit of a daze, you plopped back down onto the cushions and pulled the blanket you brought out up to your chin. Bucky rolled his eyes at you shutting him down, and he moved to the door to go inside. The sooner the morning came and Sam and he could leave, the better for him.

“I never blamed you, you know,” you said in a light voice. Bucky stopped in his tracks and looked over at you. Your eyes were closed, and you were breathing evenly. Bucky retracted his hand from the door knob and took a couple steps closer. He needed to hear that again.

“What did you say?” He asked. You stirred a bit, but didn’t answer him. Carefully, Bucky used his gloved hand to touch your shoulder, and give you a small shake. When you still didn’t say anything, Bucky sighed and looked between the door and you and cursed in his head.

Bucky carefully slid an arm under your shoulders, and then hooked his other under your legs. He hoisted you up into his arms and into his chest, and your head rolled into his arm. Bucky shook his head at it and carefully brought you back inside, and past the couch, and pushed your room door open with his foot. Bucky sat himself on the edge of your bed and balanced you in his lap with one arm, and pulled your blankets open with a free hand. When he finally got you into your own bed, he took the blanket you had outside from you and tossed it onto his shoulder, and pulled the blankets on the bed onto you. Bucky stood from your bed, and before leaving the room he took a final glance at you as you stirred just slightly.

Bucky closed your door, and walked back towards the couch and settled himself onto the floor. As his back met the floor, he couldn’t help but wonder if you meant what you said, about not blaming him for what happened. One thing he did know was he meant what he said. Bucky stared at the door to the second room in the house, and he shook his head.

If there was one person he truly wanted to make amends with, it was you. After all, you were on his list of names.

- - - - - - - - - -

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