#feeling it spread outwards from your chest is the best feeling

[hxlcyon]

the high of making the people i cherish happy but also concernedly confused

[transform4u]

I woke up this morning and found out Id been hacked, and the hacker had sent my nerdy best friend a file named “americanalphajockbro.mp3” but I have no idea what it is. I tried messaging him to tell him not to listen to it, but he’s not responding at all. I hope he’s okay, Id heard some strange virus is going around…

As you open the “americanalphajockbro.mp3” file, the initial silence stretches, an eerie quietness that seems almost too perfect. Then, out of the nothingness, a faint buzzing begins to permeate the stillness. The sound starts as a low, persistent hum, like an electric current struggling to stabilize. It has a metallic edge, a synthetic quality that seems to vibrate through the very air.

Gradually, the buzzing evolves into a more aggressive noise, filled with discordant grunts and the harsh clashing of metal. The grunts grow more pronounced, each one carrying a weight of effort and strain. The metal crashes with a forceful clanging, resonating like a rhythmic hammer pounding on a forge. These sounds start to take on a rhythmic pattern, as if forming a chaotic symphony of power and exertion.

Your head begins to feel a fogginess creeping in, a mental haze that obscures clarity. Thoughts become sluggish, like trying to wade through thick, heavy fog. It’s as though your mind is being weighed down by the intensity of the noises, struggling to keep up with the rapidly increasing din.

The grunts, now louder and more insistent, echo within your consciousness. Each grunt feels like a reverberation through your very being, growing in intensity until they seem to invade every corner of your thoughts. The metal clashes turn into a cacophony of discordant clangs, overwhelming your senses and making it difficult to discern any other sound.

Amidst the growing chaos, a country song begins to hum softly in the background, an incongruous yet persistent melody that seems to contrast with the tumultuous noises. The twang of the guitar and the mellow tones of the vocals create a strange juxtaposition against the harsh clashing and grunting, adding a layer of surreal calmness to the sensory overload.

As this soundscape continues, a heat starts to radiate from within your body, an intense warmth that spreads outward. The heat seems to emanate from deep inside, radiating over you with a force that feels almost tangible. It courses through your veins, a vivid, encompassing heat that contrasts starkly with the foggy confusion of your mind.

The heat seems to transform your weak, nerdy frame, melting away the previous state of vulnerability. You start to envision a powerful, muscular form emerging from the haze. Your body morphs into a formidable ensemble of muscle and sinew. The V-shaped torso, broad and well-defined shoulders, and meticulously developed muscles become apparent. Each muscle group is a testament to rigorous training—chiseled chest, bulging biceps and triceps, and abs carved into a six-pack of relentless effort.

The veins running along your newly formidable arms and legs are visible networks of strength, evidence of intense commitment to physical fitness. Your posture is now relaxed yet exudes confidence, each movement fluid and deliberate, reflecting an effortless grace born from intense training.

Your face transforms as well. The strong jawline, rugged charm, high cheekbones, and tanned skin speak of both determination and an active lifestyle. Your eyes, now sharp and twinkling with charisma, are set beneath well-defined brows. The smile that emerges is wide and inviting, revealing meticulously maintained teeth.

The once weak and nerdy body has become a powerful, charismatic all-American jock bro—a figure of physical prowess and approachable charm.

As the buzzing in your mind intensifies, it feels like a wildfire racing through a dry forest, consuming every memory in its path. The flames of change lick away at the remnants of your past, turning them to ash and scattering them into the wind. The once-vivid recollections of late-night Dungeons & Dragons campaigns with friends, the thrill of staying up to catch the latest Doctor Who episode or Spider-Man movie, and the satisfaction of acing every math quiz—these are now nothing more than fading echoes in the wake of the blaze. They're fucking lame as shit.

Those cherished pastimes, once a vibrant part of your identity, now feel distant and trivial, like old, tattered pages in a forgotten book. In their place, a new fervor takes root. Your mind floods with the adrenaline of football games, the satisfaction of rigorous workouts, the robust flavor of protein shakes, and the thrill of flirting with girls. Conversations revolve around gains and flexing muscles, and the smell of BBQ fills the air.

This patriotic passion grows within you, a swelling wave of fervor that crashes against every corner of your psyche. The colors of red, white, and blue seem to paint your thoughts, and the anthem of America plays on a loop in your mind. The very essence of American pride becomes a driving force, a relentless and invigorating surge that propels you forward.

Simultaneously, your appearance begins to transform to match this new identity. Your clothes morph seamlessly into the quintessential American bro attire: a snug, muscle-hugging tank top that highlights your sculpted physique, shorts that showcase powerful legs, and a cap worn backward for that classic casual look. The emblem of a of the Patriots adorns your shirt, and a pair of well-worn sneakers completes the ensemble. Every article of clothing seems to echo your newfound vigor and pride, reflecting the powerful, confident American jock that you’ve become.

Your entire being now resonates with an energetic and unapologetic American spirit, a blend of muscular strength, athletic prowess, and patriotic zeal.

You feel a surge of energy as you receive the text from your bro about hitting the gym and then heading to the bars to pick up chicks. Your old gay thoughts, which used to fill your mind with doubt and uncertainty, disappear in an instant, replaced by a burning desire for muscle growth and American pride.

As you enter the gym, you notice how much stronger and more confident you feel compared to when you first started lifting weights. The sound of grunts and clanging weights fills your ears as bros surround you - their gazes lingering on your impressive physique before returning back to their workouts. You grab a barbell loaded with plates and begin warming up by doing some squats and deadlifts; each movement challenging yet manageable under the weight of this newfound masculinity coursing through your veins.

After an hour-long session at the gym where sweat mixes with dirt from yesterday's football game, it's time for some well-deserved rest before hitting up downtown where all the action is happening tonight! You hop into your truck decked out with American flags stickers - ready not only for another round at lifting but also primed for picking up chicks who appreciate real men like yourself.

You stroll confidently into the bar, taking in the sights and sounds around you. The smell of beer and sweat fills your nostrils as bros jostle for position at the bar counter. Your eyes land on a bimbo chick with huge tits who catches your attention immediately - she's exactly what you're looking for tonight!

"Dude, check out that chick over there," you say to your bro while pointing her out. "She has a pair of cans on her that could launch an aircraft carrier!" You both burst into laughter at how crude yet accurate your observation is.

As she walks past, making sure to sway those hips just right so they catch every man's gaze, she glances over at you and smiles coyly before returning her focus back to her friends sitting nearby. "I bet she wants me bad," you think to yourself as lust fills every pore in your body like an adrenaline rush.

Without hesitation or any concern for respecting women (because let's face it - these types don't deserve it), you move towards your target while casually catcalling from behind: "Hey baby! Wanna ride the Rodester?

The bimbo chick laughs dumbly at your crude joke, clearly not understanding the double entendre but enjoying the attention nonetheless. She then approaches you and starts feeling up your muscles, complimenting how strong they are while simultaneously calling you an idiot for making such a lame pick-up line.

Ignoring her insults, you grab her ass and pull her in for a kiss - taking control of the situation as any true alpha male would do. Her lips are soft against yours as she moans into the kiss, encouraging more aggressive advances from you both on this bar stool that's becoming increasingly uncomfortable under all this heat generated by two bodies colliding together so passionately.

Your bro orders another round of drinks; while you firmly place your around one of those massive melons hanging off this girl's chest as if you owned them.

As you continue making out with the bimbo chick, your mind wanders to thoughts of how much fun it is to be a fucking American bro. You have big muscles, and you take what you want without giving a shit about anyone else's feelings or opinions. Getting drunk, fucking, and working out are your life - they define who you are as an individual in this world filled with weaklings and pussies who don't understand the true meaning of masculinity.

Drinking shot after shot helps fuel this fire burning inside you- pushing your boundaries further than ever before! You don't care about consequences or repercussions because you know deep down that being an American Bro means living life on your own terms without apology or regret for those left behind scrambling to catch up with you at every turn.

[samandcolbyownme]

Summary: Anon request on tumblr - "can you do a jake x poll dancer smut?"

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, pole dancer!y/n, cocky!y/n, mentions of working in a strip club, breaking club rules, semi public, sneaky, unprotected sex, hair pulling, biting, scratching, general filth

Word count: 2.9k | not edited really

Also, I fucking LOVE writing these ones because it makes me feel like I could totally be a stripper, so thank you to whoever sent this is to me.

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

"Ladies and gentlemen.." The DJ announces to grab everyone's attention, "Welcome to The Cave, where our number one priority is to make sure you have a good time, if not, then the best time!

A small smirk toys with your lips as you know your stage name is about to be announced.

"Please, without further ado, give it up for Sinderella."

Your song that you chose for openings tonight’s show, Bad Girlfriend by Theory of a Deadman, starts blasting through the speaking, mixing in with the cheers and whistles of the desperate men ready to try and get your attention.

You emerge from behind the curtain, a huge smile on your face as you walk over to the pole. You wrap one hand around it, walking around it as the song builds up.

Your eyes scan over the crowd surrounding the stage, one guy in particular catches your attention.

You give him a smirk as your eyes meet his and you lift yourself up, wrapping one leg around the pole as you lean back.

You slide down, squatting down as you move around to the beat of the song. You turn around, crawling over to the edge of the stage, stopping right in front of the guy that caught your attention.

Your eyes scan up his tattooed skin as you reach out, tangling your fingers into his hair and pulling slightly as the lyrics, “..she likes to pull my hair when I make her grind her teeth..” play loudly through the club.

He smirks and looks up at you, watching as you spin around and tilt your head back, looking at him upside down.

You bite your lip, spinning away from him, ass towards him as you crawl back to the pole. You stand up, lifting yourself up to spin around, doing a split in the air.

You smile as money gets tossed your way from everyone around the stage.

You move back down, crawling over to a random guy off to the side during the one bridge of the song. You get on your knees, hooking the straps of your red thong and pulling them outward as the song plays, “Red thong, party's on, love this song, sing along..”

You bite your lip as you spread your legs, bouncing up and down slightly as you give a little way to the guy during, “.. see you later back at home..”

You get up, walking back to the pole and dancing against it. Your eyes travel back to the guy with the dark hair and tattoos and you walk towards him, turning at the last second to go to the other side of the stage.

You glance back at him, smirking as you see him shake his head as he mouths, “Tease.”

You look away, tilting your head as you lock eyes with another guy, dragging your hands up your body, “..she's naughty to the end..”

You grip the edge of the stage, leaning forward so a guy can stuff a few ones in the strap of your very sheer bra.

“Thank you.” You smile and move down the stage on your hands and knees, flipping your hair, moving to shake your ass to the beat of the song.

You were having complete fun with it, until you went back to the guy.

You were assuming his friend was right next to him, so you lean out, grabbing the loose tie that was around his neck and pulling him into you as you lean back.

You push your chest out, flipping your hair as you let go of the tie. You move back, mouthing along to the lyrics as you slowly crawl towards the guy, “.. But does it make her wrong to have the time of her life?..”

You sit up straight, staring down at his hand reaching up to slip a twenty into the tiny strap of your thong.

Your eyes move up to his, “Thank you, baby.”

He nods, “Anything for my favorite dancer.” He winks, sending a kaleidoscope of butterflies through you.

You smile and move back to the pole to finish out the song. You spin, twirl, twist, and bend around it. As the song ends, the DJ comes back onto the mic, “Thank you, darlin’. Everyone give it up for Sinderella.”

You smile, bowing before going around to collect your money. You reach out, taking the loose ones from the hands of the men, giving them a cute smile as you thank them.

You walk back through the curtain, “Good luck, Sugar.” You smile at the next girl getting ready to go out and she scoffs, “Please. After that? I’ll need it. You were incredible, as always.”

You smile, “Thank you.” You hear the DJ announce her and you squeeze her shoulder, “You’re going to kill it.”

She disappears out onto the stage and you walk back to the dressing room to change into something different. You opt for a very skimpy all black one piece that just barely covers your nipples.

You switch your heels to Lacey black ones and fluff your hair one last time before making your way out to the floor.

Your head immediately turns towards the stage, but not to look at Sugar spinning around the pole.

You were looking for him.

“Sinderelly. Sinderelly.” One of your regulars comes up to you, taking your hand to spin you around so he can get a full view of you, “Got time for a private dance?”

He holds up three hundred dollar bills and you sigh, giving him a smile, “Of course I can.” You lead him back to the private rooms, pulling the curtain closed.

“Two songs like usual?” You turn around, walking around to lay your hand on his chest. He chuckles, “I wish, sweetheart. But I have an early flight tomorrow, so we’ll just make it one for tonight.”

“Where are you flying to?” You walk around to the front, slowly bending down as you sit on his lap.

“Barbados. Business, you know?” His eyes rake up and down your body, “Is this new?” He asks referring to your little outfit.

“Sure is.” You lean your back against his chest and move your hips against him.

You couldn’t help but think of how soft that guys hair was when you laced your fingers in it.

How his eyes followed you as you moved around on the stage.

The way he made your skin tingle when he brushed his fingers against your skin to tuck the money into the band of your panties.

You wanted him, needed him.

And you decided right then and there that you were going to be the ones to break the rules.

As the song ends, you stand up, turning around to face the gentleman in the chair, “I hope your trip goes well.”

He hands you the three hundred dollars and smiles, “I’ll definitely have to come back and tell you how it was.”

You nod, pointing to him after taking the money, “I’ll be holding you to it, honey.” You open the curtain, allowing him to walk out first, “Have a good night.”

He looks back at you as he walks towards the exit, “I will now.” He winks and you smile as he leaves.

You walk around the club, saying hi to other people you see in there all the time. As your leaned forward on the one table, your eyes lock onto the friend of the guy you can’t stop thinking about.

He smirks and nudges him, nodding towards you. He turns around, looking directly at you with a smile on his lips. You see him tell his friend that he’ll be right back, but you were going to make sure it wouldn’t be for a while.

“See you guys later.” You smile at the guys and walk around the table. You put one hand on your hip, smiling as he walks up to you, “Hey.”

“Hey.” He smirks and tilts his head, “So I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Likewise.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you nod. You can tell his wheels were turning about whether or not you were just saying that because it was your job, or if you actually meant it.

You lean in, “Interested in a private dance?”

“Oh boy, you bet I am.” He nods with a slight laugh and you smile as you take his hand into yours, “Follow me.”

You glance back at him as he gives his friend a thumbs up. You shake your head laughing as you lead him to the room all the way in the back, “So what’s your name, baby?”

He walks in, sitting down in the large velvety chair, “Jake.”

“Jake.” You repeat as you shut the curtain behind you, “It’s very nice to meet you.” You walk over, dragging your hand over his chest as you walk in a circle around him.

“What did you think of my turn on the stage, Jake?” You sit in his lap, facing him with your hands on his shoulders.

He rests his arms out on the arms of the chair, “You want my honest answer?”

You nod as you move your hips to the beat or the song, “Please.” You lean in, brushing your lips against his neck and you can feel him swallow hard, “I um..” he clears his throat, shifting around under you, “It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He tilts his head back, looking up at you as you lean up, “Yeah? Well thank you, I really put my all into those kind of shows.”

He smirks, “You definitely had my attention.”

“Oh I know I did.” You laugh slightly and sigh as you stand up, turning around to sit in his lap, “So tell me, Jake.” You lean back against his chest, “You have a girlfriend that doesn’t know you’re here? Or does? I don’t know if you’re into that kind of thing.”

He chuckles, rubbing his fingers together, “No, no. I am as single as a dollar bill, Sinderella.” He tilts his head, “How’d you come up with that name anyway?”

You stand up, turning around to face him. You lay your hands his knees and bend down, “I spell it Sin as in..” you look up at him, “S. I. N.”

His brow twitches, “Yeah?”

You nod, “And.. because I like to live like there’s no midnight..” You move back to straddling him, your boobs right in front of his face and his eyes are locked on them.

“That’s..” he takes a breath, “Creative.”

You’re not only teasing him at this point, you’re teasing yourself.

“You can touch me.” You whisper, “It’s okay.”

He’s hesitant at first, “I really don’t want to get out time cut short by getting thrown out of here.” He chuckles and you slide your hands up his mesh covered chest, “As long as we’re quiet.. there’s no need to be thrown out.”

He tilts his head, “You do this with all your guests that come back her with you?”

You shake your head as you slide your hands down his arms, “Nope. I’m a good girl. I always follow the rules. But..” you guide his hands to your hips and you lean in, “You’re the first person I want to break the rules for.”

“Fucking hell.” He groans lowly as you grind down onto his growing bulge. You drag your nails up his arm and lay a hand on the side of his neck, “What do you say Jake? Still can’t get me off your mind?”

He smirks, a chuckle following behind, “If we’re doing this, I should get to know your real name.”

“Do you want to do this?” You ask and he instantly nods his head, “Fuck, yeah.”

“Y/n.” You say with no hesitation, “Nice to meet you.” You smile and lean in to close the space between your lips and his.

His hands slide down, gripping your ass, moving you to give him some sort of friction. A low groan leaves his lips as you bite down on his bottom lip and tilt your head back.

He kisses back your jaw and down to your neck, “You are so fucking sexy.”

You smile as you close your eyes, biting your lip to hold back your moans as he sucks on your neck, “No marks, Jake.” You lean back and he smirks, “Right. Sorry. Forgot that we’re a secret.”

You slide your hands down his chest, undoing the belt on his jeans so you can undo them and push his zipper down.

You lift up slightly so you can reach in, pulling him from his boxers, “You’re so big.” You bite your lip as you stroke him a few times.

He smirks and licks his lips, “Thanks. I’m pretty confident in it.” He chuckles but stops as soon as you rub the tip against your already slick folds.

You spit onto the tip of your fingers, reaching down to coat the tip of his cock with it, “You should be.” You smile and bite down on your lip hard as you slowly start to sink down onto him.

His fingers dig into your skin, tilting his head back as you grip the chair behind him, “Fuck, Jake.” You lean in, whimpering as you roll your hips, “needed you so bad.”

He turns his head, kissing the corner of your mouth, “So fucking wet.”

You turn your head, crashing your lips onto his as you slide a hand to lay on the back of his head, fingers lacing into his soft, dark hair.

You clench around him, already wanting to cum for him.

His hands guide you up and down on his cock, groaning lowly and fighting to stay as quiet as he can.

“My shift ends in two hours.” You breathe out, “Give me a ride home?”

Jake nods quickly, “As long as you promise to ride me just like this when we get there.”

“Deal.” You moan out quietly, “Fuck.” You bury your face into his neck, whimpering as you clench around him, “Cum for me, y/n.”

Jake using your real name sends you over the edge. Your nails dig into the couch as your other hand pulls his hair.

You clench your jaw and you rock against his cock, guiding yourself through the high or your orgasm. You kiss up his neck to his lips.

Your lips move in sync as he slowly and subtle as possible, thrusts his hips upward, “Never made a girl cum that fast before.”

You giggle slightly, “Now ya have.”

He tilts his head back before sliding a hand up to move the tiny straps covering your nipples. He looks down, eyes scanning over your boobs before staring down at his cock going in and out of you in the red light of the room.

“Fuck, I’m so fucking close.” He looks up at you, “Where do you want me?”

“I’ll swallow.” You whisper, “Just tell me when.”

He nods, pulling you back into kiss him. He thrusts a few more times before he nods, “Okay. Okay now.” You quickly get up, dropping to your knees in between his and placing your lips around his cock.

He lays a hand on the back of your head as you bob, working him up to cum. You feel if shoot into your throat and you wait til he done to lean back.

You look up at him, licking your lips as you wipe the corner of your mouth with your wrist.

“You’re such a bad girl.” He boops your nose and you shrug, “Only for the right kind of person.” You slide your hands up his thighs before standing up.

He fixes himself and rests his head back, staring up at you as you fix your outfit, “You say two hours?”

You nod, “Yep. Midnight.”

“I guess I can force Johnnie to stay here another two hours.” He laughs and you tilt your head, “That your friend?”

He nods, “Yeah, he didn’t want to come, but I told him it would be worth it. I guess I was right on that part for me anyway.”

“I’ll tell one of the girls to treat him good.” You smirk and Jake nods, “He will hate that.”

“Oh, do you no-“

He cuts you off, “No, no. Do it.” He laughs and moves to the edge of the chair, reaching out to pull you to him. His hands slide up and down your thighs as yours rest on his shoulders.

“I’m going to enjoy these next two hours.”

You look down at him, “Why’s that?”

“After what I just got.. it’s a big fuck you to all the assholes who know they can’t to touch you.” He smiles and stands up, giving you one last kiss before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a hundred dollar bill, “To cover our tracks, you know.”

“Of course. Of course.” You smile as he slips it into the thin strap. You look up at him and step back, “See you out there.”

“See you out there.” He winks before leaving the room and you stand there, silently composing yourself before you walk back out to the floor.

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

Thank you so much for reading!

Love you all! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[cyberteez]

watermelon in the rain - p.seonghwa

pairing ⋆ p.seonghwa x f.reader

rating ⋆ m. 18+

genre ⋆ fluff, smut

wc ⋆ 1.6k

summary ⋆ your picnic date with seonghwa is washed out by rain, but that doesn't stop him from making the best of it.

warnings ⋆ explicit smut, sub!reader, softdom!seonghwa, praise, fingering, oral(reader receiving), hwa eats watermelon off of reader, reader is sticky, not entirely proofread

the fun picnic the two of you had planned had been rained out by an unexpected downpour of rain that showed no signs of stopping for the rest of the day. you sat on the counter, swinging your legs as you pouted from the rain. while the rain would normally be welcomed, it ruined your planned fun. a whole spread of snacks and other foods had been prepared and you were proud of it. seonghwa took notice of your sour mood and came to stand in between your legs, wrapping his arms tightly around your torso. you frowned into his shoulder but hugged him back.

“we can always have a picnic in here,” he suggests, kissing the side of your head.

you lean back and stare at him blankly, replying, “and how would we do that?”

“go get dressed in that cute outfit you were planning on wearing and I’ll get it set up.”

the smile that fills his face makes your heart warm and you nod, hopping down from the counter to make your way to the bedroom. in the minutes that you’re getting ready—and you’re moving slower than usually to give him time— you think about how he could turn the living room into a picnic. you can hear objects moving around the room which piques your curiosity, and as you finish getting ready, you sit on the bed, waiting for him. he joins you a few minutes later, peeking in the bedroom to see you scrolling on your phone. when you look up, he’s snuck in and began getting changed into baby blue shorts and a pale pink button up to match his hair. he motions you to follow and you comply, unable to see past his tall frame as you walk into the living room.

what you see before takes your breath away. the furniture is pushed against the walls, and in the place of the coffee table is a picnic blanket with the food you had prepared laid out and looking pretty. candles lit the dim room and surrounded the area, and you wondered how the fuck he managed to whip this out so fast. you swear your heart stopped beating for a few moments and all you could feel was a warmth spreading from your tummy to your outer extremities. however, when you turned to look at seonghwa a look of surprise crossed your face. he stood there awkwardly and apprehensive, unsure how you felt about it.

“I know it’s nothing compared to the one we had planned today, but I thought it’d be nice.” he’s nervously playing with the sleeves of his shirt, pushing them back and fiddling with the ends.

the words leave your mouth faster than you think them as you exclaim, “this is so much better than what I had planned...”

eyes becoming all squinty from smiling so widely, he gently grabs your hand and leads you to the blanket.

“come on, baby, let’s eat.”

your heart is pounding in your chest as he pulls you into his lap on the floor and you’re sure he can feel your heat. he knows how it affects you but does it anyway, enjoying the way you blush and become shy at his outward affection.

~

most of the food was gone by this point save for the bowl of watermelon. empty plates are strewn across the blanket but you don’t mind as you’re leaning comfortably against his shoulder with your legs spread out in front of you. he mindlessly plays with the hem of your shirt and talks nonsense about a game he was playing with the members the other day. you’re nodding along to his story, eyes closed when he stops talking.

“you’re falling asleep, aren’t you?”

“no,” you mumble your reply.

“sure..." he huffs, "I can think of something that’ll wake you up.”

you roll your eyes and sit up, testing the waters. “oh yea? what’re you gonna do?”

the next thing you know your back is on the ground and he’s got you in a kiss that practically causes your pants to fly off. it’s rough and sloppy, his hands harshly cup the side of you face and his crotch presses between your thighs. you kiss back with the same intensity, hands flying to his hair and tugging at his roots, causing him to moan deliciously into your mouth. you’re trying to not let him get the upper hand but you’re no match as he has much more energy than you. he tastes like the food you’ve been eating, though you don’t mind. you’re tapping his shoulder to breathe and his lips work their way down the column of your throat, nipping and sucking harshly, giving you the opportunity to breathe but you’re still struggling from the sensation of his lips. any tiredness in your body has been replaced with heat and surprise, effectively waking you up. just as soon as he’s pounced on you, he’s pulling back to kneel above you, a cheeky smile lining his lips.

“told you I could wake you up.”

mouth agape, your leg comes to kick him in the side. he’s giggling and sitting back more, moving plates out of the way before he yanks your hips towards him.

“I’m thinking about dessert, how about you?” your eyes widen at his words and audibly swallow.

“I’m down for whatever,” you reply, eyes shaking slightly as his hands come up to push your shirt back.

soft, open mouth kisses are pressed against your stomach, occasional nips and sucks following. you watch him propped on your elbows, eyes becoming hazy as he continues to push your shirt up, exposing your chest. he nips at the exposed skin of your breast, humming a kiss along your collarbone. breath shaky, one hand comes up to stroke him head, pushing his long hair out of his eyes. seonghwa smiles up at you before leaning back to rest on his feet. you watch as he brings the watermelon closer to the both of you, the cool ceramic grazing your side. he picks one up and placed it between his lips, leaning back down to capture yours in a soft kiss. you smile into the kiss, accepting the watermelon and the sweet taste lingering on his lips. he does this a few more times, hands roaming your body. when his teeth toy at your bottom lip, your back arches slightly in a moan and he does it again. a mock gasp leaves your throat as you playfully hit him but it wavers when you feel his hands come to cup your breasts.

“so pretty,” he murmurs as his hands travel down your body once more.

they settle at your hips, squeezing them gently. it’s silent for a few moments as he just sits playing with the band of your pants. the silence breaks when you feel a tug at them, questioning eyes meeting your own. you nod and lift your hips, allowing him to slide your pants off. he sighs when he sees your thighs, running his palms up and down them, also giving them some squeezes.

“you know how much I love these?”

he asks it to no one in particular, but it leaves you a mess of butterflies. he plucks another cube of watermelon from the bowl and sets it on your stomach, watching how it moves up and down as you breathe. seonghwa leans forward again, warm breath fanning your stomach and presses an open mouthed kiss to the area, sucking the watermelon into his mouth. he licks the remaining juice on your stomach before placing more cubes on your thighs. you almost squirm but don’t want the watermelon to fall and make a mess so you stay still, breathing erratic while he eats the fruit off your body. your legs clench together in order to provide some needed friction which only spurs him on. he presses more kisses to your thighs, prying them open and getting closer to your core. through your panties, his nose brushes against your clit which causes you to let out a soft whine, fists clenching when he places a wet kiss there.

“can I take these off, love?”

you let out an earnest yes, making him giggle a bit before shimmying them down your legs. his finger swipes up your folds, circling your clit. it’s not enough but it has you whining and trying to press against him for more. he complies and flattens him tongue against you, dragging it up slowly and sucking harshly. your back arches and you let out a shaky breath as he works you with his tongue and fingers. he always knows exactly what to push and where to press to get you making the prettiest noises, your vision going hazy for a few moments. he easily works you towards a leg shaking orgasm, thighs clenching around his ears while you let out mewls and cries. when he keeps going you cry out from the sensitivity but it’s relaxes by the overwhelming pleasure. his fingers bring you to another release before he’s finished, coming up to kiss you. you can taste yourself on his lips, but more importantly you can taste the watermelon he ate off you which almost has you begging for him to do it again.

lazy eyes stray from yours, soft complaints of stickiness falling from your lips. he nods and retrieves a damp towel, wiping away any juice residue and cleaning your inner thighs from your climax. he rests by your side after putting your clothes back on, mindlessly playing with the edge of your shirt once more as he tugs it down your chest. he resumes his tale of the game he played with the while you nod and laugh every so often at the debauchery.

[ahqkas]

As someone who can’t swim and never took the time to learn to swim, I would line to request on how mattheo would react to gf!reader WHO HE KNOWS CANT SWIM, get pressured into swimming. Maybe even getting pushed into some party or public pool. Like literally there are yells and chaotic screaming and Mattheo runs there seeing his gf almost drowning. Like it’s absolutely traumatic and hectic as he saves her.

-🎆 anon (I gotta learn how to swim girlie😭)

THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS ; mattheo riddle

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

YOU FIND YOURSELF AT A PARTY, SITTING AT THE EDGE OF A SWIMMING POOL WITH YOUR FEET DANGLING IN THE WATER. The coolness of the water is refreshing, but there's an underlying tension as you carefully avoid moving too far forward. You nurse a red plastic cup filled with lemonade, savoring the sweetness while trying to keep your mind off the deep end of the pool. Beside you, your best friend, Daphne Greengrass is animatedly chatting about her latest adventures, her laughter light and carefree as she talked with her hands moving around.

Daphne’s presence is comforting, her easy demeanor a stark contrast to your own cautiousness. She dips her toes into the water, creating gentle ripples that spread outwards. You nod along to her stories, occasionally interjecting with a comment or a laugh, but your eyes keep darting to the pool's depths, the shimmering blue reminding you of a silent challenge.

As the sun begins to set, the pool area becomes even livelier. People splash and dive, their joyful shrieks filling the air, making your heart race with a mix of envy and apprehension. Daphne notices your distraction and nudges you gently, offering a reassuring smile. "You know, it's perfectly fine just to enjoy the view from here," she says, her voice kind. You smile back, grateful for her understanding. She was one of the few people who knew about your absence of the swimming skill.

Your boyfriend, Mattheo Riddle, is engaged in conversation with his own group of friends on the other side of the pool. His laughter carries over to where you sit, a sound that always manages to bring a smile to your face. As if sensing your gaze, he looks up and your eyes meet. You offer him a wave of your hand and a warm smile, which he returns with a knowing nod.

Mattheo is well aware of your inability to swim, and you can see the subtle way he glances over at you every few minutes, ensuring you're safe and comfortable. It's not just his watchful eye that comforts you but also the unspoken promise that if you needed him, he'd be by your side in an instant.

You take a sip of your lemonade, the tartness grounding you in the moment as Daphne continues her animated storytelling. The setting sun casts a golden hue over everything, reflecting off the water and making the scene almost magical. Despite your apprehensions about the pool, you feel a sense of belonging and security.

Suddenly, you feel a force against your back and, before you can react, you’re falling into the pool. The shock of cold water engulfs you, your red cup tumbling alongside you and spilling its contents into the blue depths. The weightlessness of being submerged disorients you, and panic grips your chest as you flail, desperately trying to find your footing but finding only empty water.

Daphne’s alarmed cry is the last thing you hear before the world is muffled by the pool’s embrace. Your instincts kick in, but without the knowledge of how to swim, your movements are frantic and uncoordinated. The sounds of splashing and shouting above the surface seem distant and distorted, amplifying your sense of helplessness.

In the chaos, you feel yourself sinking, the pool’s depths pulling you down. Your lungs burn as you fight the urge to inhale, struggling against the primal fear of drowning. Every second stretches into an eternity, the clarity of your thoughts fading with each passing moment.

Just as the darkness begins to creep into your vision, you feel strong arms wrap around you, pulling you upwards with urgent, powerful strokes. In a blur, you’re lifted out of the water and into the air, gasping for breath as you break the surface. The cacophony of concerned voices surrounds you, but one voice stands out, grounding you in the moment.

“Easy, I’ve got you,” Mattheo’s voice reaches your ears, calm yet firm, as he holds you close to him, guiding you to the edge of the pool. The warmth of his body against yours contrasts sharply with the cold water, and you cling to him, trembling and disoriented.

Daphne and a few others help pull you out, and you collapse onto the poolside, coughing and sputtering as you try to regain your breath. Mattheo is beside you in an instant, his hands gently brushing the wet hair from your face, his eyes full of concern and relief as he holds your face in the palms of his hands.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice shaking slightly despite his attempt to remain composed. You nod weakly, still shivering from the shock and cold. He wraps a towel around you, pulling you into a protective embrace. The terror of the past moments begins to fade, replaced by the overwhelming comfort of being in his arms, knowing he’s there to keep you safe.

Mattheo’s touch never leaves you as he guides you to sit on a nearby bench. “Let’s get you warmed up,” he says, concern visible in the tone of his voice. You sit down and he immediately starts drying you off with the towel. The gentle friction helps chase away the lingering chills and you lean into his touch.

“I’m so sorry, love,” he murmurs, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “I should’ve been closer.”

“It’s not your fault,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “You saved me.”

The boy places a warm kiss to your forehead before he’s wrapping his arms around you, ready to accompany you. He’d always save you.

[thecoffeelovingfreak]

𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓

pairing: boothill x gn!ex-undertaker!reader

genre(s): western!au, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

word count: 14k

warnings: written before v2.2 & boothill's release, blood, injury, gun violence, swearing, alcohol consumption, implied/referrenced alcoholism, suicidal thoughts, graphic depictions of violence, death

notes: I've spent about the last month working on this a little bit each day, so I hope you enjoy this labor of love :). Feel free to tell me any warnings I might have missed! I also want to add that this is told in the past and present with flashback scenes in italics. Anyway, here are some flowers as a thank you for everyone who reads this! 💐 <3

Read it on ao3!

~~~

Dark clouds shrouded the sky as shots rang out across the valley. Dried mud fell from the edges of your boots in time with the gallops of your horse. Turning back, you aimed your revolver at one of the officers, red spread over his dirtied shirt not long after. A silver bullet grazed its way over the left side of your neck, leaving a stream of scarlet running down to stain your sharp white collar. The tarnished grey vest covering it blew open harshly in the breeze as you winded down the path into town.

Shouts echoed in the street as you leaned down, bringing the reins closer to your chest. Dainty yellow flowers reflecting the bit of sunlight breaking from the coming storm became trampled by hooves. Jumping the fence into a stranger’s backyard, you once again shot at another pursuant. He fell crudely from his ride, the horse startled and stopping before the same pickets.

With just one now on your tail, you jumped again, making a quick right down a small pathway and breaking out into the wide and dusty main street. Townsfolk jogged for cover in the shops, not unfamiliar with this song and dance, and carrying enough awareness to leave what could become an impromptu duel.

You spot a figure stepping out quietly from the nearby saloon, making his way behind the establishment. Bringing the reins together in one hand, you pulled tightly. Your horse stopped, and you brought them around to face the remaining officer – the deputy based on his badge. He pulled down the hammer on his revolver, aiming straight for your forehead. Bringing your hands up, you faced your palms outward alongside your head in mock defense. A small smirk grew on your face as you picked up on near silent hooves approaching the street.

“What’re you smilin’ about?” he asked pointedly.

A bang came from before you as blood splattered and flowed from the deputy’s head. He landed limp in the damp dirt, a look in his eyes that you could recall anywhere. The gaze of death – a complete absence of life in a form once animated.

A large stallion sidled up to you, a familiar head of black and white hair gesturing toward the path out of town. Angry shouting filled the street as people left their shelters, some staring you down and others rapidly walking to you, waving a hand or a weapon.

“We’d best get out of here before you can raise some more heaven.”

“You lead the way, then.”

With a wild speed, he took off ahead of you, wool cape billowing in the chilled air. You caught up quickly however, racing to pass the city limits and be in the wide-open again.

Desert ironwoods and mesquite trees became more abundant among the varying cacti. White translucent blossoms formed on some of them, while others rested uniquely. The sun began to pour further from the clouds, casting its rays over the light brown land as you rode on. At the top of a shady hill, you paused for a drink.

A husky voice broke through the birdsong, “Why don’t you get down for a minute?”

You looked at him quizzically, drying the corner of your mouth.

He matched your gaze sternly, “Well, first, you’re bleedin’ out the side of your neck. Second, I’m curious what that sweet mess you brought into town was,” his gaze softened as a proud smile grew on his face, “and third, I wanna hold you under the tree for a bit. It’s midday and I had ordered some fine lunch from the bar. I wasn’t expecting to be shootin’ a man instead of sittin’ with you.” he finished with a chuckle.

“You can sit with me now.” you retorted, lifting one leg around your horse before making the jump off.

“Indeed, I can.” he replied smoothly, reciprocating your action.

Drawing open the satchel hanging along his stallion, Boothill pulled out two small packs – one likely containing a meal and the other a makeshift aid kit. Although he never needed food, and rarely required bandages, he would always carry them in the event that your supplies would run out. It was part of the reason he had initially gone into town, but you happened to bring in the lawmen on your way to meet him.

Tidying the braid in your horse’s hair, you felt cold fingertips brush against your shirt collar, shifting it to the side. A white cloth rested on your empty saddle, a few materials from the aid kit on top. A cold rag rubbed against the outer edges of your scrape before it was placed on your shoulder, the left side being held to the front of your neck. Water flowed down along the wound, giving the cloth a light pink color. It was an uncomfortable sensation, but one that you had grown used to after years on the range.

Another wet cloth swiped across the injury, leaving light streaks of antiseptic behind. A quick rip reached your ears before a flat gauze pad was gently placed at the site and a gauze wrap surrounded your neck snugly. It would only stay for a few days, needing your remaining kit supplies to be maintained.

A grey brim soon came into view as a hat was placed on your head.

“Now you’re lookin’ like a real outlaw.” Boothill smiled as he gathered up all of the medical items and walked them back to his satchel.

You snickered before replying, “Should I get one the next time we go to Warren? I’d reckon it’s about time.”

“I’m afraid we ain’t got the funds for that right now, there’s just enough to get provisions.”

“I never said I would be buying one, cowboy.” You retorted, slowly striding to where he stood and flicking your borrowed hat upward.

“Well go ahead and take ‘em for all they’ve got, then we can pay a little visit to the theater.” He slid his right arm around your waist, lightly dragging you closer.

“Are you askin’ me on a date?”

“Maybe I am, sugar.”

Placing his hat back on his head, you left a small kiss on his cheek and turned out of his arms, swiping your lunch from his saddle in the process. “Why don’t we have one now?”

He smiled, teeth sharp and eyes playful, before following behind you to the tree.

—

PART I - Sorrow-Gilded Equals

“Boothill, that’s my name.” The cyborg in front of you replied, swirling his glass of whiskey before drinking it down.

He stood tall, a firm steel body paired with shining silver eyes, determination reverberating in his gaze. It seemed only natural that he was the first to draw your attention, raucously celebrating the year’s final round-up with his fellow rangers.

“Say, undertaker,” he looked over, “care to join us for a round?”

You glanced backward from the bar to the faro table housing a few of the gang. A hand hit the wood in laughter, empty amber bottles rattling against each other. The owner of said hand brought twelve checks back to his stacks.

“Quit your cacklin’, you smug cutie!” Boothill shouted, leaning back against the bar.

“Oh, you flatter me, you gunslingin’ sack of shit! Get over here and give me a fun time, why don’t you!”

“Gunslingin’, huh?” you teased, “I thought that was forbidden on the trail.”

“Well, I ain’t never been one for rules.”

“Really, now? And here I thought cowboys had a sense of honor.”

“We do, but it don’t always follow convention.”

With a hum you turned, walking slowly to the group’s oval table. “I’ll join you, and so will he.” A gesture toward Boothill brought him over, where he took a seat across from you. After a few curt introductions, he voiced, “Will here is the banker,” before pulling out a small bag of nickels from a satchel on his belt.

You followed suit and exchanged them for checks and a hexagonal copper token from Will. He layed out all of the spades in two rows on his board – ace through 6 on the top, and king through 8 on the bottom. The seven sat at the end of both rows between the 6 and the 8. He placed another deck of cards in the dealing box and drew the soda before burning it off.

You placed one of your checks on the nine, betting that it would be drawn second. Will pulled and revealed the first of two cards in the deck. A three, to which Isaac had groaned. Next, he revealed the second card, a nine. With the losing and winning ranks determined, you had won the bet at 1 to 1 odds, bringing in another check on top of the one you wagered. Isaac lost his check to Will, leaving Boothill and Lee’s bets still on the table.

The losing card from the previous round went beside the face-down soda card. You placed two checks on five this time, watching as Boothill put three with yours. Isaac went for four, and Lee remained on ten. Five was the winning card this round.

The black, white, and red of the cards began to fade together as the night went on. After several rounds, you found yourself toe to toe with the “gunslinger”. He didn’t speak a word as you both prepared for the final bet.

Ten of your checks went on one, and ten of his were set on eight.

Will drew and displayed the cards, one was the second, making you the victor.

Boothill relaxed into his chair with a low whistle, “Seems like I’ve finally got some competition! What d’ya say to another game?”

“Well, I’m not one to turn down a challenge. Ready for a duel, cowboy?”

“Always.” he smiled, shifting forward to prepare for the coming rounds.

As Will prepped the next game, the doors to the saloon broke open abruptly.

“There you are, you no-good son of a bitch!”

A bang echoed through the saloon as a bullet shot straight for your table. A silver revolver appeared in view before sharp lead was firing toward the entrance. Boothill’s gun returned to its holster as the intruding man crumpled to the floor. Blood covered the wood, spreading into the grain and taking its place among the many stains.

Isaac approached the bartender, likely trying to give him some money and charm to resolve the incident. Lee strode to the body, kicking it over and revealing a green bandana in their pocket.

“Yep, no doubt he was here for us, Hill. One of Walker’s boys.”

You were slightly familiar with the name; Lloyd Walker was in charge of one of the most prominent gangs around. There were countless ambushes with him as the figurehead, and just from the mention alone you could observe various reactions across the establishment. Few continued on in their games, veterans to these types of conflict. Others seemed stiff or enraptured in conversation about the man. In the case of many of these rangers, their eyes had a fire of revenge.

Walking to stand by Lee, you folded your arms. “Well, he ain’t one of Walker’s boys, anymore. He’ll be mine by morning and the dirt’s by sundown.”

“Need help moving him?” Boothill offered, leaning down to pick up the fallen gun.

“Sure.” you accepted plainly.

He handed the gun to Lee who inspected it as Boothill lifted the corpse, carrying him over his shoulder without a care. The jaunty tune of the piano resumed as you left the saloon with the gunslinger.

"I must admit, undertaker, this here was quite the party."

"Glad I could entertain."

“It wasn’t just you. I forgot how much I missed the thrill of a standoff; this old town doesn’t provide those opportunities like it used to.”

“How roguish for a ranger, but I’d have to agree.”

“Oh? Is the resident mortician gettin’ into trouble after hours?”

“Only with you around.”

“But we’ve only known each other for a night, unless I’ve ran into you somewhere before?”

Your boots resounded over the boardwalk deck as you kept walking silently to the front of your parlor. He didn't press further and waited quietly for you to unlock the back door.

With a creak, said door went wide open and you watched carefully as he flipped the body over on a mortuary table.

Finished, he grabbed a nearby towel to dry the blood off and clean himself up. You got a better look at him as he did so, no longer caught up in games and drinking.

A story spread around town, over a decade ago. It didn't stick around for long, but you witnessed it yourself. There was a boy – probably about fifteen at the time. He arrived on the back of a horse before being taken into the jailhouse. At the end of the week, he had been released, and took up odd jobs around the area. He headed out on the range a few months later for the fall round-up, then never came back.

"I'll see myself out, good luck with this rottin’ sweetheart."

A hand turned the back door open once more before Boothill exit casually. It was half-closed when you finally responded.

"Perhaps."

He paused, shifting to look you in the eyes.

"You're Jesse Blackwell, right?"

His gaze fell to the floor, "Once, but I ain't anymore… Goodnight, undertaker.” He dismissed with a tip of his hat and a small smile, shutting the door as he left.

—

Soaked ground squelched beneath your boots, the now sunny sky reflecting in the soft brown. The streets of Warren were bustling, showcasing its status as the second largest city in the state. A dark grey cowboy hat rested on your head, a shining black belt running around its center. Stealing it was easy, all you had to do was get some drunken fool to follow you to an alley. Point your gun at him and wait for him to give you all he has, then leave with a cold threat – revolver boring hard into his head. If he talks, he’ll be hunted down and stripped of his tongue. If he runs after that, he’ll be gunned down where he stands. You had done it before, and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

Boothill opened the doors to Jerrell’s General Goods a few buildings down the road, disappearing inside. You leaned up against one of the front posts of the hotel, watching coaches and uncovered wagons traverse the main street. Your horse whinnied from beside you where they stood, resting and glancing around on occasion. A soft breeze brushed against your neck, the chill of former rain still present. Small thumps came from your left as somebody passed behind you.

A hand landed on your shoulder, turning you around against the post. They gripped the collar of your shirt, leveling their gaze with yours.

“I’ve been lookin’ for you for a long time, you coward.” They threw you into the mud, stepping down from the deck in anger. “You remember me?”

Standing up you replied, “Somebody’s always got a feud with a person like me, I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific.”

“Town of Fort Talia, five years ago. You murdered my brother.”

“Jasper?”

“Well, it seems you do recall.”

He swung his right arm, fist colliding with the side of your face. It hurt terribly, but fights weren't uncommon to you. With where you grew up, and some training from Boothill, it came easy now.

You raised your own right arm, blocking his next hit before bringing your left up to target underneath his nose. He stumbled back a bit at the pain, and you hit again at his right cheek and then upward from under his jaw. He took a second to level himself before spitting at the ground and pulling his pistol from his pocket. He turned it over in his hand, the grip facing outward.

"Do you not know how to use it, Ellis?"

"I do, but I want you to feel my sufferin’ first.”

The grip crossed your cheekbone, sending a sharp sting across the plane. With you now staggered, a knife plunged into your torso just above the hip. It remained lodged in your flesh as you clashed onto the ground, mud coating your clothes.

Ellis stood still for a moment, watching. He glanced down at the gun, preparing to fire it off. Quickly and with slight caution, you drew your revolver and shot him between the eyes. He fell as the horses shifted and voiced their discomfort. Your head lay in the mud, breath trying to calm after the incident.

"You've always been a good-for-nothing piece of shit, Ellis." You whispered.

Standing up carefully and to the best of your ability, you heard something heavy landing on wood before wet footsteps.

“Hey, now,” Boothill said, hands coming to brace your elbows and steady you. “Who came and dragged you to heaven?” His eyes assessed you – up and down, side to side – then he brought your left arm around his neck.

"You couldn't hear us fightin' from the store? Here I thought you’re supposed to have superior hearing.”

Ignoring you, he placed you against his horse, retrieving the full satchels from the deck and laying them down beside you. His cold hands came to pick you up, setting you just behind his saddle, legs hanging over the side to keep yourself in the stablest condition possible. Lifting his right leg under himself, he mounted his stallion, beginning to ride down the main street to a destination unknown.

"What about…" you trailed off, eyes growing weary.

"I’ll take care of it, you just rest."

"Whatever you say, cowboy."

Your head rested against his right shoulder, the cool leather of his jacket soothing the burning cuts from Ellis' pistol. The only thing keeping you lucid was the persistent movement inside of you, slicing against more flesh at every stomp of hooves. If you had a mirror, you're sure that you'd look like hell – Boothill was right.

It was saddening that the other Weston boy had spent the last few years hunting you down. He spent practically his entire life distant and running away, and now he had the guts to ambush you in the city. Still, you supposed whatever old grudge he carried now lay dead alongside him.

—

The first time you laid eyes on Jasper was at his mother's funeral. He stood in a thick coat beside his brother watching wordlessly on with silent tears. A wooden cross sat before a mound of dirt, engraved with the following:

Callie Weston

A strong mother, and relentless woman.

1846 - 1879

Her grave wasn’t far from your father’s, a bushel of freshly picked desert marigolds resting under his own headstone from your visit. Two of the bright yellow flowers still rested in your pocket as you walked to the family’s side.

Placing the blossoms underneath the delicately carved wood, you spoke softly, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Ellis whispered.

“I’m sorry for yours as well.” Jasper had replied.

With a nod of your head, you left them to their mourning.

~

When you made it into town from the cemetery, shouts could be heard in front of the saloon.

“Go home, you idiot!”

“Have a little compassion!”

“I do, but my compassion doesn’t include wastin’ away here while your boys are up on that hill.”

The man stumbled slightly down from the deck, voice cracking as he said, “Surely you can understand, mister… please.”

“Go home, Isaiah. Try to sober up before they get back.”

The bartender threw his cloth over his shoulder before leaning against the post, waiting patiently. Isaiah wiped his hand down his bearded face as he exhaled, then walked off down the street toward the few blocks of houses.

Gesturing at a nearby man, the bartender lowly spoke, “Hey, will you follow him? Make sure he stays safe and doesn’t do anythin’ wild.”

You crossed in front of the saloon doors as the man walked off, trailing behind the drunken one.

“Wait a minute, kid.”

Pausing in your steps, you turned around to face the swinging doors to the saloon. The bartender came out as quick as he went in – a bag in hand this time.

“Some oil guy came through town not long ago, ordered more food than he even wanted. There’s untouched steak and soup in there, it’ll probably need to heat up again. Share it or keep it to yourself.”

“Thank you kindly, sir.”

With a polite nod, he disappeared back into the establishment, yelling at some other unruly patrons.

That evening you brought a couple portions of that meal to Jasper and his family. It took a bit of asking around to find them, but soon enough you were knocking on their door.

Ellis answered, looking down at you coldly.

“I wanted to bring you some food. Hopefully you’ll enjoy it.”

He took the bag wordlessly, before shutting the door.

~

“I have some stew for you, mama.”

Her gaze never drifted from the window as you placed the warm bowl beside her. Draping a cloth over her lap, you watched her solemn face. Silently, she turned for the bowl, letting it rest in her likely cold hands.

You stood, walking to fetch her tea from the kitchen. Upon return, you found her gently bringing the spoon to her lips, shaking lightly as she did so.

With a soft thud, the mug settled on dark wood. Drawing a book from the nearby shelf you sat down next to her, flipping the leather cover open.

You read calmly from the pages, skipping over or changing words you didn't quite know. It had been a couple years since you stopped going to the schoolhouse, after all. There was just no time after your father died, especially with your mother in this state.

A hand landed quietly on your knee, drawing your attention back to her. Marking your new spot in the book, you set it down with the remnants of her meal.

She brought her hand down to yours, gripping quickly in thanks. It was dejecting seeing her like this, but after this long it was hard to picture her outside of mourning.

"Why do you never talk to me, mama? Did I do somethin' wrong?"

With a shake of her head, her gaze returned to the window and her hands to her lap.

~

About a week later, you remember waking up early to the sound of your dog barking loudly from the front yard. Donning your heavy coat, you opened the door to find Jasper trying to pet her down at the fence line.

"Is this your dog?" he had asked.

"Yes."

"She's real pretty…Thanks by the way, for dinner."

"It's no problem. I had extra."

"I noticed you were visiting someone of your own."

"My papa." you replied, standing beside him and petting the long fur of your dog. "He was caught robbin’ a wagon full of weapons and shot by the lawmen, at least that's what I heard. Mama never said nothin' to me about it."

He hummed, looking down and rubbing behind the ear of your dog.

"My mama was sick for a long time. It was hurtin' my dad forever, probably even more now. He doesn't really care how it makes me feel – my brother neither. They just leave angry in the mornin' and come back even worse at night."

A minute of vulnerable silence passed between you, before Jasper spoke up again.

"Are you headin' to school?"

"No. I'll have to be at work soon."

His eyes seemed wide for a second before he shifted, "Where do you work?"

"At the funeral parlor, as an assistant to the director."

"Why would you pick a job like that?”

“I don’t really know. I just saw the horse-drawn hearse moving down the street and felt somethin’ come over me.”

“I think I can understand,” he whispered, looking down into your dog’s eyes.

He stayed like that for a moment as you rested in the early morning quietness. A bird sang abruptly from the nearby tree, and he perked up once more.

“Would you want to walk down to the river with me? We could try and catch a frog or two before daybreak.”

“I guess.”

“Great,” he nodded.

And that became your routine. Every morning, he would come see you and your dog. Sometimes he would have a little snack for her in hand and other times he would have a paper with some work he couldn’t quite figure out. Being with him by the river was a pleasant thing – something to get both of your minds off of circumstance.

~

“I plan on retiring next year, and I would like for you to be my successor.”

The world seemed to still as Mr. Whitfield sat calmly, waiting for your response. His aging black hair shifted lightly in the wind, his gaze out over the nearby buildings. Cool stone rested under your back as you leaned against the parlor's walls.

“I… I’m honored, sir.”

“Oh, just call me Peter already. We’ve worked together long enough.”

“Thank you, Peter.”

The sounds of the town took over for a moment before he stood up, walking in through the door. A commotion drew your eyes up from the deck, watching as someone rode in with a grumbling figure on the back of their horse. The person in the saddle had a dark green bandana hanging out of their pocket – the trademark of a growing gang in the area.

They dismounted across the street from you, just in front of the jailhouse. Both of the deputies came out shortly after, one talking to the person then bringing them in. The other approached the horse, throwing the figure over his shoulder. They disappeared into the sheriff’s office, seemingly exchanging words about what to do with the two.

“Here are some books I’ve used over the years,” Peter said, a small stack in his hands, “If you’re going to take over the business, there’s more you’ll need to learn. Feel free to take these home if you’d like.”

“I appreciate it.”

He handed the books to you, then returned to his seat in front of the parlor. You decided to join him, setting the stack on your right.

As the gravity of your future inched in, you laid back against the stained wood of the bench. Your right foot tapped on the deck, reverberating over the plane anxiously while your thoughts became jumbled.

“What’s weighing on you, kid?”

“I’m just… starting to doubt myself is all.”

“I was the same as you when I first inherited this business from my father. He was always kind and courteous, served the community well. I’m passing this on to you because I see you as my kin. I have every confidence in you, whether you see the potential in yourself or not.”

His words brought water to your eyes, making you inhale and look away towards the snowy mountains in the distance.

Sniffling brought your attention back as Jasper walked up to the deck, cradling his left arm with the other hand.

“Are you alright, boy?” Peter questioned.

“Could I go inside?” he asked gently, making eye contact with you.

Standing up, you guided him into the entry room of the parlor, watching as he sat on the sofa.

“I ran as fast as I could, I figured since it was day you’d be here.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it yet.”

“Alright. I’ll go get some coffee and an aid kit.”

Turning to leave the room, you heard him speak up again.

“Can I come with you?”

“Of course.”

~

It was probably about five months later when you found Jasper sitting on the bench of the parlor, bottle in hand. After locking the door, you went and took a seat next to him.

“What are you doing, Jas?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know nothin’ anymore.”

“That’s not true.”

He tilted his head before taking another sip. Your right hand came to rest at the back of his neck.

“Talk to me… please. Nothin’ you say will leave this porch.”

“I… think I’m not cut out for this.”

“What do you mean?”

“This,” he gestured around the street, “I do my best in everything, and it still isn’t good enough. My dad couldn’t give a shit about me and my brother anymore, all he does is drink and sleep. He hardly ever goes to work – I wouldn’t be surprised if he was fired by now! Ellis ain’t much better. He leaves for the farm early, storming into my room and draggin’ me out before he goes. Always tellin’ me I need to grow up – that I’m not man enough for this world. It’s not like I have a job, and I ain’t been going to the schoolhouse much recently either. I figured since I’m set to be finished there soon anyway, I could start skippin’. I just… wish my mama was still here. Even when she was sick, she still went through every day with more strength than I’ve ever had… Looking back now, I think she accepted that death was comin’, and she lived to her fullest because of it. Maybe I could take a page out of her book. I know that this all might seem sudden, but you’re the only one I’ve got.”

“You’re good enough to me, Jas. Even if that doesn’t seem like much, I want you to know. Your family is just too ignorant to understand. You’ve got plenty of grit in you, but you still show that you care.” You sighed before continuing, “And I understand. While my mama might not be dead, she hasn’t spoken since my father died. I still try my best to take care of her, but it’s like she’s just sittin’ there, waiting for her day to come.”

The snorting of a nearby horse broke the heavy atmosphere.

“If it’s a job you want, you’re always welcome here. Peter would gladly have you work the front. Just come talk to him tomorrow.”

“Alright.” he smiled smally.

“Hand me the bottle?”

Glass hit the wooden deck as you set down the exchanged liquor. Standing up, you reached out a hand for him.

“Come on, you can stay with me.”

~

Jasper’s life only worsened just two months after that night at the parlor. He didn’t come in for work that day, and you couldn’t find him anywhere usual in the town.

Crying and a thump at your front door brought you away from your mother’s side. You had been tidying her hair, a simple activity you would do to help her before she started her nightly routine.

Peering from one of the windows, you saw him waiting in your front yard, holding onto your dog for comfort. He looked up in your direction when you emerged from the dimly lit doorway, walking down the stairs from the porch.

“He shot him. Shot him dead, right in front of me.”

You got on your knees in front of him, bringing your hand to his shoulder.

“I… I was comin’ home from a walk, I… I went out to clear my head. Ellis, he stormed out with my dad trailin’ behind him. His eyes… they were just fed up – bloodthirsty almost. He looked at me. God, I’ll never forget that stare. They yelled at each other some more, going’ on about somethin’. My brother… he drew his gun, shot my dad right in the chest four times. He came over to me, put a hand on my head and told me things would be better now. Like hell they will! He took off on some horse – he’s gone now too. Out runnin’ from the law and leavin’ me high and dry with nothing.”

He let go of the dog, running his hand down his face. She walked off to somewhere behind you, sniffing around.

“I’ve got nothin’ but you, now.” He whispered, looking up at you full of turmoil.

You brought both arms around him, feeling him start to cry again.

“I know my dad had his grief, even when my mama was sick he’d be out doin’ who knows what. Still, I… I can’t help this weight on me.”

“It’s natural, Jas. You lost two people tonight, despite your experiences with them, it’s still a loss.”

He exhaled shakily, shifting back from you and rising to stand on his feet. You matched him before bringing your hand back to his shoulder, rubbing your thumb lightly against the edge of his neck.

“How about supper? Would that help a little?”

“Yeah… yeah.” he sighed.

Together you walked to the front door, and on this occasion, your dog followed too.

—

PART II - Redemption for the Wayward

Winces and the metallic echoes of medical tools could be heard from the nearby room. Boothill rested in an entry room chair, leaning back with his hat over his face. There was nothing in this space he wanted to look at – nothing he sought to remember. Your sounds of pain didn’t help either.

He had gotten stitches himself many years ago, but the scars were long gone now.

A sharp cry resounded down the hall, followed by hushed murmurs from the doctor. There was a fiery response, before the room went quiet again.

It wasn't the first time he had found you in trouble – far from it in fact. Since the day you started riding together, it seemed like thunder followed. Be it the sounds of hooves, gunfire, glasses on the table, or simply storms themselves.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

—

"I want to leave with you."

It was the only time you had ever seen surprise on Boothill’s face.

Holding his gaze you continued, “Does that sound like a plan?”

“I… I don’t see why not. Are you sure you don’t want to clean up first?”

As if answering his question, whistles broke out two streets down. A few shouts from who you assumed to be lawmen echoed, sending a wave of fear through you.

“No. I’ll find a river or somethin’ later, right now we just need to get out.”

“Mind explainin’ why they’re lookin’ for you?”

You appeared stunned for a moment, before you recalled the events that led to the blood on your hands.

~

“Please… please just end me already.”

“You know I can’t do that to you, Jas.”

He ran his hand through his hair, revealing more of his distraught face. “You’ve seen me… I’m just like my father and there ain’t nothin’ I can do about it no more.”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t lie to me, we both know I’m right.”

“Jasper, please, come over here so we can talk this out.”

“We’re talkin’ it out right now.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“I’m sick of talkin’ anyway. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into trying to get rid of this feeling, but it never leaves. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

You stood on the back porch of your parlor, watching as he pulled a gun from his side. He walked to you, leaving it on the chair to your left.

Just three months ago you watched Boothill walk from this porch, the hint of new friendship roaming on the wood.

Two months ago, you bid farewell to your new assistant, a promise of success growing over the stain.

One month ago, your mother spoke to you for the first time in seven years, apologies and regret falling from her lips.

Now, you would be in the greatest standoff of your life.

“If I’m gonna die I want you to do it.”

“No.”

He grabbed your left hand, lifting the gun up from where it rested. “Give me my freedom, please. We both know nothin’ else will.”

“Jas…”

“Stop wastin’ your breath.”

A set of tears rolled down your cheeks, and in a final act of care, Jasper wiped them away.

“Don’t cry for me. I want this. I want to see my mama again, healthy and bright. Maybe even my dad,” his voice broke, “smilin’ and rocking on the porch. I may even see you one day, too.”

He inhaled before bringing your hand up to his forehead, a sad look of acceptance and peace on his face. He nodded, the barrel of the gun shifting up and down.

“Goodbye, Jasper.”

A shot rang out, slightly muffled from the circumstance. Blood splattered down to the dirt, soaking into it crudely. Jasper’s body tumbled back down the wooden steps, landing face up at the end. He looked content, the dead light in his eyes causing conflicting waves of emotion within you.

There would be no time to feel them, though. Not yet. Even if it was nearing midnight, there was always a deputy out somewhere.

You descended the scarlet-covered steps, kneeling down to close his eyes. A warmth spread over your hands as you did so, red coating your fingers when you pulled them away.

Exhaling heavily, you left the back alley, on the lookout for a horse.

Boothill told you he’d be leaving tonight, after a final few rounds of faro at the other saloon in town. Why, he never shared, but you figured it had something to do with the incident a couple months back.

If you were lucky you could join him – head out on the road of an outlaw. It wasn’t an idea you had ever considered before, but now it seemed like the only choice.

~

The fire crackled in front of you, smoke rising to the starry sky. Boothill sat beside you, hands occupied with a knife and a piece of wood, idly carving.

In the silent peace, you felt the gravity of your actions begin to set in. Water crept over your eyes, gathering along the edges and flowing down your cheeks. Your quiet cries were some of the only noise in this area of the desert. Somewhere out of the town limits and secluded enough to provide cover in case of any emergency.

“Do you… have any regrets?” you asked lowly, drying your eyes with an exhale.

Boothill looked up from his work, “Once, but not anymore.”

You hummed, staring into the bright flames before you. Sadness welled once more before you spoke up.

“I shot my oldest friend today. He asked me to, came to me pleading.”

There was no movement or sound, until he set down his tools. “And now you’re out on the road with me.”

The dried blood on your hand felt like a glove as you clenched your fist. “I suppose I am.”

He stood up, walking to his horse’s side. A blanket was in his hands as he returned, tossing it gently in your direction before sitting back down to carve.

“I might not be the best at comfort, but I’ll try.”

You placed the wool underneath your head. Neither of you had the makings of a proper camp yet, but even if it was a makeshift pillow it would work.

“When we were out on the trail, there wasn’t much for occupying your time. Most of it was spent herdin’ and fending off animals or gangs. We often had cards with us, and so we’d sit around a fire like this one at night, playin’ the boring games that didn’t involve gambling. When it was time to sleep, some of us would take our places closer to the cattle. We’d sing or hum to them to keep them calm – they always told me I had the best voice. One that suited folk like us the most.”

With that, he started to hum a tune. It was quiet, and the slicing of wood fell in time with the slow rhythm. The melody was soothing, and with a deep exhale you found yourself letting go. As your eyes drifted further shut, he started singing. They were right, he did have a voice perfect for the range.

—

“Thornton’ll be headin’ out for a while. Said we could use the room upstairs as usual.”

You hummed, buttoning up the fresh shirt the doctor had given you. The space stayed quiet after, as your gaze bore into the bloody knife resting on the cloth-covered table. You stood up carefully, gritting your teeth before you were upright.

Grabbing your hat and gun belt, you met Boothill at the doorway.

“How’re you doin’?” he asked gently, bringing his hand up to the side of your neck. His thumb rubbed along the edge of your jaw as you crossed your arms.

“Fine, still trying to work off the sting.”

“Well that’s better than nothin’, isn’t it?”

He was right, yet, there still was something tugging at your chest. A sensation that weighed on your breath.

“I apologize-”

“There ain’t nothing to apologize for.”

You sighed, “I just hope I haven’t been much of a burden these last few weeks.”

“I take care of you, and you take care of me. It’s that simple. There’ll always be trouble when you live a life like ours,” he chuckled, “I’ll never think less of you for it.”

—

“You've used a gun before, right?”

Boothill looked over at you, an eyebrow raised and a hand resting along his belt.

“Only once.”

“Well then, we're gonna work on your skills today.”

He walked back over to his horse, unclipping a holstered revolver from his equipment. A red and cream package of bullets were placed on his saddle. He gave the brown leather-clad weapon to you, letting you pull it out yourself and feel the cool weight in your palm.

“I wanna see your instinct first. Spot that rock up there?” he gestured toward a miniature cliffside, angling down toward the two of you. A large dark grey stone lay on its edge. “Aim for it and shoot.”

You analyzed the gun for a moment before raising it in both hands, the top of the barrel aligning with the rock. Pulling back the hammer from its half-cocked state, you heard a singular click. Pressing your index finger down on the trigger, a bullet flew from the barrel straight at the stone. It made an echoing crack before the case flung off to the side.

“Not bad. Do it again.”

You shifted your feet in the dirt before taking up your former stance. Aiming, you drew back the hammer as the chamber revolved. Two clicks sounded this time. With a finger on the trigger, you pulled it down to hear the same ringing shot and clack against rock.

Boothill sidled up next to you, bringing your left hand down to your side.

“Another.”

Now only using one hand, you shot once more. A small chip fell from the rock as you hit a second spot.

"Fall back into me a little bit."

"Why?"

"If you're gonna be an outlaw, you best learn to carry yourself like one."

You did as he said, falling back into a casual lean against his chest. His arm came up against the back of yours, carrying it down to your side before lifting it back up again and pointing the revolver at the rock. You brought the hammer back again, before pulling the trigger. You cocked the gun once more, firing another shot at the stone, followed by a third.

A low whistle came from behind you, “Aren’t you a natural?”

“Well, I’m learnin’ from the best.”

“Got that right.”

“Are you always this smug?”

“Only with you.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe that.” you stated, turning around from his hold.

“Really now?”

“You just love to keep on teasin’ me. That’s what it is.”

“And if so?” he questioned, stepping forward as if taking on a challenge.

“I’ll keep doing this dance with you, cowboy.” you tipped his hat down, watching his silver eyes disappear beneath the brim.

“I wouldn’t prefer it any other way.” he flicked it back up, a sharp smirk on his face.

“Now, why don’t you show me how the best shoots? I’d like to see what I’ll be competing with soon.” you stepped back from him, angling the gun toward the rocks.

“I said you were a natural, but I never said you were as practiced as me.”

“Talkin’ down to me?”

“Just statin’ facts.” he tilted his head, spinning his revolver from it’s holster along his leg.

“What a show-off you are.”

“Quit talkin’ and start aimin’.”

“You’re on.”

~

“See those deer?” Boothill whispered, watching beside you as a herd of coues passed by a few yards away.

The wind brushed against your cheeks, carrying the scent of coming rain in the twilight. There must have been water falling on nearby creosote bushes.

You stared on, admiring how sweet they looked roaming and feeding on cactus fruit.

He smiled at you, seeming almost wistful before his gaze returned to the scene. "I remember we used to see them a lot in the brush along the trail. Big herds stayed longer than just a few of them, less skittish together I suppose." He laughed lightly, genuine and lovely. "The first time I saw a buck was on my family's farm. I had just finished some harvesting, when its antlers caught my eye. The wheat was up to my elbows at the time – I still recall its itch. We had locked eyes, and from that day forward I felt called to be out like them. It was part of my motive for joinin' the round-ups."

"There's a freedom to it – one that you only dream of before you finally live it."

"So articulate. Maybe you should start doing all the talkin'."

You snickered, beginning to pack up your belongings from the small camp you learned to make. "I'm afraid I could never be a poet like you."

"With all this flattery, I just might be inspired enough to pursue that instead."

"I'd better get a dedication, right on the first page.”

"You’ll get the entire book, sugar." He smiled.

"Oh please, save it." You tugged down his hat to hide his teasing eyes.

—

PART III - The Revenant of Vengeance

The wet stone pathways of downtown Warren echoed the heels of your boots. There was little light behind the shops – few people too. It was the perfect spot for a short walk, one that could provide a break from the doctor’s incessant tinkering.

“Well, looky here.” Boothill murmured, pausing to look at a board of papers.

“Think I’ll be up there?” you questioned, hands in your pocket beside him.

“Oh, without a doubt.” his eyes roamed the posters before lighting up at a pair. “Right here, see.”

‘Reward’ was printed in large font at the top. The value of $2,000 sat above text that shared your name, followed by a photo of you from about six years ago, dressed professionally in a well-designed chair at the funeral parlor. Your name was added below it, and a description of your appearance. The signature of the sheriff was penned at the bottom, adding yet another county to your roster.

Boothill’s began the same, with the exception of a $3,500 bounty. An unflattering sketch took up most of the page, as well as key notes about him underneath.

“They can never get my eyes right.” he huffed, gaze lingering on the board.

“My picture isn’t even accurate anymore.” you voiced, arms now crossed against your chest. “What lousy lawmen they have here.”

“I’d have to agree.”

With a sigh you continued, “I reckon it’s about time we get back to the office. Before those lawmen spot us.”

“We could take them.”

“Maybe so, but we don’t need larger bounties.”

“Really? I think there’s somethin’ romantic about it. The more wanted you are, the larger the reward. The more opportunities for attention and infamy.”

“Is my attention not good enough?”

“Come on now, sugar, you know I love it more than anything else.”

“Well then head back with me, cowboy, and I’ll show you some.”

He chuckled lowly, “Who could turn down an offer like that?"

As you turned to walk, his hand landed on your shoulder, the other reaching up to the board, ripping off one of the posters.

“Well I'll be.” you mumbled, observing the photo on it from over his arm.

Lloyd Walker, wanted dead or alive with a reward of $5,000. He had practically become public enemy number one in the surrounding areas over the last seven years. He had numerous crimes, and as many tricks up his sleeve to match. At least that's what the rumors said – his gang was only ever unruly.

“What do you say? Is he gonna be our newest target?”

A fire grew in Boothill’s formerly somber eyes, as he turned to you with a smile.

“Absolutely.”

—

The damp and pebble-covered ground was tarnished with deep red, the remnants of injury seeping into the soil beneath a discarded body. It was windless as Jesse laid against the riverbank, staring up into the ray-stricken cloudy sky. Low cries for help continued leaving his bloodied lips, but his energy was wearing thin. Every inch of him ached – stinging or burning the only sensations he could feel.

Still, he couldn’t just lay here and accept death. He was far too stubborn to ever answer a reaper’s call.

And, as if by some little twist of fate, hooves clamped their way toward him until rushing footsteps were the only thing he could hear.

“Good lord, sir, what happened to you?”

~

It was an ambush, plain and simple.

One moment he was talking with the other rangers and the next they were hiding behind rocks or trees, shooting at whatever green bandana they saw. One or two bandits weren’t unusual, but they had never dealt with such a large group before.

He was panicking, running out of bullets and watching his friends fall in the dust. They were overwhelmed with little to no chance of making it out unscathed.

Walker’s people were relentless, though, and they would never leave until they got what they came for or hit the dirt.

How unlucky for them that Jesse was the same.

~

Dilapidated cabins were built together in two rows, some of their group’s stolen cattle grazing off to the side. His horse stopped right at the rotting wood enclosing them, head high as he prepared for revenge. They had killed four of his trailmates, and he would be coming now for at least four of them.

It was bold to break the rules set for round-ups, and Lee’s warnings echoed through his head. There was leniency given to him before, and for this cause, he was sure he’d get it again.

After dismounting, he made his way through the brush to one of the cabins, two revolvers in hand. It was a risky game, but he was willing to play – whether it was the facade of victory or delusion from righteousness keeping him going.

He snuck through the makeshift settlement, hearing bits of laughter from his left. No matter what he did after this, he would have all surrounding eyes on him. Treading lightly, he stalked behind the house until he found a decent opening. He aimed through the cracks in the dark wood, going straight for the heads he could target. With four clicks, both guns were fully cocked and he shot.

It would be the only regret he had in his life.

~

“Time to wake up, my friend.”

An oddly chipper voice reached Jesse’s ears, as if summoning him from a lengthy slumber.

His eyes drifted open, leaving him to feel painless yet confused.

“I’m sure there is much you would like to know, but please, try to become used to this body first.”

This body?

“We’ll need to utilize some methods of physical therapy to ensure that you know how to use it, and that everything is in working order.”

He turned his head in the direction of the voice – a movement that felt unexpectedly stiff.

“You may call me Dr. Thornton, or Claude if you’d prefer. You have been reborn in the city of Warren. Do you remember where that is?”

Reborn?

“Yes, doctor, I do.” his voice hadn’t changed, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.

“Wonderful. Do you recall the events that led you here?”

“That is perfectly fine, sir. I found you there, and brought you back to my practice. Well, my unofficial practice I suppose one could call it. What about your name?”

“I was bleedin’ out by a river, before… well I’d prefer not to talk about that part.”

“Jesse Blackwell.” he responded, without any hesitation.

Thornton stood up, drying off his greased hands on a nearby rag. He brought the same towel to Jesse’s neck, but he couldn't feel it. The mild brush of cloth, a sensation he had known well from cleaning himself up, never came. He began to tilt his head downward, but the doctor’s fingers caught his chin.

“Not yet.”

He shifted his chin back up, staring straight ahead as alarm started setting in. Questions plagued his mind, until a sharp snap from behind broke him out of it.

The doctor held his hands out to him, and he placed his own over his open palms. They were grey, metallic, and the more he looked at them, the more they seemed almost mechanical. His thoughts seized him as he found Thornton’s eyes. They seemed proud yet there was a glint hidden under their pine-like color that brought a pensive look to Jesse’s face.

He was guided to take a step, and he heard what sounded like a boot as he did so. It persisted as he was brought across the floor to a doorway, passing into another room. His hands left the doctor’s, falling back to his side as his gaze drifted up to something covered in a white sheet.

“Are you ready to welcome this new life?” Thornton asked.

After a brief moment, Jesse nodded.

The cloth was lifted to reveal a tall mirror, one that reflected every inch of him.

“If there is anything you would like me to change, you need only say the word.”

Silence fell, as Jesse was confronted with rushing realization.

He survived Lloyd Walker, but at what cost? His humanity?

But what constitutes humanity?

Flesh and blood?

The ability to experience empathy and emotion?

His bewildered eyes met the doctor’s – ones that were steady as stone.

Thornton looked into the mirror from beside him. “You are a marvel of human craft, sir.”

Something in him stirred at the words, an anger that he wasn’t well-versed enough to place. The only thing he could do was grab the doctor’s collar, observing him with contempt.

“Come now, Jesse, you best be grateful. I’ve transformed you. You’ve become something that people could only dream of. You cried for help and I gave it to you.”

The doctor stumbled after he was released, moving back into the office, or whatever he liked to call it. Jesse remained in the small room, inspecting himself in the mirror. He stared for a long while, paralyzed by the overwhelming circumstance. He felt violated, like his very being was invaded.

Was his life even his anymore?

No. He couldn’t sink into that void.

~

“You’ve surpassed my expectations, Jesse. Count yourself free to go, though you’re always welcome back for repairs… or a hideout if you find yourself in trouble.”

Clad in monochrome leather, with a few scattered hints of red, the reborn cowboy placed his hat on his head as he opened the front door to Thornton’s establishment.

“My name ain’t Jesse.” he voiced, looking back at the suited man. “It’s Boothill.”

The doctor met his eyes over his glasses, “Farewell then, Boothill.”

—

A disheveled Claude Thornton broke through the spare room’s door, appearing wild and bruised.

“They’re on their way.”

Any plans you had been discussing with Boothill were interrupted as you watched the panicked man sharply. “Who exactly?”

“I think you already know." he said, sitting down on the side of the bed.

"You goddamn idiot."

"They cornered and beat me! What did you expect me to do?"

"Follow our agreement that we could lie low here." Boothill stated, glaring at the doctor as he reloaded his revolver.

"I had only made that agreement with you, friend, not them.” he replied, gesturing a hand toward you. “Regardless, the law knows by now that wherever one of you goes the other will follow.”

“And this time you’ll be with us.” you sighed, lifting your hand for him to stand up.

Grabbing the man’s right arm, you brought it behind his back, placing your other hand on his left shoulder. Guiding him down the stairs as Boothill followed, you walked to the hitches Thornton had built at his rear door.

Whistles came down the alley as you ordered him to sit on the back of your horse. After he finished grumbling, you mounted and began riding off to the left as Boothill went right.

Handing him a spare rifle from your horse, you pulled two revolvers from your gun belt.

“I apologize, but I do not know how to use one of these.” he shared, holding the weapon awkwardly.

“You’re hopeless, doctor.”

Trading with him, you aimed the rifle at one of the lawmen approaching you.

“Just pull down the hammer and shoot at them until the chambers are empty. Don’t bother reloading, we’ll be out of here by then.”

He nodded before turning his head back, covering the rear as you winded down stone streets, doing your best to avoid bringing citizens into the fray. You caught a glimpse of black and white disappearing around a corner – a road that led to the train tracks from what you could recall. Pulling the reins to the right, you moved to follow, shooting at one of his pursuers before dodging the fallen body.

Droplets flicked against your boots, leading the doctor to groan at his dirtied shoes. Broken glass nearby signified it was probably some discarded liquor.

A horn sounded from your right, accelerating the rushing sound in your ears. One of Thornton’s hands gripped onto your shoulder tightly as you sped up, crossing before the train daringly.

Pausing on the other side of the tracks, you watched cautiously for any other lawmen. Boothill came up next to you, eyes analyzing your figure before they followed your gaze.

“I swear the two of you are going to get me killed.”

“You’ll be lucky if I don’t do it myself after the shit you’ve pulled.” you spat, securing your rifle back against your horse.

“Need I remind you I had no other choice.” he retorted, handing you back the revolvers.

“You sold us out after three hits, doctor, that’s something that would get you a hole in your forehead with anyone else.”

“I only told them where you were, dear, not him.”

You pointed one of the guns behind you against the side of his skull, disregarding if it was empty or not.

“Do you think that’s somethin’ you should really be saying to me? For as much tinkering as you do, and as many people as you claim to help, I don’t think you’re very bright. If you were, you wouldn’t have given us up, and you would watch your mouth when you’re talkin’ to me. Now, tell me you can understand that at least, doctor.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now you best stay quiet.”

“Alright.”

Putting the gun back into its holster at your side, your focus returned to Boothill.

“Are we still going north?”

“I don’t see why not.” he replied, shifting slightly in his saddle.

“Then let’s go – this train is almost over.”

—

The town of Iris Creek was quaint, fresh air gliding over land of dying grass. A few small flowers grew along the trails, blossoms of deep violet running up their stems. Your stresses slowly quelled as the peaceful atmosphere set in.

At least until you had to sort out Thornton's situation.

Boothill had left for the saloon not long ago, attempting to find what information about Walker he could. In his absence, you would be taking the well-dressed man to the hotel.

Getting the room was a simple affair, so was the walk to where he would stay. It seemed odd that you received no second glances, but it was a welcome change.

Entering his room, the doctor finally spoke, "What do you think of him?"

"Pardon?"

"Boothill."

He sat in a chair right before a plain wooden desk, crossing one leg over the other.

"I care for him very deeply, but I think you could figure that out already. ”

"Would seeing him in pain hurt you, then?"

"What exactly are you trying to say, Thornton?"

"Nothing at all, just conjecture." He responded, hands coming up defensively before returning to his lap.

"I still have half a mind to kill you."

"Always so crude with me," he shook his head, "If you do decide to murder me, you might as well do the same to Boothill. Nobody else in this world understands his inner workings like I do. If I'm dead, there will be no one left to repair him if something goes awry. He's already tried before himself and landed at the same conclusion."

~

In the dim lighting of your shared room, your fingers carded through Boothill's newly cleaned hair. The noise from the saloon below reverberated upward, but it faded into nothing as warm lips found your neck.

"What did you find?" you questioned, quiet in the tranquility of the moment.

"There's supposed to be a whole bunch of Walker's a bit further up in the mountains. By Whitetail Hill."

"Well, that's good. Leave at dawn and we could make it there by early afternoon."

"My thoughts exactly."

A group of cheers from below filled the silence. Sharp edges nipped at the same spot of your neck, drawing a short wince from you. It was soothed by a soft tongue licking across the area as cool fingertips traced the other side of your neck.

You began to turn your head in his direction before those same fingers brought your chin down. Rough lips met yours in a rare instance of gentleness, something that reminded you of calm before a storm.

—

PART IV - Death, the Range's Old Friend

Dust kicked up from underneath the gravel path as you brought your horses to an abrupt stop. A figure rest in the middle of the road, bloodied claw marks running down their front. They coughed, red splattering back against their cheeks.

“Mercy… mercy, please.”

A scarlet covered bandana slipped from their pocket, bits of green peeking out from beneath. You cocked your gun at them before speaking.

“I’ll grant you your wish after you answer some questions. Deal?”

“Yes, yes.”

“You were coming from the area of Whitetail Hill, correct?”

They nodded weakly.

“Where specifically?” Boothill asked, looking around the surrounding forest – likely watching for the animal that attacked them.

“Copperhead Mine.”

A breeze blew through the trees, carrying an odd and empty whistle. A bang interrupted the cryptic melody as the Walker’s plea was granted. The slow movement of hooves followed shortly after, as you maneuvered around them.

“What do you think we’re headed into?” you wondered, meeting Boothill’s eyes.

“Nothin’ good, I can tell you that much.”

“How many’ll be there?”

“I can’t say. The bartender said upwards of 20.”

“Will we be able to take them?” you picked up the pace, looking over the small cliff to your left.

“After all this time, you still doubt us.” he chuckled, matching your speed.

“It’s better to stay realistic.”

“You have me with you, anything we do is realistic.”

You sighed, as the clouds drifted across the blue noon sky. “I suppose I just want you to look after yourself more.”

He waited an instant before responding, features full of sincerity. “I know you care about me, more than I had ever thought I would receive. But I’m not going anywhere – there’s nothin’ in this world that could kill me anymore.”

—

The ominous tune of the wind persisted, some symphony of nature that could only serve to unnerve you. A shiver went down your spine as you reached a viewpoint of the mine, a chill seeping in beneath your clothes. Dismounting, you pat the neck of your horse, trying to steel yourself before the confrontation.

You nodded at Boothill, before leaving first down to the camp. Dry grass crackled under your steps, before the crunch of gravel came instead. The sound alerted who you assumed to be the leader of the group, a scarred eye looking over you in suspicion before he spoke.

“What the hell are you doin’ out here?”

“I was in Iris Creek yesterday, askin’ around about any jobs. They said you’d need some more hands out here.”

“Really now? Who exactly told you that?”

“The bartender at the saloon.”

“Which saloon?”

“There’s only one in town, friend.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Quite so.”

He glanced back at a set of boxes, before making eye contact with one of the members. You drew your revolvers, shooting at two of the people before ducking behind a pair of barrels. Boothill emerged from behind one of their tents, blood already coating his cheek.

He was always brash in his ways, usually coming in guns blazing unless the plan said otherwise. Even then, there was no safe bet that he would follow it. Today was a lucky day, you supposed.

Splinters of wood broke off in your direction, falling over the edge of your arm and over a dark red stain you had yet to notice. Aiming around the side, you fired at one's eyes and another's cheek from where they hid. A second pair hit two plainly in the head, one of their bullets going astray into the rock by the mine entrance.

A strong grip wrapped around your ankle, pulling you backward through twig-like bushes. You were met with the same scarred left eye when the dust cleared – a gaze that spoke murder pinning you down. A fist met the side of your face, brute pain emerging afterward. He went again but was met with your right arm. He tried your left side, and you let him get a hit in as you cautiously unsheathed your knife. With a block to another hit, you slashed your knife across his chest. It was the easiest thing to do in this position, and he backed off of you slightly to stare down at the scarlet seeping into the edges of his cut shirt.

A tight hold turned him over, leaving you above him. The sharp tip of the knife pointed right under his chin as you started your interrogation.

“Where’s Lloyd?”

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit.” he spat.

Taking the blade, you punctured along the edge of his right eye. He screamed as crude fluid bursted against your sleeves, running down the side of his face as you twisted it.

“I’m not fuckin’ around with you! Where is Lloyd Walker?”

“In- in Thatcher!”

“That’s it? You sure there ain’t anything else you want to tell me?” you questioned, drawing the knife from his eye. Another scream came before the tip of the blade returned to his chin, dragging down to his sternum.

“He’s hidin’ out with somebody. They’re in bed together, doing some real shady business. Patrick Arrington – that’s the guy you want to meet with! He’s in the oil business, and real paranoid to boot.”

“Any tips you want to share before I’m finished with you?”

He licked his lips, panicked and steadily bleeding. “Find Ef. I… I met her at a theater once. She loves it there, lights up the minute the curtain rises.”

“Does she have a full name?”

“I don’t know it.”

“Fine, then. Keep your secrets.”

“I’m not lyin’! She never told me!”

“Doesn’t matter anymore.”

The blade plunged in his throat forcibly, the near frightening sensation of shattering bone reverberating to the hilt of the knife. A dry wheeze left his lips as you stood up, pulling the weapon back out.

A low whistle, one that you could recall anywhere by now, came from behind you. Boothill walked up, looking down at the body.

“Did you get anythin’ out of him?”

“Plenty. What do you think of a trip to the capital?”

He smiled, sharp with excitement and thrill. “Sounds like a lovely time to me.”

—

PART V - Ballad of the Dead and Alive

It had been years since you last set foot in Thatcher. The city had become strikingly more commercialized, with a shop, service, or office on every corner. Your boots had been left behind at the hotel room, exchanged earlier after a trip to the tailor’s for something more formal.

Wood doors with decorated glass opened as you walked into the lobby, Boothill following behind.

“Tickets for two, please.” you smiled, leaning against the front counter.

“Door to your left.” the taker replied, sliding the slips underneath the barricade.

With a tip of his new hat, Boothill thanked them before heading through to the hallway. It was plain black, something simple yet classy per recommendation of the tailor. He had outright refused their first suggestion of a top hat – slight disgust on his face as he said that would never be his style.

“Guess I finally got that theater date.” he chuckled, opening the double doors to reveal a lit stage.

“I suppose you did.” you replied, taking his hand and going to find your seats.

A narrator stood in front of the curtain, reciting the introduction to a play. Now sitting in the second row, you and Boothill waited patiently for the show to begin.

“‘Do not plague thyself with vexatious matters. Live unshackled and wander from this day forth.’ Thus, did the young Lady Rena commence her journey.”

A beautiful woman walked out to center stage, clothed in a green silk dress. A wide-brimmed hat of the same color rested on her head, feathers rising from the right side that were held under a silk brim. Lavender sprigs and violets emerged from the left, wrapping around to sit delicately on the front.

A gasp came from your right, bringing your gaze away from the show. Brown hair, pinned and curled, came into view before an apologetic expression.

“I’m sorry, I just love to see how the characters dress.”

“It’s alright, you didn’t bother me at all.”

“Oh, well I’m glad.” she smiled, then looked back to the stage.

As the play continued on, your gaze bounced between the actors and the spectator next to you. She seemed to beam at the performance, her eyes watching every detail closely even if she noticed your attention on her. It wasn’t until the brief break before the climax that she turned back to you.

She didn’t say a word for a minute or two, simply looking over your features.

“Have you ever thought about acting?”

“It’s never crossed my mind before.”

“It just seems like you have a knack for it.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I can’t really say, it’s just a feeling. I have a… friend that reminds me of you. She’s been up on the stage there all night. She acts so well, and you can tell she really loves it despite her always telling me it’s just a job.”

“And what about you?”

She paused, seeming to briefly sink into herself. “Can I trust you with a little secret?”

“Of course.”

She smiled smally, “I actually wrote this play. When my work day was over, I’d go up to my room and spend a couple hours jotting it all down. My boss is a miserable man – it’s a pleasant break from him.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely to see it brought to life, then.”

“It’s my biggest achievement so far, and nobody besides you knows the truth behind it.” Sincerity took over her face, a beat passing between you before she spoke. “So, it’s only fair that you share your truth with me. Who are the two of you?”

A hand came to rest on your shoulder as the other was held out across your front, waiting for a shake.

“You can call me Boothill, Ef.”

Her face looked surprised, as if she had possibly seen him somewhere.

“We were preparing to do business with your boss, Patrick Arrington, correct?” he continued.

“Yes.” she replied curtly. “He’s been having me carry around something for you as a matter of fact.”

She placed an envelope in Boothill’s open hand. He turned it over between his fingers, taking a moment to look at the wax seal. With a quick rip, it opened, revealing tight cursive on the parchment. It was an invitation to a dinner in two nights time. Arrington’s signature sprawled over the bottom half of the paper, bold in comparison to his previous handwriting. He spoke of knowing Boothill was in town, likely trying to seek him out. Instead, he wanted them to meet and have a discussion over steak. He also extended the invite to you, his “hell-raising partner”.

If Arrington and Walker wanted a confrontation, they would get it.

“I hope the two of you will entertain his offer. Let us enjoy the rest of my play, though. We can be friends for this evening at the very least.”

—

Patrick Arrington's house reflected his wealth. Dark colors were covered by intricate wood detailings, highlighted well with lamps. The butler guided you and Boothill into the dining room, revealing a lengthy table covered in candles and plates. The men of the hour waited patiently, Patrick at the head of the table with a glass of wine and Lloyd to his right, a lit cigarette resting between his lips as he inspected the utensils.

They weren't very intimidating to say the least.

"Glad you could join us," Lloyd welcomed, a silver steak knife twirling around in his hand. "I've been waitin' to see you again for years, been pretty boring without your games." He pointed said knife at Boothill.

Patrick's weathered eyes met yours as he gestured for you to sit at his left. You strode to the cushioned chair, a foreboding sense creeping in as you pulled it out.

"You can take the seat opposite to me, Mr. Blackwell."

His features appeared defiant before you glared at him. It would be best to follow his commands. A sharp exhale left him as he sat down, leaning casually.

A new butler came in, wine bottle in hand. He poured for the two of you before being dismissed.

Swirling his topped up glass, Patrick leveled his gaze onto Boothill. "I want to make you an offer."

"Ain't that the nature of business." he chuckled.

“Indeed.”

Seared steaks made their way onto the table as Arrington shared his proposal.

“You may take Walker’s life, so long as I take theirs.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard him, boy.”

The room remained tense as your hands froze, a slight cut staying in the meat at your idleness.

“I’m willin’ to… succumb to your revenge,” Lloyd waved his hands around dramatically, “Let you claim my bounty – just after someone is exchanged for me.”

“You think I would ever agree to that?”

“Well, let’s just say it is not so much an agreement as it would be a reward.” Patrick smiled, placing his fork on a cloth gently.

A line of cold steel rested against your throat. You set down your silverware, raising your hands and leaning back.

“I didn’t do nothin’ to you, Mr. Arrington.” you reasoned.

“Maybe not in your eyes. A debt is owed to me, however, and it must be repaid. Your father stole my weapons, robbed my men, and ruined my oil! He was scum, and it seems you are too.”

“Any issues you had with him aren't my problem.”

“The knife to your throat begs otherwise, dear.”

“You started this.”

“No, I did not. Your friend here began his feud with Mr. Walker years ago. That is the true reason why the both of you are here tonight. I am simply ending a personal matter at the same time.”

“What’ll it be, Jesse?” Lloyd asked, an excited smile growing on his face.

You met Boothill’s stare, watching the gears turn in his mind. His gaze drifted upward, past yours and to the person behind you. Their grip tightened on the hilt.

“I’m gonna have to decline.”

Walker laughed as Arrington’s face went stoic.

“So be it.” a familiar voice spoke.

The knife formerly held to your neck flew into Patrick’s right shoulder. With the room still surprised, you flipped the dining table with help from your near-executioner. Plates clattered onto the floor surrounding Lloyd, the candles beginning to eat away at the rug.

~

“Where do you think you’re going, you piece of shit!”

You watched, revolver in hand, as Ef strode angrily to an escaping Patrick. He gripped his shoulder, walking out and down the hall as fast as he could. She followed suit, chasing and pinning him down easily. The click of your dress shoes echoed over the wood floor as you came behind her, witnessing her tackle him to the ground before pulling the knife from him. She threw it to the side, choosing to instead beat him as hard as she could while curses fell from her tinted lips. You leaned back against the wall, toying with the chamber of your gun. You watched as it spun, just one bullet sat inside.

With a huff, Ef rose from Patrick’s bloodied body, scarlet covering her teal dress.

“Do with him as you please. I’ve had enough of him for eternity.”

She then turned down the hall, the sound of ascending steps coming shortly after.

You came to stand right next to Arrington’s head, pressing your left heel down on his shoulder. He groaned, trying to twist out of the situation.

“I have a special hatred for rich filth like you.”

Two clicks of the hammer – a blank.

“Always walking around like you own the place.”

Another blank.

“Throwing money at everything you can – money that you made from stealing what belongs to others.”

Blank.

“And you’re so much better than me? Look at what you’re doing right now.” he whispered out, eyes growing unfocussed.

“We might be bad people, but at least we’re honest. I think liars like you will suffer a worse fate than us. You’ve got no honor, no respect, left in you. Sold it all away for what? So you could feel some power? Some control? We all die the same, Patrick. This wealth’ll mean nothin’ in the end. Keeping it all to yourself only makes people resent you more. We struggle everyday, only ever dreaming of what you have and take for granted everyday. You deserve nothing that you have in this world if all you do is abuse it. Save whatever dignity you have left for hell, Arrington. You’re gonna need it.”

A shot fired as his mouth opened, leaving red to splatter out from the proximity. You leaned down, taking his pocket watch and dangling it in front of you. It was gold, polished, and engraved – an item that could fetch a high price. You shoved it in your own pocket as you left his body, searching for the stairs Ef had gone up.

~

Flames caught on the curtains as Boothill waited in a standoff with Lloyd. Neither uttered a word as they waited, staring each other down. Crackles came from the walls, the flames illuminating the space with harsh glares. Walker drew his old pistol, aiming quickly and preparing to fire. Blood flowed from his arm not a second later, three shots ringing out in the burning dining room.

A swift kick crossed his face a moment later, something sharp cutting down it. Despite his pain and lack of clear vision, he took one of the scalding candlesticks and threw it in front of him. His hand came to hold his face, sighing.

“If you want to kill me Jesse, do it already.”

The cold barrel of a gun met the back of his neck, one click reaching his ears.

“Givin’ up that easily! Really now?”

“I’d rather die than try and make it out of here.”

A set of curtain rods fell to the floor before Boothill spoke, “ I’m gonna take my time with you, then. See if you can handle what you put me through.”

~

Whistles sounded through the courtyard as lawmen slowly encroached the property. A pair of satchels rested full over your shoulder, one similar sitting on Effie’s horse. They were bulked with stolen bonds, jewels, and anything else you could get your hands on.

“I suppose this is farewell.” she exhaled.

“For now, at least. If you’re going down a road like ours, I think we’ll cross paths again.”

“I hope so.”

“Go be with your friend.” you smiled, winking and patting her horse as she mounted it. “And thank you for the help. This wouldn’t have worked out if it weren’t for your decision.”

“You flatter me. But you’re welcome anyway.”

She pulled a poppy from her hat, handing it down to you. With exchanged nods, she rode off around the back, leaving you to the steps of Patrick’s burning house.

The front door burst open as Boothill kicked at it, stepping out as smoke started billowing from the building. You had every confidence in his capabilities, but you still found yourself in his arms. Crimson stained his cheeks, seeping into your palms as you brought his face closer to your view.

“How are you?”

“A little worse for wear, but if you kiss me, I just might be alright.”

“That can wait, cowboy. For now, we’d best get out of here.”

—

Epilogue

The sun beamed down brightly, casting a hazy glow over the river. Morning light was always lovely at times like this, and the sound of rushing water provided a welcome sense of relief. A soft breeze blew through the tree branches above you, ruffling the papers in Boothill's hands as well.

His head rested on your thighs, leaning back and reading them over with a smile. A sketch replaced your photo now, headed by text that read: “Reward for the capture, dead or alive, of __ __. The murderer of Patrick Arrington, they are still at large in Kearny County.”

“Look who made it big.” he chuckled.

“Think they’ll have a stage ready for me next time we visit?”

“If that stage is the gallows, then I’m sure.”

You laughed, leaning back against rough bark.

“Meanwhile I only got an extra $500! Can’t believe those lovely lawmen.” he grumbled, ripping them in half.

You brushed your palm over his forehead, shifting his hair back.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Fingertips brushed down his cheek, before curling under his jaw and tilting his head in your direction. Silver and red eyes met yours, simmering down to a rare gentleness. He stared at you for a moment, no vibrant expression or words leaving him. Peaceful – that’s what he was.

“Where do you want to go next?” you asked, thumb tracing along his cheekbone.

“I think we’ll just keep ridin’, stop where we want and see where the trail ends.”

“Take some jobs here and there, try to make some money.”

“Sounds nice.”

You hummed as Boothill turned his head back to the river, sighing toward the low reeds.

“Would you ever want to have a farm again?”

He rested quietly before replying, “No, but I wouldn’t be against working on one every now and then.”

“You’ll have to show me the ropes, though.”

“Course. There’s plenty more I could show you too.”

“Like?”

“Anythin’ you can imagine.”

“What a magician you are.”

“You flatter me, sugar.”

“Gettin’ a little shy on me, are you?”

“Not at all.”

He leaned up on his right hand, the left coming to the side of your neck. Slightly rough lips met yours challengingly, as if lovingly proving a point. Cold metal was removed from your neck, fingertips running along your throat teasingly before coming up to tug down the hat on your head.

“Stealin’ my moves now, cowboy?”

“You learned them from me first.” he chuckled, “Just one of our many games, right?”

[n0tamused]

Hi! I saw that you requests were open and I had a brain rot about an idea, with platonic! Ratio with a student who acts like Bronya Zaychik. Feel free to ignore this if you don't feel like writing this! I love your work sm! Take care🗣🗣🗣

- 🧈 anon

A/N: My first emoji anon >:D Hello! Thank you so much for your request, I do hope I did it justice. I do have to say I did not play HI3 besides a little bit of the start, so I am not that well versed with Bronya's character there, but I did ask a friend to tell me about her, so I hope this is alright <3 Enjoy! You take care too!

Contents: PLATONIC! Dr Ratio x Reader, hcs, fluff?? Fight me

-Dr. Ratio is hard to get close to, both as a professor and an individual outside the Intelligentsia Guild. With that comes great impartiality when dealing with people, no one gets a better or a necessarily worse treatment by him, unless they’re really asking for it

-This does not mean that he is not keen on observation. Seldom few things can go by him without his notice, and that includes the little details about the students he teaches. The things they think escape the view of others

-It took some time, some odd few months before he really began to focus a bit more on you, all past observations accounting up to what he thinks now. His view definitely changed, positively so too.

-He is very appreciative of you, as a bright spark among the sea of dull minds, and he also began to look forward to your essays and exam papers. Although his rather harsh outward demeanor is yet to soften, it is clear he is taking steps to take a bit more care about you, taking steps to nurture your mind and to encourage its further growth

-Dr. Ratio really does want to spread knowledge far and wide, that is his life mission, and his way of teaching can be hard to catch on to, something he is aware of. So whenever he does see someone grasping his talks and being in tune with the material, he will do his best to not let that student stray from this path

-As a professor it is his duty and responsibility to be like that, but he takes that duty on tenfold

-During the days and classes which are spent in practical learning, Dr. Ratio would observe your way of going about the task, the way you look so…deadpan when being seemingly sarcastic with your peers, and how much you just cherish those few people in your closest circle, and how they cherish you in return- it is something that leaves him with an odd sense of pride in his chest.

-Having mentioned that, he finds it oddly peculiar and curious how you seem to refer to yourself as a third person too, and at times he does find it to be a pet peeve of his. In his mind it’s a cruel way to demean yourself like that, and at times when it seems as if you’re being rude to yourself, he will jump in to correct you - not only on the way you refer to yourself, but also the way you talk about yourself. He may be blunt, but he is not unnecessarily rude and there is care interwoven between his sharp words. Dr. Ratio does not take out rage on his students either, unless asked for, obviously - when did he ever mince his words or  actions with idiots? But you are human, so at least treat yourself as one.

-It is an odd feeling Dr. Ratio feels,  a sense of paternal protectiveness when it comes to you after a long while of teaching you and getting to know you through small talks here and there and through the answers you offer. 

-Should you encounter an issue, any issue, rest assured, Dr. Ratio does not mind repeating himself - after he let a small sassy remark fall from his lips about having to repeat himself. He shows you how he does it himself, before letting you take a go under his watchful eye. You may even catch a subtle praise or two slip from him

-He is well aware of the setbacks you can encounter, mainly with the issues of walking and going about. Dr. Ratio would try to accommodate the needs of his students, including you, as practically as he could. Thankfully, you won’t need to walk much at all during his classes. 

-Going back to the protectiveness he feels, he sort of has that demeanor which in a nutshell is just “I can yell at them but no one else can”. The other professors at the Guild can really strike his nerves when they are just rude and cruel to students, and aeons save the person that dares to dig their nasty teeth into either one of his students. They’re not gonna hear the end of it

-Say what you want about him, but one thing that is not true is that Dr. Ratio is emotionless, or that he lacks empathy. He was a student once too, and someone’s child. And now you’re his student, and while you may not be coddled in any way, you will be taken care of.

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[musings-ofthe-unamused]

A3 Reactions To:

A3 Reactions to: calling them beautiful

Spring Troupe:

Sakuya (P):

He will smile that bright smile of his

And you just say “Has anyone told you how beautiful your smile is?”

He’ll get slightly embarrassed 

“No…thank you.”

“I’ll just have to tell you more often then!”

Pat his head (threatening)

Masumi (P):

Masumi doesn’t necessarily enjoy being called beautiful 

He tends to like more masculine terms like handsome

But sometimes compliments just come out naturally, and you happened to call him beautiful

He’ll get bashful. Any praise from you is good praise

Then he’ll start trying to get called that more

Tsuzuru (R):

It catches him off guard

“Tsuzuru, I just can’t get enough of your beautiful writing. It’s just like you.”

“Beautiful?” He’ll ask

“Of course!”

He smiles to himself. He doesn’t really know how to respond

Instead, he’ll just lean in closer and ask for your favorite moments in his writings

Itaru (R): 

You two are messing around on a game

You decide to distract him and call him beautiful

“That won’t work” 

It does

He loses

Prepare for payback

Citron (R):

Call him beautiful, and he’ll immediately call you beautiful back

He gets all flirty, methinks

Starts to play with your hair, gives you a smile

“You really think I’m beautiful?”

Chikage (R): 

Chikage will use this against you

“What about me is so beautiful?”

You’ll get flustered as you try and list all the qualities about him 

With every word, he gets closer and closer

And then he leans down and-

AAAAAAHHHHH

Summer Troupe:

Tenma (R):

Little bitch Tenma would act like a typical tsundere

You call him beautiful after seeing him in a commercial

“What? Don’t call me that!”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“But it’s cute when you’re embarrassed!”

“Ugh.”

Yuki (P): 

Yuki would get shy, but feels very proud

You compliment him, his outfits, and his ability to look good in anything

No one in this whole entire game knows how to take a compliment, including Yuki

He would be smiling to himself the rest of the day though

It’s so adorable

Muku (P):

“Muku!! The world’s most beautiful prince!!”

“Ahh!!” Why would you say that?! Now he won’t be able to focus!

His face is red for the rest of the day and whenever he sees you

It’s adorable

Call him that every once in a while to throw him off guard

Misumi (P):

It’s hard complimenting Misumi

The best you could come up with is “You’re like a beautiful triangle”

It works, because his eyes are sparkling and he has a giant smile

He then gets all serious and says 

“You are like a precious triangle that shines in the moonlight”

Surprisingly sweet

Kazunari (R): 

Ok I lied, maybe Kazunari is the only one who knows how to take a compliment

“You think so? Thanks!”

He smiles and then compliments you back with no effort

Damn extroverts that are good at people pleasing

But it’s fun to compliment him (he will brag about it)

Kumon (P):

Kumon doesn’t think he’s beautiful

He just kinda…doesn’t think about his appearance that much at all

So when you call him beautiful, he’s taken aback

He’ll kinda switch the subject and say it’s a part of a nutritional diet

Whatever tf that means

Autumn Troupe:

Sakyo (R):

“You’re beautiful.”

Sakyo would lean back, a blush spreading from the center of his face outwards until it reaches his ears

He would scowl, pushing you away

“Don’t say that!”

Just smile and say “I’m only speaking the truth!!”

He’ll leave from embarrassment after mumbling out a thank you

Juza (P):

Juza (derogatory) kinda glares at you

Not in a mean way, but in a “wtf” way

His heart is pounding into his chest because who in their right mind would call him beautiful?

You’re not in your right mind, obviously

Juza will eventually mutter out a “thanks” and then run away never to be seen again

Banri (R):

“Ya think?”

He gives you a goofy ass smile and then (roughly) pats your head

He laughs his cute little laugh and your heart melts

“I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true”

“Ok, that’s enough”

He’ll  get “annoyed” and then try and change the subject

Rare embarrassed Banri!!!

Omi (R):

Omi (sobs) would have a really sweet reaction

He’ll gasp a little bit and go “you don’t have to say that”

“But I do! People should state the obvious”

I feel like he would click his tongue and hug you

God, I wanna hug him

Taichi (P): 

“Taichi!! Oh, I love the outfit today! You look beautiful today.”

“Thank yo- what?!”

He’ll be so surprised like :o

He seriously doesn’t know what to do and starts stuttering out some responses

“Why didn’t you just call me cool?!?”

Runs away crying

Azami (P):

Ok I lied again, Azami takes compliments like a pro

“Wow! You’re really beautiful today, Azami”

“I tried out some new skincare products. These ones may be expensive, but give a really good glow and smooth finish”

“Show me your ways”

On the inside, he’s smiling like a doofus, but on the outside he’s seriously teaching you about skincare

Winter Troupe:

Tasuku (R): 

Tasuku wouldn’t really know how to react

He just kind of stares at you blankly

“…Why?”

“Because you are.”

“Oh. Thank you?”

You think his reaction is funny so you keep calling him beautiful whenever you get the chance

Homare (R):

Oh god, here comes the theatrics (i love it)

“Beautiful? Beautiful?!?! My dear, my beauty cannot be compared to that of yours. Your beauty is like-”

He starts rambling on and on

Of course you’re listening, but you’re also smiling at the way the tips of his ears are tinted red and his words slightly shake from embarrassment 

So cute

Tsumugi (R):

Give him a flower that means beauty and suddenly whoosh

He’s blushing and laughing that cute awkward laugh of his

“Are you trying to say something?”

“I’m trying to say you’re beautiful.”

“Hehe…thank you.”

He likes that flower a lot more now

Azuma (R):

Damn it…this bastard gets called beautiful all the time!

You can’t even get out the compliment

“Hmmm? What is it? You’re stuttering.”

Yeah, anyone would stutter with Azuma looking at them like they were a dessert!! 

“Just that you’re- uhm…really..prett- I mean. You’re beautiful.”

Why are you the only one flustered in this situation?

Hisoka (R):

“You look so beautiful when you’re sleeping…”

You only whisper it so he can’t hear

Yet he suddenly shifts and grabs your hand

You both know he’s pretending at this point but…

You don’t say anything. Just watch him and smile

Guy (R):

“You’re beautiful .”

“Hmmm.”

That was his response. You didn’t know why you called him that, it just happened

Now you’re both standing there awkwardly

He’s just staring at you

You’re fidgeting and getting uncomfortable…

“Thank you.”

Finally a response with a small smile

Your heart skips a beat 

[sequinsmile-x]

Just Like a Folk Song - Part 2

Part 2: Too Scared to Jump In

Emily and Aaron have been friends since they were children, what will happen when Emily realises she can no longer keep her feelings for him to herself?

A Young Hotchniss AU

Part 2/3

Part 1

-x-

Hi friends!

Thanks for the love on part 1 <3 here is part 2 of the lovely. @ssa-sparks birthday fic.

As always, please let me know what you think!

-x-

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: None, but fic is M for smut in part 3

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

It takes a moment for her to respond, his words hanging over her like a thick blanket. It feels like she’s underwater, everything slightly muted as she looks at how closely Aaron and Haley are standing next to each other his arm loose around her waist. Emily can hear her heartbeat in her head, loud and overwhelming as it drowns everything else, all of her focus on how Haley reaches for Aaron’s hand, how their fingers link together. 

“Em?” Aaron asks, breaking through the trance she had fallen into. All of her senses return at once, the loud sound of the party around them almost making her wince as her eyes snap to his, “Are you okay?” 

She nods, her lips pressed tightly together as she forces a smile, “How did you guys meet?” 

“Well, we met in law school,” Haley says, looking back and forth between the two of them, “And I asked Aaron out a couple of times but he always turned me down. We bumped into each other over the summer and we hit it off.”

Emily looks at her best friend, sees the smile in his eyes, and she swears she feels her heart break in her chest, an ache spreading outwards that she’s sure she’ll never recover from. She swallows thickly and she sighs, the sound catching on her ribs on the way out, grief for a future she’d never get to have filling her lungs. 

“You know what,” she says, smiling tightly, “I actually am tired, so I think I’ll head home. It was nice to meet you, Haley.” She turns to leave and then she feels his hand wrap around her wrist, his touch burns just like before but it’s lost its comfort, and she wonders if when he pulls away his handprint will remain behind, a brand mark she’d never be free from, a reminder of what she’d allowed herself to lose with her silence. 

“Em, are you okay?” He asks, his concern clear as he repeats his earlier question. He’s confused, worry for her rolling in his gut, and he steps closer to her, checking for Haley over his shoulder to make sure he’s far enough away that only Emily will hear him, “You’re not acting like yourself.” 

“I’m okay, I’m tired. That’s all,” she says, knowing he sees through the lie. He knew her well enough to do that at least, “I’ll call you, okay?” 

He nods, letting go of her arm as she steps away again. She didn’t turn back to look at him, worried if she does that she’d burst into tears, and she didn’t want to cry here. She’d cried in this house enough to last a lifetime. 

She feels nothing short of proud of herself when she makes it to her car without a single tear slipping free.

___

She’s woken up the next morning by a knocking on her front door. 

She groans as she sits up and she grabs her robe as she stands, shrugging it on as she walks out of her bedroom and to the front door. She stifles a yawn as she looks through the peephole and she sighs as she spots her mother through it. She curses under her breath and rests her forehead against the door, blowing out a slow breath as she considers pretending she isn’t home. 

“This door isn’t soundproof Emily, and your floorboards squeak.” 

Emily rolls her eyes and pulls the door open, a fake smile painted on her face as she locks eyes with her mother, “Mom, hi,” she says, stepping back to let her in, “What are you doing here so early?” 

“Well,” she says as she walks into the apartment, “My only daughter came home yesterday after several months abroad and didn’t stay at my fundraiser long enough to even say hello,” she says, turning to look at her with her eyebrow raised, “So I thought it was best I checked in on her.” 

Emily freezes for a second as she pushes the door closed, sighing as she closes her eyes and pulls her robe tighter around her, as if the cotton it was made of would protect her from her mother. Elizabeth always had a way of sneaking under her defences. She knew every weak point. She knew where all of Emily’s buttons were and how to press them because she’d sewn them on herself, insecurities and complexes that had been around for as long as Emily could talk. 

“I wasn’t feeling too great,” she says, walking past Elizabeth and towards the kitchen, avoiding eye contact as she turns on the coffee pot, “Coffee?”

“Yes please,” Elizabeth says, stepping closer to her daughter. “Are you sure it had nothing to do with Aaron being there with his girlfriend?” 

She almost drops a mug, her mother’s ability to always find her weak spot second to none. She recovers quickly and places the mug on the counter. She looks up at Elizabeth and flashes a tight smile at her, “What makes you say that?” 

He’d tried to call her last night. She’d screened his calls, unable to bear talking to him when everything was still so raw, tears rolling down her cheeks as she listened to his messages as he was leaving them. She’d deleted them immediately, not trusting herself to not listen to them on repeat, the way he cared for her a drug she was endlessly addicted to.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, she didn’t want to speak to him. There seemed to be cruel irony in the fact he was the only one who would be able to offer advice, his knowledge of her, of how she ticked, ran so deeply that he almost knew her as well as he knew himself. This was the only thing she’d ever kept from him, her love for him something she’d treated as a secret. 

She’d adjust, she knew that. She’d done it before and she’d do it again. She would eventually get used to seeing him with someone else without aching to be the one he had his arm wrapped around so much that it threatened to tear her in two. She’d slowly pull herself back together stitch by stitch, sewing up the wound he’d unknowingly caused until it was a dull ache. Something she’d think about from time to time, the could have beens haunting her in her lowest moments. 

Elizabeth sighs, seemingly fed up as she throws her daughter a pointed look, “Maybe because you’re in love with each other.” 

Emily’s eyes go wide and she drops the box of Splenda packets she’d had in her hands, tiny individual packages spreading across her kitchen floor that she ignores in turn of looking up at her mother, “Wh…what?”

Her mother smiles, and it makes irritation lick at Emily’s insides as she raises her eyebrow at her, “Emily, the only people who don’t know you and Aaron love each other are you and Aaron.” 

She stands there in silence, opening and closing her mouth repeatedly as, for once, words fail her. She eventually settles on a humourless laugh and she crouches down to start to pick up the Splenda packets, “You’re wrong.”

“I’m never wrong, Emily,” Elizabeth says cooly as Emily stands up straight again, “And, I don’t pretend to know everything about your life, I know we don’t have that kind of relationship, but I do know when my daughter is in love. Besides, Dave agrees.”  

“You and Dave talk about this?” She asks incredulously, and her mother nods. Emily shakes her head, “It doesn’t matter. Aaron doesn’t love me,” she says firmly, her lips pressed tightly together as she bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying, her vision going blurry as she stares at the counter, “And it doesn’t matter how I might feel. He has a girlfriend.” 

Her mother was wrong. He didn’t love her, not like that anyway. Not in the way she so desperately wanted him to, and it hurt. She didn’t need false promises like this, didn’t need treacherous hope to plant its seeds in her chest only to bloom flowers that were doomed to rot, the petals of it turning to ash in her throat.

“Emily-”

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” she says, cutting her mother off as she passes her a coffee, a look in her eyes that she knows borders on begging as she looks at her, “Please? Can we just talk about anything else?” 

Elizabeth stares at her for a moment and sighs, nodding reluctantly as she walks over to the couch, “So, tell me about your trip.” 

Emily sighs in relief and joins her mother on the couch, “Well, I know you hate Paris so I’ll skip that part.” 

They talk as they drink their coffee, and for a moment it almost feels like a conversation between a normal mother and daughter. A taste of the relationship they never had, both of them prone to burning down any bridges they had ever built between them, the foundations never strong enough to not be rocked by the tiniest of arguments. By the time Elizabeth excuses herself Emily unexpectantly feels a little bit better, a rare feeling for when she spent time with her mother. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to put in a good word for you at the state department?” 

Emily smiles tightly and nods, “I’m sure, Mother. I need to make a name for myself. You pulling the ambassador card won’t help with that.” 

Elizabeth hums as she opens the door to the apartment, “Well if you’re sure.”

“I am.” 

Elizabeth turns to leave but she looks back at her daughter, “I really think you should speak to Aaron.” 

She rolls her eyes and scoffs, her arms tight over her chest as she shakes her head, “There’s no point-”

“There is every point, Emily,” she says, reaching out and placing her hand on her arm, a maternal edge to the gesture that reminds Emily of when she was young. Flashes of her mother being everything she’d always wanted her to be, quick moments of tender love when she was sad or hurt that always disappeared as quickly as they’d started, “I want you to be happy.” 

She falters and she blows out a breath, shaky and uneven as she smiles tightly, “What would I even say, ‘hi, Aaron I know you have a girlfriend now but I’m in love with you’? I can’t lose him as a friend.” 

Her mother opens her mouth to respond but she’s cut off by a sound in the hallway, a crash as something hits the floor, and they both look into the hall.

Emily gasps as her eyes meet Aaron’s, two cups of take-out coffee spilled on the floor at his feet.

___

He’d been in love with her for as long as he could remember. 

It was so much a part of him, so deeply ingrained into who he was, he was sure if someone cut him open they’d be able to see it, his love for Emily Prentiss mixed in with his very lifeblood. She was everything to him. His best friend, his confidant. The person he trusted more than anyone else on earth. 

More than once, he’d almost told her that he loved her, the confession almost slipping free in moments when he got lost in her smile, joy and something close to forever shining out of her face. He always stopped himself at the last moment, too afraid to admit to something he was so sure wasn’t reciprocated. 

He’d never even had a hint that she felt the same way, not until he’d heard her speaking to her mother. Suddenly, her behaviour the night before, the very thing that had driven him to come over with coffee to make sure she was okay, made sense. 

She was in love with him. 

As he walks around aimlessly after he left he’s angry. Not at her, never at her, but himself. Angry for leaving without a word, too shocked to say or do anything other than to turn around and leave the way he’d come, her shuddering gasp following him like a melancholy phantom that chases him out of her building. He’s angry at himself for never saying anything to her, for convincing himself that this was the summer he needed to move on, the time she was out of the country seemingly the perfect time to try and let himself do that. He was convinced to do so by his friend Derek who had told him more than once that was what he needed to do.

Then he’d bumped into Haley. Nice, sweet, beautiful, Haley who he’d known at law school. She’d made no secret of having a crush on him then, but he’d been distracted at the time, all of his focus on Emily and the fallout of her relationship with Ian, and he’d always turned her down. He decided to give it a chance this time and he’d asked her out. 

He knows he has to break up with her. 

He couldn’t deny that he’d had fun with Haley, nor could he deny that he had feelings for her. He could see something coming from it, could see a future where he’d be happy, but he also knew he could have more. That he could be happier. And she deserved better than to be with someone who was in love with someone else. 

He finds himself at Haley’s apartment sometime that afternoon, the day having largely passed him by as he walks around, only stopping to have coffee and a stack of pancakes in a bright pink diner he’d never been in before but that Emily always commented on as they walked past. A glint in her eyes as she playfully made up stories about couples who sat at tables in there, describing in detail how she thought they must have met. 

Haley smiles softly at him as she lets him in, a glint of sadness in her eyes as she looks him up and down. 

“I called you,” she says, stepping back, “I was worried when I didn’t hear from you this morning.”

“Sorry,” he says, scratching at the back of his head, unsure where to begin, “I went to check on Emily and then…I lost track of time.”

“Is she okay?” Haley asks, her hands clasped in front of her, and he nods absentmindedly. 

“She’s…” he drifts off, not sure how to explain it, how to tell her that he hadn’t spoken to her, that he’d run off like the coward his father had always told him he was when he heard the words he’d always wanted to hear. Haley sighs and she reaches out for his hand, something final about the way she links their fingers together, as if they were both aware this was the last time they’d see each other, and she guides him over to her couch. 

“I know what you’ve come here to say, and it actually saves me a conversation,” she says, her smile soft as he furrows his brows, “I won’t be someone’s consolation prize, Aaron,” she says, squeezing his hand, “I deserve better than that,” she laughs humourlessly and shakes her head, “So do you and Emily.” 

Emily’s earlier accidental confession rings in his head, the words he’d never imagined from her a cruel echo, a reverberation of what he’d always told himself he’d never have. He frowns, his breath catching in his chest as she looks at him knowingly. He thought he’d covered it well, it was something he’d spent more than half of his life doing.

“Haley-”

“You two love each other. More than just two friends do. You’re in love with each other. You both try to hide it but…I think the only people who don’t know are the two of you,” she says, her smile kind, far too kind for what he feels like he deserves, “The way she looked at us when you introduced me to her yesterday…” she presses her lips together and shakes her head, “That’s the kind of shit they write love songs about, Aaron. I’m not getting in the way of that, and I’m not stopping myself from finding someone who loves me like you love her.” 

He hugs her, taking a moment to breathe her in as he holds her close, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” she says as she pulls back, her hand on his cheek as she leans in to quickly kiss him, the taste of goodbye on her lips, “You’re a good guy, Aaron. It’s actually really annoying,” she chuckles as she squeezes his hands one last time, “It’s going to make bad mouthing you to all my friends very hard.” 

He laughs and shakes his head, “I’m sure you’ll manage. I deserve it,” his smile fades, and he’s talking before he can stop himself, “So what do I do now?”

Haley smiles at him, no judgement in her eyes for the fact he’d asked her all of people that question. “You go to her.” 

___

He stands exactly where he’d stood only 12 hours previously, frozen to the spot where he’d spilt the coffee he’d bought just minutes before his worldview shifted.

He gives himself a moment, knowing it is about to shift again, that whatever happens after he knocks on her door will change their relationship forever. He doesn’t let the idea scare him, the thought of being able to love her now he knows she feels the same way as he does pushing him forward, his fist raised as he comes to a stop just outside of her door. 

He knocks on her door and he hears her footsteps get louder inside her apartment as she gets closer, can see her shadow shifting in the gap beneath it. There’s a pause as she clearly considers whether she should open the door or not, and the few seconds he waits feels like the longest of his life. When the door does open, he can’t explain how he feels. Hope and nerves and love flood his chest as he looks at her.

She’d been crying. Her eyes were red and shining, and her cheeks slightly puffy. She was still wearing the pjyamas and robe that she’d been wearing that morning. He’d seen her in gowns, in dresses her mother forced her into ever since they were kids, but he never thought she’d looked as beautiful as she did right now. 

“What do you want, Aaron?” She asks, her voice hoarse as she chokes on a mirth filled laugh, “Haven’t I been embarrassed enough today?” 

He doesn’t know what to say, all of the things he’d practised on his way over gone the moment he sees her face. Years and years of repressed feelings rendering him speechless, his mouth open as he tries to force something, anything out. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. 

He steps forward and cups her cheek, pulling her into the kiss that feels nothing short of several years overdue. 

-x-

Tag List:

@ssa-sparks, @ptrckjcne, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis-22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009, @ssablackbird, @luhwithah, @lex13cm, @prentiss-theorem, @dont-emily-me, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @jocyycreation, @itsmytimetoodream, @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @capsshinyshield, @canuck-eh

Join my tag list here!

[losfacedevil]

Addicted // S.F.K

a/n~ I don’t know how to just blurb they all turn into ficlets.This ones all for you @gretasmokerising​ I hope I’ve done your request justice! WC 1.8k

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI PENETRATIVE SEX (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)

Sam woke with the birds, the sun not even fully risen in the sky as his phone alarm sounded. He swatted at the device, a soft groan escaping him as he realized why he preferred early afternoon meetings. The silence engulfed the room once more as the incessant beeping of his alarm stopped. He let his head fall to the side and pressed a series of soft kisses against your forehead as he began to carefully untangle his limbs from yours. A soft whine emanated from your chest as you tightened your arm around him, nuzzling your face further into the junction of his neck. 

“I have to go sweets, I’ll be back before you know it.” He mumbled, removing your arm from around his middle as he slowly slipped out of bed. A sigh escaped your sleeping form as he tucked the blanket around you and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek before quickly dressing in some comfortable clothes and slipping his feet into his favorite beat up sneakers. Throwing a look over his shoulder he turned back, kneeling on the bed to place one more kiss to your forehead before slipping out of the room.

~*~*~

You teetered in the limbo between deep sleep and the conscious realm; fully aware that Sam had slipped away for the morning but unsure of what time he had stepped out.  A groan escaped you as you stretched your body, your bleary eyes landing on the small clock Sam insisted be kept on the bedside table. 

9:26am

Another groan escaped you as you realized you’d slept through your alarm. That’s when a thought popped into your mind — your alarm, why hadn’t it woken you up? Stretching your arm outward you let your hand fall onto your phone, the distinct feeling of a sticky note on the smooth surface of the screen. Blinking your eyes a few times you let your vision adjust before holding the phone up in front of your face. 

Executive decision made! Coffees in the fridge, I’ll wake you when I get back. Love you.

        - Sam

You shook your head as you pushed up into a seated position, your eyes dancing around the sunlit room. You let your eyes flutter shut as you pulled a deep breath in through your nose, fighting off the thought of letting the remnants of sleep looming over you snatch you back under into the world of the unconscious. 

A shower sounded like the best course of action as you rose from the bed, tossing your phone down against the mattress before slinking off across the room. Your eyes landed on his drawer, the one you knew housed all of his favorite comfy clothes. Sam’s clothes were always much more comfier than yours and a mischievous smile spread across your face as you pulled open the drawer and plucked out his favorite pair of striped grey sweats and a threadbare band shirt. 

You slowly made your way to the bathroom, rolling your head from side to side to stretch out your neck as you went. A sigh slipped past your nose as your eyes landed on the empty spot where your claw clip had once rested, shaking your head lightly with a soft ‘this boy I swear’ escaping you, you dug for a scrunchie to keep you hair out of the stream of water. 

~*~*~

Sam let himself into the house quietly, tiptoeing through the living room to your shared bedroom where he expected to find you still deep in sleep. He heard the shower cut off, a clear indication that you had woken well before his arrival. With a slight shrug of his shoulders he turned his back to the bathroom door, stripping off the button up he had worn in favor of a comfy T-shirt. 

You could hear him rummaging through the drawer as you slipped out of the bathroom and kept your footsteps light as you snuck up behind him. Bringing both hands up you clapped them against his ass before letting them slide forward. He was quick to grab your hands. 

“Whoa! Watch where your fingers are going!” He chucked, spinning in your grasp and placed a soft kiss to your lips. 

“How was your meeting?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his neck as he bent at the waist, wrapping his hands around your things and lifting you into his grasp. 

“Oh you know, the usual. No one could agree on anything Josh and Jake got into a fight and Danny never showed.” He shrugged, his eyes meeting yours as he slid his hands up your sides.

“Now, body slam!” A boisterous laugh escaped him as you protested, though he wasted no time tossing you on the bed. 

“Samuel, come on!” He couldn’t help the boyish grin that formed on his face as he crawled up the bed and laid next to you.

“I love you.” He chuckled, lifting his arm so you could curl up against his side.

“I love you more.” You mumbled, eyes fluttering shut as he danced his fingers up your arm, causing goosebumps to raise on your skin. You felt the familiar tug of sleep threatening to pull you under once more, nuzzling your face into the crook of Sam’s neck before speaking.

“So what’s the plan, Stan?” You mumbled, placing a soft kiss to the side of Sam’s neck.  He shrugged his shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“No clue, but I have to shower if we’re planning on anything.” He grumbled, a soft whine emanating from his chest as you rolled out of his grasp. 

“Well you do that then maybe we can do lunch?” You questioned, standing from the bed and stretching your arms up over your head. 

A soft smile spread across Sam’s face as his eyes landed on your back, taking note of the shirt that caressed your figure. His eyes grew wide as they landed on your ass, a soft chuckle escaping him as he rolled over and clapped a hand down on your asscheek. 

“How the hell are you gonna look better in my pants than I do?” He chucked, pushing himself into a seated position as he wrapped his arms around your middle. A mischievous grin spread across your face as you wiggled your hips and sunk down into his lap. 

“You rock them just as well as I do.” You giggled, turning your head to place a series of kisses against his cheek. 

“I think you fill them out just a little bit more than I do.” He chuckled, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. 

“Now get up and do a twirl.” He unraveled his arms from you, leaning back on his hands as he watched you rise slowly, spinning on your heel with a cheeky shake of your ass as it was in his view. He swatted at you once more, landing a sharp smack against your ass earning himself a hiss from you. 

“That stung! You best kiss that better, pretty boy.” 

The slip of the pet name changed Sam’s entire demeanor. A sultry chuckle escaped him as he reached forward and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you back towards him in a quick motion and your knees buckled as they met his. 

“I’ll kiss that better and more, sweets, you just say the word.” His voice was a whisper in your ear, sending a shiver up your spine as he pressed a soft kiss to your neck. 

“Oh is that so? These pants do to you what they do to me when you wear them huh?” A low chuckle escaped him, running his nose up the length of your neck.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He cooed, letting his fingers slip below the waistband of your sweats. You pulled a deep breath in through you nose as his fingers danced lower, slipping between your folds with ease and collected the slick arousal pooling there. 

“You’re a bold faced liar.” Your words pushed out on a labored breath as he slowly began rolling the pad of his middle finger over your clit. You let your head fall back against his shoulder, exposing more of your neck to him. Another low chuckle escaped him as he grazed his teeth against the sensitive skin of your neck. 

Sam removed his hand from your pants and stood quickly, spinning you both around and pushed you down on the bed before you could protest. His fingers curled around the waistband of your pants, a curt nod of his head the only indication he wanted your shirt off as well. 

With one quick snap of his wrists his pulled your pants down and off your legs, tossing them to the side before stripping his own off.  He gripped himself loosely, pumping his length lightly and watched as your eyes widened slightly. 

“Is this what you want, sweets?” He cooed, closing the small amount of distance between the two of you as he kneeled up on the bed. You nodded gently, eyes never leaving the hand working him over. 

“Use your words.” You swallowed thickly, shaking your head as you tore your attention away from his hand. 

“Make love to me, pretty boy.” 

Another chuckle escaped Sam as he lined himself up with your entrance, rubbing the tip of his cock over your folds to collect your arousal before slowly pushing in. A soft gasp escaped you as the ache of him stretching you settled and the all too familiar band of pleasure set it. Sam leaned his head against your shoulder as his hips found a rhythm, one slow and sensual. He placed soft kisses to your collar bone, nipping at a particularly sensitive spot before sucking a bruise into it. 

“I love you.” It was a soft mumble, one that had you opening your eyes and staring directly into his. You brought your hands up, cupping his cheeks as you pulled his face to yours and captured his lips in a soft kiss; curling your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck as you held him in place. 

His pace began to quicken, bringing his hand down between your bodies and rolling his middle finger over your clit once more. Your breathing began to quicken, the only indication he needed that your release was looming quickly. 

“Cum with me, I won’t last much longer.” 

His words were slurred as he focused on the high he knew was just over the edge. You dug your nails into his shoulders as you felt the band of pleasure snap within you. His name and a string of profanities slipping past your lips as his movements became erratic, slowing to an almost stop as his orgasm crashed over him like a wave. A soft groan escaped him as he rested his head against your shoulder once more. 

You both lay still, trying to catch your breath. Sam hovered over you carefully, resting his weight on his forearms as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. You reached up and gathered his sweat dampened hair in your hands, pulling it into a faux ponytail. 

“So about that shower, can I join you?” You giggled, pursing your lips as he rolled his eyes and leaned down to press a kiss to yours.

[creator-of-calm-queer-chaos]

Ten Fics, Share a Line, Ten People

The wonderful @beepbeepsan tagged me in this!

(Astrabear I apologise for tagging you, I did in fact copy and paste this and forgot to take out your tag lmao)

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll roughly to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

Sinc Itur Ad Astra (Good Omens)

A warm, fuzzy feeling spreads through Crowley’s body, from his chest outward. It’s quite hot, but comfortable, like sinking into a bath. Crowley feels Aziraphale wrap an arm around him, and Crowley pulls him even closer. 

I wish this moment could last forever, Crowley thinks. 

Then, in the middle of the perfect kiss, Crowley notices that the hot feeling in his chest isn’t going away. Instead, it’s just getting hotter and hotter. It’s almost burning - no, it’s definitely burning now. Why is it burning? 

2. Finder's Keepers (Sherlock)

“Just… just make it stop,” Sherlock whispered. 

“John, Sherlock is asking me to make it stop. Honestly it’s a miracle that he’s still alive, there’s an awful lot of blood here. What if I… put him out of his misery?” 

“NO!” John screamed again. “Sherlock, hang on, I think I’m almost there.” 

“Well, then, don’t want you to crash our party, do we?” the man snarled, pointing the gun at Sherlock’s head. “Any last words, pretty boy?” 

All Sherlock could do was groan. 

“All right then. Bye bye!” 

BANG. 

3. Blood in the Water (Sherlock)

“Sherlock.” John’s hand moved to his wrist and gripped it like a vice. “You- you have to pr- promise me.” 

Blood dribbled out of his mouth. There was blood everywhere . It covered the floor, it covered their clothes, it covered his hands, some of it was dripping into the pool. Again, Sherlock’s mind held only one thought: Save John. Save John. Save John. Over and over like a mantra. 

“Shut up,” Sherlock spluttered out. So much blood. “Save your energy, please. I can’t lose you!” 

“Promise me you’ll catch the fucker.” His voice was like iron. Iron as blood. 

“I promise,” Sherlock whispered. 

4. What if Cas died how Sam died in S2? (Supernatural)

But Castiel didn’t move, Dean couldn’t feel a pulse beneath the hand on his neck.

“CAS!” Dean screamed, clutching his best friend tight, sobbing.

He looked at the pool of blood on the ground, soaking the dirt and- and as Cas’s hand lost warmth, the silver ring on his hand was soaked in red.

5. "Can you hear me?" w/ Clint and Natasha (Marvel / The Avengers)

“Let’s keep this between us, then, shall we?” 

He brought the flat of the blade under Clint’s chin. He gently pushed it up, forcing Clint to look him in the eyes. He smirked, and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Oh, you’ll be so much fun.” 

6. Made to Watch w/ Fitzsimmons (Agents of Shield)

She took out the knife and cut away his shirt. Then, she placed the tip of the knife into his skin. Fitz shakily inhaled and held his breath. 

The woman began to carve. 

At first, Fitz bit his tongue, but within seconds, he was screaming. Simmons was sobbing, sitting on the floor. The woman only grinned and kept dragging the knife through Fitz’s skin. Blood flowed from the wounds in huge waves, puddling around them. Fitz trembled and screamed and wailed. And yet he let it continue. 

7. Secrets Revealed w/ Ward and Skye (Agents of Shield)

Skye was on the ground. She couldn’t breathe well. Her hands were sticky. Why were her hands wet? 

There was a gun in her hands. She needed to fire it. 

Fire. Click. Click. Nothing. Laughing. Someone was laughing. Why was someone laughing? 

“Goodbye, Skye,” a voice said. 

8. Muzzled w/ May and Daisy (Agents of Shield)

“Who’s that for?” Daisy snarked from where she sat, sitting up straighter and blinking rapidly. “Did you get me a present?” 

“In a way,” the man said. The two guards hefted her up by her armpits and placed her in the middle of the room. The man sat on the ground behind her, and the woman in front of her. “We’re going to have some fun now that we know we have the time.” 

May inhaled sharply from across the room. 

9. Caged w/ Steve and Bucky (MCU/Avengers)

“Why did you draw me?” a voice said. 

Steve jumped and looked up. The Winter Soldier had appeared in front of the cage. He held a plate of bread and cheese. 

“Because I knew you,” Steve answered cautiously. 

Not-Bucky opened the cage door and stepped in, placing the food on the ground. He leaned against the wall and closed the door with a slam. They were locked in there together 

“Tell me what you remember,” Not-Bucky said. 

10. Found Footage w/ Peter and the Team (MCU)

He wailed and screamed and pleaded, but nothing deterred them. He yelled for them, for Mr Stark and Natasha and Steve and Clint and Ned and everyone he loved. But none of them arrived.

This is open to anyone who would like to particpate! I'll tag a few people in case they want to, but no pressure at all :)

@whoopsitswhump, @suspicious-whumping-egg, @painsandconfusion, @atlantis-is-burning

[saintmurd0ck]

I’m unsure if multiple stops is done this way >< buuuuut 🎟️ ticket for 🚇 34th St-Hudson Yards ("for years i have yearned for you, in secrecy and silence.") and 🚇 86th St (“you bring out the good in me.”) with Owen Sleater please! I’m dying 4 more content about this boiii!!

la douleur exquise

join my sleepover | main masterlist

pairing: owen sleater x reader

warnings: kinda unrequited love (ISH), angsty owen, hurt + comfort

a/n: thank you SO much for being my first sleepover ask! this was so heartbreakingly beautiful to write, and as this is my first ever owen piece, i hope you enjoy 💗 (p.s. tagging mrs sleater, @murdock-and-the-sea)

There’s a breezeblock sinking deep into your stomach as Owen reaches for the coat that’s lived on the hatstand for the past two years. It never mattered that the hatstand sat empty most of the time; not when you always knew he was coming back. 

But today is different.

You barely register the sense of melancholic dread coursing through you, spreading outwards from the centre of your chest. Not when there are a million little things running through the abyss of your mind.

It feels like you’re gasping for air as you take in a staggering breath, doing your best to cast aside the unease carving his initials into your heart. Your voice cracks when you speak, and with it, any attempts you’ve made to ground yourself. “All packed?”

Owen’s lips twitch upwards as he nods, tightening his grip on the brim of his hat.

You’ve known for a while that this day would come, when he would inevitably have to leave Atlantic City. To go home, as he would fondly say. Home being Ireland. 

Not here. 

It couldn’t be here, unless Owen could resign himself to a life working for Nucky, being his right-hand man at best, but doing nothing else except taking orders and cutting down anyone who would get in the way. 

You swallow thickly, tears prickling your eyes as his fingers close around the door handle. You imagine instead that his hand moves away, a man on a mission to seek out his love, but he turns towards you not to then press his lips against your own, but to angle his body towards the promise of his exit. “Ma’am.”

You draw in a breath, wanting to say something, anything, to fill the now-awkward space between you. The fact that nothing comes out shatters something whole within you. He’s reverting back to your old pleasantries, because you’re more strangers-than-not, and now, you’ll have to remember him for longer than you’ve known him.

“Mr. Sleater,” you call out from your place on the stairs, not caring that the words catch in your throat, “You needn’t address me like that.” 

There’s a hitch in every syllable, one that wedges and distorts the sound coming from your mouth. But you keep going. “I thought we’d agreed that you’d call me by name. And don’t you say it’s because of manners.” 

You wait a moment. “I know you’re not capable of manners, Owen.” You let his name roll off your tongue, and for some reason, it’s this instance that feels more indulgent than any other time you’ve used it. It reminds you that you’ve grown fond of his temporary permanence, and even then, fond is too austere a word. 

He smiles sadly. “I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll be goin’ now.” The words echo in your mind even before he says them. “And I don’t know when I’ll be back.” 

He turns the handle, and he’s gone in an instant; so quickly and without further goodbye you would think he’s otherwise vanished into thin air. It doesn’t surprise you all that much, because that’s how it’s always been with Owen: a man of few words, always leaving without a trace. 

It all becomes unbearable too fast as you watch the sunlight filtering into the foyer, the spot where he stood now agonisingly empty. You stare fixedly at nothing in particular, replaying his words in your head, unable to do anything but bring a fist to your mouth to stifle the oncoming rainstorm. 

As you make your way up the stairs, turning your back to the lingering ghost of Owen’s solid form, it hits you that this is what goodbye feels like. This is what it means to farewell something that could’ve worked out, if only you’d properly tried. Your knuckles whiten around the wooden banister, clutching it so tightly it’s a wonder you’re not rooted to the spot, able to move upwards at all. But you trudge onwards, shoving down every hint of his smile, his scent and his warmth, as deep as it’ll go. 

Muscle memory leads you to the edge of the bed, and you sink down onto the mattress, rumpling the crisp sheets. Good, you think, let me stay here. Let me be consumed by the inordinate grief I carry for a man who was never mine. 

It’s then that you feel the dam break, washing away your hardened resolve and with it, two years of missed opportunities and what seems like wasted yearning. Part of you screams that it’s no use dwelling on what could’ve been, but you allow yourself that luxury, if nothing but to live in delusion for just a little more. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror doesn’t do much to help your case; not with your glassily dejected expression, your leaden limbs that hang by your side. 

“All this,” you murmur aloud, your eyes fluttering closed, “for someone who never loved you back.” 

You mull over your thoughts so forcefully that you almost miss the response. 

“Is that what you really think?”

Your body goes rigid at the sound of his voice, your frantic gaze widening as you clock him standing by the door. His name comes out as a squeak, but you say it nonetheless. “Owen?”

He jerks his chin at you, taking a step forwards, his coat and hat markedly draped over the banister. “Now who said I didn’t love you back? Nucky?”

You open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. Instead, you purse your lips together, praying that the shallow rise and fall of your chest is noticeable to none other than yourself. 

But it’s Owen, and nothing goes over his head. He fixates on your breathing, hyper-aware at the effect his reappearance has had on you, or more accurately, the implication laying heavy in his tone. 

He walks in, rubbing his face as he paces in front of you. He grits his teeth as he speaks, his voice dropping an octave. “For years,” he starts, seething in anguish, “I have yearned for you, in secrecy and in silence. Years.” He lets out a small, sarcastic chuckle, but the pain laid bare in his eyes fool no-one. “I have thought every day of how to tell you.”

You feel like keeling over, but this isn’t the time. Gathering whatever’s left of your internal strength, you push up off the bed to get to your feet to face him. 

Owen blinks at you, his expression inscrutable. “You bring out the good in me.”

You don’t know what this means — about whether  he’ll stay or go, but you cast aside any reservations, choosing instead to focus on the matter at hand. 

“Do you love me?” you ask, unwavering. 

“Yes.”

You drop to a whisper, taking one of his hands into your own, brushing over every callous with your thumb. You’ve never known how to say anything to him about how you feel, but his candor sparks a light, but you know what you say next is the irrevocable truth. 

“Then I am yours, Mr. Sleater. I am yours until the world — my life — decides otherwise.”

[alpydk]

I’ve seen a lot of anon hate knocking about, so I wanted to balance the scales and show what the anon option should be used for.

I’m going to drop into some inboxes and explain what it is about your blog (and you) I love so much.

You are kind, so kind, so thoughtful. You treat utter strangers like friends, and make them feel deserving of love and attention and time!

You write the kind of angst that makes me want to read it, even when I normally avoid angst because I don’t want to be sad… that’s really something!

You are open and honest and not ashamed to use this madhouse the way it’s intended - for sharing!

If you want to keep it going, do the same thing to some blogs (and people) that bring you sunshine.

You’re amazing and I adore you!

Love you Anon. - Here is my offering to you of angst. Gale inspired. (Warning is angst.) But I do love and cherish you.

Anon?

Gale sat in his tower, his bones weary and head heavy from the stack of research papers that sat scattered around his desk. For days, he had worked tirelessly to have them all prepared and finished, ready to be sent over to the academy. Studies on Netherese magic, an in-depth analysis of the histories and arrangement of the matriarchal Drow societies, a report on the poetic writings of Felaar Tanil. All of it worked on to his very best ability, as a distraction during long nights from the sickness which plagued his body.

He rubbed cautiously at his chest as the pain spread outwards, a slow prickling in his nerves now becoming a burning on the skin. He breathed deeply, hoping it would pass, but knowing that without intervention, that would never happen. Digging through the drawers found him minor relief, a silver ring gifted to him by a colleague years ago during a formal banquet, now another distant memory of little importance. The artefact was quickly absorbed, one of many consumed by the dark horror that lay within him. His time was running out.

He stacked the papers on top of one another, placing them tidily into a folder together. They were to go back to the academy before he left Waterdeep later that day. He glanced at the sealed letters which lay next to it. Tara, Mother. So many things he needed to wrap up as the time whittled away down to nothing, the sand in the hourglass not pooling at the bottom but vanishing in the wind, never to be seen again.

He glanced over at the folder, the space where his name should lie, waiting to be filled in. He could use this last offering to the school as a piece he would be remembered for. For the things he had done well in his life, his magic, his research, his knowledge, or he could do something else. He could be forgotten as he deserved to be, for the mistakes he had made, the hurt he had brought, for the person in truth that he was…

He picked up the quill, dabbing it lightly in the ink before penning his last ever last word onto the dotted line.

PROPERTY OF BLACKSTAFF ACADEMY

SIGNATURE: Anon

[bakageta]

For @astriiformes's AU Roulette! The prompt was Fairytale and the fic ended up being not so much a literal fairytale AU as a metaphorical one where everyone is happy and gets along and Sleeper and Toxin get in petty discussions in the middle of the night like the shithead siblings they are. Also they talk about fairytales.

"Why do you look like that?" Sleeper asked from their perch on the back of their father's couch, imperious and cat shaped.

Like what? Toxin responded in the chemo-signal language of symbiotes.

"Like a pile of spaghetti."

Toxin was spread over Eddie’s coffee table, a mass of burgundy tendrils squirming and tapping against anything he could reach without having to touch the carpet. He wasn’t bothering with anything so complex as a mouth or eyespots. Sleeper wondered if it was because he couldn’t or because he didn’t want to before deciding that they didn’t really care about the answer.

What’s that?

“Pasta? Long, thin pasta in a tomato sauce? Surely you've at least seen it?"

A sense of amusement exuded from Toxin and a green-tongued grin split his mass. "Of course I've heard of spaghetti, and don't call me Shirley."

Sleeper winced at the subpar wordplay. Their tail tip twitched irritably. "I cannot wait until your host takes you back to South Africa."

Toxin only laughed obnoxiously. "Did gramps ever tell you any stories, Uncle Sleeps?"

"Never call me that."

"Sure," Toxin lied. He also made eyespots, specifically so he could stare expectantly at Sleeper. They could feel the weight on their plasma. “Jubulile’s parents told her folktales and fairytales and stories. Pops never did anything but try to kill me.”

“My other parent shared sense memories with me while I was at Alchemax,” Sleeper said when it became apparent that Toxin wasn’t going to leave them alone. “Father shared music and made sure Dr Steven knew which songs I liked best for when he wasn’t in the lab.”

“But no stories?” Toxin appeared to be trying to make legs, four of them connected to a shape much larger than Sleeper’s own but still covered in tendrils.

“No.” If Sleeper was curt, maybe Toxin would stop pestering them.

"That's kinda sad." Toxin was wriggling around on the table now like he was figuring out how to make a spine. "I mean not as sad as my dad trying to kill and eat me, but still."

“It isn’t sad at all.”

“Nah, it’s sad.” Toxin rolled onto his feet and shook like a dog until he had a be-snouted head and tendrilled tail. He looked like a four-legged muppet or a mop turned into an animal.

"It isn't."

"Yeeeah," Toxin's grin was wide. "Except it is."

"Fine." Sleeper jumped to the floor. Father's bedroom, the one he shared with their other parent and Flash Thompson, was just down the hallway. The lack of fairytale story could easily be rectified and then Toxin wouldn't be able to make any more comments.

Toxin followed clumsily, amusement radiating outwards from him.

The door was closed but not locked and there weren't any noises except for habitual breathing. Sleeper opened the door just enough to slip in, ignoring Toxin barreling in behind them, darted across the room, and leapt silently onto their father's bed, landing directly on his chest and knocking the breath from his lungs. 

Their father woke with a gasp. He sprang into a seated position, clutching Sleeper to his chest. "What’s wr–" Toxin bowled father over in his uncoordinated scramble onto the bed as he followed Sleeper. 

"Wha's happening?" Flash yawned, woken up by Toxin's jostling. 

"Father never told me any fairytales when I was just-spawned and Toxin says that's sad. I need to hear a story so he'll stop," Sleeper explained, reasonably. 

"I didn't–"

"That is kinda sad," Flash agreed. 

"Told you so!" Toxin yelled from the foot of the bed. 

"We listened to music together!" Their father protested. He settled Sleeper in his lap as he sat up again and their other parent cradled them in its tired mass.

"Still kinda sad."

"What am I supposed to do about that, Flash? I can't just go back in time and tell them a fairytale!"

Flash raised a challenging eyebrow. Toxin crept closer.

“I don’t really know any fairy tales,” their father said. “I always considered them too juvenile.”

“You expect me to believe you don’t know any stories?” Flash challenged. “You’re a damn reporter!”

“Exactly! I’m an investigative journalist, not a- a literature teacher! I–” father cut himself off. The frustration Sleeper had been sensing from their father cleared. He must have remembered something. “How about a tale of kingship, murder, and revenge?”

Sleeper knew enough about human children to realize that the story their father was offering them probably wasn’t meant for children. They also knew enough to realize that they’d probably prefer the story their father was offering over any true fairy tale. 

“That sounds ideal.” They purred, their other parent clinging and sharing feelings of interest and warmth. Their father’s hand settled on top of them.

Toxin edged close enough to rest his chin on their father’s leg, slow and cautious. Father ruffled Toxin’s tendrils with his free hand and their other parent extended tendrils to him. There was no hesitation in either of them. Sleeper decided that even if Toxin was insufferable, he could stay.

“Hundreds of years ago, in Scotland, when kings were common and wars were fought with blades, two generals sought shelter from a storm within an isolated shelter,” Father began. "Three weird sisters– witches most likely –welcomed them with prophecy. ‘All hail, Macbeth!’ shouted the first sister–”

“You’re telling them Macbeth?” Flash asked, bemused.

“Shut up, Thompson.” Toxin craned his head unnaturally to shoot a Look at father’s human partner. “Nobody asked you.”

Their father chuckled softly at Flash’s flummoxed expression and continued the story.

[thedummysdummy]

Pregnancy Tests

A secondhand request from one of @perhaps-in-anotherdream 's anons. Hopefully it hits the spot!

Months of patience had finally paid off. Relief and joy cascaded down the girl’s body, starting as a warmth at the top of her head and radiating outward toward her fingers and toes. She clutched the piece of paper handed to her by the doctor as if it were the most precious of her belongings. “This is the best possible news! Thank you, thank you! Victor is going to be so happy!” 

As she left the hospital, the girl’s mind ran with a million different ways to break the news to her beloved. It had to be something grand and memorable! But what? She considered a million different ideas on her way home, still having settled on nothing by the time she arrived at their shared home. 

She hurried inside and folded up the results, stowing them away in her bedside table drawer until she could think of a way to present them. What was the rush, anyway? She had nine months before their little bundle would arrive.

The next few days passed in a bit of a blur. Her company was filming a documentary in conjunction with Loveland TV, which was obviously a big deal. Despite her nagging nausea and fatigue, she did her best to hide her condition and be there for her crew. By Friday evening, she practically stumbled over to Victor’s car and collapsed into her seat. 

“Tired?” Victor teased, reaching over to buckle her seatbelt for her. She nodded and closed her eyes, her hand resting over her stomach. He glanced at the slightly pained expression on his girlfriend’s face and frowned. “Not feeling well?” She shook her head and Victor started up the car. “Well, then I’ll run you a bath when we get home. You’ve been working very hard this week and need some rest.”

The confession was on her lips the entire drive. It would be so easy to just say, ‘Victor, I’m pregnant with our baby.’ But that was so unromantic! So she simply kept her eyes closed and her left hand enclosed in Victor’s until they pulled up in front of his home. He pushed the button on her seatbelt and hurried to her side of the car to open the door. “Can you walk?”

She rolled her eyes and stepped out of the car, amused by Victor’s usual level of concern. “I’m not made of tissue paper, Mr. CEO. But I won’t say no to a nice bath.” She took Victor’s hand and followed him inside where she sat down to take off her shoes. Her movements were slow, betraying the depth of her fatigue. Victor watched, hovering, until she had her slippers on before scooping her up from the chair and carrying her toward their bedroom. “Hey!” she giggled, hearing his heartbeat as her ear pressed against his chest. He squeezed her in response with a broad grin on his face. 

“That’s better,” he chuckled as he set her down on the bed and headed for the bathroom. “That grimace on your face was making me feel ill myself. You just relax while I get the bath drawn.” The girl nodded and Victor disappeared through the bathroom door, where she soon heard the sound of running water and caught the scent of vanilla and jasmine. She undressed as she waited, figuring she might as well be ready when he got back.

Victor returned and a cheeky grin spread across his face when he found her nude. He again scooped her up and carried her to the tub, gently lowered her into the hot water, and kissed her on the forehead. “Do you need anything else? Painkillers or anything? You haven’t exactly told me what part of you feels unwell.” 

“I’m just a little nauseous. But I’ll be okay!” She gave Victor her most earnest ‘I’m fine’ face, which only drew a sigh from his lungs. He shook his head, patted hers, and exited the bathroom in search of anti-nausea pills. The bottle had gone missing from the medicine cupboard and he stood in the middle of the kitchen for a moment with a confused look on his face. When had they last used those? Knowing the girl tended to take them and go straight to bed, he figured her bedside table was probably the next best place to look. 

So he returned to the bedroom and opened the little drawer. Sure enough, the bottle he was searching for rolled to the front to greet him. However, he was distracted by the folded sheet of paper with hospital letterhead peeking out and pulled it from the drawer. He scanned the information quickly, a mixture of emotions swirling in his eyes as it dawned on him what he was reading. 

The girl heard Victor’s footsteps approaching, but the speed at which he opened the door and arrived at her side caused her eyes to fly open. He looked…annoyed? No, not annoyed. His eyes were sparkling too much for that. It wasn’t until she realized what he was holding that she understood the situation. “Victor, I-”

He cut her off, his voice sharp with emotion. “Why didn’t you tell me?! You had such good news for half a week and didn’t think I should know?!” He waved the pregnancy test results from the doctor and sat on the edge of the tub. “You should have told me immediately! I would have arranged for Anna to take care of the shoot this week. You shouldn’t be working that hard.” 

“I was just trying to think of the perfect way to tell you! I wanted it to be sweet and romantic, not…not like this. You ruined the surprise.” She scrunched her eyebrows together in a chastising kind of way, which caused Victor to fall silent with a small pink flush beginning in his ears. “But also I would have gone to work anyway. You’re not keeping me on bedrest for an entire nine months, Mr. Victor Li!” 

Victor scowled and set the results on the bathroom sink. “Fine, but I’m calling the doctor to make an appointment so we can check your health and the baby’s health. You worked way too hard this week for someone carrying my child.” His features softened and his hand caressed her cheek. “I love you. I just want what’s best for you and for our baby.” He felt a shiver of excitement roll down his spine as he thought about those words. ‘Our baby.’ They were the sweetest arrangement of letters he could possibly imagine. 

“I suppose that’s fair. But if the doctor says I’m perfectly healthy, then you can’t spend the whole time treating me like I’m made of porcelain. Fair?” 

With a chuckle, Victor pulled out his phone to make the call. “Fair. But you relax this evening and let me worry.” 

~~~

Monday morning, Victor and the girl arrived at the hospital the moment their doors opened. He had insisted on the first appointment of the day, his anxiety over the baby refusing to calm down until he was reassured by the doctor. They were welcomed in with smiles and told to sit down for a few minutes until the doctor was ready for them. 

They didn’t have to wait long. “Come on back with me, loves,” the nurse said with a smile, leading the couple through the doors into the long hallway of exam rooms. She took them to the first one on the right and Victor carefully helped the girl up onto the exam table. “Please put on this gown while you wait, okay?” 

Victor accepted the gown from the nurse, who exited and closed the door behind her. Before Victor could even ask if the girl wanted him to wait outside while she changed, she began undressing. He shamelessly watched since she didn’t seem to care and handed her the gown when she was ready, then helped her secure it. “Do you think we’re going to have a boy or a girl?” the girl asked as he tied the strings.

“A boy, obviously. First children should always be boys so they can protect their little sisters.” Victor sat down in the chair next to the table with a completely straight expression, though the girl recognized the teasing glint in his eyes. She smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand and he laughed. “I don’t care if we have a boy or a girl. As long as they take after their mother.” 

Warmth filled the girl’s heart just as the doctor entered the room. “Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Li! I’m told you’re concerned about your lovely wife’s health? Congratulations, by the way. Let’s check the basics first, hm?” Neither party felt the need to correct their doctor on their relationship status, though Victor and the girl shared an amused glance as the doctor turned to the cabinets to get some supplies. 

He checked her heart, her temperature, and her blood pressure before pulling out the ultrasound machine. “You’re a little warm, my dear. Nothing too bad and it could definitely just be the pregnancy. But be sure you’re drinking plenty of water, okay?” 

The girl nodded as the doctor instructed her to lay down on the table. “Let’s open the middle of your gown so we can check that baby, hm? This is going to be a little cold.” He squeezed some gel on her belly and turned on the ultrasound machine, waiting a moment for it to power on before beginning to sweep the sensor over her abdomen. 

His chatty demeanor changed as he moved the device around and stared at the screen. His eyebrows lowered a little, causing Victor and the girl to become a little concerned. After a few moments he put down the sensor and turned back to the cabinets. “I’m going to take a little blood and run another pregnancy test, okay? It’s probably just too early to see anything on the ultrasound, but I want to be sure. You can put your clothes back on while I’m gone.” 

The girl’s heart sank, but she nodded wordlessly. She looked away as the crimson liquid filled the tube and was whisked away, and Victor reached out to take her hand. “Hey. If the first test was wrong, it’s okay. We can try again, hm? And then you can surprise me any way you like.” 

Victor helped her dress and held her hand until the doctor returned with a somber expression on his face. “I’m sorry, but I have some bad news. It seems like there was an error and your previous pregnancy test results were incorrect. You’re not pregnant and I didn’t find any sign of miscarriage, so it seems you never were. I’m so sorry.” 

The girl pulled on Victor’s hand and he stood, pulling her into his arms where she buried her face in his chest. “Thank you, doctor. Did you find any sign of what has been causing her fever, then?” 

“We did check for any bacterial infections in the remaining sample, but didn’t find anything. It’s most likely just a mild virus. Some rest, plenty of fluids, and everything should be fine in a few days. If not, give the nurse a call and we’ll get you back in for more tests.” The doctor seemed ready for a negative reaction to his news, but Victor remained quite calm while he held his trembling girlfriend against his body. 

“Very well. Thank you again.” Victor nodded to the doctor as he took his leave, allowing the two a few moments to compose themselves before they left. Victor kissed the top of the girl’s head and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “Hey. Everything will be fine. Let’s get you home, and when you’re feeling better, we’ll try again.” He raised his eyebrows in a meaningful way and the girl giggled a little through her tears. Hand in hand they left the hospital, hearts heavy, but hope light. Just an excuse to spend some more time with each other, that’s what this was. Everything would surely work out.

[carouselofmusess]

@townofcadence from here

"Oh no no, that's not correct at all." He circled her and Artair's chairs, where they were bound back to back. His dress shoes made faint clicks against the concrete of the basement floor. The chairs seemed to be a sturdy oak, with soft padded cushions, and thick hemp encircled their wrists, binding them to the armrests and the front-most legs. Richard stopped in front of her now, offering an award-winning smile, though his eyes stayed untouched by any genuine emotion. "I'm not sick. I'm offering you an opportunity. You seemed so adventurous when I met you first while you were playing detective, Ms. Yukino. You and Mr. Kingston both seemed so interesting, especially as a team. All that tension! Those lingering looks! What a treat. "I thought you might enjoy the opportunity to explore an entirely new sandbox, then. You're just the kind of actress I need, to shake things up. Maybe we could even try a new genre." His voice picked up, a current of excitement flowing through the words. Now he leaned closer, blue eyes near parallel to her own. The grin met his eyes, edges sharp with ravenous joy. "What would be fun, you think? I would wager the two of you could be very entertaining trying to survive some horror, don't you?"

What was it she heard about these kinds of situations? Nothing really, actually, what she knew was how to get out of zip ties. That wouldn't help here. But maybe if she could squeeze her hand enough, maybe even dislocate it? Her heart is hammering in her chest but her eyes stay trained on their captor, straying down to the binds only when he's out of sight. She wriggled her wrist, her hands, her fingers, testing how far she can move, how much of a chance she's got. Where were they? How had they even gotten here? It's all sort of fuzzy... but the worst part of all? Artair was here, too. That part sinks into her like dry ice.

"Usually opportunities are offered without the kidnapping." She snaps, leaning forward to lock eyes with him as he stops before her. Her own gaze is intense, but his is so... empty, that it sends chills down her spine. And then, a slight flush raises to her cheeks at his observations, and her gaze betrays her by straying away from him for just a moment. She doesn't dare comment on it.

She's not shaking outwardly yet, but she can feel quivering within her, one she locks her jaw to try and keep inside. Especially when he comes closer, the look in his eyes dangerous. She wasn't sure if she preferred this or the cold dead ones more. She swallows thickly. This didn't sound good, and she didn't have a plan, and she doesn't know what to do to save them, to save him--

"S-so..." She tries to steel herself, but it's hard when she feels so cold. Cold down to her bones. "You like horror, huh? Me too." She tries to put on a smile of her own, though she's positive it doesn't come out as confident as she wants it to. "But! But... that means you have to know the most beloved horror trope, right? I mean, the final girls are popular for a reason, huh?" The shaking is spreading outwards now, all the way out to her fingertips as she still tries to squeeze her hands free of the rope. She forces herself to keep eye contact though, in the hopes he won't notice. "...I can be your actress, your final girl, I'll put on the best show you've ever seen! If you let him go." At the very least that would be one problem solved, if he went for it. The rest she could figure out along the way. A final girl always manages to win in the end, after all.