#roaring creek

[newsbites]

Tonight police in Roaring Creek Village are investigating the murder of a teenage student and the shooting of another. The victims have been identified as 15-year-old Dane Matute Junior and 15-year-old Kaylen Wade. Love News understands that at around 1:30 pm, the victims were sitting near the river banks- opposite Guanacaste Park when three gunshots were heard. Investigators believe that an unknown gunman emerged from some bushes and fired in the group’s direction. Matute received gunshot wounds to his upper body while Wade was shot in the foot. They were rushed to the Western Regional Hospital where Matute succumbed. While police try to establish a motive, reports suggest that it may have been gang-related.

[akayna]

Went for a nice lil hike on Mt. Si today.

Kept warm courtesy of my lovely green beanie that @kadertins made me :3

[zoeflake]

Roaring Creek Watershed ©Lunaladee

[thorsenmark]

River! that in silence windest (Great Smoky Mountains National Park) by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: River! that in silence windest Through the meadows, bright and free The caption used is from a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ‘To the River Charles’ While at a roadside pullout and parking area along the Roaring Fork Motor Nature Trail in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. This view is looking upstream and to the south-southwest at an unnamed creeks with a small waterfall amongst the large rocks and boulders present. When I was mulling over how to compose this image, I had a few thoughts in my mind. One was to close down on the aperture, so that I could have a longer shutter speed. I wanted to have that silky look with the waters flowing by. The other was not to just focus on the small waterfall to my front, but also pull back on the focal length so that I could include the forested landscape all around. I felt the waterfall with woods complemented the other in this section of the national park.

[darklingichor]

On the Banks of Plum Creek, by Laura Ingllas Wilder; Let the Hurricane Roar, by Rose Wilder Lane

I am putting these two together because they are essentially the same story, and also illustrates, at least to me, that Laura wrote pthe Little House books. As you read this ramble. Keep in mind. "Hurricane " was published in 1933, "Plum Creek" in 1937, but Laura wrote "Pioneer Girl" in *1930* and Rose not only helped her edit it, she typed the whole thing up after Laura finished writing it out long hand.

On the Banks of Plum Creek picks up after the Ingallses move away from Kansas. They settle into a dugout house on the banks of Plum Creek near Walnut Grove, Minnesota.

Caroline isn't enthused about living in a dugout, but Charles has big plans. He's going to plant wheat and he's going to build them a house with the profits. The weather is fine and mild and the wheat is coming up beautifully. The perspective price of wheat and the way the crop is looking inspires Charles to get the supplies for the house on credit and start building. All the while, life is happening. Laura learns some valuable lessons when it comes to minding her parents.

The family meets a Swedish couple and their daughter, who live near by, and eventually move into the fine new house Pa has built.

In the background people keep talking about how the weather is grasshopper weather. Laura doesn't know what that means, but it becomes clear soon.

Pa is over the moon about the wheat, and talks about it all the time. This crop will secure the family financially.

And then the grasshoppers come. They fly in in a cloud, dampening the sun. They decend on the area and eat everything. Grass, gardens, cloth, the wheat. After destroying the landscape, they laid their eggs meaning next year's crops were doomed as well. And then they all marched off and flew away.

Although the family does have a good Christmas because the church throws a party with gifts for the community, Pa must walk east to find work.

The next year is also plagued by grasshoppers and Pa has to make the trek east again. While the family is waiting for him, a blizzard hits. He makes it home to his frightened family in fairly good spirits because this cold means no grasshoppers for the next crop.

Laura wrote about this real life locust plague in Pioneer Girl and as horrific as the it sounds in the novel, the reality was even worse. And instead of walking east two years in a row, when the grasshoppers hatched again, Charles actually moved his family, which now included little brother Freddy, to Burr Oak Iowa. They went to partner with some friends, the Steadmans, in running hotel.

They didn't know that this was going to be a dark interlude.

Freddy passed away on the way to Iowa, and the pain for the whole family was such that Laura never wrote about it anywhere else.

In the hotel, Mary and Laura worked after school in the kitchen and dining rooms, and babysitting the Steadman's youngest child on the weekends. It was not the safest place to be either. Then the girls came down with measles. None of the family was paid for any of the work they did in the hotel, and the family quit the hotel, and eventually settled somewhat, but things were not great. Fires, violence and drama in the community. Charles had had enough and the family left to head back to Walnut Grove - in the dead of night to avoid debt collection. The best thing to come out of Burr Oak seemed to be the birth of the last Ingalls sister, Grace.

Let The Hurricane Roar was written by Rose and features a young couple, Charles and Caroline, newly married who head west after Charles 's father gives them enough money to make a claim. They live in a dugout, have a little boy, make friends with a Swedish couple living near by, and grow wheat that is destroyed by grasshoppers. Charles must leave to find work and Caroline spends a day in town trying to find work before deciding that it is better to be independent in her dugout with the baby. There is a blizzard that Charles must fight through to get home.

Slong with the basic story, there are several beats that are pretty much lifted right out of Pioneer Girl, including a line about a man who kept bees that left the area after the grasshoppers, saying that he refused to live in a place where even a bee can't make a living.

The writing in Hurricane is much different from any of the LH novels, and even in PG

The Hurricane tells the reader a lot, and doesn't show much until about halfway through. Description is sparse. It's trying to make a point from the get go. Hardship makes for a better life in the end, independence, even to the point of isolation is preferable to being dependent on anyone. Neighbors are nice, but something of a burden in good times and cannot be relied upon in bad times.

This is in direct contrast to Laura's writing which depends on description, and spends little time in exposition, shows more than tells. The characters are much different ad well, people value independence, yes, but are generally community minded founding churches, serving on school boards, helping neighbors.

There is the fact that she took elements of her grandparents and elements of her parents and mixed them together to make the story.

Charles in Hurricane gets money from his father to go out west. This is basically what happened when Almanzo decided to head west. He and Caroline end up on Wild Plum Creek in the Dakota Territory. Almanzo and Laura spent the early years of their marriage in De Smet South Dakota.

In essence, Rose took her parents and grandparents' stories, made a tale to appeal to her Libertarian ideals, and by many accounts, really pissed her mother off (which I'll get to later).

Hurricane isn't bad, it's compelling in its way, and effective for what it was trying to be, and I liked how it ended. However, it also serves as evidence that while the two Wilder women worked together and Rose was a brilliant editor, Laura wrote the classic novels.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

ANIMAL INSTINCT

PAIRING: logan howlett x vampire mutant!female reader

RATING: explicit | WORD COUNT: 2.3k

SUMMARY:

after helping you out by letting you feed from him, logan asks you to return the favor.

part two of bloodthirsty

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

thank you for all the love on bloodthirsty! here’s a nice and smutty second part. big thank you to @guiltyasdave for reading this over for me 💕

TAGS/WARNINGS:

explicit sexual content (18+ mdni), x-men (2000) logan howlett, able bodied reader, vampire mutant!reader, no use of y/n, single POV - reader, primal play (chase/capture), gratuitous use of growling/roaring, light fighting, mentions of blood, biting, rough sex, semi-public sex (in the woods), oral - f receiving, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, creampie, dirty talk, blade play (the claws come out).

Logan finds you in an empty hallway one afternoon, about two weeks after your encounter in the kitchen. You made the mistake of making eye contact, leaving you unable to turn and pretend you didn't see him like you've been doing since that night. 

"You avoiding me or something?" he says, hint of a smile on his lips. 

"No," you reply quickly. "What makes you think that?"

"Haven't seen you around much lately."

"Just busy."

"Right." He looks away for a moment, hands on his hips. "Look, I got a proposition for you."

"I don't--"

"I got this issue--," he continues, ignoring your response "--where it gets to be too much, you know? And I helped you out so--"

"What are you talking about?" you interrupt.

His voice drops a bit lower. "We're predators, right? And I don't know about you but sometimes my prey drive can be...too much, if you catch my drift."

"Okay..."

"And I got two words for you - quid pro quo."

You blink at him. "Logan, that's three words."

"I thought pro quo was one word."

"Why would you think that?"

"We're getting off topic," he says, waving his hands. “Think you can help a guy out?"

"Help you...how, exactly?"

You agree to meet Logan at the edge of the dense forest that surrounds the X Mansion at nightfall and as you walk through the grounds blanketed in darkness, your senses begin to feel more alive. Anticipation courses through you and the further you venture from the mansion, the darker the night becomes.

Logan is already there when you arrive, tension rolling off of him in waves. He gives you a tight smile.

"Took you long enough," he says. You roll your eyes.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" You gesture to the forest. "So, what now?"

"You run," Logan replies. "I hunt."

The deep timbre of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. What he's asking for goes against your nature but some deep part of you is eager to please. 

You take off through the trees, running as fast as your legs will carry you across the soft forest floor. With your enhanced speed, it's not long before you're miles from the manicured mansion grounds, surrounded by gnarled roots and a thick canopy of leaves that blocks nearly all light from the moon.

You slow to a stop, catching your breath. The snap of a branch is the only warning you get before Logan's heavy weight barrels into you, sending you both tumbling to the ground with him coming out on top, smiling down at you, a wild glint to his eyes.

"Gotta do better than that, bub," he says. He stands up, holding a hand out to help you to your feet. "I'll give you a head start this time."

"I don't need a head start," you grumble. "I'm faster than you."

He laughs. "We'll see about that."

You start running, his laughter ringing in your ears. Your path is less direct this time, weaving through the trees and doubling back to leave your scent in more places and crossing a small creek with the hopes that the running water helps to cover your tracks. You grow comfortable enough in your lead that you begin to slow down, keeping yourself attuned to the sounds of the forest and any changes that might indicate Logan has found you.

The trees break into a vast clearing, tall grass swaying in the breeze. Moonlight trickles past the branches, stripes of faint light illuminating the floor. You take a moment to appreciate the tranquility of it, but the calm is short lived when you catch movement at the corner of your eye.

Logan steps through the trees. He's removed his shirt, thick muscle glimmering with sweat, his chest heaving with labored breath. Your mouth goes dry at the sight and for a moment you really do understand what it's like to be prey, faced with something so deadly it's almost hypnotizing, impossible to look away even when you’re in danger. He stalks closer and you feel frozen in place, unable to move a muscle.

"Found you," he growls. 

Your survival instinct kicks into gear and you attempt to run away, sprinting across the glade with renewed vigor. If you can make it back into the forest you know you could shake him loose again, but staying in the clearing makes you a clear target. 

Logan roars, the sound loud enough to shake the branches of nearby trees. You risk a glance over your shoulder and are met with the sight of the man on all fours, running towards you with single minded determination. He rapidly closes the distance with impressive speed, wrapping his arms around you and taking you down to the ground for the second time that night.

You grapple with him, landing a kick to his chest that gives you the chance to crawl out from beneath him. He reaches a hand out for your ankle and drags you back toward him, using his weight to hold you in place. You wiggle an arm free and strike at his face, though he dodges and your fingernails scrape against his neck, leaving red gashes in their wake that heal in the blink of an eye. He pins your arm to the ground above your head.

"No more runnin’,” he says, a command that shoots straight to your core. You know he’s not talking about just tonight, but rather how you’ve been avoiding him. 

But how were you supposed to face him when the only thoughts you had of him since then were about how sweet he tasted, how good he felt, how much you wanted more, more, more that you couldn’t possibly ask him to give?

Your inner turmoil is lost when his lips slam against yours in a kiss that’s hot and hungry, stealing your breath with its ferociousness. His teeth sink into your bottom lip and you gasp at the sharp sting of pain that lights up your nerves. There’s nothing gentle about it, but you’re not gentle creatures and the beasts that pace and snarl beneath your ribcage have finally broken free.

Logan breaks the kiss to stare down at you with wild eyes. Blood, your blood, stains his lips and his tongue darts out to lick it away with a satisfied hum. He leans in close, burying his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, mouth open against your skin with the threat of sharp teeth over your racing pulse.

“Can’t hide it,” he says. “Not when I can smell it on you, sweetheart.”

“Smell what?” 

“How much you want it.” He nips at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, making you hiss. “How much you want me.”

Heavy hands find the hem of your shirt, shoving it up your chest until it’s bunched beneath your armpits. He pulls down your bra to expose your breasts and your nipples tighten at the sudden burst of cold air against your skin but his mouth is on you in an instant, warm tongue tracing the taut buds. Your back arches at the sensation and you dig your fingers into his thick hair, pulling at the strands. He hums with pleasure as he switches to your other breast, giving it the same maddening attention.

His palm slides down your belly, fingers dipping beneath the elastic of your leggings and finding your needy center, swirling through the mess you’ve already made in your underwear. You can feel the smug grin on Logan’s face before he even lifts his head to look at you.

“That’s what I thought.” He withdraws his hand, holding it up to his face. In the moonlight you catch a glimpse of the strands of slick stretching between his index and middle finger before he sticks them in his mouth with a groan, licking them clean. “Fuck, you taste better than I imagined.”

The metallic sound of his claws unsheathing reaches your ears and your pulse jumps as he drags the blunt side of a single blade up the inside of your thigh. The tip catches on the fabric covering your pussy and with one quick move of his wrist he slices through your pants. His claw disappears and he reaches down with both hands to tear the fabric further.

Logan settles on his belly with his head between your thighs, your legs propped up on his broad shoulders. He kisses your pussy over the soaked fabric of your underwear but

spares you any further teasing, grabbing your panties in a tight fist and pulling roughly until the elastic snaps against your skin and he holds the torn fabric in his fist. He tosses them aside and buries his face in your cunt, devouring you like a man on a mission. His tongue alternates circling your sensitive clit and dipping into your dripping entrance, expertly tracing every inch of you. You’re so lost to the pleasure that you don’t notice him getting to his knees until he’s lifting your hips, hands gripping your ass tightly to keep your lower body suspended in the air and his mouth sealed to your cunt.

“Fuck!” you cry out, muscles growing tense as your orgasm builds. It hits you like a tidal wave, coursing through your veins as you shout his name like a prayer. His hold remains tight as he works you through it until you grow boneless in the aftermath.

He lowers you slowly back to the ground and you fight to catch your breath while he quickly removes his belt and shoves his jeans down enough to free his cock. You watch him take himself in hand, a brief slide of his fist over his impressive length before he runs the glistening head through your sensitive folds, bumping your clit and making you shiver.

Logan’s gaze remains fixed to yours as he presses forward, breaching your tight entrance. Your body accepts him greedily, the slight sting and stretch barely a thought when all you can focus on is how full he makes you feel.

His lips find yours for a messy kiss while he begins to thrust, a slow drag of his cock from your body followed by a sharp snap of his hips that punches the air from your lungs. You cling to his shoulders, clawing at his skin. The scent of his blood invades your senses and your teeth begin to ache at the memory of his taste. 

Your teeth catch on his lip and he hisses but doesn’t pull away. Copper blooms across your taste buds and you can’t help the desperate moan that escapes into the kiss.

“Come on, baby,” Logan says. “Take a bite.”

You rest a palm on the back of his head, urging him closer, lifting your head and kissing his neck, licking the salty taste of him from over his fluttering pulse. You open your mouth, sinking your teeth into skin and muscle and vein until warm blood spills into your mouth. The combination of his blood on your tongue and his cock spreading you open sends you over the edge.

Above you, Logan growls, a deep rumble you can feel down to your marrow, some ancient part of you preening with excitement. He holds himself still as you clench around him. Your orgasm slowly subsides and you find the strength to unclench your tense jaw from his neck, gently licking at the blood that spills from the deep impressions of your teeth.

Logan sits up, cock slipping from your body and leaving you achingly empty. His hands grip your hips, forcefully turning your lax body over and hiking your ass into the air. He spreads your cheeks and the vulnerable position has your whole body growing hot.

“Hope you didn’t think we were done,” he tells you as he positions himself behind you, thrusting his length back into your body and setting a brutal pace that has you crying out into the night. 

One hand holds your hip with bruising force while the other settles on your shoulder, pulling you into every delicious snap of his hips. Your mind goes blissfully blank with the overwhelming pleasure building up inside of you for the third time.

He folds forward, his chest pressed to your back and his pace growing sloppy as he nears his own release. A hand curls around yours, a moment of intimacy that leaves you reeling.

Logan roars, hips slamming into a final time, dragging your last orgasm from you as his cock pulses with his release inside of you. A sharp pain on your hip makes you gasp and you notice his claws have extended from the hand wrapped around yours, sinking into the dirt.

“Shit,” he pants, sitting up after a moment. The loss of his heat makes you shiver. “I nicked you.”

You slowly move yourself into a seated position, muscles feeling like jelly, and inspect the area that the pain came from. Your leggings have a new slice in the fabric and the material is sticky with blood but to your surprise, there’s no wound to be found.

“You heal that quick?” Logan asks. You shake your head.

“Not usually.” You run your fingers over smooth skin. “Must have been your blood.”

“You think so?”

You shrug. “Just a guess. Never fed from someone with advanced healing factor.”

“You sayin’ I’m your first?” he asks with a smirk. You can’t help the laugh that escapes and his smirk stretches into a grin. Logan stands, fixing his pants and holding a hand out to help you up. 

“How am I supposed to get back into the mansion like this?” you ask, gesturing to your destroyed leggings. 

“Guess I didn’t think that through,” he admits. “Give me a few minutes and I can be back with some new clothes.”

“How are you going to get into my room?”

He turns to look at you, continuing to walk backwards.

“I’m a man of many talents.”

With a wink, he disappears through the trees. You sigh.

What have you gotten yourself into?

Thank you for reading!

LINKS

all masterlists | logan howlett masterlist | support for palestine

[bitterrfruit]

price….. in a.. a.. cowboy hat

girl... you have no idea what you have done to me with this ask. Cowboy Price!?? I had so much fun with this, I might even do a part 2! I'm sorry this took me so long - I really hope you like it!!! ♡

18+ mdni - cw: chasing, spanking - 3.2k words

John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You've got a habit of climbing the fence between them, snooping around Mr Price's property and leaving traces of your misbehaviour behind. This time, he catches you.

Here’s part 2!

Daddy had warned you about wandering onto Mr Price’s property. The lichen-coated fence that separated his land and your father’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of oak and pine trees, over a bumbling shallow creek. It was easy enough to climb over, but there was one little gap in the barrier, where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were more of your own land on the other side.

Mr Price was a reticent man. An arguably shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once or twice, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.

His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, dating back long before you were born. Whatever enmity existed between old men had not quite been passed on to the last remaining son, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.

Thus explained your intrigue. You found yourself strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way, once he had finally come home. Suddenly bearded and jaded, no longer the bright-faced young man you had distantly remembered, he had picked up where his father had left off. He lived alone, as far as you were aware, in his inherited six-bedroom farmhouse, atop a five-thousand-acre piece of natural splendour. Don’t bother the man, daddy would tell you, he’s not our friend.

But you had always been at the mercy of your impish curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college. You’d peek into his empty old shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.

Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.

But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.

He had caught you, once, while your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries. You had heard him yelling;

“Hey! I see you in there, missy!”

Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a rabbit and hopped back over the fence.

“There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady,” he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks, “You hear me?”

It didn’t stop you, of course, whatever threat he threw at you. If anything, it emboldened you. Now you meandered down the rows of cherry trees like they belonged to you, picking the prettiest ones, popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, spitting them into the grass as you moved onto the next.

You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on doorframes, on the planks of the fence, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.

Today was no different. You wandered in scuffing sandals along an old dirt road, green sprigs of grass almost covering it entirely. Some old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.

Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked the fruity flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.

One, two, three, four…

At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, red paint faded and matte after a decade or two of proper use and neglect.

There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. Mr Price squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, crow’s-feet pinching, eyes barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye; the flitter of adrenaline buzzed in your chest, toeing the line between nerves and excitement.

With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you about catching you back here?”

Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.

“You said there’d be trouble,” you answered with a simper, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other.

“Mhm,” he grunted in agreement, tapping the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head in gesture for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “Get in.”

A crease pulled between your brows as you frowned at him. “What for?”

“I’m takin’ you back to your daddy,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.”

You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”

With a snort, he rocked his head to peer out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on his daughter.”

“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.

He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed, “c’mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”

You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”

Glowering at you for a moment, his nostrils flared in frustration, as he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.

With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. You hadn’t seen him up close in as long as you could remember, and Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the looming shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, so delightfully thrilling. You felt the shiver of gooseflesh tingle down the nape of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach.

“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint curl in your lips, almost daring.

He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, wearing a snide and thin smirk, curled under his dense beard. But as his gaze raked you up and down, his sneer shifted quickly into a pout of disapproval, eyes caught on your chest.

“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you; you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if it might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream linen of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap - brazenly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.

But, no, he instead curled the fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front of your dress.

Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance.

As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand suddenly moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing glare glued to your lips, his eyes sunk into a defeated ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.

Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat; as he tilted your head up and to the side. He used his other thumb to wipe your bottom lip, pointedly slowly, from the corner to the centre.

“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”

Were you scared of him? It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heartrate between terror and thrill – perhaps a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the tingle his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off your dress illuminating them like they glowed from within.

“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the low neckline.

“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – lifting your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, red drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, missy.”

Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, hooking his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”

“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”

Huffing in anger, he leaned forward – looming over you with a domineering lour. “While you’re trespassing on my property – yes I am.”

Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibble at the inside of your lip as you pouted at him. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”

He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”

Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.

He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.

So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.

“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”

Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.

“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, charging after you like a grizzly.

You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the tall white oaks that littered his prairies.

“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”

“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.

You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!”

Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there.

He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, stumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood amongst dust and scattered hay. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.

Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – no longer joking.

But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.

“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”

“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”

You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”

“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped in your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.

So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.

But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist, hooking you by the stomach.

“C’mere,” he growled through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, holding your back to his chest with a constricting arm, leaving your feet dangling high off the ground.

You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.

“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your daddy so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.”

You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip; nails digging into his bronzed and hairy skin, corded with veins bulged from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them, while he hauled you towards the exit.

“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got heaps of them.”

Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen.

“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.

You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”

That was a step over the line.

You knew it immediately, quick to bite your tongue after the words spat from your lips.

And his retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against the bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.

He kneeled beside you, with his forearm weighing against your lower back - you were flustered and confused by his haste. Skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack.

“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.

A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.

He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place; grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You thought he might apologise, might express some remorse, might beg for you not to tell your father what he did. But he was silent. Like he had even surprised himself.

You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.

“For what?” He growled; his glower potently intimidating, a glimmer of voracity in his shadowy eyes, strained like he was suppressing greater hunger.

With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”

Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.

And he must have heard it, took it as encouragement; as you felt the hand of his arm that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm – lifting up the hem even further, you felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin as your ass was entirely exposed.

“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?”

[martincooneyart]

Leaving Colorado: The Time Has Come

Yes, After Twenty Years Living and Working, Here in The The Roaring Fork Valley, Kris and I are Pulling Up Stakes, and Moving On

Yes, After Twenty Years Living and Working, Here in The The Roaring Fork Valley, Kris and I are Pulling Up Stakes, and Moving On And so, on May 1st, 2023, a full six years to the day on which we took posession of the place, we will hand over the keys to 111 Aspen Airport Business Center, Suite D, and head out on the open road Introducing: THE KMJ Stoneworks Travelling Gallery ~ ~ ~ THE KMJ…

[sofiaswrittendelusions]

“You’re fine.”

synopsis: “You’re fine” is what he keeps telling himself, even if your life is at risk.

warnings: Getting shot, Being hospitalized, mentions of dying. Let me know if this fic needs another warning!

“You’re fine,”

Caleb told himself when he first saw you that morning, still sleepy-eyed and tugging on your boots like you weren’t about to walk into a firefight. He teased you, of course—called you “pipsqueak” just to see you roll your eyes. It was easier to laugh than to admit he was watching too closely, looking for any reason to keep you out of harm’s way.

“You’re fine,” he thought when you shoved him playfully, reminding him he wasn’t your babysitter. It didn’t matter how long he’d known you or how many times he’d patched you up as kids—you’ve got to stop worrying about me, Caleb. He hated how you said it with a smile, hated that you’d always been the braver one.

“You’re fine,” he muttered when the wind picked up and you cursed under your breath, your hands tucked into your jacket. He’d wrapped his arm around you like it was nothing, guiding you closer to his side. “You’d get lost without me,” he teased, his voice light even though his stomach twisted. You always felt too far away, even when you were right there.

“You’re fine,” he whispered as the mission started, watching you dart ahead with the same reckless confidence you’d had since you were kids. You always ran first, even back then, when he’d have to pull you out of trees or chase you down because you couldn’t sit still.

But you weren’t fine.

The shot hit you before he even realized what was happening.

“You’re fine.” The words tore out of him as he dropped to his knees, his hands immediately on you, pressing down hard on the wound in your side. Blood poured between his fingers, hot and sticky, and for a second, all he could do was stare. His jacket was soaked, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

“No, no, no,” he rasped, shaking his head violently. “You’re fine. You hear me? You’re fine. This is nothing, sweetheart. Nothing.” His bionic hand cupped your cheek, trembling so badly the fingers clicked against themselves.

Your lips moved, but the sound didn’t come out.

“Don’t do that,” he snapped, leaning closer, his forehead pressing against yours. “Don’t pull this shit. You’re supposed to yell at me. You’re supposed to be pissed when I tell you I—” His voice cracked, and he couldn’t finish the sentence.

The evac team’s footsteps pounded toward him, but they felt miles away. Caleb tightened his grip on you, pulling you closer as if that would stop the blood.

“Stay with me,” he begged, his voice hoarse. “Come on, I’ve been through worse with you. Remember when you fell off that stupid rope swing? You’re the same idiot who broke her arm trying to jump that creek. You lived through that. You live through everything, because you’re—”

You went slack in his arms.

Caleb froze, his blood turning to ice.

“NO!” he roared, his voice ripping through the air. He shook you gently, his hand still on your face, his bionic thumb brushing your cheek like he could coax you back. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare leave me.”

The medics pulled you from him, prying his fingers away. He followed, shouting your name until his throat burned, until his legs gave out on the steps to the waiting room.

And now he was here, alone.

“You’re fine,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His head was in his hands, his shoulders hunched as he sat in the too-bright waiting room. The blood on his hands was dry now, flaking off in patches, but he could still feel it. Sticky and warm. Yours.

He was spiraling. The memories came too fast, too vivid.

“You’re fine,” he had told himself when you’d scraped your knees as kids. He’d laughed at how dramatic you were, sitting beside you on the curb as he pressed his sleeve to the tiny cuts. “Stop crying, short stack. You’ll live.”

“You’re fine,” he had said when you’d broken your arm, tears streaming down your face as he carried you back to the house. “I told you not to jump. You’re an idiot, but you’re fine.”

“You’re fine,” he whispered now, rocking slightly, his bionic hand clutching the back of his neck. His voice shook with every word. “You’re fine. You’re fine. You’re fine—”

The door opened.

Caleb shot to his feet, his breath catching as the nurse stepped in. “She’s stable,” she said, and he swore the world tilted under him.

He barely heard the rest. He stumbled into your room like a man possessed, his knees nearly giving out when he saw you.

Pale. Too pale. But breathing.

“You’re fine,” he rasped, dropping into the chair beside your bed. His hand hovered over yours before he finally grabbed it, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re fine,” he repeated, his voice cracking as he bowed his head, his bionic fingers trembling against your skin.

But the words weren’t for you anymore. They were for him. Desperate and hollow. A prayer he didn’t know how to stop saying.

a/n: I decided to keep tagging my fics as the other love interests because WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN 29 LIKES IN 4 HOURS? WHEN I PUBLISH MY FICS NORMALLY I GET AT LEAST 100 😭😭😭

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Finding old man Eugene’s porn with Ellie..

Warnings: dub-con (reader and Ellie are high), smoking, mentions of porn, sexual tension, fingering (r! receiving), sloppy make-outs, Astrid is just a mention from one of the tlou patrol logs so I included her for fun idk

Word count: 1.6k

Your hands are frigid and almost numb even through your gloves. The snow from outside is only falling tenfold, and you’re lucky to have found shelter at all. You watch as Ellie ties Shimmer up nearby and turns to you, and you’re surprised she isn’t all teeth-chattering and “brrr.” The girl has way too much tolerance for the elements compared to you, who is currently freezing.

“You said you’ve been in here before?” Ellie inquires, and you nod. It’s true that you’re familiar with the creek trails; many times have you and Cat been on horseback and on foot through the town East, along the water stream that is probably now all frozen over.

You lead Ellie downstairs and without much words, you begin to scavenge around for supplies. You know what’s common here - ammo, rations, all the basics. You know that this is more than a simple scavenge-and-go, though. There’s practically a blizzard outside, and you know that at least the generator set up in case of emergencies is visible. 

You begin to power up the generator with a few clean spins. Last patrol, Astrid taught you how to crank the handle without nearly breaking it. The thing’s a little rusty with disuse since it has been a while since the temperature has called for winter weather, so it takes more arm power than usual. When the generator finally roars to life, you sigh in relief and try to find Ellie, who is more than likely still going through ammo cases. 

You find her at a door that’s closed off from the main area. She notices your presence, turning to you with a question. “Ever been this far?”

“Nah. The only person who’s ever been down there is Eugene.”

“Shall we?” Her smile is roguish. 

You nod. “There’s no telling what is even down there.”

With a little turn of the door handles (which were slightly stiff), the door is open and the sight before you is not a room but a staircase. Ellie peers down into it.

“Let’s be cautious, it may need to be cleared out.”

The sight before you is not a horde of clickers but instead a one that makes Ellie mutter out a “holy shit…” and you agree; holy shit is right. Dead marujana plants are all over the room, and there’s a small television next to a stained couch, stacks of vcr tapes in a pile on the floor.

“Well, I think we should take a much-deserved break.” You say with a smile that reminds Ellie of a kid on Christmas morning, quickly padding over to the tapes to find something worth watching. Ellie approaches as well, but she raises an eyebrow at your jaw being practically on the floor now.

“What?-” Ellie starts, but then she catches a glimpse of the tape cover. There are two women completely naked and a comically large title reading “Sorority Sisters.” She sputters out a laugh, “Eugene’s porn collection?”

“What the fuck?! I just wanted something like The Matrix, I-” Ellie’s face makes you realize that she is truly considering it- watching a porn together. You and Ellie were only friends, wasn’t that weird?

“Oh, don’t give me that look. It’ll be funny. Do we have anything better to do trapped in the middle of a blizzard?”

You sigh and relent. As much as it makes your stomach feel all hot and weird at the thought of watching bad porn with Ellie, you don’t have any better ideas. “Fine. But only if we can find something to smoke down here as well.”

You and Ellie aren’t as far apart as you should be. The film has been playing on the low quality television in front of you for only the past 20 minutes, and there’s still another 30 to go. Your body feels all warm inside from the weed, and Ellie’s thigh is brushing up against yours as the two of you sit next to each other on the couch. The two of you are out of your jackets and are in just pants and a t-shirt, the heat from the generator fully enveloping the air. The blizzard is all but forgotten. You know that you should put some distance between you and Ellie, that this could have consequences. You’ve already fucked up. You’re supposed to be on patrol, for fuck’s sake. Not watching two college girls eat each other out on a grainy screen and take occasional hits to an old joint, but here you are.

This shouldn’t be turning you on as much as it is. With someone like Cat or Dina, you would be laughing and making jokes about the exaggerated moans. With Ellie next to you, her gorgeous face lit up by the television light, you are both silent. 

And then her fingers skim over your thigh. Just slightly, but enough for you to notice. You’re losing your composure, your breathing heavier. You can feel the moment your panties become soaked. There is an unbearable heat in your lower stomach, and suddenly, it’s as if every little thing you notice about the moment surrounds you at once. You can mainly only smell the weed, but being so close to Ellie means that her crisp scent fills your nose and apparently turns you on even more. Her body heat makes you want to forget that she’s just a friend. Each (stupidly loud) moan echoing in the room from the porno even makes you clench, just because you’re aware Ellie is right next to you and you’re watching this together. 

Before you can even process it, Ellie’s hand is sliding between your thighs, massaging your inner left thigh. You feel a familiar heat pool within your belly. 

Her voice is low, just an intimate, raspy whisper in your ear that nobody else would ever be able to hear, “you can tell me to stop.”

You should tell her to stop. You should swat her hand away and tell her to keep her paws off of you. But.. you don’t. Instead, you let out an exhale, a shaky and bewildered sound before guiding her hand right between your legs. She can’t touch you properly through the stiff fabric of your jeans, but she has no intentions of rushing things. Ellie is a damn tease, distracting you by leaning down and skimming chapped lips over the sensitive skin of your neck. The breaths she takes are short and the exhales are hot against your skin, making you shudder. Her fingers are firmly rubbing over your clit through the fabric of your denim jeans. 

“Such a damn tease,” you scold, but you’re already slightly moving your hips for more friction. 

Ellie smiles against your pulse, barely sinking her teeth into the skin to make you gasp, then pulling away to laugh. “But you know you love it.” 

You can’t deny it, so you grow silent, letting her continue to play with you as if you’re a puppet pulled by strings, the major string being your pussy. Ellie knows you so fucking well, it’s almost uncanny. That is how it has always been, though. Ellie has always been able to read you like an open book. She knows your favorite things, she knows that she is your favorite person, she knows when to tell you stupid puns and insult you and when to put a comforting hand on your shoulder and wipe away your tears. Now, without ever touching you so intimately before, she just knows how to make you beg for more. 

“Ellie, please..” You plead, and the heightened pitch doesn’t go unnoticed by Ellie. She pulls away from her work on your neck to leave a soft kiss on your jawline, trailing up to your ear. 

“Tell me that you want more, and I’ll fuck you right here.” She doesn’t sound like your usual Ellie, instead raspy and so serious. You know that this isn’t a prank. All you want to hear is that voice telling you filthy things while she fucks you, and just like that, the porno in the background is washed out. 

“I want you to fuck me.” 

You’re whining, your head laid back on the couch with your legs spread out wide for her. Your jeans are on the floor, your underwear pooled around your ankles with the haste that Ellie used to be able to fuck you. Her fingers are drilling so deeply into your cunt, nearly making it impossible to hold on longer. Once she had you naked, she didn’t feel the urge to tease.

“Fingers so deep in this cunt, and you’re still begging for more,” she laughs at the way your walls clench in response and your whines are just as loud as the girls on tv who are long forgotten. 

“Ellie, fuck- I dunno how long I can hold on…I wanna cum so bad, please, please-” You’re quickly cut off by your own cry when Ellie curls her fingers up into your g-spot, her thumb padding at your clit to only heighten the sensation. She knows you so well. How does she know the way you like it, the way you touch yourself when you’re alone in your bedroom at night.The way your palm brushes against your clit as you finger your drenched hole? The fact that you grip the sheets with your free hand and moan her name? 

“Shh, c’mon, baby. I’ve got you, just cum for me.” She coos in your ear, slipping in a third finger and stretching you out so nicely, filling you up so good and then she’s stroking your walls- 

Your orgasm hits not in waves, but instead like a pulse, beating and Ellie can feel the way you flutter, she can feel the way your clit beats against the calloused, wet pad of her thumb. Your thighs instinctively close her in, you can’t beat to feel her pull out until this onslaught of pure star-striking pleasure is over. Her free hand turns your face towards her and she swallows up your moans in a sloppy kiss, her tongue fucking into your mouth lazily and sensually. 

The moments after are sweaty and sweet. She lay next to you across the couch, one of her arms underneath your body so that she can keep a hand wrapped around your waist. Everything is beautiful and so warm, like a fever dream. Your high is still on-going, and you wonder how this could ever end. 

When Jesse’s voice rings through the building, it does end.

[tiktaalic]

pa said the well's run dry he said the bank came out yesterday and said we're gonna have to sell the blog and get work in the city like the rest of folks less we can come up with something real quick. he was all ready to sign the papers today but i begged him to wait to give me time to find something anything and he sighed and said he could give me a week and not a minute more. and i nodded and i cried because he was right when he said there was next to nothing i could do and even if i did find a miracle. all our neighbors shuffled off weeks months years ago because the posts dried up and the bank came knocking. i break open my piggy bank hoping there's enough drafts in there to tide us over. i sit there. and i have to decide if it's worth spending everything i have just to buy us an extra day. and i know this extra day will consist of walking around mute and shellshocked. and i decide. it's worth it. i give pa all my drafts and he looks at me and shakes his head and his voice cracks when he says i better keep hold of those for getting settled in the city. i could fight him. i don't. i leave all my drafts on the table and storm out the back door. there must be something. they must have just missed it. pa says he knows this blog better than anyone. but i grew up here, same as him. and as much as he loves it, i love it more. when i was seven years old he tore the place apart looking for me after i wandered off. but i wasn't lost. i'd found a tag to play in, happy as could be. he never found me, or the tag, i just wandered back out when i got hungry. it's pa's blog, but it's my home. i know where the creeks and streams and ponds are. i know if i look hard enough, i can find a new posting well.

day one, i strike out. i wake up before dawn. i come in after dusk with no posts to show for it. pa's boxing up our plates when i walk in. he doesn't say anything. i don't either.

day two, i wander a further. yesterday, i was following a map with areas of interest marked in order of likelihood of success. today, i pick a direction and walk. i have more to show for it, if only barely. i get home with one bucket of posts. pa tells me i should keep them.

day three i wake up because pa's dragging furniture into the yard for a yard sale. when i ask him what he's doing he says he'd rather be paid flop drafts by our neighbors than flop drafts by the bank. i walk back inside. get my map. i get home after midnight with empty hands.

day four. when i wasn't looking, the cold single minded determination turned into fear. i'm realizing i'm running out of time. i'm realizing the reason pa didn't put up a fight is because he knew there was nothing out here. i could kill him. what kind of farmer depends on one well? my heart isn't in it today. i head out after noon. i'm back before dusk. there's been a stack of empty boxes sitting outside my room since pa told me the news. i haven't touched them. tonight, i take one and put away some of my things.

day five. there's more ground to cover. it's more out of a sense of completion than anything. so that when we're in the city, i can say, i did everything i could. i looked everywhere. this was the only option. i stop midday for a rest. the ground i put my palms on is curiously softer than the rest. i dig. it comes away easily. it turns into mud. heart thudding in my ears, i keep digging. the mud gives way to a trickle of posts. ears roaring. i keep digging. hands covered in mud. the trickle turns into a stream. i start yelling for pa. i'm too far from the house for him to hear me, but i'm not thinking about that right now. i'm thinking about the posts in front of me, clear and fresh. text posts. gifs. amvs. there's enough to live another twenty years on this blog. i splash my face. i laugh. i fill my bucket. i'll have to bring more. we'll have to get the pump set up. because there are enough new supernatural posts here for me and my children to build a life.

[spider-stark]

GOLD

Aeron Bracken x Blackwood!Reader

Summary - You go sneaking through Bracken territory for some time alone with Aeron.

Warnings - mentions of blood, mentions of fighting, no real plot, hurt/comfort, subtle rivals-to-lovers, aeron grabbing boobies lmao, maybe some grammar errors idk

Word Count - 1.6k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

As the sun dips below the horizon, the beginnings of dusk paint the land around you in dim, muted hues. The forest buzzes with life—crickets chirp and frogs croak, rodents scurry through the undergrowth as birds-of-prey call out overhead. 

Unlike the nocturnal creatures around you, you take great care to stay quiet, fearing that if you don’t, the very soil beneath your boots might finally recognize you as an intruder. 

So you keep every footfall careful and deliberate; avoiding sticks and leaves in favor of plush, noiseless grass. Even your breaths are calculated, soft as the spring breeze rustling the leaves overhead. 

After all, you’re playing a dangerous game venturing this far from home. To be several miles from the vastness of Blackwood Vale, traipsing on the wrong side of the boundary stones, no less… You were gambling with your life—fair game for any Bracken man wishing to bloody their sword with Blackwood blood. As the daughter of Lord Samwell Blackwood, you would make a fine prize, too. 

But you had grown comfortable in these woods the past several months. Familiar, too—learning which paths were best avoided and which clearings were most often used for hunting or goofing-off. You learned to remain invisible, weaving through the trees like a wraith—invisible, unseen and unheard, as you drift towards your usual meeting spot. 

Well—mostly invisible, you suppose. 

You’re less than a few feet from your spot—a glistening creek branching off from the Red Fork, several miles off any main trail—when a twig snaps! behind you. 

Your spine turns to steel, every muscle locking up as alarm bells roar in your mind. A second too late, you reach for the dagger at your thigh. Trembling fingers hardly graze the hilt before an arm wraps itself around your waist, tugging you backwards into a crushing embrace. 

A single finger jabs at your chest, just off-center between your breasts, pressing through the thin fabric of your tunic. 

Just above your heart, you realize as it hammers against your ribs. 

“Got you.” Aeron’s voice quells your nerves, warmth tickling your skin as he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck. “If I were anyone else,” he murmurs, “you would be dead right now.” 

He taps his finger against your chest—once, then twice—to emphasize his point. As much as it annoys you, you know that he’s right. Anyone else and they wouldn’t have hesitated to send a blade tearing through your chest. 

You won’t admit it, though. 

“You scared me,” you grumble instead, trying to sound annoyed with him. It’s a hopeless objective—it’s too hard to be upset with him when his lips brush over your still-racing pulse, kissing up your neck. 

“Did I?” Aeron asks, playing coy. “Strange. I thought you Blackwoods claimed to be fearless.” 

Teeth graze against your earlobe, nibbling lightly. You bite your lip, twisting around in his hold so that you’re face-to-face. “And I thought Brackens were all insipid creatures,” you tease him. “So I suppose we both deviate from the norm of our Houses, don’t we?” 

Aeron laughs—a sound so sweet it makes your teeth ache. “I suppose so.” 

He pulls you closer, hands falling low on your hips. In all your life, you’ve never met someone so warm before—the sheer closeness of your bodies like standing too close to the edge of a fire. It sets your every nerve ablaze, desire coiling in your belly like a fiery serpent. 

He presses his forehead to yours and, for a moment, you assume he’s going to kiss you. 

Instead, your breaths only mingle in the space between you, his lips barely grazing yours as he whispers, “Still—I need you to be more careful. Especially here.” 

Here. 

That one word is like a bucket of water, dousing the flames lapping at your skin. Desire swiftly turns to nausea at the realization that, even in the arms of your beloved, you were still unwelcome in this part of the Riverlands. Still an intruder. 

You step back, Aeron’s hands falling from your hips. “As if you’re one to lecture me about being careful.” 

Neatly-groomed brows knit together as he watches you turn your back, abandoning him in favor of the gurgling creek. Confusion laces his words as he hurries after you. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“That Benji has a big mouth.” You sit in your usual spot by the creek's edge, your legs stretched out in front of you. You look up at Aeron with a raised brow. “Did you truly think he wouldn’t tell me about you insulting him this morning?” 

“He was trespassing on Bracken land,” Aeron argues. 

You give him a flat look that screams: As if you’re one to talk. 

Aeron had snuck onto Blackwood land more times than you could count—with far more nefarious intentions than Benji. If your brother ever found out about all the times Aeron had snuck into your bedchambers at Raventree… 

“Well he also called me a spineless dolt,” Aeron grumbles. His lips, naturally flushed and oh-so-kissable, turn to a sullen pout. “What was I supposed to do? Just stand there and take it?” 

You fight the urge to scream Yes! at the top of your lungs. 

Instead, you draw in a breath. “You know better than to get into it with him, Aeron. You said it yourself: Blackwoods are fearless��especially Benji.” 

He shakes his head, strands of sandy-colored hair brushing his shoulders. “Feckless is more like it.” 

“Tread lightly, Bracken.” You bristle, shooting him a look of warning. “He’s still my brother.” 

He doesn’t apologize—and you don’t expect him to. After all, both of you know that there’s some truth to his words. 

Benji has always been… difficult. 

Quick to anger and slow to forgive, he was one of many reasons why you kept your feelings for Aeron hidden. 

Your father could be persuaded to accept such a betrothal, you think. After all, it was common—if a bit futile—for Blackwoods and Brackens to wed in the name of peace. At the very least, for the sake of your happiness, he would consider it. 

But Benji… 

“I know I cannot expect you to just let him walk all over you,” you tell Aeron, a bit softer now. “But you know how Benji is.” You turn to the water by your feet. It ebbs and churns, bubbling as it laps at the stones lining the edge. “How detached he gets.” 

It petrifies you, sometimes. How, in a fight, Benji becomes someone else entirely. Should he ever decide to do more than simply taunt Aeron, you know without doubt which of them would survive such a fight. 

“If the two of you ever… If Benji hurts you–” 

Tears sting the back of your throat, the heavy words clinging to your tongue like molasses. You don’t want to think about that—but you can’t stop, either. Silver lines your eyes, tears threatening to spill over as Aeron drops to the ground beside you. 

Without hesitation, he tells you, “You’re right.” Soft, uncalloused hands gently cup your face, urging you to look at him. He brushes a thumb along the apple of your cheek. “I was careless—to think only of my pride instead of what it might do to you if your brother…” Aeron pauses, thinking. “If he went too far. For you, I’ll take better care to hold my tongue around him.” 

Your voice is quiet, hardly perceptible over the gurgling water, when you say, “Do you promise?” 

A childish thing to ask, perhaps. 

Yet Aeron obliges without question. 

“I swear it on the Gods.” 

Slowly, relief begins to untangle the knot in your stomach. 

“But,” Aeron’s lips quirk into a small, teasing smile, “only if you swear to be more cautious when coming here. It seems you’ve gotten far too comfortable wandering through Bracken territory.” A bit more solemn, he adds, “You should walk with your dagger out, at the ready, just in case—at least while you’re still a Blackwood.” 

A wrinkle forms between your brow. “While I’m still a Blackwood?” You ask, amusement dancing in your tone as you echo his earlier words, “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“That you won’t be a Blackwood forever—eventually, your father will have to marry you off,” Aeron drones, his hands falling from your face to your waist. “Such is the natural order of things.” 

You try not to giggle as he starts pawing at you, pulling you onto his lap, your thighs caging his hips. “True—but I had no idea you spent so much time thinking of my future.” 

Aeron’s hands dip lower, moving from your waist to slip beneath the hem of your tunic. “I’m always thinking of you.” 

“Have you any particular House in mind, then?” Brushing a lock of sandy hair from his face, you jest, “I can pass your suggestions along to my father.” 

Fingertips trace along your ribcage, inching higher and higher. His palms graze your breasts and suddenly breathing becomes a difficult task—the warmth of his touch reigniting the familiar spark in your belly. 

“Well—” he leans in close, smooth lips hovering over yours—“I’m quite partial to how you might look in gold.” 

“Careful,” you warn—though it's interrupted by a hiss as he toys with your nipples, rolling and pinching, grinning at your reaction. “That almost sounds like a proposal, Bracken.” 

Aeron nearly moans into your mouth as your thighs tense, rolling your hips against his, his voice gruff as he asks, “And would that be such a horrible thing?” 

He doesn’t wait for your answer. Doesn’t want it, maybe. 

Instead, he catches your lips with his. You melt into it—his touch, his taste. His tongue glides against yours, your fingers tangling in his hair and—for a moment—you let everything else fall away, your fears and worries fading into insignificance.  

No, you think. That wouldn’t be horrible at all.

a/n - so I actually ended up not liking this at all once I got about halfway through editing---honestly, something about the ending just is not vibing for me and there really just isn't any true plot here lol. but, with that being said, I had already written it so I decided to go ahead and post it because there needs to be more aeron/amos bracken content in the world. and yes, I did totally just use the name aeron because I like it more than the name amos lmao.

anyways, hope you got some sort of enjoyment out of this! time for me to go write more benji fics🫡

[zoeflake]

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ エロチックトバー２０２４> MDNI / EXPLICIT CONTENT

TURBULENCE ✈ JUGRAM HASCHWALTH X F! READER ＫINKTOBER DAY 27: PLANE SEX

🐙 requested by: Anonymous. Hiii, the theme for the event is a bomb😳Do you write for the Sternitters too? (Bleach). If so, I’d take a Jugram Haschwalth for the airplane sex kink. The gender can be female or gn, I don’t mind. Thanks in advance! ⚠️ tw: mdni. explicit content. modern au. business trip. airplane sex. 🐙 wc: 2.4k // kinktober 24 masterlist // join the taglist

Ah, he has always been next to the general director. He even works more than him. Jugram this, Jugram that. Go here, go there… 

“Jugram-sama, I just received an e-“ you inform but get interrupted by him. “I know…” the blonde answers, checking his phone for the third time since you both seated on that plane. 

Uncomfortable, both try to get your legs ready for a lot of hours over the clouds. No matter how much you were -the Silbern company- willing to pay, a last-minute flight across the world only had barely two tickets available on economy. Forget first class, not even a single one free on business class. 

However, if Yhwach ordered Jugram to do it, he must do it. And you, his assistant, tried your best to find accommodation… took whatever it took. 

You keep quiet as his crystalline eyes fix on the screen of one of his six phones. What an amazing beauty this man holds, with manly features but still delicate to be mistaken by an angel… still, he might be the loneliest of them all, by choice perhaps, pushing everybody away… 

“Did you pay wifi on board, right? I’ll need it” he utters, as cold as always. As serious as ever. 

You nod, searching for a little card with a special code they gave you when you were checking in. 

“Here, Jugram-sama” you give it to him, grazing your fingers. He is not really looking at you, he just seems especially glued to the screen. 

It doesn’t take much for the plane’s doors to be finally closed and for a flight attendant to reach your spot. A young beautiful woman, dressed in the airline’s sexy uniform, stops right by your side noticing Jugram still on his phone. 

“Ah, Sir. Excuse me, we are about to take off, you should put your phone down until we reach cruise alt-“ she says, shutting up the moment the blonde looks at her in a very “not amused” grim. 

 The immediate change of that woman when seeing his handsome face isn’t something new for you, in fact, the flight attendant didn’t even notice you were also on your phone. She immediately recognize him, acting all silly and flirtatious towards him. 

“Sorry. Will shut it off in a moment” Jugram says, blocking his phone and sliding it inside the chest pocket of his white suit. 

You do the same, sighing. It’s ok, the flight attendant won’t notice, nor will Jugram. He doesn’t care about you; you are just a mere software that breathes and speaks to help him… or so you think. 

“Fasten it. Tight” he suddenly says, bending just a little to reach for your seatbelt and adjust it closer to your lower stomach. And you gasp, when did he ever cared about your safety? 

You nod, again. Out of words, even more than always. You can’t say much, you just fix your eyes into the little screen in front of you. Hot ears, hot cheeks… a simple touch of this man, and you are sent to heaven. 

And, speaking of heaven, soon and with your ears popping the plane leaves the ground to be finally airborne. In complete silence, the only sounds you are blessed with are the roaring of the engines and the little creeks of the plastic insides of the plane. 

Time flies, they say, when you are comfortable… however, this wasn’t exactly the definition of comfort. You tried to squeeze yourself in that tiny seat, as much as possible. Your left elbow carved into the plane’s fuselage wall, and your right arm crossed over your chest. You don’t wanna take Jugram much space, and as much as you wish, you don’t even dare claiming the middle armrest for your own. 

“You look uncomfortable, (Name)” he mutters, this time with his eyes scanning a haggard magazine. You have no idea how he does it, but he sees you without looking. 

“Not to sound very cocky, but economy nowadays is a torture… we haven’t even left Germany, and my legs are already dead, I wonder if I’ll be able to walk when we get to Japan” you whisper, as the lights of the cabin have already been turned off and some snoring from other passengers filter in between the sound of the engines. 

“Try to rest, we will need energy” he simply says, closing the magazine and turning his head to the side. His eyes closed, but his facial muscles still tensed.

When will you rest, Jugram Haschwalth? 

Seven hours in, and that water bottle you chugged in while bored, has started to affect you. But how to leave your seat to go to the bathroom, if that would mean crawling on top of Jugram who has finally -incredible to you- fallen asleep? 

Yet, your bladder has a limit and after several minutes trying to forget about your necessities, urgence takes over… 

Taking a deep breath before starting to move, you stand up. You hit your head with the overhead compartment and swear in silence. Then, facing Jugram, your left leg goes first, passing over his long legs. And just like this, with your hands on each side of his face, on the headrest, your hips seem like straddled on his, even though your crotches aren’t touching. 

A soft rocking motion, known as turbulence, seems to complot against you as it becomes a little more noticeable. It obviously affects your balance, but you are not willing to wake this man up, much less with you in such position. 

However, Jugram seems to never really rest, and suddenly a pair of hands land on your waist. 

“Careful” he whispers, opening two shining stars per eyes. His hands are strong, his hold making you feel secure. 

“I’m sorry, I had to go to the toile-“

“You should have asked me to move…” he answers back, helping you to reach the aisle. 

You nod, out of words, and quickly run -as best as you can- to the toilet. You can’t normalize your breathing for at least a couple of minutes after you finally relieve yourself and in the mirror in front of you, you try your best to fix your image… 

Yet, seems destiny has decided to play with you, once again…

The up and down motions increase, turbulence becoming more and more noticeable, and a flight attendant asking you to hurry and go back to your seat once you’ve managed to leave the restroom.  

You grunt; why in the world there isn’t something able to deal with turbulence yet? Grabbing anything, really, while you walk to your very uncomfortable seat, you pray for Jugram not to be asleep.

“Uh, Jugram-sama, I’m ba-!” you try to ask for him to move so you can squeeze back into your seat. But, of course, to make it a lot more shamefully to you, turbulence makes you jump. 

The blonde once again snatches you, this time saving you big time not to hurt yourself badly. You get locked in his arms, on top of his lap. Your face close to his, noses almost touching, eyes fixed on each other’s. 

“You ok? Did you hurt yourself? Is your head ok?” he asks, touching the back of your head, grabbing you real close to his body, seriously worried. 

You nod, finally breathing back. 

“I’m ok… thank you for saving me, Jugram-sama” you whisper, letting your forehead rest on his shoulder. You are sure you shouldn’t have done such thing, but you couldn’t help it… it is hella scary to feel like gravity has abandoned you. 

“Don’t… worry” he whispers back, allowing you to rest as much as you wish on him. His hand on your head makes it clear, “stay here if you wish”

The scent of his skin, and the sweet perfume he wears, makes you dizzy… what a delicious combination. The warmth of his flesh on your lips, invites you to kiss him… how much you wish you could do it, but just the way the plane moves will have to do, an indirect kiss that can’t be call as it. 

And, the more the plane moves, the more you softly jump on his lap. And Jugram seems to tense, more and more… is it that maybe the constant graze of your legs on his crotch, the warm breath of your mouth, or your nose buried on his skin it is making it really difficult for him? 

You notice his muscles becoming stiff, and thankful for the darkness surrounding the fuselage, you take a little bit of advantage of the situation… I’m sorry, Jugram-sama, this is a dream came true. 

However, common sense comes back to you; “Sorry, Jugram-sama! I’m gonna go back to my seat. I’m sorry...” you try to stand up, but you can’t. 

“Stay…” he grunts in your ear, pressing your body, harder, against him. This time you can feel a man’s reaction to a beautiful woman jumping on him… 

You look at him; this time your eyes are imbued with lust. You only just needed a plead, a single word… you are just a human, you have been pushed to the limit… You have always wanted him… and apparently, he has always wanted you. 

Perhaps a couple of seconds passed, but to you it felt like an eternity. His hand landed on your cheek, with its fingers reaching the back of your head. 

In silence, trying to recognize each other’s traits with the soft led lights of the bathroom sign on the back of the plane, you spend some more minutes until he devours you in one kiss. 

It is more than magical and also painfully needy; you have no idea if he had been wanting to kiss you since forever, or this is just something out of the blue. And who cares? Kiss me more, Jugram-sama. 

Indecently, the kiss become more and more deep, in a full plane, surrounded by strangers… and his hardness keeps growing, as if was searching for your core to go desperately deep inside. 

“Toilet, go. Wait for me” he commands in between tongues playing. 

You widen your eyes; he wants to fuck you in that tiny bathroom?

“Please…” he adds, again pleading, begging. 

You nod, this time biting your lower lip. He helps you; the turbulence continues but has decreased in intensity. You walk to the bathroom in the back, praying for nobody, including the crew, to see you. 

Your clearly agitated -and horny- imagery reflects on the mirror of the tiny toilet. You wonder how is Jugram going to manage to get inside without being noticed. 

Trust Jugram Haschwalth, he is not only wise, he is rich and the second hand of one of the largest companies in the world… 

“Miss, if I give you my number, would you close the bathroom for me and my assistant? She is not feeling well and I will try to help her. Please, contact me soon, we are soon purchasing a private jet, and we will need a flight attendant like you to join us” 

“Oh! Of course, Jugram-sama! Thank you!! And please, don’t worry, take all the time you need!” 

A sudden knock on the door announces he is here, not even a minute has passed. You open, sticking yourself against the back of the toilet. Amazed you noticed nobody but him around, where are the flight attendants? 

There is no time to think, as he gets inside and closes the door right behind him. Pleased with the loud noises of that Boeing 777, he turns you around. Your belly hits the mini counter, Jugram’s hands lowering your bamboula pants. 

“I don’t know why you chose to wear these today, but I’m so glad you did” he grunts in your ear, as it was hella easy to lower them down and expose your ass. 

You were about to reply it was because of comfort, but it’d be pointless to add anything at all. He lifts your right leg on top of the counter, for better access, feeling your wetness with his free hand. 

His chest hits your back, his chin carved on your shoulder, both looking at each other through the mirror. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time… I’m sorry it has to be on a plane’s toilet” he says, smirking. 

For a long time, Jugram-sama? Amazed, amused, impressed… the very first time he is showing you a smile and it’s when he has his fingers inside your folds… 

“I- I don’t- I don’t care…”  you simply answer, because you can’t even think straight; by now, Jugram has started fingering you like nobody else did before. 

Your inner thighs tremble, your skin becomes bumpy. Your hand tries to reach for Jugram’s hips, you want him closer -inside-. And he understands his job, immediately. 

“You want me to fuck you, mh?” Jugram asks, pinching your cheeks and making you look yourself in front of the mirror. 

“yes… please…” you plead, lifting your hips, grabbing yourself from the little counter in front of you. It isn’t easy not to lose balance on such a tiny place, on a plane with occasional turbulence. 

Jugram, however, seems not to notice the motion of the plane and keeps both feet steadily on the ground. He lowers his zipper, freeing his sex from his white pants. Ready, so ready to impale you, he doesn’t even take a single moment to do it. 

His strong hand lands on your mouth the moment he finally gets deep inside you; a Boeing might be loud, but your moan could have been heard by others.

The slaps against your ass and thighs force you to put your hands on the mirror in front, where both never stopped looking at each other. It is both magical and perverted the way  you enjoy this moment through the reflection. 

One, two, three. More and more. But is not enough, is not deep enough… “Come here…” he commands, turning you around. 

You pant, legs trembling, wanting more and more. 

Jugram sits on the toilet and spreads his arms to receive you. And you immediately understand; time to bounce on his hard sex. 

You let yourself fall on his lap; the need allows his dick to slide right in with no difficulty whatsoever. Facing your blonde lover snatches your lips in a feverish kiss, his hands press the small of your back against him, and his legs begin to bounce along with you… ah, deep Jugram-sama; deep, fast… faster… 

And now turbulence is making it even better, don’t you think?!

Taglist of amazing babes: @awas-posts @missfuriosa @theneighbourhoodferret @cyberdazetragedy @ariesbbytings @animesnowstorm @lenablack9919

[golden-ebony]

Man Eater (2) 𓆩♡𓆪

♡ Series Masterlist ♡ Previous part ♡

♡ Pairing: Logan Howlett/Fem!Vigilante!Reader

♡ Word Count: 3.6k

♡ Rating: Mature (but any additional parts may be explicit)

♡ Warning/Tags: suggestions of child/adult abuse (no detail), mentions of violence (little detail), mutant/vigilante reader, suggestive language, Logan being a lil flirty menace (i love it)

♡ Summary: Leaving your past behind is never easy; teasing Logan makes it tolerable...if you can call it teasing...

♡ Note: worked very hard to post this on hugh's birthday in celebration! also! if you requested a part two, I tagged you. if you'd like to be added or removed, let me know!

In the middle of the night, you tossed and turned in your sleep. The mattress was soft, the room warm, the available sweats you found in the drawers were too comfortable. It should have been perfect. Yet, the hairs surrounding your forehead began to stick. You never slept well in new environments, always feeling on edge. Each creek of the old mansion raised the hair on the back of your neck. It gave you time to think about Charles’s proposition.

You didn’t want to admit it to Charles or Logan, life in your apartment was a tad lonely, too quiet. Silence was conflicting. In the same way it brought peace, it brought dread. Waiting for the inevitable break was like torture. Breaking it yourself—losing yourself in work—at least made it predictable. Gigs, at least paid ones, were far and few in between. Not much was breaking the silence nowadays.

You looked over at the clock seeing it was 2am. You got yourself out of bed, slowly roaming the halls of the mansion. The weight of your steps on the wood floor would be more prominent if not for the storm that still roared outside. Otherwise, there wasn’t a stir in the mansion. It was different from hours prior. The laughter and conversations of children could be heard from your room until you fell asleep.

Down the end of the hallway, you could see the gleam of light around the corner. From your recollection, it had to be the kitchen. You hesitantly followed the light, hoping someone just left it on.

Rounding the corner, you were met with the glare of a shirtless Logan, elbows firmly on the counter while sitting on the stool. He was swirling a glass of whiskey, careful to not let a drop fall despite its fullness. Like a reflex, your eyes scanned his sitting form. You were sure that he noticed.

The smirk on his lips grew, seeing you adorned in sweatpants and a hoodie that were at least a size too big. You might as well have been in clothes. 

"What are you doing up, princess? Can’t sleep?" From his tired voice, you could tell that he hadn’t been up for long.

You tried to recover from your brazen survey of his chest. “I don’t sleep well in new places,” you shrugged as you slowly approached the counter.

"Ah, so that’s why you’re up, huh? New place and all that…" He took a gulp of his whiskey, keeping his gaze on you as he spoke again. His tongue darted out to his bottom lip, retrieving the remaining taste of the liquor. “You like what you see, sweetheart?” The gruff yet playful tone in his voice made your core stir.

You hummed, laying your palms on the cool counter. Only the bar counter separated you two. “I do…” you whispered, leaning over the counter, only about half a foot from Logan’s face, “...I see a whiskey that looks pretty damn good. Care to share?”

Logan chuckled and looked down at the liquid in the glass, swirling it around a bit. “You want a taste?” He nodded toward the stool next to him, pulling it out, “C’mere then.”

Playing this game with Logan was a good distraction from the pending decision you had to make. It reminded you of what you missed the most from your work: the chase.

You rounded the edge of the bar. Behind it, you could see how low Logan’s sweats rode his hips. His legs remained spread. You didn’t hesitate to take the stool next to him, your body fully facing him. Your leg slightly brushed his as you crossed your legs. You felt a sense of dominance watching Logan take a deep breath due to the slighted touch of your skin.

"I have to say, sweetheart, the sight of you all sleepy and in pants that are a bit too big on you?” Logan rumbled, slightly tugging the string of your hoodie, “You look damn good.”

You playfully slapped his hand, ignoring his comment. “Just give me the damn whiskey.”

Logan was amused by your little demand. Instead, he lifted the glass to his lips, taking another gulp. The glass was half full now. “Now, don’t you know I don’t respond well to demands, princess? Gotta ask nicely.”

“Fuck you,” you spat. The smile that still formed on your face felt like a betrayal to your tone.

“Oh, don’t worry…I’m sure I’ll be getting to that at some point but first…” He held the glass up, waving it in front of you like a taunt. “Ask nicely, use your manners, sweetheart…” His tone was a bit condescending.

He was shameless, but you were relentless.

You shifted your body, uncrossing your legs. You allowed your features to soften and a small smile to form, your head titled. Slightly looking up at Logan, you placed one hand on his knee, running your hand up his thigh and back down to his knee. Feeling emboldened by Logan’s strained exhale, you ran your hand back to his mid thigh. You leaned in a bit closer. “Please…”

Logan took another quick gulp of the whiskey and leaned in closer too. Your pleading eyes, soft smile, alluring touch—it was hard to determine if this was a well trained ruse that you used time and time again. Yet, he noticed how you looked at his bare chest and how yours would heave when your eyes traveled lower down his body. He knew you were just as affected by him as he was to you. 

"Please what, princess? You gotta be more specific.” You didn’t even hear the storm outside anymore—just his husky tone resonating in your head.

“I need it,” you whispered, rubbing your hand on his thigh again. With a knowing smile, your brows furrow as if you had misspoke. In the short time Logan had known you, you never misspoke. “The whiskey, I mean…”

Logan smirked as you whispered and moved your hand on his skin. It felt damn good. He let out a slight grumble in response, enjoying how you were touching him, enjoying the tone of your voice as you spoke.

“You sure it’s the whiskey that you need?” The heel pulled your stool closer to his, your cheek almost brushing up against his. Your audible gasp caught yourself off guard. You were almost straddling his knee. Placing the whiskey glass on the counter, Logan firmly placed his larger hand over yours. Feeling his warm breath near your ear, you had to close your eyes to focus—to control your breath. “Or do you just need me?"

Logan leaned back from your ear, his darkened eyes meeting yours. Nothing about you was innocent, yet the way you were looking at him now said otherwise. You bit your lip as your eyes darted down to his lips. His hand faintly gripped yours. Logan wasn’t so sure if this was a game anymore.

Before he could make another move, Logan saw his whiskey glass come into his view as you brought it to your lips. The innocence in your eyes was completely washed away and replaced with pride as you took a deserved gulp from his glass. Logan looked down and could only laugh to himself. Removing your hand from his thigh, you used your foot on his stool to push yourself back from him, taking the glass with you.

“You know,” Logan began as he stood up, turning toward the cabinet. He pulled another glass and a half empty bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. “You could’ve just asked for your own, princess.”

You cracked your neck before finishing the drink. “What’s the fun in that?” you shrugged with a playful tone.

You held up your glass requesting more. Logan obliged by pouring you both fresh glasses. He sat again and brought the bottle with him. He leaned back to examine your change in demeanor. From a minute ago to now, it was like you were a different person. You feigned innocence with an ease that was jarring.

“Is that how you lured all those men?” Logan bluntly asked, tapping his glass. You weren’t surprised by his bluntness, but you never spoke about the work you did. Who the hell would you tell? “I think you could have convinced me to get a top floor suite with room service just now, sweetheart.”

“Every man is different,” you slowly began, running your finger along the rim of your glass. “Different motivations, different ticks, different tastes…I become a fantasy that feeds on those things.”

“And you think you’d miss it, don’t you?” Logan’s question was spoken almost in a teasing manner. 

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink, “I would,” you admitted. Your body turned from Logan’s to fully face the counter. You placed your arms on the counter, “You think Charles would let me still do it if I became a great X-man.” You mocked Charles’s voice and tone.

Logan gruffly laughed before matching your body language. “Nah, he definitely wouldn’t.” 

You knew this would be the answer; your question was virtually a joke. Besides the aspect of living in a school, joining a team, trying to be a part of some new found family—you couldn’t imagine not living the life you built for yourself, doing what you believed was justice. You didn’t know who would do it, if you didn’t.

“Like I said earlier, I get it, sweetheart,” Logan breathed, observing your profile. You peered back, brows raised. “You didn’t do shit that those bastards didn’t deserve.”

By never speaking about what you did, you believed you were avoiding judgment from others, avoiding their contorted faces of terror. You heard what news outlets would say once a body was discovered in the hotel suite the next morning. You heard the number of FBI profiles made up about you as you bounced from coast to coast. On social media, you were revered differently; you were the hero in some peoples’ eyes. Maybe even in Logan’s eyes.

You took a larger gulp of your whiskey than you intended, your face souring before bitterly swallowing it down. “I can’t be an X-man, Logan. The way Charles talked about you guys in the past…that’s not me. I can’t imagine being the doting professor who takes the moral high ground. I’m not a role model.”

Logan listened intently. You couldn’t read him as he took two larger drinks out of his glass. He deeply exhaled, “You can do whatever you want, sweetheart, but you think everyone here is perfect? Even Charles?”

You stayed quiet. This wasn’t the lecture you’d expect from Logan.

“You know how many times I’ve fucked up here? How many times I’m going to continue to fuck up?” You couldn’t help but let out a soft giggle at Logan’s own amusement about fucking up. “And we all got pasts, things we try to bury. These kids…they fuck up, too. They’ve done things they’d rather forget…they gotta know they’re capable of outliving their past.”

The sincerity in Logan’s eyes was new. There wasn’t a hint of lust or darkness that you witnessed earlier in his face or words. Thinking your heart would begin to race as you thought about your pending decision, you were surprised to feel like slowing down with Logan’s words. Knowing where Logan came from and the number of horrors he’d also witnessed made his endorsement all the more intriguing.

“And that’s why you’re awake now?” you pressed. “Hard to outrun your past when you sleep.”

Logan could only nod; you were right. Horrors had their way of finding him in the night, whether he was looking for them or not.

“They used to be worse.” He took a slow sip from his glass. You saw his jaw clench while he sat there in thought. “I freaked out once when I was dreamin’. Impaled a student who was just trying to wake me up.”

Your body stiffened due to his disclosure. The rumble of his voice was full of shame and regret. You sat in silence for a beat, waiting for Logan’s words to cut through the tension again.

“Her abilities saved her, but if that’d been anyone else…” His voice drifted off before a quick inhale through his nostrils.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to provide comfort, you simply weren’t sure how. Logan didn’t seem like the hugging type. You were sure he played the moment over and over in his brain until it was scratched like a record; what help could words do? Silence made you feel like you were avoiding his words, possibly rejecting him because of them. Comfort was a field you weren’t used to navigating.

“I’m sure that doesn’t help the nightmares,” you responded, a bit too blankly. “I mean—”

“You make different memories, confront the ones you hate,” his words overlapped yours. “And that only happens once you stop running. You were right before. I ran. I didn’t deal with Stryker, and you paid the price.”

You went to say something, but you felt your voice caught in your throat. You lips on sat slightly parted before you realized that all you mustered was a hard swallow of your whiskey.

“I’d like to think if I confronted him then, I wouldn’t be so tormented by it now, and you…” The concern and seriousness in his voice made your heart swell, a sensation you hadn’t felt in years. “I’m sorry.”

You had to look away from him momentarily, feeling more exposed than you intended. You remembered spending days cursing Logan every time you heard how he broke free years before Stryker ever found you. Knowing that he’d been struggling with that for years—willing to apologize—made you feel at least a little bit even.

Looking back at him, you saw that his look had not wavered. Feeling more exposed, you did what you did best.

“You’re really working overtime to make sure I’m here long enough to fall for your charms, Howlett.” You flashed another soft smile, hoping to alter the mood again.

Logan almost finished his drink in two additional gulps and shook his head, “I think you’d do better here than you think. Maybe even stop running from something good for once.” His tone was soft yet serious as he evaded your playful banter. For the first time in decades, you were experiencing an unfamiliar feeling.

Hope.

You raised your glass up, nodding toward Logan’s glass for him to do the same. He did as he was instructed. “Here’s to probably fucking things up.” 

Logan’s lips curved into a smile as the glasses clinked, signaling a resonating decree. You both downed the rest of the drinks before setting them down on the counter. You looked over at him again to appreciate how his jaw tightened as the harsh liquid moved down his throat. There was a comfort that existed by simply watching him, sitting in the temporary silence.

“Thank you, Logan.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you slid off the stool, placing your glass in the sink. You turned toward the way you came to end back to your room.

“And for the record,” you heard Logan start as you approached the threshold of the hallway. You turned on your heels to face him again. From the growing half-smile, you knew what kind of comment you were in for, “I don’t need the overtime. I gotcha right where I want ya, princess.”

Feeling more in your element, you tried containing the grin from your lips, “If you did, I’d be going to your room, not mine, Wolvie.”

For the second time, you wished him good night, leaving him with his thoughts of you. 

When you awoke the next morning, it was a little later than you anticipated. The clock on your night stand read 9:23 AM. It was the sound of children stomping near your door that acted as an alarm. 

The laughing and giggling of schoolchildren was not your usual wake up call, but you hadn’t gotten sleep like that in a while.

After quickly freshening up in the conjoining bathroom, you changed into your jeans and t-shirt from the night before. Peaking your head outside your door, you saw a few strangling kids run down the hall, presumably to their morning classes.

For some reason, you expected to see Logan out here, somewhere. Maybe it was because of your multiple conversations last night; he felt inescapable. But maybe you weren’t complaining either. 

When people spoke of chemistry, you always thought it was silly. Your fake chemistry with enough men that when they thought you had a real connection, this energy, this heat, you wanted to double over in laughter. There was certain enjoyment you got with flirting with a target, feeling like you were getting one up on them with each glance, word, and touch. With Logan, it just felt…different.

“Late start?” You turned your head to the left, seeing Charles two doors down from you. The soft smile that he had was slightly smug as well. It was as if he already knew what your decision was. Perhaps he knew you were up late with Logan.

You leisurely approached Charles with a nod, “If that is your way of asking if I slept well, then the answer is yes.” He began moving, signaling you to move with him down the empty hall. “I’m assuming you came down to see if I had run off again?”

“You do seem to make a habit of it, my dear,” he remarked. In the past, you had stayed at the mansion but you decided to duck out under the cover of night. You always left a note of apology to Charles. Seeing you here during a brand new day meant something, even if you weren’t ready to admit it to yourself. Charles knew. “But you’ve stayed.”

Charles was bringing you outside to the back of the mansion. Although it was very much on the nose, the grass did seem to be greener here. Not just greener, but the garden was vibrating with color from the flora and fauna. You stood on the concrete outlook, pressing your arms against the surface in front of you. 

“I stayed…and you want my answer.” It wasn’t a question.. You couldn’t see Charles as he sat slightly behind you, both of you taking in the scenery. “My life, what I do now…that would have to end, wouldn’ it? I can’t exist in both worlds. That life would end?” You knew Charles’s answer, but you’d be remiss if you didn’t at least ask.

“That life—your life isn’t ending. It’d simply be evolving.”

You fell silent for a moment, still captured in the scenery ahead of you. You didn’t just have Charles’s words echoing in your mind. You had Logan’s, too.

“I think you’d do better here than you think. Maybe even stop running from something good for once.”

Something good.

You turned back to Charles, your back leaning against the guardrail. A deep breath exhaled from your chest as you nodded, “My apartment lease is almost up, so why not? Call me an X-man, I guess.”

You could act as non-chalant as you wanted, but Charles knew this decision wasn’t made lightly by you. Your word was bond, and it had been for 20 years.

Solidified by a handshake, Charles brought you back into the mansion. You didn’t need the typical tour. You and Charles discussed the logistics of your move into the mansion as he simply showed you what was new from your last visit. The more you both talked, laughed, joked, you felt more secure in your decision. Yet, those lingering voices in your head—the ones that held you back before—they still persisted.

Making your way back to the main level, the bells in the hallways sounded off. Students quickly began flooding the halls again, their talking and chattering bounced down the hall. You saw the familiar faces of Storm and Scott in the halls as well, talking with some older students; it had been years since you’d seen them as well. They both looked over toward you and Charles, a tinge of surprise and amusement was revealed from their expressions.

You playfully matched your expressions, knowing it’d be a fun conversation to have later. As much as you rejected the idea of being an X-men in the past, the rejection wasn’t because of the people; if anything, they made the rejection a little harder.

Charles and you agreed to give you the week to begin moving your things into the mansion, giving you time to adjust. Again, he welcomed you before moving away down the hallway. You began to make your way over to Storm and Scott before you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“You coming or going now, princess?” Logan’s voice was unmistakable at this point. It had echoed in your head enough over the last day to make an impression.

Turning to meet his stare, you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face, “Princess? That’s fellow X-man to you.”

Admittedly, that was the best news you could have given Logan. After watching you leave the kitchen last night, his thoughts were consumed by you. Your charming voice, your lingering touch, your alluring presence, it was enough to keep him up longer than he intended. Logan couldn’t nail what exact fantasy you were creating for him to make him this drawn to you, but at least he’d have more time to figure it out now.

He crossed his bulky arms with a small smile as he looked down at you, “Yeah? Figured you’d miss me too damn bad?”

Remembering that you were surrounded by passing children in the hallway, you kept your comments very subtle. “Not as much as you’d miss me, Wolvie.”

note: Unsure how many parts this will be! Tell me your thoughts of if you wanna be tagged ♡

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[cheriecoke]

𝐢. 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 — 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

after you find out about the marriage arranged between you and nanami kento, you have to find a way to break the news to your lover.

contents . . . sfw, breakups, light angst, f!reader, arguing, gojo x reader, masterlist linked above for more series contents — 2.3k

notes . . . hi everyone !! i'm so so excited to finally share this series, i've been having so much fun with it hehe. in case you haven't seen the masterlist, this is a nanami series, but this first part is gojo x reader... so idk how to tag it lol.

Twigs snapped beneath you as you ran through the garden, barely holding onto the last strain of composure that you had. It was nearing sundown, but you ignored that, reaching the edge of your family’s estate and approaching the creek, careless to any dangers. The sounds of the water grew louder and louder in your ears as you drew closer, turning from a faint trickle to a roar. 

The look on your parent’s face when they’d delivered the news was still burned into your irises, replaying in your mind as you landed one foot in front of the other. How unexpressive they’d been, straight to business — as if they didn’t care at all. It was your future they were messing with, but it seemed they didn’t mind throwing away your happiness. 

You arrived at the creek much faster than anticipated, your breaths heaving as you headed down the hill. 

Satoru was already there, as you’d expected, running his hands through the murky water. His blue eyes shot over from the sound of the leaves crunching, an easy smile on his face, revealing sharp canines.

“What took you so long?” Satoru asked, looking over his shoulder with his typical, lopsided grin. Though, as soon as he saw the tears that were welling in your eyes, his face fell, giving way to a gloomy expression. “Hey, hey, hey. My darling…” he cooed, the tone of his voice so tender. “What’s the matter?” 

You’d been doing a wonderful job at holding back your tears until then, but they began to spill down your cheeks, hot and heavy, dripping off your chin. Your nose began to burn. “I—” you started, then choked on a sob, burying your face in your hands, unable to continue. 

The sound of the creek, rushing through the woods, at least spared you some embarrassment, as it blocked out your cries. 

Satoru was quick to scramble to his feet and make his way over to you, not even thinking before he’d wrapped you up in a warm embrace. He smelled vaguely of the stables, still, as well as the outside, a thick air of sweat lingering on his skin. 

“Take a breath,” Satoru said soothingly, rubbing your spine as you cried into his shoulder, coating his tunic with the weight of your tears. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, squeezing your fingers into his top. The cloth wound up between them, wrinkling the fabric. “I’m so sorry, Satoru.” 

“Whatever are you sorry for, my sweet?” Satoru didn’t draw away, but you could tell that he wanted to… He wanted to question what it was that had made you cry, when he’d seen you earlier in such a jovial state, so thrilled for your rendezvous as the sun bled into the evening. 

The conversation with your parents still lingered at the forefront of your mind, laced with a tinge of distaste and betrayal. 

How desperately you wished you could escape your responsibilities, run from them without guilt. But even now, already a few years into your adulthood, you still felt the burning need to please your family. 

You pressed your eyes shut, deeply inhaling Satoru’s sweet aroma, in case it were the last you ever got of it. “My family has known this whole time. They knew, and they never intended to let me marry you.” 

You’ve spent far too long with the stable boy, dear, and we’ve let you have your fun. Don’t think that we haven’t known, all these years, that he’s the reason you’re pushing all your suitors away. 

Those were words you’d certainly never forget.

Satoru drew away, his eyes narrowed as he scanned your face. Still, there was no sense of panic, his icy irises as steadfast and confident as ever. “Is that it?” he asked, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, soaking up the tears with his lips. “Well, we’ll just have to do without their permission, won’t we? I know your family is very dear to you, but—”

Your face screwed up tighter, watery eyes blurring your vision. “It is not as easy as you make it out to be, Satoru. Despite what you may think, I do not wish for them to hate me. Not to mention, your livelihood depends on their employment. They will not pay my dowry if you are my husband. They will not employ you any longer, and I’ll—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Satoru said, insistent, his optimism succumbing to irritation as you argued. “We can surely find other means to survive.” 

“Survive?” you frowned, features contorting as the tears, momentarily, restrained. “I do not wish to live a life where we have to fight to get by. Besides—”

But Satoru spoke over you, spilling words of grandeur, in a world where things worked out exactly as planned. But your outlook had never been as positive, and his dreams seemed no more than that, in the face of reality. 

“Satoru.” You raised your voice, ever so slightly, and pushed him away, as if to finally make him hear your words. “You’re not listening to me. Even if we could, even if everything you’re saying happened like you want it to, they’ve already found me another husband.”

Silence. It was enough to hear the wind slipping through the trees, swaying the branches. Leaves fell at your feet, swirling around your ankles, a breeze suddenly picking up, as if aware of your quarrel. 

The two of you stared at each other, basked in the last golden rays of the evening. For the first time in decades, it seemed, you were unsure what to say to one another.

Satoru scanned your face, his lips parting, jaw working as he fought for words. “Another husband.” 

“Yes.” Your exhale came out heavy as you blinked away from him, glancing over his shoulder, so as not to face the intensity of his irises. “I’m getting older; men will not be so willing to take me as their bride. So my parents worked something out with a friend of my father’s. His son is a few years older than me,” you sniffed. “He’s been unwilling to get married, but now that his mother is sick…” you shrugged, confused and defeated, as you wrung your hands together. “I’ve been told her final wish is to see her son married.”

“What a wish,” Satoru rolled his eyes, scoffing, “to see your child in a loveless relationship.”

You said nothing. Satoru wouldn’t understand the ways of the nobility, wouldn’t understand the responsibility that you felt. He’d never met his parents, and never had the chance to care about them. 

He huffed instead, running his hands through his snowy hair as he paced close to the water’s edge. It soaked the soles of his shoes, ruining the leather, but he didn’t seem to mind, too deep in his thoughts.

“You have no say in the matter?” Satoru finally asked, his shoulders slumping, as he turned back to face you once again. “You’re just going to let them tell you how to live your life, submit yourself to a man who might be cruel to you?”

“Satoru…” you began, considering defending yourself, before you conceded. “I’m sorry. I care for you, I do, but you must understand.”

“Oh, I understand just fine. You surprised me, is all. I thought you’d put love over things like that.” 

You swallowed, shoving away the engulfing sadness as he paced back toward you, his wet shoes creating muddy footprints in the ground. 

“You can’t honestly have thought that all our silly dreams would come to fruition. You knew all along that this was just a fleeting fancy, didn’t you?” 

“On the contrary, I thought this was serious.” To your surprise, Satoru dug through his pocket, throwing a ring at you, one that was nothing close to extravagant, but beautiful all the same. “I’ve carried this for weeks now… just waiting. There was never a good time to propose, but I really did want to marry you. How’s that for fleeting?” 

Your jaw fell slack. A fresh wave of tears began as you bent down, soiling your pastel gown in the grass and mud to pick up the ring. It was a simple gold band, shiny and smooth — probably months worth of his salary. 

Nausea rose up in you as you dusted off the fine piece of jewelry, staring at it with affection. “Dear lord,” you said, not even bothering to wipe the snot that ran in a smooth stream from you nose, just like your tears. “Why did you have to tell me this?”

“I won’t spare you the kindness of ignorance. I want you to know exactly what you’re throwing away.”

“That’s not—” you shook your head, eyes glued to the ring. “I don’t want you out of my life. I love you, Satoru. I want to be with you, I just can't… But, perhaps, we can still see each other?”

Your lover stared, blinking once, then again, his white eyelashes fanning over pale cheeks. Then, a loud laugh escaped from him, deep from his chest, as if in horror. “You want me to be your whore?” he asked, aghast, infiltrating your space as he backed you into a tree. 

You glanced up at him, eyes wide, pressing your hands to the smooth expanse of his chest. “I—”

“I love you. I love you, and I’d dedicate my life to supporting you,” his voice was pained, cracking on the vowels. “But that means nothing to you, does it? You’re so selfish.” 

The word felt like a slap to the face — the same that your family had called you, when they’d admitted they knew of your dalliance. Either way, you would lose. You were selfish for bringing such disgrace to your family’s respectable lineage, or you were selfish for choosing your responsibility over your lover. 

“i just don’t know what to do.” Your voice felt small; the weakness of it softened Satoru’s expression, if only by a fraction. 

He exhaled. “Well, I know. Go back home, tell your parents to fuck whoever wants your hand, and run away with me. Be with me,” Satoru pressed his forehead to your own, desperate. “Please. I love you, I adore you, I’ll worship you. What more do you want?”

You swallowed, squeezing your eyes shut. “Satoru…” His hands went still on your waist. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can.” 

For the first time in all your years together, since the moment you’d met him as an infant, you felt a distance crack between you, breaking into a cavern. Satoru had been your best friend, your constant companion, the person you’d always thought would be a part of your life. Now, the risk you’d taken by falling in love with him had finally come to pass. You weren’t sure that your relationship could ever be remedied, after such a poor conclusion.

“You’re a coward,” Satoru finally said, spitting your name like it was a curse, and you flinched, dipping your chin to your collarbone. There was no love in those words, no gentleness; they were meant to hurt. “You think you’re different than all the other women of nobility, but you’re not. You want to be spoon-fed like the rest of them, waited on hand and foot, reliant on the money of your family and your husband.”

You sniffled, hands shaking as you clenched your jaw. Satoru had a sharp tongue — he always had — but it’d never been used against you. For the first time, you knew what it was like to be looked at by Gojo Satoru with disdain, and it was awful. 

“That’s cruel… Don’t you understand what you’re asking me to do? You’re asking me to leave behind my family, my life, my security. You want me to leave everything with no plan at all?”

“I understand well enough.” He stepped away, backing up until you could no longer smell the sweat that clung to his sleeves, until you could no longer see the contrasts of blues in his irises. “Truthfully, I don’t believe I know you like I thought I did. I never assumed you’d be so hesitant to leave.” 

Despite your tear-filled eyes, you stood taller, trying to keep some semblance of dignity. Like the noble woman you were, you refused to be seen as weak in the face of your emotions. If you were to leave Satoru, you would leave him confident that you were making the right decision. “Perhaps not, then,” you said. “You may have been taken into our home with love and care, but we are not as similar as you were raised to believe.” 

Satoru licked his lips, then clicked his tongue, speechless, before he turned around for good. “Right,” he said, shaking his head. “I should’ve known that the spoiled girl you’d been would turn you into a spoiled woman. I’ve been a fool. Enjoy your sham of a marriage.” He began to walk away, slowly, before gradually picking up his pace, his back as taut as the bow of a violin. 

“Is this really how you wish to end things?” you asked, shouting through the wind at his retreating form. “On such a vile note?” 

“You’re the one that ended things,” Satoru said, and though you hoped that he would glance over his shoulder, spare you one last glimpse before you parted ways forever, he never did. “I only wanted to love you.” 

You opened your mouth, words lingering on your tongue, before you shut it, and let him go. 

Tomorrow, you would regret it. You would long for his warm embrace, his arms, so strong from riding and tending to the horses. You would long for his kiss, gently brushed against your hairline, a smile growing on his lips as you told him about the book you’d read. You would long for a time when you passed him in the hallways and received a grin, instead of a sneer. 

But, for now, thrumming with guilt and grief and rage, you watched him walk away, hands balled at your fist. Maybe he didn’t deserve you anyway. 

Maybe you didn’t deserve him. 

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