#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.

[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.

[whitepolaris]

Pretty.

[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…

[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🫡

[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 ♡

𓆩♡𓆪 Next part

🏷️ list: @absxntmxnded-blog @sarcazzzum @cashmerephalaenopsis @m1cky-y-y @wowitsafemale @kneelforloki @hello-lemons @devoetee @montyrokz

[kentopedia]

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. 

thank you so much for reading! ‪‪❤︎‬ next part

[zoeflake]

[m00nlight-ramblings]

Before the Happiness

After developing feelings for Astarion, it becomes clear to you that this is uncharted territory...and not just for you.

Pairings: Astarion x female Tav

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, dual pov. MINORS DNI, 18+

Word Count: 4.4k

Requested: yes

A/N: Graphic made by me, I do not give permission to share it without asking.

The conversation and laughter around you had lulled to a dull roar as the night sky darkened. Sitting diagonal from Astarion at the campfire, you watched his lips move, almost in slow motion. You couldn’t focus on anything else – the rest of the party were conversing over bottles of wine that you all had found earlier in an abandoned village’s pub. Deciding to stay in the same campsite for two days as an extended rest, Karlach and Gale had the big idea of taking it easy and getting drunk – “to relax, and build morale!” Karlach had claimed.

Too bad you couldn’t take your eyes off of the fair-haired vampire across from you.

What started as an innocent crush – who could blame you, with Astarion being so cocky, and so charming, and so handsome? – quickly turned into something more. Now, you were unfortunately dealing with what you were sure was an unrequited love on one of Faerun’s biggest lady killers.

Figuratively, and literally.

“What say you, Tav?” Wyll asked, elbowing you gently. Snapping you back to reality, you immediately brought your goblet of wine up to your lips to buy yourself some time.

“Sorry, what?” You asked Wyll, keeping your gaze on your goblet. You felt a blush creeping to your lips…hopefully, no one had noticed your total focus on Astarion.

“Gale here was just saying that he could easily have taken on that hoard of goblins we came across this morning by himself!” Wyll chuckled, nodding towards Gale, “Him! Against 20 goblins himself! I say bullshit.”

“Now, now,” Gale interrupted, readying to defend himself, “I said if I had the proper time to prepare my spells correctly, I could easily fight against them-”

“Well, of course, if you had time to properly prepare for battle, you are more able to fight,” Shadowheart retorted, rolling her eyes, “But that’s not the point of battle.”

“Well…” You started as the party erupted into conversations about the designs of battle. As mini discussions started, you swept your eyes across the rest of the party, all who were animatedly debating whether they were for or against Gale’s point.

All, except for Astarion.

Once your eyes met his, you were locked on. He was absentmindedly swirling the wine in his goblet, his eyes unwavering against yours. Face completely unreadable, he caused heat to rise in you. You looked away quickly, only to check again to see if he was still looking at you.

He was.

You felt panic start in your fingertips as you gulped down the rest of your wine and immediately put your goblet down next to you. Standing, you wiped your hands on your pants.

“I’m going for a walk – I need some air.” You announced to no one (as they were still engulfed in their can-Gale-fight-20-goblins discussion). Without hesitation, you made your way to the creek a little bit beyond your campsite. Through the trees, the only noise was the fading of voices and the snapping of twigs beneath your camp boots. Finally reaching the creek, you were able to breathe out a sigh of relief, leaning against the nearest tree.

Your infatuation with Astarion was a point of panic for you – having never been in love (nor never had a partner before), you found yourself in undiscovered territory. You spent your whole life training as a fighter, not a girlfriend. So of course, the irony of it all would be that your first love would be a man who had so much experience, he would make the employees at Sharess’ Caress blush. He also happened to be a man that, though kind enough, wasn’t exactly a buddy. Astarion wouldn’t be the first person you’d reach out to in times of trouble at camp, no matter how much you wanted to. You and Astarion hadn’t had any talks where you were able to divulge your backstories – the only thing you knew about him was that he was a vampire, and his past with Cazador, really.

Oh, and that he was really, absurdly sexy.

You had only hoped that the others around you – especially Astarion – didn’t notice the extra time you spent staring at his face when you hoped no one was watching. Or the fact that your laugh was the loudest when he told funny stories around the campfire. Or that when travelling, you often found yourself walking near him.

“Are you alright?” A voice asked, forcing your eyes to pop open. You whipped around from the tree, finding Astarion step out from behind the forest. A friendly smile played on his lips, putting your thundering heart at ease slightly.

“Oh…yes, I’m fine. Thank you…I think I’ve had too much wine.” You said, quickly making up an excuse, “I guess my body has forgotten how to drink since we started this journey…since…we haven’t really had any wine…since…we started journeying.”

Smooth.

Astarion let out a chuckle, meeting you at the tree you were leaning against. “Ah yes, that makes…sense.” He paused the same way you had. You locked eyes and he broke out in a smile, and you realized he was teasing you. Your heart sped.

“You know what I mean…” You grumbled, kicking a rock in front of you and blushing.

“Yes, yes. I certainly do,” He paused for a moment, looking out at the creek. He didn’t speak, and you were suddenly aware of how loud the running of the water was. “I was worried about you when you ran off so suddenly. I was hoping you weren’t feeling ill.”

“Oh! Oh, no, I’m fine,” You felt flustered – Astarion? Worried about you? “Thank you, though…for checking on me.”

His eyes flickered down to your lips for a split second before returning to your eyes. For a moment, his eyes seemed to change…were they darker somehow? But he blinked, and they returned to his normal ruby red. He raised his eyebrows and he nodded, gracefully slipping his hands into his pants pockets. “You are welcome.”

“I’m feeling better, if you wanted to walk back to the campfire…with me?” You asked hesitantly. Gods, he was just a man! He wasn’t some sort of monstrous creature…so why did he make you so nervous?

Smiling, Astarion raised his arm as if to say, lead the way, “After you.”

You nodded and walked past him, ready to shake off your nerves. You committed to yourself to go back to the campfire and not look at Astarion once. You needed to be objective about your feelings towards him, no matter how strong they were. After all, you all had a mission to complete, and falling in love would simply get in the way. Leave your thoughts of Astarion when you were alone in your bed, drifting off to sleep – not when you were needed to be present.

Suddenly, Astarion gently grabbed your wrist. His fingers were ice cold as you expected, but it still sent a shiver down your spine. “I want to say something to you.” He started. You felt a lump in your throat, unable to speak. You simply nodded, your nerves making you unable to look at him.

“I have noticed that you and I haven’t been able to…get to know each other as much as the others,” His voice, barely above a whisper, was confident and sultry. “I would like that to change. I do enjoy your company very much. And after all, who knows how long we will be spending with each other until we can reclaim our minds from these wretched tadpoles, no?”

You swallowed and nodded, turning to look at him. His eyes glittered, mischievously. His signatured smirk was on his face as he slowly let go of your wrist. Somehow, his icy fingers left your skin burning.

“I would like that,” You eventually say, over the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, “I also enjoy your…” Gulp. “Company.”

“Wonderful,” Astarion said. “Well, now that that’s settled, let’s get back to camp, shall we?” And even though he originally had you lead the way, he started off to camp first, leaving you a few steps behind.

Not that you minded…you obviously had to use this time to collect your thoughts.

Astarion wasn’t quite sure what had come over him at the party’s get-together the previous evening, but once he had seen you (very obviously) fixating on him from across the fire, something in him snapped.

Sure, he had noticed you immediately when he had joined the party – your kind eyes, and beautiful hair. Not to mention your lyrical laugh, and curvy body…the same one where, the mere thought of could keep him up all night…

It was safe to say he had developed strong feelings for you, so Astarion decided to do what he did best – keep a safe distance, and play it cool. There was no way romance and love and feelings would be a good idea in any sense.

Especially when he knew that your feelings were probably just lust.

Love was something so far from Astarion’s lexicon, he couldn’t even remember the last time he felt it. No one could ever love him – not after everything he had done, or even because of who he was. Worthless, disgusting, abysmal…there weren’t enough words to describe Astarion’s shortcomings.

Astarion was very aware of what many others thought of him – his only redeeming quality to the world was his looks, so the idea that people only wanted to fuck and leave was not a new concept. Though he couldn’t necessarily get himself into that particular situation all that much while under Cazador (though he somehow was able to sneak away for an hour or two while completing a mission), he saw how people looked at him on this journey.

It would’ve been flattering to him if he didn’t hate himself so much.

So the idea that your feelings – which were always written all over your face – could be any more than a fantasy of bedding him, was preposterous. Up until now, Astarion would be able to push that aside for a night or two in order to satiate his (and your) need to get off, but something inside him told him that his feelings would get in the way. His fantasies about you weren’t just sexual…sometimes, his mind wandered to holding you in his arms, or simply eating a meal with you by the campfire.

Or even worse…a future with you. One that didn’t include tadpoles and battles, but of sleeping in a fluffy bed with you on a Sunday morning; of going to the town market together to complete your errands, and of owning a cat with you.

Which, truth be told, scared him more than anything.

So when he found himself following you to the creek after you had left the campfire that evening without even thinking about it, he knew he was in trouble. Gone was any sense in his brain; instead, he knew his heart was taking over, and for whatever reason, he decided to go along with it. Maybe it was because his feelings were too strong, or that he couldn’t help himself, but he knew he needed to finally be around you more.

Even if that meant you wanted nothing more than a dirty fuck.

A few days after the night at the campfire (and - surprise, surprise - another night of drinking the following evening), you found yourself once again headed towards Baldur's Gate, party and belongings in tow. Since then, you and Astarion had fallen into your familiar rhythm of what seemed like standoffishness, but now with more smiles and pleasantries peppered in. Which, was more than okay with you, since the very idea of Astarion becoming close seemed to scare you.

However, your heart couldn't help but flutter when the surprisingly flirty remark Astarion made was thrown your way. So much so that you didn't mind the curious glances from Lae'zel, or Gale.

"C'mon, you have to tell us!" Karlach pleaded while on the road, her voice a hoarse whisper as to not draw attention, "What is going on between you and Astarion?! Don't think I didn't notice, soldier...him running after you the other night? And now he's flirting with you...complimenting you?! The others may not be noticing all that much, but I certainly am!"

You laughed nervously and swatted your hand in the air as if to say, it's nothing! "Oh, you know Astarion. He flirts with everyone!"

"Yeah, but this is the first time he's flirting with you," Karlach retorted. "Which, took long enough since Gods, you're hot! But, don't think I haven't noticed the change in attitude between you two."

A blush crept to your face as you felt yourself unable to look away from the back of Astarion's head, who was walking a few paces ahead of you, discussing something with Halsin very intently. Your mind wandered to other things as your eyes scanned his body...his back, his behind...how both of them would look naked.

"Alright, I'm leaving you to whatever weird fantasy is currently going on in that brain of yours, okay?" Karlach finally said, pulling you out of your daydream. She playfully shoved your shoulder and walked faster, stepping in line with Shadowheart at the front of the pack. As she passed, Astarion slowly turned his head to look at you, Halsin still blabbering away in his ear. Your heart leapt to your throat as you locked eyes with him.

He had definitely heard.

The night had fallen silently, the only noise in camp being crickets chirping away. The oil lamp in your tent flickered as you pulled the blanket on your bed closer to your body. The book you were reading was propped up in your lap, and you reveled in the peace of the evening - retiring to your tent early, you heard exactly when everyone else had gone to sleep. Sure, you probably should have been sleeping already since Wyll insisted on an early morning start, but you wanted to enjoy your book for just a few more moments.

Suddenly, a rustling came from the front of your tent, the sound of someone announcing themselves.

"It's me," Astarion's voice called, "Are you decent?"

"Um-" You threw the book closed and swept the blanket off of you in a panic, though there was literally nothing to panic about. Rising from the bed quickly, you started to pace your tent, "Yes. Come in."

The flap to your tent was quickly undid and thrust open. Astarion strode in and redid the flap with ease. He looked down, and once he realized you had enchanted your tent with a wooden floor, slipped off his camp shoes. When he looked back up at you, he smiled.

"Good evening, darling."

"Good evening." You said, holding your hands behind your back. You plastered a smile on your face, trying to suppress the urge to smooth your hair. A moment of silence passed by before you snapped into action, "Would you like to sit?" You asked, motioning to your bed.

"Ah, yes. Thank you." Astarion said awkwardly, moving towards the bed. He sat at the far corner, causing you to sit at the opposite side.

How funny...with how badly you wanted to jump his bones, you'd think you wouldn't be on basically the other side of the world.

"Well, darling, I just came here tonight to...see how you were doing?" Astarion started, looking at you. You couldn't help but smile as he leaned back on the footpost of your bed.

"How I'm doing?" You clarified.

He nodded, "Yes, as friends do. That's what we're working towards," He paused, his eyes flickering down your body. Then, his eyes did the thing - darkened slightly, causing an indescribable look to cross his face.

Suddenly, you recognized that it wasn't an indescribable look.

It was lust.

"Friends, correct? That's what we're looking for." He finally finished, meeting your eyes again. This time, his eyes stayed dark, running his tongue quickly over his lips to moisten them.

You heart began to thud and you shifted in your nightclothes, arousal springing in your belly. Just Astarion's look alone and you were suddenly putty in his hands.

"Y-yes. Friends...that's what we are." You quietly confirmed. Feeling bold - you couldn't believe that Astarion was feeling lustful towards you! Could it be a mistake? - you scooted a bit closer and leaned in slightly, "Unless you had...other plans."

Astarion smirked and cocked and eyebrow, mirroring your body language by scooting closer. "Darling...are you coming on to me?" His voice was low, floating to your ears. You began to feel warm, a bit of sweat pooling on your brow. "If so...well, that changes everything."

"Does it now?" You murmured, staring at his lips. Your boldness surprised you - you were surprised that the first time you took a chance with Astarion was working in your favor.

Not that you were complaining.

As your heart started to beat faster, Astarion slid closer to you, closing the gap between your bodies. His hand slowly snaked up your side, his pointer finger lightly tracing your thigh. He moved in, his lips mere inches from yours.

"Say the word", He said, his voice ringing in your ears, "And tonight, I'm yours. But I will not continue unless you say it."

Your belly pooled with heat, and you couldn't contain yourself, no matter how nervous you were, "Then be mine tonight."

At once Astarion was on top of you, his lips pressed against yours. Spreading his legs so that yours were in between his, he pressed himself down on your body, his erection already prominent. You moaned into the kiss, causing him to deepen it.

"Astarion," You breathed as he pulled away slightly, starting to push your sleep shirt up from the bottom. He smiled as he quickly looked into your eyes, finally finding your lips with his again.

"If this is what friendship means for us, then I cannot wait to get closer." He spoke teasingly, his words sloppy, encased in your lips. You giggled through the kiss and suddenly gasped as you felt his cold hands on your sides, under your shirt.

You heart raced as your hands found their way to Astarion's shirt, pulling it above his head. You ran your fingers down his chest, taking in the sight before you. He paused, obviously loving the attention. A smirk played on his lips as he pushed your shirt above your head, eyes widening as your bare chest was finally on display.

"Gods, you're gorgeous." He purred, maintaining eye contact as he slowly lowered his head to latch his lips on to one of your erect nipples. You immediately moaned as his tongue swirled around your breast, leaving evidence of saliva around your nipple.

"Fuck, Astarion." You grumbled, your back arching into his mouth. He smiled but continued with his mouth, his hands finding their way to your soft pants. Without ties or buttons, Astarion was able to easily push them down, and you helped by kicking them off of your ankles.

"Darling, I can't wait to take you all in," He said, his mouth rising to yours again. One of his hands found its way to your neck, holding on to the side, while resting on his elbow. His other hand met your clit, immediately rubbing circles, "You're already so wet." He chuckled.

"You feel so good," You retorted as an explanation. Your thoughts were swimming overwhelmingly - you couldn't believe you were finally in bed with Astarion. You had fantasized about this moment basically since you had met him, and being here felt better than you could have ever imagined.

Say the word, and tonight, I'm yours. His words rang in your brain, causing your face to flush even more.

Tonight.

Tonight.

But what about after tonight?

You hadn't much experience with lovers, aside from the few and far between "relationships" as a teen, so you didn't know what was supposed to happen after this night. Were you supposed to go back to normal...as friends?

Suddenly, a pang of panic spread through you - the idea of going back to normal, as just friends, was painful to you. Here you were, with Astarion finally as a lover, someone you've come to care for deeply.

How deep it was going to hurt if you couldn't continue on with him. How deep it would hurt if you gave yourself to him like that, only to have him take you and discard you.

You snapped back to reality, realizing that many moments of silence from you had gone by. You hadn't even felt anything Astarion was doing, and he noticed, quizzically looking at you while continuing to work on your clit. You felt anxiety rise to the surface violently, and you suddenly sat up in the bed.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, stop. Stop!" You said, immediately criss-crossing your legs. Astarion, shocked, sat back on his knees, his glistening chest heaving.

"I'm sorry! Did I do something wrong?" His lips were full and swollen, his eyes wide. You recognized the look of fear on his face, causing your heart to drop.

"I can't do this," You spoke frantically, sighing heavily. "I'm sorry I just...can't."

"Oh...kay," Astarion spoke slowly, seemingly afraid to startle you, "What's wrong?"

Your thoughts were still jumbled, the anxiety still at the surface, "I just...I just can't have you dismiss me after tonight!" Your voice was shrill, you knew it, but you couldn't stop.

Confused, Astarion slid closer. He was quiet for a moment, handing over your blanket. You took it, covering yourself, silently thanking him for the gesture.

"'Dismiss' you?" He asked, tilting his head to the side, "What do you mean, 'dismiss' you?"

"You know..." You said, almost panting from the panic, "Dismiss me! Like your...your other lovers!" You waved your hand in the air to accentuate the point, "Here I am, with true, deep feelings of love for you, and all I am to you will be another notch in your bedpost!" You sighed, finally catching your breath, "And I know I said yes to this, but truth be told I am not...experienced...with someone who is as experienced as you, and I know I said yes because I couldn't help myself due to my feelings for you. But I cannot go back to just friends after this, to party members after this. Like nothing had happened. I cannot be discarded..." Finally deciding to look at him, you felt tears spring to your eyes, "I think that will break my heart."

"Darling," Astarion whispered, taking your hand in his. "What makes you think I planned to discard you after this?"

"Isn't that what you want?" You asked, allowing the small tears to fall freely, "To just...fuck?"

"Gods, no!" Astarion cried, moving closer and smiling, "That's what I thought you wanted!"

"What?!" You asked, matching his smile, "What do you mean?"

"I thought you only wanted to bed me," He said, squeezing your hand, "That's why I came here tonight - because I thought it was what you wanted. My whole life, for as long as I can remember, my body has been used for others. I've never had someone bed me and want to stay...You know my history with Cazador...you know what I've been subjected to. I've never had anyone...care...for me before," He looked down, his voice softening, "...are you saying that you care for me?"

You nodded slowly. Bravely, you reached your hand to touch his cheek, causing him to look up to you again, "I care for you...deeply. I've fantasized about this moment since I've met you but..." You tried to find the proper words, "I'm not quite sure I'm ready for it. I have little experience and, I know that sounds young, but-"

"My darling, I would never ever push you to do something you don't want," Astarion interrupted, shaking his head, "If anyone knows about being forced to do things you don't want, it's me. Truth be told...it's quite a relief to hear you say that...I'm not...quite sure my body is ready to be touched in that way...right now," He smiled sadly, "Not by someone I care for deeply. Not in a relationship I want to grow more then just...sleeping with one another. I find that it is hard to think of myself sexually due to...my past. And I'd rather move past that before I..." His words trailed off, as if he didn't want to continue.

"Astarion," You whispered. "I won't hurt you like that. Just like you didn't want to hurt me."

He smiled finally, taking your hand closer to his mouth. Gently, he kissed your knuckles, a smile playing on his lips, "The last thing I will ever do is hurt you."

"So..." You gently nudged, "You're saying that you care deeply for me as well?"

Astarion looked at you seriously, continuing to hold your hand. He nodded, "I do. I'm terrified, but I do. I don't know what this is, and I don't know what it will become, but I've come to realize that whatever it is...I want to do it with you," He chuckled to himself, "A terrifying thought, my heart in your hands."

"And mine in yours." You spoke. Your heart was thundering with an overflow of joy - after all this time, this new revelation felt like a sunrise after a dark and stormy night. After a moment of silence, you tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, "Tonight, I think we just lay together. We don't need anything else. But I would like to spend time with you."

Astarion's eyes glittered as he nodded again, noticing your sleep clothes on the ground and picking them up. As he slipped his shirt back on, he laid beside you in bed, hesitantly putting his arms around you.

"I've never just...lay with someone before."

"There's a first for everything." You said mildly, turning to him in his arms. He smiled, gently kissing your forehead.

"I'm scared." He offered. You nodded, knowingly.

"I know. So am I."

"But before the happiness, there is always fear." He said. He looked at you, sincerity and kindness in his eyes. Gently, you met his lips with yours, trying to muster as much courage and support as you could through a kiss. When you pulled back, you smiled at him.

"And there will be a lot of happiness."

-----

What did you all think? I'm so sorry for the long break! I'm back! As always, reblogs, likes, and comments mean the WORLD for writers and are much appreciated!

My inbox is OPEN for requests!

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 : part 2

꧁ eddie x female reader  :: read part 1 here

a multi chapter mini series— based on thoroughfare by ethel cain

listen here (apple music) + here (spotify)

summary: jumping into his truck at seventeen, eddie takes a journey in hopes to find love. years pass with no such luck, along the way he stumbles across you, a timid drifter who reluctantly agrees to join him, heading west. you’ve never trusted men, but something in those kind, deep colored coffee eyes stirs up a feeling you’ve never felt before. strangers to lovers trope, one bed trope. 

5.6k triggers: 18+ only, smut, piv no condom, oral m&f receiving, loneliness, hard times heartache, finding yourself, humor about rocky mountain oysters 🐂 🦪 etc.

Indigo thunderheads belt a rhythm of applause across the Schell Creek Range. Strikes of lightning shred the sky into a kaleidoscope of colors, sharp acidic white and lavender swim in the night sky. The temperature had dropped enough to create the perfect recipe for a late summer storm, and Eddie’s truck was in the center of it. 

  The windows had been fogged up for a while now, the heat from your skin causing the condensation to build across the windshield. Frustration laid sourly beneath your surface, aching for his touch, high on his movements and the way he kept licking his bottom lip.  

  The tension bubbled and boiled so hot you could barely handle the extra heat emitting from your body. 

Eddie had readjusted himself more times than he probably had in any part of junior high. A single glimpse of your legs uncrossing and recrossing would start the process all over again. 

  You tried to busy yourself with counting the yellow dashes on the road, naming the fifty states in alphabetical order, but nothing- nothing, was stopping that steady roar of want.

  Rain had pelted the windshield in steady drops, but the last ten minutes had increased into a torrential downpour, just enough for the windshield wipers to have a hard time keeping up. There was simply no outrunning this storm. 

  “Shit,” Eddie hums, squinting at the disappearing road, “we’re gonna have to pull over, gettin’ hard to see.”  

  The small talk between you and Eddie had been just that today. Miniscule conversations that were cut short with one word answers, and longing glances so thick you had to physically peel your eyes from the way his throat danced when he took a sip from his water. 

  “There’s a town coming up,” you say, heart thumping your delicate finger moving along the lines of the map.

  Eddie looks at you, his throat going bone dry at the way the shadows played on your skin, and he has to swallow more than once to utter a response, “s-sounds good to me.” 

  Another night on the road. Another shady motel that smelled of stale cigarettes and regretted decisions. The weeks behind you were spent exactly like tonight. A day filled with burning rubber on the asphalt and exploring the smallest of towns on the map you had insisted on buying. 

  Sometimes, you’d both tuck in early for the night, checking into the nearest motel with a vacancy and the promise of a hot shower. Other nights you ate a questionable cheeseburger and fries at some shithole of a bar listening to live music, nursing a beer or two. 

  No matter what the day held, Eddie’s gentlemanly ways never faltered. He always let you shower first. Offering you first dibs on the paper wrapped soaps and the mini bottles of shampoo, and you made sure to leave enough conditioner for him.

  He was traditional in that way, any diner you went to he sat facing the entrance, eyes sweeping for exits. In the motels, he slept in the bed closest to the door, there was no use arguing with him over these small little acts of preservation. Your groans of protests were met with the same kind of answer each time. Take note sweetheart, I might just be the last chivalrous guy around. 

  What Eddie didn’t realize is that he probably was. 

  “… should have realized she was up to no good when she kept feeding me drinks all night and eyeing my ring.”

  You nearly choke on a slice of pizza you’d ordered while waiting for Eddie to get out of the shower. The bathroom door swings open and he emerges from the steamed room, wet hair beading against his bare shoulders. 

  The greased stained corners of a pizza box sat on your bed. Feet crossed beneath your legs, hair wrapped in a towel, you held up a finger and spoke with a mouthful, “Wait, wait wait. When was this?” 

  The same sweatpants he always wore to bed were slung low on his hips, showing off the gray elastic of his boxer briefs. He threw a white tank top from a pack of six over his head, and you watched as it clung to his chest still wet from his shower, hiding the silvery peek of a chain necklace. 

  “My first week leaving home,” he sighed, reaching for a slice, leaning his long frame onto his side laying on the edge of the bed, “just a tad bit naive.” 

  A laugh bubbles from your throat and you try to hide it behind your hand, “so, innocent little Eddie got his ring stolen after thinking he hit the jackpot with Tracie?” 

  “No no, this was Tiffany,” he said, chucking a parmesan packet at you playfully, a laugh erupting from him, “c’mon now, listen to the story.” 

  “Okay, okay!” you surrender, “what happened next?” 

  He sits up animatedly, smile stretched like taffy across his face, “well, we went back to the motel and when I woke up…truck was still there, cash never even touched. The only thing she took was the ring and the boots right off of my feet.” 

  “Nah uh… you’re lying.” 

  Eddie’s smirk grows wide, and he takes another bite of his pizza, “looked pretty dumb walking into that boot store with just socks on.” 

  You both laugh until the tears slide down your cheeks. Like old friends who had known each other for years, giggling at jokes only the two of you found funny. Eddie made you feel comfortable the second you sat in his truck, with him it wasn’t complicated. Something foreign to you, but you found it easy to adjust to his easy going ways. 

  “Alright,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “you heard all of my on the road woes, time you tell me something I don’t know.” 

  You slink further down the bed, head resting on the pillows, ankles crossed by Eddie's outstretched legs. 

  “I don’t like olives, or mushrooms.” 

  Eddie raises his eyebrows, “whoa, pump the brakes… you’re gettin’ a little too deep here.” 

  You hold up a suggestive finger in front of your smirk and he laughs, “c’mon honey, tell me why you were walkin’ on that road the day we met.” 

  Flashbacks of slamming doors and yelling voices ring loud in your ears, and you sigh, “it’s a long story.” 

  “Good thing we don’t have anywhere to be, huh?” 

  Picking at your nails you think back to the childhood— or lack thereof, that you were raised in. The anger, the hurt, the emotional pain still heavy on your chest. From the sound of his life and the way he talks about the love his parents had for one another, you doubt he wouldn’t be terrified of the demons you’d faced. 

  A slow shake from your head and you look up to his eyes in the warm auburn light. Brimmed with care and full of trust, you shudder from the intensity. 

  “No judgment here,” he says softly, laying a hand on his chest, “I promise.”

  Taking a deep breath you stare at the chipped polish on your toes, working your hands into a rub as you begin the wretched story of your life. 

  The small town you’d seen on the map shouldn’t have been given a name at all. A one horse town would have been too much to describe the absolute barren grounds of what laid ahead of you. 

  A green sign proudly stated the name of it and the population count “8 , no services.” A building that should have been scheduled for demolition had a single light above the sign that said “vacant” flickering like morse code. Looking around, this was it, the entire motel looked to be the size of a small home. 

  Eddie eased the pickup in front of what seemed to be the front office after noticing a television glaring through a filthy window. The rain fell harder now, beating down against the truck so loud you could barely hear him as he told you to stay put.

  A large sigh heaves from your lips the second his door clicked shut. You needed to get a grip on yourself. But you can’t, finding yourself smoothing down your shirt, rummaging through your bag to rub deodorant beneath your arms. 

  Pulling down the visor, you can see the heated flush on the apples of your cheeks in the tiny cracked mirror. You’re a mess as your mind slips to the way his jeans squeezed on his ass and seem to tighten against the zipper, the flutter of his lashes when you caught him looking— your thighs shut together to find relief.

  The driver's door opens the same time you snap the visor back into place and there he stands, drenched from head to toe. A look of bewilderment on his face. The eyes that sparkled were suddenly set into a gloom as he slid behind the steering wheel and sat, staring ahead. 

  “Everything, okay?” 

  “Oh yeah, no worries, just uh.. little snag, but I have an idea,” his smile warms you from the inside out and your thighs press together tighter, air breached from your lungs as your stomach plummets. 

Your voice grows small as you finish the lengthy tale of your life, and you wipe your runny nose against the end of the towel. 

  The radio plays Elton John’s Your Song gently in the background and you tuck your feet under your legs. Picking at the pilling fabric of the comforter, letting out a gentle morose sigh. 

  “Sorry to be a Debbie Downer.”

  Seriousness clouds his eyes, and he looks almost sad as he leans forward and hooks a finger under your chin until your eyes meet his, “dance with me?” 

  Warmth radiates from him, the feeling of home lies in the depths of his eyes. Reaching out. 

  “Here? Now?”

  He climbs from the bed leaning a hand down to yours, “yeah,” he shrugs, “I like this song.” 

  Don’t have much money but..boy, if I did

I’d buy a big house where, we both could live.

If I was a sculptor but then again no

  He stands tall above you, looking down the slope of his nose, a smile on his lips at the timid way you approach him, hands held out in an offering of you weren’t even sure of what. 

  “Just letting you know now, that I haven’t danced since the Prom, and even then it was—”

  Eddie grabs your hands and pulls you gently into him, stepping back to leave space. Your hands slither up against his biceps and land on his shoulders, thumbs flicking gently over the firm muscle there. 

  “I’ll lead,” he says, keeping his hands above your hips, touching the bottom of your ribs with his large fingers, “this okay?”

  Screaming internally, you simply nod with your eyes closed. Going solely on his touch as Eddie begins to sway you both from side to side. 

  Where you are clumsy, Eddie is surprisingly limber on his feet. His hands move you this way and that, and he chokes on his laugh when you move your feet forward when they should have gone back and your toes crush into his. 

  But the suns been quite kind while I wrote this song

it’s for people like you that keep it turned on

So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do

  Your skin is ablaze where his palms hold you tight, heart thumping in your chest in a rhythmic staccato of its own accord. His eyes look dreamy in the low light, long lashes sweeping the highs of his cheeks when he blinks. 

  You're so caught up in his beauty that you don’t hear the low murmur of his voice the first time he speaks. 

  “Sorry?”

  Eddie chuckles and you can feel it bubble from his chest, “I said, it’s nice right?” 

  “The dance?” 

  “Well,” he says with a small smirk, “that too, but I was talking about the song.” 

  Heat rises in your cheeks and you bite your lip, but he doesn’t notice because he’s soon leaning forward, his nose brushing the shell of your ear. 

  His voice is like liquid smoke, curling around you and wrapping you into the warmest embrace, one that you’d gladly die in. 

  “You’re not half bad at this,” he says with a grin that you can hear with the squeak from his cheeks.

  Leaning back you look him in the eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity in the desert browns, “maybe i’ll take up line dancing.” 

  “That,” he says with a laugh, twirling you away from him in the most un-graceful way your body could move. Ankles knocking into one another, toes burning against the short carpet. “I would pay to see.” 

  You spend the rest of the song dancing and giggling at his stupid jokes and the way he whips his long hair around.

  More than just friendship brews between you. His arms held you against him, not letting you go. Eddie’s voice curls into a whisper against your ear, his barely dry hair tickling your shoulder,  “I’m happy you’re here with me, and I’m sorry you were treated that way.” 

  Your head angles into his chest, and you lay your cheek against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I’m happy to be here too.”

  The cheese had gone stone cold on the forgotten pizza, song after song you swayed back and forth until Casey Kasem started taking requests on the radio.

  The rain seeps through your thin shirt as you stand at the door with your bag slung over your shoulder, patiently waiting for the key to work. 

  Eddie must have jiggled it into the sweet spot after a few minutes of working the handle, swinging the door open and ushering you inside just as a loud clap of thunder booms across the sky. 

  You jump on instinct and Eddie snuffs out a snort as you run your hand along the wall to find the light switch. 

  The lights sputtered and hummed to life, showcasing cobwebbed corners and illuminating the orb of dead flies. The wallpaper was peeling away from itself in long tawny strips, curled to a crisp on the edges. A sign written in cursive was crudely taped to the tv saying “out off of order”. 

  But out of all of the eyesores in the room, there was still something off. 

  One bed. 

A week and hundreds of miles stretched on from the night you and Eddie had danced together. He noticed you smiling more, the barriers you had up were lowered,  and no matter how much he tried— he couldn’t stop thinking about you. 

  The bar you had stopped at to get supper was packed. Peanut shells coated the floor and there was a fight breaking out in the back corner. Eddie’s hand warmed your lower back as he pointed you towards a small table. 

  A waitress dumped handwritten menus with faded ink at your table. He watched your eyebrows raise in question as you read the appetizers. 

  “Fresh Rocky Mountain Oysters fried in a cornmeal blend?” you questioned, “what even is that?”

  Eddie’s lips pressed tight to hide a laugh, “well they’re not real oysters… and the Rocky Mountain part is more or less a nod to where they came from.” 

  Your eyebrows tick up in confusion and then disgust as he explains just exactly how and what those “oysters” are made from. 

  “Yeah… think I’ll just stick with the cheese balls.” 

  He laughs as your mouth turns to a frown. “Good choice. The sign outside claimed they had the best bison burgers in the state, that’s what I’m gonna get.” 

  “Does that come with or without testicles?” 

  He doesn’t miss a beat, “hopefully without those suckers are expensive.” 

  Your laugh sounded loud in his soul, your smile sung to him anytime he saw it, and fuck, he wondered if you knew just how gorgeous you really were. 

  A singular mattress. For you and for Eddie. 

  Before you can say anything Eddie’s already apologizing, “I swear, this is all they had…” he says, letting out a large sigh, wiping the rain from his face with the sleeve of his soaked shirt. 

  He shuts the door and clicks the locks into place before he moves his things to the other side of the room, “you take the bed, I’ll make do with the floor.” 

  Your brows crease and you pout in disbelief, “don’t be ridiculous Eddie, I’m not gonna let you sleep on the fl—” 

  “I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” he smiles, a tired look on his face as he hauls his duffle bag into the bathroom, wet fringe sticking to his forehead, “don’t worry bout me…gonna change quick.” 

  Rifling through your bag you dress into your pajamas quickly. Your stomach turned. It wasn’t right, you would not let him sleep on the floor of this dirty room. This entire trip he had been paying for the motel stays, and you’d be damned if he was going to have a sore back because of… this. 

  A single curse is muffled through the thin walls followed by a chuckle, “hey, you can add another thing to the list of shit going wrong tonight.” 

  The carpet was damp beneath your feet as you moved to the bathroom, “what happened?” 

  Eddie throws open the door, sporting a black pair of boxer briefs sprinkled with rain drops, and nothing else besides a splatter of pink blush on his cheeks. You almost choke at the sight of him. 

  Despite the circumstances, a smile remains on his pink lips, “all of my clothes are soaked.” 

  With the burning tension and your body screaming all day in the cab of the pickup, your mind was preoccupied. Not even registering that his bag had been in the bed of the truck, soaking up every drop of rain it could into its blue canvas shell. 

  You’ve seen him bare chested before, but the way the rain clung to his skin, he looked ethereal, and your stomach lurched when he stepped around you, his arm sliding against yours with a potent electricity. 

  “We um…” your tongue felt like velcro stuck to the roof of your mouth, peeling the first layer off of it for sure as you spoke. Grabbing a pair of his jeans from his bag to hang up over the back of a dusty chair, you suggest, “we can hang your stuff up to dry, hopefully by tomorrow they’ll be alright.”

  You work quickly, pulling pants and shirts from the bag and hanging them in various places, hoping that the heat from your cheeks would subside if you didn’t look at him. 

  He holds the last pair of pants in his large hands. Holding them out he suddenly withdraws, holding the bundle of wet fabric high above his head, laughing as you reach on your tiptoes to grab them. 

  The pout on your lips makes his quirked smile spread across his cheeks as you stretch further to reach his arm. Laughter erupts from him. 

  Your thin cotton shirt is smushed into his wet chest, your breath catches in your throat when your nipples harden from the cold touch of his skin skimming over yours. He stops entirely, bringing the pants down and tossing them on the nearest chair, those deep eyes never leaving yours. 

  His hand runs the length of your arm, starting at the knob of your shoulder, trickling with feather light touches down to your fingertips, entwining them with his. Pulling you gently closer into him.

  A sigh fell from his lips so beautiful it could make Medusa blush, and you nearly passed out from holding in your own breath. 

  His other hand rubs against your cheek, calloused and strong, and your insides melt to jelly at his touch. He  presses his forehead to yours, and you move your hands around his waist, pressing your fingertips into the meat of his lower back. 

  For years you have been afraid, never trusting anyone, especially men. But with him it was different, he was gentle, kind, and caring. It was as easy as breathing, and came on as quickly as falling asleep. Here in his arms you felt content for the first time in a long while. 

  Eddie’s heart beat is thumping loud but sure. “You’re beautiful… do you know that?” 

  The heat ignites in your core as his words seep into your skin. Shaking, you clear your throat to steady yourself, “you really think so?” 

  He nods his head, “It’s been a long damn time since I left home,” he nearly whispers, “nothing left… but now that I met you, I finally know just where I’m headin’.” 

  A tear leaks from your eyes and he kisses it away. His lips felt like satin on your skin, and you sucked in a breath at the feel of them. His eyes looked into yours and he whispers, “don’t cry, sweetheart.”

  You needed him, craved to have all of bim. And you surprised yourself as you raised on your toes, pulling him towards you. His lips pressed lightly into yours and you swore your breath was taken away even though you were expecting it. You open your mouth and welcome his tongue, eyes rolling in your head as he massages it with yours. 

  Eddie’s hands wrap against your shirt, feeling your bare skin pressing you further into him as you whimper into him. 

  The carpet squashed beneath your feet as you walk backwards towards the bed, a frenzy of locked lips and wandering hands. Fingers tugging into his curls, Eddie moans against your mouth, his hands squeezing at your hips. He breaks from your lips, his wet and spit licked. 

  The brown eyes you’ve been accustomed to staring in never leave yours as he sits on the bed, leaning back on his elbows. The shine of his chain gleaming in the dull light. 

  Thunder raps loud outside, wind thrashing and howling against the window. Your fingers roll against the hem of your shirt and you don’t think twice before hauling it over your head, moving towards Eddie and the impressive length bulging from his boxer briefs. Your knees touch lightly.

  His lips suck between his teeth as he drinks you in. Lazily eyeing over every curve, every imperfection, the tight peaks of your nipples. 

  You climb over, your knees sinking into the bed on either side of his narrow hips, resting on his lap. With one hand cupping his cheek, you lower your lips to his skin. 

  He groans when you kiss the hollow of his throat, kissing up his neck until you nip at his ear lobe, sucking that small silver hoop into your mouth.

  “So pretty like this,” he murmurs into your ear, “like an angel.” His hands roam over your skin with blunt nails. Up and down your back his touch electrifies you. Your own noises unravel as he grows beneath you. 

  Murmuring his name, you arch into his touch, elongating your neck until his ravenous hands skim the delicate skin of your breasts, thumbs rolling against your nipples. His mouth attaches to your skin and you whimper when he rolls you over and lays you down on the dusty comforter. 

  Your ankles cross behind his back as he grinds into you, kissing you so deeply you couldn’t get enough. He was gentle with you, waiting for your nods of approval as he slipped your panties off. He trailed kisses down your cheek to your neck as his fingers swirled up and up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their trek. 

  Thunder and lightning competed for attention outside but you were lost in Eddie. Wrapping your fingers in his hair when he circled your clit, whimpering when he slipped his finger into your wet sex. 

  You weren’t sure where your moans ended and his began, but when he added a second finger you swore lightning broke through the window and struck against your eyes. 

  He was deliberate yet slow as he coaxed you along, kissing and licking at your neck, his hair sticking to his sweaty skin and yours. The wind picked up more and rattled the door as your legs shook beneath him, coming undone by his hand. 

  You laid in a dreamy haze and when you opened your eyes you realized the lights had gone out from the storm, but a flash of lightning lit Eddie’s skin in sheets of white light as he pushed himself up, taking one last kiss from your lips. 

  He didn’t hurry you along as you reached for the waistband of his underwear, only groaned when he popped up heavy against his stomach, a beaded pearl already formed on his tip. His impressive length seemed to grow before your eyes as you placed a hand on him, and he hissed as you tugged him. 

  He was stunning, kneeling before you, shining with sweat, his lips bit between his teeth from your hands stroking him. You laid down again, opening wide with a smirk twisted on your mouth. 

  Lining himself up with your entrance, your hands skimmed down the muscles of his back, feeling the way they rippled when he pushed himself in, your combined whimpers deaf against the thunder cracking. He was large, an ache you wanted between your legs again and again if he wanted. 

  Eddie’s eyes meet yours as he collects your lips with his, and you nod for him to go deeper. He stretched you until your breath quickened, making sure you were okay, kissing your cheeks, your eyelids, the spot behind your ear. It was soothing the way he took care of you, and when you told him he could move, he drug out of you slow, your walls constricting around him. 

  Cursing he squeezed his eyes shut as you clamped around him, and when he drove back into you, again and again, you swore you found Heaven. 

  You were both hard-pressed for air and sweating, your name falling from his lips in broken syllables as you both unraveled. Heaven was in his arms, in his smile, in the way his fingers laced with yours and pressed down into the mattress as his kisses deepened. 

  The storm raged war against itself outside but neither of you noticed. Tangled in eachother’s arms and once again joining together under the sheets, this time his lips pressed to your ear as he held you tight to him and took you from behind as you both laid on your sides. 

  Hours passed taking the clouds and thunder away. The only thing remaining on the mattress was a bottom sheet, one end still tucked and clinging for dear life. You didn’t know when you both ended up on the floor, and you didn’t mind the bite of the carpet on your knees as you wrapped your mouth around him. His moans spread across the room, no thunder to mask it. 

  When sunlight streamed through holes in the moth bitten curtain, his head laid on your bare chest, your hand in his curls. Dust danced in the warm rays across the room, laying heavy with the rest of the unkept space. 

  The buttery rays spread across your naked bodies, displaying the wine splotched skin marks on your chest. Your thighs had similar stains, ones that were licked better by the one who gave them. He had traces from last night on his neck and hips too, uneven stamps of purple and red painted from your mouth as you claimed him. 

  The two of you slept until the sun wavered to the west. . You had curled into him like a caterpillar in a cocoon, his breathing fanning your face as he gently snored, curls messy and frizzy. 

  Eddie’s clothes finally dried in the musty motel room, and you packed up and left when the sun was starting its radiant descent behind the mountains. 

  The small town was covered in wreckage from the storm, White Fir needles sprinkled the roads like confetti, branches laid across sections of the road that Eddie had to maneuver the truck around. But you finally made it back to the highway. 

  Back on the road. 

Weeks passed and things went back to the way they had before. You didn’t share a bed again, and you didn’t bother to ask why. Looks still lingered, but neither of you crossed that line again. 

  You knew Eddie was looking for something that was more than what you could offer, and maybe he was caught up in the heat of the moment, maybe the storm swayed his opinion on you just for that night. 

  It killed you to not feel his touch, not feel the warmth from his body heat as he slept, not feel those lips on your neck your thighs your chest. The ache between your legs lasted days, but it was nothing compared to the hurt in your chest. 

  He didn’t know you wiped tears away every night when the lights went off or during your shower. What you had together that night was something special, and you’d cherish it for the rest of your life. 

  It wasn’t until you were on the border of the western state that you noticed him starting to act differently. His stares became longer. He stayed up talking with you until the witching hour. Maybe he would miss your friendship when he got to where he was going, you’d miss him. But you knew your time together was coming to an end.

  Still, you braved a smile on your face for him. No strings attached, the only thing left between you was the shared bench of his truck and that stormy night where you both spent the storm in each other's arms until dawn. 

  He was still Eddie, still made you laugh and was the gentleman he always had been. But whatever started in that motel room lived and died there. 

  Those feelings you had for him were smoldering and you had to remind yourself that once you hit California it would be the end of your journey with Eddie. The man who saved your life in more ways than you could imagine, showing you kindness and compassion. 

  That was why he was on the road the same day you were. Fate brought him to you as a gift, an offering to soothe your soul from the wickedness you’d encountered, and for that, and Eddie, you’d be forever grateful. 

  California was on the horizon, and you had stopped at a small restaurant on the Nevada border before crossing into the final stretch of your journey. The food was good but the conversation was light, as if you both knew the end was nearing. 

  He had to look away from you more than once, shaking his head in the middle of a conversation as if to preserve himself from being hurt. 

  On the way back to the truck you felt the book start to close between your stories, and you nearly wept at the thought of never seeing him again. 

  “So,” Eddie asked, kicked a rock back to the truck after finishing up supper. “Where to now?”

  You slurped the rest of a Cherry Coke and made a confused face, “what do you mean? I thought you were going to California, lookin’ for love?” 

  He paused when you reached your door, eyes peering into the distance. “I made it this far without it.” He turns to you, looking so deep into your eyes your soul waved back at him. A smile creeps on his face, “well maybe not, cause look at what I’ve got.” 

  Your breath hitched in your chest and he closed the space between you, his hand on your cheek, the other on the door, “you might not be my love, but baby… I doubt it.” 

  Your eyes brim with tears as he presses his lips to yours. Lacing your fingers around his neck, he lifts you up into a hug, spinning you around in the desert sand. 

  He sets you down, placing his hands on your lower back, moving you gently in the same dance you had done months before. “I never told you,” he began, murmuring into your ear, “that day we met, not a single radio station would come in, I drove a hundred miles that day and nothing. But when I popped over that hill, and saw you walking with nothing but turmoil and angst on your shoulders, a song finally played, something I hadn’t heard in years.” 

  You move your head from his chest and smile looking up to him, “what song?”

  “The same one that played the last time we did this.” he said with a smile, “I knew when it played again that you were meant for me baby, that I’d found what I’d been looking for.” 

  And for the first time since you were a child, you knew that not all men were angry and hateful. Some of them were good, and handsome, and made you smile so much your cheeks ached. You felt your heart finally heal. Eddie sewing it shut, and the smile on your face mirrored his own. 

  “Told you I was lucky…now tell me love,” he said, kissing your lips and holding your face in his hands, “where are we going next?”

  You squeezed him against you and looked up at him, at the love you had also found that you weren’t expecting, “anywhere with you and all of your dumb luck is the only place I think I’d ever wanna be.” 

  …and you said “hey, do you wanna see the West with me? Cause loves out there and I can’t leave it be.”

  And I said “honey, loves never meant much to me, oh, But i’ll come with you if you’re sure that’s what you need.” 

🌵 taglist: @joejoequinnquinn @micheledawn1975 @dashingdeb16 @hereforshmut @welc0me-t0-hellfire

@aropodcastfuck @erinekc @sage-glowstick @emma-munson @b-irock

@miaajaade @bastardstevie

[euqinim0dart]

My 2nd illustrated kids books Everyone Starts Small, written by Liz Garton Scanlon, is now OPEN for Pre-orders!

"Spring rains change Water from a tumbling creek to a roaring river and bring Tree nutrients it needs to stretch toward the sky. As Sun’s rays intensify, the sprouts and fruits and insects of the forest grow and bloom and develop, all working together in harmony. Even Fire, whose work causes Tree to ache from the inside, brings opportunity for the next generation of flora and fauna. Paired with the vivid, organic imagery of Dominique Ramsey, Liz Garton Scanlon’s poetic tribute to our planet’s resilience is a resonant story of life, death, and regeneration." - blurb

You can pre-order here, it will be coming to shelves officially in March 2024!

[mxtxfanatic]

"Why else would Wei Wuxian do what he did for Jiang Cheng if not because of love?"

Jiang Cheng dodged to the side before attacking, “When does not now mean? I’ve had enough of you—get lost right now!” Wei WuXian shouted, “Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu said for me to look after you, for you to be well!”

—Chapt. 59: Poisons, exr

Does Wei Wuxian still care for Jiang Cheng as a friend at this point in time? Yes. Is that friendship the driving force behind his decision-making between the fall of Lotus Pier and his later defection from the Jiang? No. That's why Wei Wuxian can defect with no psychological burden later on in life: he got Jiang Cheng to live and live well. He fulfilled every debt that mattered. Jiang Cheng, unburdened by such a debt to look after Wei Wuxian, in turn places blame on Wei Wuxian:

Under the grief and the fury, Jiang Cheng had lost his mind. He couldn’t control the strength that he used at all. Wei WuXian pulled at his wrist, “Jiang Cheng...” Holding him on the ground, Jiang Cheng continued to roar, “Why did you save Lan WangJi?! Why did you have to speak up?! How many times have I told you not to stir up trouble! Not to strike! Do you really want to play the hero so much?! Have you seen what happened when you played the hero?! Huh?! Are you happy now?! “Lan WangJi and Jin ZiXuan and those people can just die! Just let them die! What’s their deaths got to do with us?! To do with our sect?! Why did this have to happen?! Why?! “Go die, go die, go die! Everyone!!!” ... In his heart, Jiang Cheng knew clearly that back in the cave of the Xuanwu of Slaughter at Dusk-Creek Mountain, even if Wei WuXian hadn’t saved Lan WangJi, the Wen Sect would have found some reason to come over sooner or later. But he had always felt that, if the whole thing with Wei WuXian didn’t happen, maybe it wouldn’t have been so soon, maybe there would’ve been some way to turn things around. It was this torturing thought that filled his heart with hatred and wrath.

Not every conflict or sacrifice in a work of fiction need be motivated by love. At some point you gotta stop chasing ghosts between the lines and simply read the lines.