#this was meant to be a ranch hand au

[overkill-max]

Announcement No. 746

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Summary: After fighting many wars, Cruz is looking for a better way to live her life. Forty words later, she is listed in a mail-order newspaper as seeking one thing: matrimony. Aaliyah is a widow looking for some companionship. What happens when out of curiosity, she sends out a letter to the person behind the announcement in The Matrimonial News?

AKA

The Mail-Order Bride AU

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Cruz sighed as she read over the wording of her announcement again.

746 – Former marine, lives in Kansas, 27 years old, 5 feet 8 inches tall. Wants someone who will be true and sweet. Who stands up for their beliefs. Who is willing to build a happy home next to me. Objective, matrimony.

There was no way to change it now. Not when it had already been printed...

Read it on AO3

[ravengards-rogue]

i thought of you so often.

arthur morgan x reader.

✧ tags : fem!reader (gendered language, explicit use of she/her in reference to reader), children / planning on children, generally sappiness, fluff, au where nothing bad happens to arthur hdskjsdkfhsj.

✧ wc : 2.4k (???)

✧ a/n : arthur morgan.... save me arthur morgan....also not a super original thought but i can't Stop thinking about it.

✧ synopsis : a collection of love letters, all unfinished, tucked somewhere you aren't meant to find them. oh, arthur loves you more than you knew.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

You try to keep out of Arthur's belongings.

He's owed some privacy, for one. More than that, you've never felt any reason to look into it. Arthur isn't a man of many words, though you catch moments of his introspection should you pry. He isn't stoic, neither. And above all things, he's kind. Really truly kind in a way that makes him different from other men.

You don't have any complaints about him is what you mean. Unlike the men you've loved before, there are no short-comings of Arthur that would drive you to wanting to investigate his own personal things. Especially something so personal like his journals, prior or present.

On top of that, you were there with him through everything. You were part of the gang and stayed by him when it all fell apart. It was towards the end of that that Arthur came to you near frenzied, told you his plans, his thoughts. Confided in you and no less than begged to go with him where he ran.

You loved Arthur enough to stay, and so things ended - and you ran. There isn't much his journal could tell that you couldn't surmise on your own.

It's been years now, and you've long since left that life. You live with Arthur quietly, peaceful in the moments with a garden and kitty sweet as sugar.

It's a good life. An honest, quiet one sometimes to the point of being boring. You rarely miss the action, though occasionally you'll take up a bounty just to feel alive and make some money.

Mostly though, you live as unassuming folk. No bloodshed, no wardens, no gunslinging.

Been talk between you both about having a baby, recently. Serious talk. You've made some money between here and there, and you've got a good life. You've traveled too. But it gets a little lonely, and you don't really get your fill with just Jack when John and Abi are ways away.

Before anything like that, though - you need to clear some space. Empty out some belongings and things collecting dust. Living in one place for too long creates all sorts of mess, you find. When Arthur is home to help, he does - but he's been busy lately figuring something out with Charles. Some business venture related to ranching that you know nothing about so far. They'll tell you when its ready.

Usually when you're tidying, you keep to just your things, or your shared things - but Arthur has lived more life than you. It shows in that big closet space filled with nick-knacks he has yet to toss.

You'd mentioned it to him not too long ago and he'd given you permission to go through them.

(A kiss to your forehead from chapped lips and hands holding your waist, Arthur hums in acknowledgement as you ask his permission.

"Ain't nothing I gotta hide from you. Do whatever you need.)

But like you said - you try to keep your nose out of his business if it's not necessary for you to be in it in anyway.

You weren't trying to look through his things, really. You started cleaning, worked your way to that last box. Up on a shelf in his closet, a little too high for you to reach easily. You made a misstep and dropped the damn thing. It barely missed your head as the whole thing fell open, and out came journals and papers and photographs.

You've always known Arthur to be sentimental, so none of it has been particularly surprising. A photo of wolves and him on a horse, the picture from John and Abigail's engagement. Some other scraps of sentimental value.

And then there was a journal. Not Arthur's journal that he's always using, but another you've never seen before. You know Arthur journals, seen the thing plenty though you never look unless he shows you first.

A journal with a dark brown stained leather binding, fallen open and your name scrawled out in pencil lead at the top of it.

The curiosity got the better of you, okay? Not your damn fault.

So you're thinking on it.

The fabric of your skirt is pooled out underneath you as you hold the thing in your hands, sitting down on the ground surrounded by things. You've stowed away everything else that fell out from the box after ensuring it was intact, including Arthur's journals. Everything with the exception of the one you're holding.

Some guilt eats at you. You don't wanna upset him potentially by having looked. Even if he gave you permission, looking in the damn thing is a little different. But your name was there so clearly, and well - you didn't think he wrote about you. Apart from here and there, maybe.

You hold the book out in front of you with a sigh, looking fondly at his name ingrained in the leather. You press your forehead against it with, resigning yourself completely.

"Lord forgive my pryin'," You mumble, hoping it's enough to absolve you.

Your heart feels funny as you let your fingers trace over the hard edge of the front cover, one eye shut as you start to open it slow.

The first few pages are nothing special.

A page outlining who the journal belongs to and when it was started, and some doodles of yarrow and oleander. The pages after that filled with mundane entries. About people he met or things he saw, all endearing to you. The corners of your lips tug up slightly.

You really love this man helplessly.

You flip through a few more pages, many of them blank before writing starts to appear again. Little by little, you find passages. You look to the dates up at the corner (though not all of them have one) and trace the timeline. This is from all the way back in Horseshoe Overlook.

It feels like ages ago now.

You look at a page with no date, and reading the writing in it. There's doodles of flowers and trees along the bottom of the page. The words are easy enough to make out - because Arthur has the most unusually beautiful handwriting.

There's some entries about you. At first, they all include your name in some context. Mentioned in the same way Arthur might mention Hosea or Abigail. The further you go, the less you see it. The more you become her and she.

It's a trend. The longer you read, the less there is about anyone else. Just you and all your silly idiosyncrasies tucked between pages. Something lovestruck and foolish lights its match in you.

Saw a body hanging at the tracks at Valentine. A gruesome sight. I told her about it and she laughed. Asked me to take her to see it. A strange woman, by all accounts.

You feel yourself smile a little as you continue to flip through the pages.

She joined me riding into town today. Said she had some business to attend but would not tell me any details. After, she came with me to purchase a new gun. I engraved a snake into it's handle, per her request.

Another few pages littered with drawings of delicate berries and waterfalls before you stumble across more writing. The more you flip, the longer the passages become you.

You can't tear your eyes away.

Rained today. Nothing too terrible or worth mentioning, except that she nearly caught a cold playing in it. I brought her coffee to keep her warm, but could not scold her further upon seeing her delight.

Another passage, this time written with messier hand writing. A coffee stain splatters on the white of the page.

Your heart tugs on itself. Swells about a thousand sizes. To think he wrote so much of your time together between these pages.

You read and read and read - and each passage is a little more mundane at the last. Some pages go on in vivid detail, but others are so short you aren't sure what to make of the fact he wrote them at all. As if such little details were important enough to keep in mind.

I picked a flower for her. I thought it would suit her taste. It was white with delicate petals. I did not know the name.

She wore it in her hair this evening. I find I can't stop grinning.

One passage on the next few pages, longer than the rest, catches your eye. From later in your time together, written when you were in Leymone. Near Scarlett Meadows and before the mess in Saint Denis.

After Arthur had been kidnapped.

I have gone on and on about the business with Colm O'Driscoll in many entries before this one. Yet, I find it difficult to forget. Many times I have come close to death, and still no experience lingers on my mind quite like this one. Everyone has done their best to look after me. For that I am grateful, though I do not care for being looked after. What use am I like this, I wonder? Perhaps, I should simply be grateful to be alive and in one piece, if a little uglier than I was. Alongside Miss Grimshaw and Miss Tilly, she has been by my side while I recovered. Such a carefree woman and yet I have seen her cry and weep over me countless times in the last few weeks alone. The decent man in me is apologetic for causing sorrow. Perhaps, it is the outlaw in me that feels some strange relief or satisfaction. Her fussing does not give me any grief. If anything, I find myself all the more endeared. Such a decent woman does not belong in a place like this. I hope she is able to go somewhere far away and live peacefully. I am not so shameless to want anything more. The time together we have spent, I will make sure to cherish.

Something painful and pitiful tugs at your heart. Even when Arthur admitted his feelings for you, he had started it on a similar tangent. You tell him often that you're the one who feels out of bounds with him. That a man as decent and as honest as him often feels like too much for you to have so easily.

A tear slips from your eye and you laugh at your own sentimentality, wiping it away before it can splatter onto the pages.

The further you read, the more sporadic entries become. You find that there are pages filled with sketches of you, but many of them are scratched out or half erased - like he did not find them good enough. Of your side profile, of your hands, of you pointing at a target with a gun. You feel a strange feeling of love wash over you.

Instead of concrete thoughts, you're met with Arthur's abstract. Subtle complexities and studies. There's honest tenderness in the way he sketches you and the words he chooses to caption each with. Lighter, thinner lines. Smaller doodles like stray daydreams caught onto a page.

You've never doubted Arthur in his love for you, quiet man he is - but it proves to overwhelm when presented to you in such a way.

You get to back pages. There, you're finally met with more writing. Except, instead of journal entries, there's the start of letters. You find your name at the top of the page.

Over and over. Love letters, all unfinished or scrapped. Written over and over and over, but not completed. There's tens of them at least. You've never received a love letter from Arthur before, though it's nothing you fault him for.

Now you're almost glad. You like this much better.

My darling girl My muse The better half of me, I must find some way to tell you all of what I think of you. It seems no words do it justice, I'm afraid. Still, it is in my best interest to try.

Damn that man.

When you find yourself starting to weep, you don't fight the feeling. You merely shut the book closed and set it in your lap before crying into your hands.

Such overwhelmingly happy tears. You feel off balance. If the whole world turned on its head this very minute, you're unsure you'd notice. What a decent, honest man you've come to love. What a tender one.

In the middle of your crying, you don't hear the door open or close. Nor do you hear Arthur's heavy footfall until he's in the doorway, with a voice worried half to death.

"Sweetheart, what in the hell?"

You turn your head to look at him, watching his eyes widen at your tear stained face. You clamber to your feet hurriedly, book dropping onto the ground next to you as you throw yourself at him as soon as you can.

Arthur is a steady enough man not to stumble when you do, though you can feel his apprehension. Eventually, he circles his arms around your waist. His hugs are strong. Bout strong as him and then some. An arm wrapped around your waist, the other crossed over your back all around your shoulder. Full pressure as he squeezes you tight, patting the back of your head.

"I leave you alone for a few hours. What has gotten into you, little lady?"

You pull back and and look at him, wet lashes and all, before leaning up to kiss him. Arthur meets your lips chastely at first before making a noise of surprise as you kiss him further. You use both hands to grab his face as you do, scruff scratching against your skin. His lips are soft, welcoming. He melts into the touch, so easily - blue eyes lovestruck as you pull away.

"You know I love you, don't you Arthur? More than anyone in this crazy world we live in,"

His face softens visibly. He smiles at you, touching his head to yours.

"Somehow, I do. Though, I'm wonderin' what the hell brought this on."

You tuck your face against his chest, feeling his laughter reverb through you at the way you cling to him so fervently. You sniffle as you talk.

"Found your journal. The one about me,"

He goes stiff, then silent. When you look up again, he's blushing red. He pinches his brow.

"Lord, I'd forgotten all about it,"

You shake your head.

"Ain't nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You are so wonderful,"

He pouts at you. Your heart swells. "You ain't helping with the embarrassment."

You hold him further. Hug him so tight, worried he'll disappear if you don't.

"I love you, Arthur."

"You already told me once, didn'tcha?"

"And I'll tell you one thousand times over," You emphasize, pouting at him. "Really. I love you,"

"I love you too sweetheart," His hand cups your face, thumb brushing along your waterline. "Don't cry no more. Spoils that pretty face."

"I'll try but I don't know if it's all out of me,"

Arthur laughs, pressing a kiss against your hairline. "Guess I'll just have to wipe your tears."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[sstargirln]

❞ ᝰ .ᐟ cowboy!art donaldson x reader

based on this request :

Anonymous asked:

art donaldson cowboy au where he works as a ranch hand for your dad.... and then he fucks u in ur daddy's grand farm mansion when he isn't home. hello im hard! ~ 🌸

TW : use of y/n ( 1 ) , smut MDNI - oral ( f receiving ) , swearing , not proofread

word count : 2264 (THIS IS SO LONG WHAT THE FUCK)

¡! ❞ a/n : uh im bricked anon! also basically dodge mason and panic reference ! and this is kinda shit im sowwy . REPOST BC LAST TIME IT FLOPPED AND IDK WHY .

choose ur own adventure type c.ai bot based on this here 

there was something about your pretty little accent that got art's damn mind spinning. clear, sort of clipped and lilting, the typa accent one could only get from living in the big old city of new york. you were his boss's daughter, which made it all the more sinful when he imagined that accent in... other (less proper) situations he shouldn't've been. unlike the other ranch-hands, he kept a polite distance. he didn't leer or ogle at you as you walked by — his momma taught him better than that — but he sure as hell wanted to as you bent down to pick up something from the front seat of your convertible. tiny little white skirt rising higher and higher and higher and higher and art was hooked. oh how he would love to ruin you, daddy's dear little girl visiting carp for the summer. oh how he would love to grab you by those meaty thighs, defile you 'till you were crying his name. oh how he would love.

he trudges through the mud up to the ranch house, all done for the day and ready to wash up in the worker's quarters in the back. his legs feel like lead after hours of wrangling the cattle and fixing fences in the blistering sun. the thin flannel he wore today clung to his skin, soaked through with sweat. before he even gets to look in mirror, he knows his face is all ruddy-like and burnt, even though his hat supposed to be protecting the damn sunburn that made his cheeks string.

he splashed cold water on his face. he grabbed an old rag to wipe his face, just about ready to head to the showers, when he heard it—that damn voice, right behind him.

he turned, and there you were. standing in the doorway, looking a little out of place in your crisp, white summer dress. your eyes scanned the tiny room like you weren’t sure if you should be there or not, and art figured you probably didn’t have much reason to be back here.

you gave a sheepish smile. "hi… i, uh, think i got a little lost. do you know where the main house is?"

he’d dreamed 'bout this moment before, though maybe not quite like this. you, standing there all pretty, looking gorgeous in your spotless attire, while he was still dripping in sweat and grime. the polite distance he’d vowed to keep suddenly felt a lot tougher to maintain now that you were looking at him, lips slightly parted as you waited for an answer.

he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, trying to focus on your face. "main house is back that way," he drawled, pointing out the direction you missed. his voice came out rougher than he meant it to. "reckon you took a wrong turn."

you smiled wider, stepping a bit closer. damn near makes him swallow his own tongue. "thanks," you reply, your tone light, conversational. "still trying to figure out my way around."

art nodded, eyes flicking up to meet yours, though his heart was beating faster than it should’ve been. he shifted on his feet, gaze shifting from your eyes down to your lips down to your chest down to your thighs down to — back to your eyes.

"i can walk you back if you want," he offered, tipping his hat back slightly, trying to stay cool about it, but hell, you already had him wrapped around your finger and didn’t even know it.

you gave him a slow nod, tongue flitting out to lick at your lips. "i'd appreciate that, thank you."

as the two of you made your way back to the main house, art tried his best not to tip over sideways at the sheer thought of you being this close to him. he feels like a pathetic little dog, all worked up over you just walking in line with him, brushing your arm against his every once in awhile. he's so focused on keeping his cheeks from flushing that he doesn't hear you the first time.

"hello?"

art blinked, shaking himself out of his daze. "huh? oh, sorry, darlin' —didn’t catch that."

you tilted your head slightly, a playful smile on your lips as you repeated your question. "what's your name? i'm y/n."

"art," he cursed himself for his curt response, but you didn't seem to notice, bright smile still holding as you nodded.

"nice to meet you, art." your gaze held his with a sort of lingering intensity that unfortunately made art's pants tighten even further than before. "so, what do else do you do here in carp when you're not showing lost city people around?"

art shrugs, hands stuffed in his pockets. "dunno. i work, i guess."

you roll your eyes slightly and nudge at him with your elbow. "okay. what about for fun?"

art shifted awkwardly, feeling your elbow nudge him gently, sending a spark down his spine. he cleared his throat, "fun?" he repeated, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "ain’t much time for that out here, if I’m bein’ honest. mostly work, and maybe a beer with the boys now and then."

you let out a soft laugh, the sound teasing him in all the right ways. "that’s all? no girls? no beautiful maiden waiting around for you to finish all this hard work?"

art swallowed hard. he glanced down at his boots for a second, trying to collect himself, then back at you. "no, ma’am. no one special like that," he muttered. "guess I ain’t much for courtin’ these days."

your lips curved into a lazy smirk. "hmm. that’s a shame. a guy like you? figured the girls would be lined up." your eyes glint with a darkness that art knew all too well. it was the same hungry look he felt in his own gaze, pupils dilated and eyes half-lidded with desire.

art rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to flush under the heat of your stare. he bit at the inside of his cheek, his self-restraint fraying as he fought the urge to just jump at you right then and there.

as you neared the main house, art's mind shifted to your father. the last thing he wanted was for the boss to catch wind of any unprofessional behavior. with a deep breath, art managed a strained smile, trying to redirect the rising heat in his chest. "well, here we are. better get you inside before your dad starts wonderin' where you’ve been."

you glanced at him with a smirk, seemingly unfazed as you adjusted your skirt. "funny thing, art," you said, your voice low and sultry, "i think daddy's still out of town. he won't be back 'till tomorrow." you took a step closer, hands reaching out to dust off art's collar.

he swallows hard at the feeling of your finger brushing against his neck. "we got the place to ourselves then, huh?" art drawls, voice rough and husky with barely contained desire.

"looks like it." your arms wrapped around his neck, finger curling around a stray blond locked as you watched art's face contort. deciding, deciding, decided. his hands found your hips, and with a light tap to your thigh, you jumped into his arms, kissing him hard.

your lips were warm and soft, and they parted slightly as art slipped his tongue inside, his one hand scrabbling for the front door handle. it clicked open and he stumbled inside, heading straight for the living room. your fingertips brush softly against his back as he sits down on a couch, letting you straddle him at the hips. he's still sweaty, but you seem to like it, burrowing your head in his neck as he nips at yours, breathing in the sharp, musky smell of him.

the both of you pant heavily as you scrambled to take of his shirt, and then him your dress. art presses slobbery kisses down your chest and torso, salivating at the sight of your little blue panties, pressed down against his crotch. little sighs and moans left your lips as he trailed his fingers along with his mouth, to the very top of your underwear, kissing along the seam. before you can object, he's shifted you over and laid down. "hop on, darlin'," he mumbles, referring to his mouth as you pull off your panties. hesitantly, you crawl up his chest. apparently not quick enough for art, he hooks an arm around your waist and places you on his face himself, moaning at the pure scent of you.

he starts by kissing the inside of your right thigh, then suckling the inside of your left. he revels in your scent for a few more seconds before burying his face inside you, lapping you up with long, thick licks against your folds. you squeal when you first feel his (clearly) expert tongue against you, flexing and swirling as he find your sweet spots immediately. it hasn't even been 5 seconds when he stops with a pop! - peeking out from under your thighs with a wild expression on his face. his hat is tipped over under him, the rim sticking out from behind his unruly blond locks. "you're hoverin'. " he was right, you were, too scared to put your full weight on this poor man you had met not half an hour ago. "sit on my face, baby, please," he practically whimpers.

and how could you say no? eyes wide, face slick with your juices, looking so goddamn angelic — you couldn't. and even though you were scared to crush him, craving the feeling of his tongue inside you again, you sit — nice and proper this time.

he starts up again with a kind of feverish intensity you could only expect from a starved man. you moan and whimper on his face, scratching against his scalp as you looked for something to grip onto. art groans in pleasure against your folds when you tug at his hair, his grip that of iron as he holds you down by the hips hard enough to bruise. his other hand is groping at your tits, pinching and swirling at the nipples as he watches you shake on his tongue.

his own dick is being completely ignored, even though it's brick-hard and leaking enough pre-cum you can see it through his pants. the only pleasure he needs is your sweet little whines and needy moans as he laps up your juices like your pussy is the holy grail. before you even know it, he's driven you through orgasm after orgasm, happily sucking away at your cunt as you squirm and scream on top of him. "ohmygod, art. oh my fucking god!" your yells are loud enough that your little boyfriends from new york could probably hear you.

and after he's been there for so long your head's rolling, and your clit is swollen and overstimulated, he's finally done, pulling back to rest his face on your thighs. his cheeks leave your own slick against your legs, nose shiny at the tip but with a big old stupid grin on his face. you're panting, pussy throbbing and puffy as you rake your fingers though his hair, looking down at him with your mouth agape. "holy shit, art."

his grin grows even wider as he watches you, fingers rubbing lazy circles on your hips as you struggle to compose yourself. "am i good?" he asks, already certain of the answer, but eager to boost his ego even more.

you nod, eyes dazed and glossy as you ran your hands over his cheeks. "so good, art. holy fucking hell." you could already hear him boasting to all the other ranch hands in his stupidly attractive little southern accent — i made that city girl cum 5 times on my tongue!

he nods slowly in response, pretty eyes looking up at you all proud. "that's what i like to hear, darlin'."

the next thing he heard made his heart sink all the way from where it was, up in the clouds all dazed, to his stomach. the front door click open, and the booming voice of your father, "baby, i'm home!"

you'd heard it before him, and you jumped off of his chest and pulled your dress back on before poor art even had time to register what was happening. you sat straight up next to him, looking perfect — albeit a little red, as your terrifyingly massive father stomped into the room. his expression changed from exhaustion to pure anger as he took in art, sprawled half-way up on the couch, shirt off and hair a mess. "what the hell do you think you're doing?" he roared from across the room.

"get out of my damn house!" your father bellowed. art scrambled off of the couch, grabbing his hat from under his head. clumsy and hurried as he fumbled with his shirt. you were too stunned to move, thighs still throbbing, as he sprinted out of the back door before your father could make it to him. the barrel of a man slammed the door behind him, making you wince.

as art scurried down the backyard and past the worker's quarters, shirt still off and hat placed haphazardly on his head, the first thoughts in his head was — 'i am so fucking sacked.' the next ones placed a lazy smile on his face. 'goddamn, that was worth it.'

¡! ❞ © niya-writesshit 2024

[luxu1230]

Top Gun Maverick AU in which Jake knows sign language and Ice miraculous lives (let's say his wife dies instead)

Jake "Hangman" Seresin doesn't make it known to others he knows sign language and why should he? It doesn't impact his job as an aviator and it's not like he's around people who need it.

Well that was before he met thee Tom "Iceman" Kazansky.

////

Jake knew how to sign before he was even able to walk. Having a parent and siblings who are deaf will do that. He was born to a Father who was deaf and a Mother who was in the Navy. Growing up meant he had to know sign language with a mother who was hardly ever around even when she was back home on the ranch they had in Texas he needed it so he could communicate with his dad.

The only time he ever properly saw his mother was when she was on her paternity leaves for the twins (Michael and Johnathan) who were born deaf and the youngest (Lily) who could hear. After that they barely ever saw her as she was "Too busy trying to move her career along" (and isn't it funny that in the future the son she ignored managed to get a higher ranking than she would ever get).

So he had to step up. He was 5 years older than the twins and 11 years older than his baby sister and he knew his dad was struggling. So he helped teach his siblings sign language, he made sure that Lily didn't turn into one of those little brats he saw at school who thought they were special just because they fit within the norm of human society. And if he sat down with his dad when he was 18 and told him he was going to enlist so they wouldn't have to worry about money (since his mother never seemed to help out with her salary). His dad broke down crying telling him he hopes his son would return (That's when Jake finally settled in his heart, that woman was not his mother). So when he joined he made sure that every leave was spent with his family and he could never regret it even if his leave synced up with her's.

/////

Fast forward a few years and it's after the suicide mission that his sign language comes into use.

What's even funnier is that this story goes down in the history of how one Jake Seresin gets promoted at the same time as getting two Naval legends to finally realise their feelings for each other.

////

It was after the mission and everything was left in the past between Jake and Bradley. (Yes he can call his boyfriend by his real name NATASHA. No calling him by his Call Sign is not foreplay BOB). So he's surprised but not surprised when the squad gets a permanent home at Top Gun as a specialist unit with the help of Admiral Kazansky and phtff Admiral Mitchell (Thats a funny story within itself but that's a story of another time).

So to celebrate they all get smashed at the hard deck and if he's sat cuddled up to Bradley in a booth as Ice and Mav talk with Ice using a text to chat on his phone he can't help but notice every time Ice signs 'i love you' to a complete and utter oblivious and confused Mav. He can't help but sigh as he feels Bradley trying not to bust out laughing as Jake had done the same thing until Bradley came up one day and shoved flowers into his chest and signed it back his face red.

So he grabs Bradley's hand and stands up at the end of the table. Looks Mav right in the eye and goes "He's signing he loves you dumbass" and drags off a wheezing Bradley behind him leaving Mav stuttering and Ice blushing. He barely remembers the rest of that night.

So he's presently surprised that after a week he gets a call saying he's getting promoted to Captain due to his great service to the country. He can't help but sign in exaggeration as Bradley bursts out laughing when they find out Mav was the one who promoted him.

And if he proceeds to go up the ladder with his husband by his side and realise that when he reached Admiral he reached a rank his mother could never reach by ignoring his family. Who knew hiding his sign language would get him this far.

(if anyone would write this I would honestly love to read it)

[hotmessmaxpress]

Horror Au, Interlude: What happened at the ranch?

I was 99% certain that I got an ask about this, but I can't find it. This is a little interlude about what happened when Vale had an anomaly mimicking Marc appear at the ranch. Vale mentions it to Marc in part 1 of the horror au, and this is what he was referencing.

They’ve finished on track, showered, and headed upstairs to eat when the alert hits all of their phones at once. It’s one of the alerts that comes through regardless of do-not-disturb or silent settings, and Vale knows immediately it’s some sort of Anomaly event.

He checks his phone and scans the message. 

Void creature in your area. Take shelter. Lock doors and windows. Arm yourself. Take cover and stay quiet. Do not respond to voices you cannot see. Mercy be with you. 

He sighs and joins Uccio and Max as they hustle downstairs to secure the building. Garage covers come down and rolling shutters are pulled across windows. Vale is reminded, not for the first time, that he should upgrade the security of the Ranch. He pictures automatic safety devices and makes a mental note to workshop that plan with Max later. 

Once the building is secure, he heads upstairs. The boys have gotten the notification and they’ve silently chosen to congregate on the couches in the corner of the room, nervously watching their phones for updates. He settles on the floor in front of the couch, shoulder pressed to Pecco’s leg. The younger rider gives him a gentle, good-natured kick, and Vale turns to smile at him. Pecco returns the smile but he looks nervous, lips pulled taught against his teeth and brow furrowed. Vale pats him on the leg, as much of a reassurance as he can give while they are meant to be silent. 

Silence could mean a lot of things, but most commonly it means one of the void creatures; one of the mimics. 

The ranch is remote enough that it usually feels safe, but Vale has a sense of uneasiness. He isn’t sure how wide the radius is for the detection and alert system, and he wonders how close the monster is to their little sanctuary. 

They’ve been sitting in silence for what feels like hours when they hear it. 

“Vale!”

It’s as if the air has been sucked out of the room. Almost at once, all heads swivel to look at him as the voice calls out again.

“Valentino!”

There’s only one voice that says his name like that; Marc. 

It’s been a long time since he heard Marc say it, and his throat feels like it might close up.

He knows it’s not Marc outside. There’s no reason that the younger man would be in Tavullia; he’s definitely not welcome in the town and there’s no way he’d even make it out to the ranch. There’s no way it could be Marc. 

Still. Vale can’t help but think of what it would be like if Marc were out there. There’s basically no way to survive a void creature. Marc would be doomed, and Vale would have to hear it. 

As if it’s reading his mind, there’s a wail outside. It’s so brutal and loud that Vale squeezes his eyes shut. Pecco’s leg twitches beside him. Another wail follows, and Vale is on his feet before he can really think about it. He paces away from the group, running a hand through his hair. 

His hair, thinning now from age and years of being tugged at by helmets. It’s hard not to think about his age at times like these, when he feels so tired and weathered. He wonders if Marc is starting to feel his age. It’s been so many years since he spoke to him, and the few times he’s been able to bear looking at his face he knows Marc has gotten older. His cheekbones are more defined, and his mouth is framed in laugh lines. His laugh– one of Vale’s favorite things. 

The voice, Marc’s voice, screams outside.

“Please, Vale, let me in. I’m so sorry; I’ll apologize! Just let me in.”

The void creature knows just what buttons to press to mimic Marc in the most painful way. Vale presses his palms to his eyes. 

He knows it’s not Marc. He knows it’s not the younger man, the man who Vale raced against and shared podiums with. There’s no human on the other side of that door.

Suddenly an arm yanks him backward, and a hand covers his mouth to muffle his surprised noise. His eyes snap open and he sees that he’s somehow made it downstairs. He’s within arms reach of the door and its metal security panel. 

Uccio’s hands are a vice grip around him, holding him back. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses in his ear. 

Vale’s mouth opens as if to respond, but he has nothing to say. He has no explanation for his intense lapse in judgment, or even how he made it down the stairs in the first place. 

“Vale, please,” the thing outside begs. 

Uccio doesn’t let go of him, just guides him back up the stairs. The boys on the couches look terrified now, and Vale doesn’t have the words to apologize. This time Uccio deposits him on the couch next to him, keeping a solid arm around his shoulders. Vale puts his head in his hands but doesn’t close his eyes, suddenly afraid of what will happen. 

He misses Marc. He wanted to let that thing in because it sounded like Marc. Vale is overcome with the thought that he has to talk to the younger man; he has to reconcile, or apologize, or something. He just can’t possibly go the rest of his life feeling like this thing between them is so unsettled. He needs closure.

He thinks about what that looks like, turning scenarios over in his head until the arm is lifted from around his shoulder and their phones chime with the alert system telling them that the creature is gone. 

This time Vale stays put as Max and Uccio take over raising the shades and opening the house again. He doesn’t react as Pecco and Bez playfully argue and throw shutters open, giddy and relieved to be safe. Celestino is immediately loud and talkative, making up for the time spent forced into silence. 

Vale should be joining them, celebrating their safety. He can’t get up, though, because of the lead weight of regret that has taken home in his stomach. He has to talk to Marc. 

[shalotttower]

Title: Beneath The Skin Fandom: Far Cry 5 Characters: John Seed x Reader (female) Summary: John discovers a soulmate in one of his faithful after her indoctrination. Word count: 1200+ Notes: soft yandere!John Seed, religious themes, soulmate AU, captivity, obsession, past rough treatment, past torture, brainwashed Reader, John being John, Reader isn't Deputy, I'm depressed so now you'll be too.

You've been staring at him a lot lately. John can't tell if it's a good sign or not. In his experience, silence is usually followed by screaming and begging, not contemplation, but you're quiet and watchful, like a church mouse.

"Tell me what you desire," he says, cupping your face with his palms.

There's no pleading with you. No crying for help from the outside world. He's not used to this quiet acceptance of circumstances.

What John used to is peeling away the layers of flesh, until there's nothing but raw essence underneath. You're still not free of sin. He can see it, plain as day: sloth shines through the cracks of you. He could force it out. Carve the letters into your skin again, one by one, and maybe then you'd finally scream for mercy.

But he doesn't. Joseph told him to be careful with God's gifts, to be patient and endure. So he waits, and so you stare, and the silence stretches in-between.

"Why don't you tell me?" John asks.

He heard long time ago that through desires one's true self becomes visible. He wants to see yours.

"There's nothing to wish for in Eden's Gate, Herald."

There is no venom in your words. There's nothing in your words.

He thinks about patience and endurance, and wonders if the river washed away something essential off you during the baptism, or this docile and meek nature is just who you are.

You'd pass easily as one of Faith's angels, even without the Bliss.

---

John knows that you like to read. You take books from his personal library and he finds them later, stacked in a neat pile on a bedside table. Some nights when he returns to the ranch, you're still awake at the desk with a pair of glasses on the bridge of your nose.

"So that's why," he thought after leafing through your medical file, "you didn't recognize me at the river. They must've fell off during the transportation."

John wears his mark with pride. Not hidden, like Joseph's or Jacob's, but on display. A declaration that he's been chosen by God, that's he's not broken, not ruined — worthy to have a soulmate.

He remembers your expression back then. Confusion. You looked at him, squinting, like you didn't understand, couldn't fathom why would someone do this to you.

And then he dunked you under.

---

"Confession," John murmured. "It sets you free."

"Atonement," he told you later and took a knife to your flesh.

He wanted to make you feel small, insignificant — Deputy kept causing trouble, and temperance never was among his virtues.

"There's nothing more pure than a blank sheet, darling. I'll help you get rid of sin. Don't be afraid, let the pain cleanse you."

And you screamed.

Sloth. Pride. He carved them both and you cried and prayed until your voice broke, but haven't asked him to stop, not once.

After that, you blended into the crowd well, a nobody amongst the sheep not meant to stand out.

---

He didn't know.

Hadn't seen it, caught up in the excitement of the moment.

---

This time when he comes back, you're curled on the bed with a book that doesn't belong to his library. The cover is pale yellow with floral decorations and birds on it, a bit worn. How it came into your hands, John has an idea. There's only one person who likes cheesy romance novels here.

Your foot sways in the air back and forth, gently, like a pendulum.

"Didn't take you for a fan of light reading, my dear. How many maidens have fallen for dashing rascals tonight?"

"Herald John," you greet.

His stomach flips when you look up.

To think that you were one of many who cooked and cleaned around the compound all this time, who lived in the barracks and tended the apple orchards, and no one ever noticed. Who almost slipped through his fingers into the Henbane River, if he wasn't reminded of restraint.

Now you're here, in his room, and John has no idea what to do with you. He's good with words, they always come out naturally, like a weapon in a carefully crafted arsenal, but all seem inadequate when your mark is out there so openly unapologetic.

You're like a doll he's got a hold of: speaks when spoken to and moves when nudged.

He sits on the edge of the bed.

"This doesn't look like approved reading material," John comments idly, but makes no move to take the book away. Books like these aren't banned, simply considered too shallow to nourish a mind. He flipped through one himself and found it hilariously cliche.

"Sister Faith keeps bringing them," you respond. "I...keep them until she picks them up again."

You call his family members by titles rather than names. John suspects it stems from the trials and humility which they bring. Joseph is Father, Faith is Sister, Jacob is...nothing. You don't dare use any monikers with Jacob even though no one would mind now when you're family.

His thumb runs over your ankle. A small white lilly under the fabric of your leggings looks delicate and a bit like a mockery.

God's gifts are bestowed to cherish.

John thinks about the way you trembled during the baptism — sweet, sweet terror.

God's gifts are bestowed to nurture.

"Why didn't you plead with me?"

You pause.

"For what, Herald?"

John wants to shake you. Wants you to scream and glare like Deputy did when he carved the sin upon her body. Little wrathling, full of rage and spite; now Jacob is grooming her as a weapon, and it seems to suit her better than wreaking havoc across the county. Jacob's methods are meticulous and inevitable, brutal but most efficient, and he'll get her where he needs her to be: strong and able, with her fire burning for a better cause.

"Reprieve," John says. "Mercy."

He leans closer and waits, but your eyes travel down to your lap, then to your fingers, entwined together above the pages.

"There was no use."

Your smile is soft and empty, and John gets the feeling of missing a step on a flight of stairs.

"It wouldn't have been enough."

You speak it like a truth carved on stone, something so very evident that even a newborn infant can comprehend. Like the sun is warm, the water is wet, and Herald John Seed doesn't give mercy to sinners — he takes them apart piece by piece so they can start anew without the burden of guilt.

---

Aren't soulmates meant to know each other intimately? Aren't they meant to complete?

Yet there's an absence of him in you and you in him. It's a hollow space between your bodies when you both lie side by side at night, a gaping wound, and it won't go away, no matter how close you curl into his arms or how tight he holds onto you.

He touches you often: strokes your hair while you read books by lamplight, kisses your forehead when you pray before bedtime.

"Tell me what you desire," John asks again.

And again, patiently you reply: "Eden's Gate offers everything I could ever wish for."

---

He wonders what fairy tale romance you will find next week between the pages, and if there will be mercy in it which you didn't find in that bunker.

[sleepyelliee]

how john and abigail treat you after finding out your dating jack. part two.

before you continue!

GN reader, implied financial issues, brief mentions of the VDL gang, brief mention of injury, implied starvation and poverty. Jack is nineteen years old, Abigail and John survive AU. Implied malnourishment Loosely proofread, lmk if I missed anything. just 'you.'

credits...

thank you so much for the love on the last post!! lmk if you want me to write more of this series. part one.

One of my mutuals gave me this idea, so thank you so much @creamqueen <3.

puppy love trope implied with jack marston <3.

Throughout the short period of knowing the marston family, you managed to make a name for yourself in that household. You were popular within the walls of the ranch because it seemed like the couple's lovestruck son didn't ever stay quiet about you, everyday either John or Abigail had to hear about how pretty you were, how you were such a sweetheart, the looks that you give him, and the list seemed to go on without a stop.

Abigail and John both enjoyed your company in that small amount of time of meeting them couple weeks back. Abigail basically became the mother you never had due to her wanting to teach you everything and anything because you were never able to experience that growing up. She loved the sweet mannerisms that would escape your lips whenever you thanked her for something she would've considered small - hand sewing your clothes, fixing up old clothes that had holes in them, teaching you new recipes and she adored whenever you would compliment her food, knowing you aren't as lucky as most, causing her to insist on giving you more food because your small and malnourished body always makes her heart break.

She was also grateful that her son managed to find someone sweet as you, she was afraid that the morales and respectful demeanor she stuck into that boy's head would've gone to waste on someone who was a bad influence. Afterall, she didn't want her son to be following the same path they were running away from for years.

John was no different to you, he was carrying towards you in his own way, he would back up his beloved wife when they tried to convince you to stay over, always buying freshly new packed cigarettes for you and invites you out on the porch as he would tell you old stories of running in a gang - scolding you in the process not to make the same mistakes he did. He smuggles... insists giving you money whenever he would shove it in the pocket of your coat whenever Abigail would fix up your clothes, he knew that you needed it more to keep yourself stable because you'll decline the money otherwise. John decides to set up a room for you in the attic without telling you and gets his beloved wife's opinion aswell as the pair would decorate the room and put things you were lacking - warm blankets, couple of snacks, shoes, clothes and whatever else jack tells them that you needed at the moment.

Both parents also took notice of how Jack no longer called you by your first name. Anytime he spoke about you at dinner, he would call you sweetheart, love, darling, honey or anything that came to his mind that caused his cheeks to grow a rosy red.

He was excited for you to see the room they set up for you, it meant that you finally you have a chance to relax and enjoy a fully cushioned bed without having to worry about bills or food. It also meant that he gets to see you more often and spend more time with you.

He knows that your not fully moved in yet, but the thought of you staying here for a couple of nights makes the young man excited, Afterall he misses you whenever your not around.

...

When you found yourself on the property that belonged to the Marston's once again, you were learning back in the chair as your boyfriends father spoke about his past, mentioning couple members of the gang he used to run in. He slipped a pack of cigarettes to you like he does normally, insisting that you should take one or more.

You don't know how you found yourself smoking cigarettes as the cold wind blew against you to Jack showing the new room they are allowing you to stay in for however you'll like with a big grin on his face - excited that your going to stay over for a couple more nights than just one.

It still didn't change the fact that his arms were wrapped tightly against you, his nose buried deep in your neck as he muttered reassuring words, hoping you'll accept the offer as you two laid down on the small bed, squished together making the proximity closer.

...

Most cases whenever you stayed over, Jack would either be in the room that is considered yours or you'll be in his. You two would sleep until Jack would wake you up, hearing Abigail scold both of you through the door, stating that it's late and breakfast is already cold. Depending on the gunslingers mood, sometimes he would smart-mouth his mother just to hold you longer, causing him to get scolded more.

You two would help John with ranch work, he would always try to impress you in some type of way or both of you would get distracted and his father would scold you both.

thank you so much for reading! please do not repost my work on any other platform, reblogs and likes are very appreciated! <3. masterlist

[spoiled-fawn]

Part 1: Meeting John Price

Western AU; Mail Order Spouse Trope

WC: 3,131 CW: None

AN: My beloved! John Price! Would love to hear your thoughts and comments, as well as any questions. I hope ye enjoy <3

Please see the following for the explanation and precursors to the scene!

Introduction, Biography

--------

Truthfully, you’re glad you didn't have many friends in town, as it meant no one to share unnecessary secrets with, nor did it spread any word of what you were up to in your free time. 

However, that isn’t to say that you trusted at least some people in the small town you lived in, such as your boss.

A scapegoat for you to write your correspondence letters was that you simply had to stay late on the farm, working extra long hours because of something that was messed up, or because you knew your parents wouldn’t argue with the fact that you were getting more money.

Feeling that you were a decent enough candidate for John to consider since you are working as a farm hand already, you decided to write your first correspondence the next day. Once sent, you received a letter back from him four days later and by god, did he sound like such a gentleman. 

You were able to soon confide in him on how you wanted to leave town, start fresh, but stick with what you know since you did work on the well-known “Loyal Laswell Farm,” and help out around their farmhouse with common jobs such as sewing, cooking, and even making a dirty barn looked organized- a man’s dream spouse.

With only two weeks passing and less than a handful of letters to be traded, you already had money and an open invitation to John’s ranch. Through your correspondence, John stated that he had already known of Kate Laswell, her having been a long ago buyer from him and even she had sought out advice on taking care of her lambs long ago. 

John connected the dots and realized that you were the trusty youngling that she hired early on; He already trusted your morale if Laswell had kept you after all this time. (And if Laswell did gloat about you once in a while, that was a secret between her and John.) After finding out about the mutual connection, you confided in her. 

Kate, already knowing of your family’s vices, was pleasantly surprised by your major turn of life events and how quickly your fate had been granted to you in the form of Price. She made sure your head was screwed on straight enough that if it didn’t work out, you could mail her and she would help you figure it out from there…

Kate’s wife chimed in and said you and Price would be a great fit.

The two women gave their aid to you in the form of gifting you your favorite horse to ride off on during your long journey. You only brought a handful of items from your parent's house, slowly, and used the remaining amounts of wardrobe you kept at the farm to pack up. With two bags packed and some food, feed, a gun being courtesy of Laswell’s wife, and a celebratory pack of cigars for John (Kate’s wedding gift), you were on your way. 

It only took you a week by horseback, luckily traveling near the Oregon Trail that had already had sorted paths cleared and lived-in, you only needed to stop when you and your horse did. You were able to send John updated letters, but were not able to receive them due to constantly being on the move. This left you daydreaming about him.

John wrote that he is originally from Deadwood, South Dakota. He comes from a long line of lawmen and followed in their footsteps in his early adult life. However, as John became sheriff and notorious for his hardened but fair demeanor, he began to see the justice system slip through the cracks right in front of him. Murderers would walk away and many left unjustly prosecuted in other cases. It angered and dwelled on him so much that he retired early on. John soon found his solace in the quiet mountain town of Pitkin, Colorado. John describes himself as a proud man who is protective and respectful, an old soul who loves his whiskey - and is looking for his strawberry wine. He is a weathered man who can fix any problems of yours, all at the cost of a shoulder to lean on and someone to spend the rest of his days with.

Coming into Pitkin, it brings forth a small town nestled within luscious green mountains and a strip of shops down the main road that highlights most of the town's activity. Riding through, you were an obvious sight to be had; a new face set out on a horse with minimal bags packed on the back. You didn’t seem like a traveler, no, you seemed like someone who was on a mission to find something- someone. 

Smiling and giving small nods towards those who stare, your cheeks have a faint blush from the attention as you ride down the strip and toward the end of the town. Soon, the signs have a label of a bull, a common connotation of a ranch, causing you to garner up a bit more hope and hold your head high as you click your horse into a canter. 

The sound of your horse's hooves thundering on the ground cannot beat the thrum of your heart; riding over the hill, you’re greeted with a breathtaking view of the Alpine mountains that dip into a valley with an absurd amount of leveled planes that make you believe the land was spread flat by an inviting entity. Your eyes come into focus on small black dots that move before you make out to be the shape of cattle grazing across the green and flowing grass.

There sits a house atop the hill that is before the dip of the valley, where a fence surrounds a large barn that is directly adjacent to the house. You bring your horse to a slow walk as you take in the view of the wooden house; it's a cabin-styled home but large in the additions that have been formed around the sides, making it one of the bigger houses in town. The barn rivals its size by double, and the open stalls along the side let you glimpse into the hay-filled homes of horses that linger near the fences. You have to do a double take when you see movement in the barn that is all too human-like, then pulling the reigns of your horse once a few feet away from the entrance to stop and watch. 

A man stands, low grunts leaving him as he stretches his back before grabbing a hay bayle and beginning to break it up. He wears a worn-out pair of jeans and a cowboy hat as his low whistling breaks the silence between the surrounding horses neighing at your new appearance. In an instant, you know immediately this is John.

To your surprise, your horse greets the others in a sharp jeer of noise, causing him to turn around in surprise his eyes dart up at you.

For a second, you’re humored at the look he gives, not expecting something so sweet as you to ride into his ranch and most likely expecting someone within the town to come to bother him. 

But in an instant, he knows exactly who you are. 

After his shock wears off, he sets down the hay and reaches up to take his cowboy hat off and place it on his chest as he walks toward you. Letting out a low whistle, his eyes roam over you with an enamored stare. “God was just showin’ off when he made you, sweetheart.” Comes the low timbre of his voice, sending a small fire of desire shimmying through your vertebrae. 

A soft smile graces your face in return, halting your horse for the time being as he comes up to you. “Good morning sir, would I be right to assume that you are John Price, the owner of this ranch?” You ask after a moment of your eyes trailing over him, taking in his face and ice-blue eyes while he approaches to help you down from your horse.

“That I am, Sweetheart. And I suppose you’re the one that I’ve been lookin’ so forward to meetin’, that right?” He asks in return, a small smirk taking his lips while he helps you lower down from the saddle. You smile at the extended hand, taking it as you swing your opposite leg out of the stirrup while feeling the touch of his other hand coming to caress your hip in a gentle fashion.

"I hope you've been as comfortable as one can be on a week-long ride," John comments softly, keeping his hand on you once you're firmly planted on the ground as his eyes scan you from head to toe. "How you feelin’?" He asks sweetly, now finding your eyes with genuine affection in his tone.

In response to his lingering touch on your hip, and feeling it travel to your waist with a brief squeeze before he lets it fall, you give him a small squeeze of the hand you're holding to. “Not too shabby; was able to get a room a few of the nights along the way. I’m thankful for the good weather I had while getting here.” You respond as you shift your saddle-sore hips for a moment and reorient your limbs to standing. 

"You're not so shabby yourself, sweet thing'." He compliments softly as he releases you, then grabs your horse’s bridle and releases the bit before attaching his own lead to it, and a small feeling of surprise crosses your mind at how easily he handles new horses. Then, gesturing for you to follow him. "Come on. Let me show you around." John leads with comfortable confidence, letting your horse sniff him while leading him to an open stall with some water and feed. 

“Thank you for letting me bring my stallion here, Laswell gifted him to me when I was sayin’ goodbye. Said you may remember him from when he was a foal?” You prompt with a tilt of curiosity at the edge of your words while you join them in the stall to unload your bags and take the saddle off.

Looking back towards him, his eyes are looking over the horse for any identifiers, hints that would make him remember. “Not quite sure I remember this one, sweetheart. He got a name?” John asks in response once finished doing a sweepdown of his mane and a quick swipe of his hair coat.

“Laswell said he’s always been named Captain.” You answer curtly, now looking to see his reaction, if any.

It takes a moment for you to narrow in on the way the left side of his mustache twitches slightly before he breaks out into an all-out smile. “Well, I’ll be damned…” John trails out as he moves back towards Captain's head.

His blue eyes shine in the light of the barn windows, meeting yours for a moment while a boyish charm takes over his face. “This slick bastard got you all the way over to me?” John speaks with a gruffness that intertwines with amusement; the way his hands move to rub over the horse's forehead and nose showcases a glimpse of a gentle side reserved for his animals.

As you scrunch your eyebrows up in confusion, John catches your expression and gives a hearty chuckle in response. “I helped birth this one the day that Kate came up here to buy some lambs. Her wife was cryin’, thinking that him and his momma were gonna die.” He answers before moving to give Captain a pat on his chest, a huff of his breath coming out in response. 

“He had both him’s front legs back during contractions. Had to help the mare by pushing his fat head on in to get him to readjust. Kate and her wife saw the whole thing.” He finishes with a hum and a distant look in his eyes only for a second, now coming back to your side and picking up a bag of yours.

“This all you got? Woulda expected a bit more from a woman movin' out west, especially to the cold mountains.” He states with a cocked eyebrow, eyeing as you bend down to hoist the remaining bag over your shoulder. You both give Captain a farewell tap before exiting the stall and heading towards Johns's house.

You wait on replying for a moment as you take a longer look at the structure, noting the wooden panels that exude a warm and weathered patina, a testament to the house's endurance against the harsh elements of the wild. The front features a symmetrical facade, with a steeply pitched gable roof that displays a combination of wooden shingles and iron accents. Windows are evenly placed on the front-facing sides of the house, and shutters open to allow glimpses into the inside.

“Didn’t have a lot to bring if I’m being honest. Just packed up what I liked and wanted, then left.” You answer with a confident nod, leaving it at that. “I did plan on finding some new or old fabrics to start making winter coats for myself.” You add on quickly, thinking over how quickly the chill must set in within the mountain valley.

You follow John onto the front porch of the house, “Ah, you do some of that fancy work or just plain work?” He inquires while gesturing for you to step inside the entrance. You’re greeted by a spacious entryway, designed to be practical and modest. The floors, made of polished wide planks, creak softly under the added weight of yourself next to John, a new soul to provide protection to in the house.

To the front of the entryway, is his living room, its centerpiece being a grand stone fireplace, providing warmth and comfort during the chilly evenings. Leather upholstered furniture invites warmth to the house, and you can see a good amount of hides used as a rug and even a throw blanket over the couch, while ornate coffee cans and some intricately shaped vases linger around the surfaces. 

The sound of your mouth opening and closing resonates in the silence of you two standing there before John shuts the door softly behind you and ultimately snaps you out of your daze. “Um, just some plain work. Never had the time or materials to work on some fancy clothes, would rather make things I know I’m gonna use.” You answer while moving to face adjacent to where he stands in front of the door.

His eyes track your own as your attention comes back to rest on him, a small smirk tugging on the edge of his mouth. With a quick laugh, he moves to place his left hand along your back, his cold fingers sliding to the place between your shoulders. “Welcome home, Sweetheart.” He smiles while speaking softly, leaning over to place a light kiss atop your head. 

When he moves back from your space, which you want to ultimately follow as you feel his warmth radiate next to you and already adore the way his voice dips impossibly lower when speaking so gently, his hand slides down to the small of your back and gives a small tap to lead you forward. “Come on, let's get you settled in.” He beckons you while walking to a door that is adjacent to the entrance.

Walking in, John’s bedroom exudes a haven, signifying his rest and relaxation at the end of the day. The warm, earthy tones of the wood and furniture create an internal warmth, in contrast to the view of the surrounding mountains of green and glimpse over the cattle that wander the land, the windows laden with lace curtains.

The bed was the average size for the master bedroom; The double bed sat its headboard against the wall to the right of the entrance, facing the windows. A large red quilt adorns the bed while the bed itself is a robust wooden frame with upright pieces of carved and sanded wood posted taller at each corner of the bed.

In the corner is another stone fireplace, where an armchair sits to serve as a place for John to unwind, read a book, or reflect on the day. A well-worn wooden dresser stands against one wall, its surface adorned with a few cherished mementos - a faded photograph of him on a horse, a weathered pocket watch that has seen countless sunsets, and a small collection of polished rocks, each one possibly a reminder of a special moment.

"It's not much." He pauses before speaking again, his tone becoming more personal. "And I'd love to have you share my bed when you're comfortable. However, if you need time to adjust, I can set myself up in the living room. I don't wish to pressure you if you're not comfortable yet."

The sweet and respectful offer doesn’t fly over you, and a small smile rises over your lips. “Thank you, John. That’s awfully considerate of everything you’re doing for me. I don’t want to burden you with sleeping on your own couch, I wouldn't mind.” You answer while slowly walking to the dresser, placing your bag down by the foot of it.

“It may take a few days to adjust and get to know you, but-” you take a second to turn around and look at his form with a small shy smile, “I don’t think I’ll keep you waiting long.” You finish as a soft blush rises to the apples of your cheeks. Your hands come to interlace together in the front of your lap as his heavy footsteps make their way towards you with a bright smile that borders a smirk.

He stops in front of you, holding eye contact as he places your other bag down. “Ain’t no way in hell I’d be letting you sleep on the couch, sweetheart. But, I do look forward to hearing your answer. When you’re ready for it.” He speaks in a gruff voice, eyebrows raised to make sure you're taking his answer to heart and understanding, his warm hands moving to enclose both of yours within his grasp.

Bringing your hands up to his lips, you watch with rapt attention at his mouth puckering and in turn, making his facial hair move in the action, then leaving a warm and gentle kiss on the back of each hand.

His eyes don’t stray from yours while doing so, his blue eyes bring an inviting wave of ice- the kind you actively seek when you’re feeling too hot or need to wake up. “Now, how about I show you the rest of the ranch, babydoll?” He asks with a soft grin, pulling you just a fraction closer by the grip of your hands.

[norinenglish]

Stardew Rancher AU - Intro cutscene

Here's my first piece for the Stardew AU challenge.

If you want to take part too, use the #traffic stardew au tag (You can also use the banner I made). On my blog, I will be using #stardew ranchers au as well.

The writing is under the cut.

>> Next Part

I hate this life.

Jimmy doesn’t remember a day in the last year he has not thought this. He’s staring at a computer screen, as he has been for the last seven hours, when it hits him. He hates this life. In fact, it could barely be qualified as a life. 

He misses nature. Running around in the grass, playing, talking to people… He turns his head around to look at the window, but there isn’t even any on the office walls. He looks around him and only sees rows and rows of cubicles with other lifeless people slaving all day. The clicking of keyboards and mouths, the buzzing of the neon lights, it’s all too much.

I can’t stand it anymore, he thinks to himself. I need a way out.

Suddenly, he remembers a conversation he had with his grandpa, when he was young, about the burden of modern life. He hadn’t really realised what it had meant before today. Jimmy, like his parents, had dismissed it as the stubbornness of an old man who was made to live in the countryside. But it must have stayed on the back of his mind, because he kept the letter. 

In fact… 

He opens the drawer of his desk and there it is. A fancy old letter with a fancy purple seal. 

(He’s definitely not going to think about the fact that he kept it in his drawer at work and the possible implication of that. Nope.)

With shaky hands, he breaks the seal and opens it. The swoosh of the paper unfolding is the loudest sound he’s ever heard in his life. 

The letter says: 

Dear Jimmy, 

If you’re reading this, you must be in dire need of a change.

The same thing happened to me, long ago. I’d lost sight of what mattered most in life… real connections with other people and nature. So I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belong. 

I’ve enclosed the deed to that place… my pride and joy: The Ranch. It’s located in Stardew Valley, on the southern coast. It’s the perfect place to start your new life. 

This was my most precious gift of all, and now it’s yours. I know you’ll honour the family name, my boy. Good luck. 

Love, Grandpa. 

PS: If the Sherrif is still alive say hi to the old guy for me, will ya? 

He puts the letter down and looks up at the ceiling for a second. 

In all the emptiness he feels, it’s like he’s just grown wing. 

🌿 loading🌿

The bus startles to a stop and Jimmy wakes up. 

“Pelican Town!” The driver screams. 

Jimmy looks around. There’s no else on anymore. He quickly grabs his travel bag and gets out. He says his thanks to the bus driver who just hums unhappily. Guess he really didn’t want to go that far out for just one person. 

On the side of the road is just a small clearing, with broken fences and dirt path. Someone is waiting for him, though. A man with cyan blue hair and an easygoing smile. 

“Hello, you must be Jimmy,” he sayswith a cheerful voice. “I’m Scott, the local florist. Mayor Grian sent me here to fetch you and show you the way to your new home. He’s there right now, tidying things up for your arrival.”

It takes a second for Jimmy to find his words. The reality of what he’s done hitting him finally. He quit his job. He moved out of his appartment. He sold his things and bought a ticket for this small town in the middle of nowhere to become a farmer. 

“Nice to meet you, Scott,” he says after swallowing. “I…”

Gosh, he cannot screw this up. This isn’t like in the city. The people he meets are going to be the community he’s going to live with. He wants to make a good impression. 

Scott smiles, tilting his head to the side. He looks Jimmy up and down with mischief in his eyes in a way that makes Jimmy blush a little. He must be tired. 

“The farm’s right over here, if you’ll follow me.”

Jimmy nods and follows him on the dirt path until they reach an area with a… house. Supposedly. 

“This is the Ranch,” Scott announces, waving his arm around to show the land that stretches before them.. 

The Ranch is an old building made out of wood. It looks like it’s been built in the last century. The farmland around, which was included in Scott’s gesture, is littered with some kind of forest. There are different types of trees, dead wood on the ground, bushes, and even some rocks! Is this really the farm his grandfather loved ? 

“What’s the matter?” Scott asks in a light voice. He’s got his arms crossed in front of him and an air of challenge about him. “Sure, it’s a bit overgrown, but there’s some good soil underneath that mess! With a little dedication, you’ll have it cleaned up in no time.”

He turns back towards the house itself. Jimmy notes that there’s plenty of firewood on the side of the house. Someone must have stacked it for him. That thought settles in his chest, fluttering like a bird. He won’t sleep in the cold tonight, and that’s thanks to strangers. 

“... And here we are, your new home,” Scott says. 

Just like his words summoned him, a man opens the door and gets down the few steps of his porch to stop in front of them. He pulls the sleeves of his red sweater back to his writs and offers his hand to Jimmy. 

“Ah, the new farmer! Welcome, I’m Grian, the Mayor of Pelican Town.”

Jimmy shakes his hand and introduces himself. Grian nods, seemingly satisfied. 

“You know, everyone’s been asking about you. It’s not every day that someone new moves in. It’s quite a big deal.” He turns to look back at the house. “So… you’re moving into your grandfather’s old cottage. It’s a good house… very ‘rustic’.”

“Rustic?” Scott chimes in. “That’s one way to put it… ‘Crusty’ might be a little more apt, though.”

“Rude,” Grian says under his breath, his eyebrows frowning. “Don’t listen to him, Jimmy. He’s just trying to make you dissatisfied so that you buy one of Gem’s house upgrades.”

“Gem?” Jimmy asks.

“She’s the local carpenter. She lives north of the valley, near the mountain.”

Gem, the local carpenter. Jimmy tries to mentally catalogue. She makes house upgrades.  He turns his eyes towards Scott. He doesn’t remember if he said what he was doing. 

“Anyway… You must be tired from the long journey,” Grian says, looking back at the house. “You should get some rest. Tomorrow you ought to explore the town a bit and introduce yourself. The townspeople would appreciate that.”

He turns to leave and sees the box placed next to the mailbox. 

 “Oh, I almost forgot. If you have anything to sell, just place it in the box here. I’ll come by during the night to collect it. Well… Good luck!”

They are gone before Jimmy can really say anything else. But it might be for the better, because he’s exhausted. 

“I’m here,” he says to no one. Maybe to himself. Or maybe to his grandfather. 

Going into the house is a blurr. He barely have time to register the small table with one chair, the fireplace that was lit up for him and the bed. He just melts into the mattress and passes out.

[kingofbodyrolls]

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | one

🐴Chapter summary: You arrive back at the ranch, a place you used to call home as a child. But it doesn’t hold the same meaning anymore. With the passing of your mother, you stand to inherit part of that very ranch– and you don’t want it. Only problem, your sister doesn’t want to give you her signature for you to sell your share. 🐴Chapter title: Inheritance 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: mention of past character death of parents, exhibitionism, explicit smut in the form of protected sex, quick and dirty sex, doing it against a barn, creampie, nipple play, clit play. Doing it in public / outside. Mention of past infidelity (of parents). Spoiler ahead!!! Jungkook and Jimin are (half) brothers and reader sleeping with JK is necessary to happen for the sake of the plot 🥲 It sucked to write that part, and if you feel like the smut if ‘eh’ it’s because it was written that way because reader isn’t meant to be with JK! So, please, don’t let that discourage you from reading it, the rest of the story is really good and MC realizes she’s made a mistake… anyway the smut with Jimin when it eventually happen, is just 🥵🥵🥵 🐴Status: completed 🥳 🐴Word count: 8.2k 🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog @kiki-zb @babejinnie @ownthesunshine @allie-is-a-panda @glllhjh @bergandysam @13-manggaetteok

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Theme from McLeod’s Daughters” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: this story has been in my head forever, and I’ve spent months outlining it and planning it– so I’m so stoked to finally post it! 🥳 I love both McLeod’s Daughters and BTS, so why not combine it?? I am not sure anybody will read this story, but if you do, thank you! It truly means the world to me. 

I also want to give a very big thank you and shout out to my dear friend, Lua, for reading it while I worked on it, hyping me up and giving me such fucking wonderful feedback 😭✨ Thank you so much @letjungcoook7 💖🥹

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

| s.masterlist | m.masterlist |  next →

“I said, I wanna touch the earth I wanna break it in my hands I wanna grow something wild and unruly I wanna sleep on the hard ground In the comfort of your arms On a pillow of bluebonnets In a blanket made of stars Oh, it sounds good to me I said, cowboy take me away Fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue Set me free, oh, I pray” - “Cowboy Take Me Away” by The Chicks

The tires of your car dig into the unforgiving dirt road with a tenacious grip as you navigate the rugged terrain. A symphony of sand and dust dances before the windshield, yet your focus remains unyielding. The landscape is open and inviting, yet there’s tall mountains in the distance framing the idyllic nature. 

The pulsating beat of the music reverberates through the vehicle, echoing the determination coursing through your veins. Your fingers tighten around the wheel, your resolve unshakable. 

Amidst the chaotic whirlwind outside, you're on a singular quest: to get your sister’s signature to sell your share of the ranch.

You yearn to sever all ties with the place. 

It's not a matter of hatred, per se, but rather an aversion steeped in memories you'd rather forget. 

The grounds echo with a tapestry of recollections, most of which cling like shadows to the recesses of your mind—a gallery of moments you're desperate to erase from the canvas of your past.

The passing of your mother, a woman absent from your life for over two decades, casts a melancholic hue over this reunion, that leaves much to be desired.

Separated by the passage of years, your sister remains a distant specter on the horizon of your past. A chapter of familial connection was abruptly closed when your father took you away from the ranch during your formative years, the sprawling fields replaced by the relentless rhythm of the city. 

The city, with its towering structures and ceaseless energy, has woven itself into the fabric of your existence. Amidst the hustle, the stress, the eclectic cafes, and the teeming crowds, you've found a peculiar treasure trove of experiences that pulse through your veins like a vibrant heartbeat. The city's flaws, laid bare like urban scars, only deepen your affection for its complex tapestry, making each chaotic street corner and neon-lit club a cherished fragment in the mosaic of your life.

As an undesired song infiltrates your playlist, you find yourself questioning its very existence on your curated soundtrack. 

Swiftly, you dismiss its intrusion, replacing its notes with the growling intensity of a much angrier anthem. 

The need for focus on this mission is paramount, an unyielding commitment that not even the persuasive tones of Jessi, with all her influence, can sway or alter.

A familiar sign with your family’s last name emerges on the horizon, unleashing a flood of memories from an idyllic childhood—filled with the echoes of hide-and-seek, the warmth of love, and the harmonious symphony of laughter—that paints both your irises and your heart in hues of nostalgia. 

Yet, as your fingers instinctively clench around the steering wheel, you staunchly refuse to be swayed by the emotional undertow. Determination courses through your veins, a steadfast resolve not to let sentiment cloud the clarity of your purpose.

With a resolute spirit, you navigate the winding road that leads to the ranch. 

As the familiar landscape unfurls before you, a creeping uneasiness takes root within the recesses of your being. Despite the passage of two decades, the ranch appears frozen in time, an unchanged picture that sends shivers down your spine. The unsettling familiarity of the place only amplifies the weight of the past, casting a shadow over your determined journey back to a place that seems to have resisted the relentless march of time.

Bringing the car to a halt before the imposing main house, you silence the engine with a decisive twist of the key. A heavy sigh escapes your lips, mingling with the weight of anticipation that hangs in the air. Inhaling deeply, you draw in the essence of the moment, your fingers betraying a nervous rhythm as they tap anxiously against the steering wheel. 

The stillness belies the turmoil surging within, as you ready yourself to encounter the ghost of your past.

A mere thirty minutes— an hour at most, and you'll resume your journey on the open road, bound for the comfort of home in the city. 

Determination courses through your veins, intertwining with the staccato rhythm of your anxious heartbeat, the pulsations reverberating so forcefully that you can sense them echoing all the way to the depths of your ears. 

The moment your car door swings open, a subtle shift in the wind whispers a tale of transformation. The landscape may echo familiarity, but an intangible alteration lingers in the air, an elusive metamorphosis that leaves you questioning the very essence of this place. Is it a mere illusion, or has something truly shifted, perhaps within the confines of your own soul? 

Navigating the uneven terrain in heels proves to be a challenge, but undeterred, you conquer the dirt road and arrive at the tall front door. It stands before you, a sentinel of memories, somehow appearing taller than in recollection. The weathered, dark-red wooden door remains stoically unchanged, a silent witness to the passage of time. 

Two deliberate knocks break the stillness, and you retreat a step, a reverberation of anticipation coursing through the air as you stand on the threshold of both the past and the unknown.

The door frame, once pristine in its white coat, now bears the scars of time, its paint chipped and revealing glimpses of the weathered wood beneath. 

Stationed in front of the door, you endure a suspenseful five minutes, an eternity compressed into every passing second, yet the silence remains unbroken. Undeterred by the absence of response, a resolute determination guides your actions as you seize the handle. With a deliberate press, the handle yields, surrendering to your resolve and releasing a cacophony of creaks—a symphony of protesting hinges announcing your entrance into the realm of memories.

“Hello?” 

Your voice, tinged with uncertainty, dances into the air as you cautiously poke your head through the threshold, a hesitant entry into the familiar realms of the house. 

A gentle warmth envelops you, tenderly kissing your skin and infusing an instant sense of calm. The scent, aged and rich, swirls around you like a tangible embrace of wood and cherished memories from your childhood. The hallway stretches out before you, adorned with snapshots frozen in time—images of you and Jessi playing in the fields, your first pony, and a cherished trio with your mom. Each picture pulses with the erratic beat of your heart, echoing the palpable journey down the corridor of reminiscence. Amidst this gallery of the past, you navigate the tapestry of nostalgia, your destination set on what memory deems to be the kitchen.

The staccato clank of your heels resonates boldly against the unpolished hardwood floor, a deliberate announcement of your presence that reverberates through the silent expanse as you press deeper into the heart of the kitchen. Despite the resounding echo, a mysterious absence lingers, the emptiness amplifying the solitude within the room, a poignant contrast to the persistent cadence of your steps.

Surveying the scene, your eyes capture the delicate dance of white curtains adorned with lace, their elegance offering a stark contrast to the weathered state of the kitchen. Time has etched its story on the cabinets, pleading for a rejuvenating touch—perhaps a cleansing and a new coat of color to breathe life into the tired, faded cream. A wistful smile graces your lips, an emotive response to the tactile connection forged as your fingers trace the countertop. The surface, a touch dusty yet evocative, sparks an odd familiarity, transporting you to a realm of forgotten times and the comforting essence of what was once home.

A sudden voice startles you from your reverie, its unexpected presence slicing through the air like a well-timed interruption in the symphony of memories. 

“Can I help you?”

A jolt courses through your body, a startled response to the abrupt intrusion of the voice, yet you pivot on your heels, meeting the owner of the enigmatic, yet somehow airy, tones. 

In the face of the unexpected presence, you lock eyes with the source, a meeting that feels like a convergence of past and present, each heartbeat resonating with the electric charge surging through your body.

A nervous chuckle escapes you, the residue of your earlier determination dissipating in the charged air as you assess the man standing before you. 

His eyes, a deep and authoritative brown, lock onto yours, unraveling a silent narrative in their depths. Blonde and untamed, his long hair falls with a disheveled grace, framing a face that exudes both strength and mystery. His slender physique conceals well-defined, lean muscles beneath the snug embrace of a gray shirt, each contour subtly hinting at the strength within. Clad in blue denim jeans with artful rips at the bottom, and adorned with chunky western boots boasting intricate ornaments, he carries an aura of rugged elegance. 

“Can I help you?” he repeats, the query hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge. 

Crossing his arms over a torso that amplifies the definition of his biceps, his deliberate posture commands attention, drawing your gaze to the undeniable display of strength.

“I’m so sorry,” you quip nervously, a hint of self-awareness coloring your tone. Inwardly, you curse the fact that you were caught in the act of checking him out, and you’ve yet to acknowledge the man properly. “I’m looking for Jessi?”

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes the man, accompanied by a soft smile that carries a subtle mystique, rendering his eyes nearly elusive. 

“Who are you?” he inquires, his arms still defiantly crossed, and a flicker of realization dawns upon you—this interaction holds a peculiar tension. The awareness sets in that, in essence, you are an intruder, a stranger trespassing into the intimate space of a home that isn’t yours anymore. 

“I'm Jessi's sister,” you declare, a succinct introduction that hangs in the air. His response is a simple “Oh,” a word that resonates with a spectrum of unspoken sentiments. 

As his arms fall to his sides, his posture eases into a more relaxed stance, and his gaze, now unhindered by the barricade of crossed arms, traverses the contours of your figure. Your choice of attire—heels and a summer dress that daringly grazes your thighs—doesn't escape his notice. 

You sense his eyes lingering on your exposed legs for a beat longer than societal norms might deem appropriate.

You find yourself unapologetically appreciating his attractiveness, recognizing the allure that binds both of you in a silent dance of mutual fascination.

“You don't remember me?” 

His question pierces through the air, catching you off guard, and instinctively, you lean back against the countertop. A subtle shake of your head accompanies the inquiry, and as you witness a shadow of sadness flicker across his eyes, an unexpected weight sinks into the chambers of your heart. The unspoken question lingers—should you know this man?

“It's me, Jimin,” he asserts with a voice steeped in pride and certainty, a declaration that sets your mind into a whirlwind of attempted recollection. His name resonates with a familiarity that dances on the periphery of your memory, like an elusive wisp slipping through the cracks of forgotten moments. 

“Park?” 

You question with a voice that wavers in uncertainty, the mere utterance of the name carrying the weight of a fragile hope. As the word escapes your lips, you cling to the fragile threads of memory, desperately seeking confirmation that you've pieced together the puzzle of identity correctly.

“Yeah! Don't you remember? We played together when we were kids,” he chuckles warmly, the nostalgia of shared memories evident in his eyes.  

With a warm gesture, he invites you to take a seat, a silent acknowledgment of the intricacies of your shared history. As he crosses the room to the sink, a subtle limp marks his stride—a detail you keenly observe as you pull out a chair. Your curiosity about his altered gait tugs at your thoughts, begging for expression, yet you restrain the impulse, deeming it too forward. Silently, you observe him reaching for a glass from the overhead cabinet, pouring water with a practiced ease. 

“Here you go,” he offers, placing the glass before you. As you take it, your fingers brush momentarily, and an unexpected electric jolt courses through your body. You respond with a sheepish smile, expressing gratitude for the simple gesture. “Jessi is out riding; she'll be back soon.” 

You nod, the cool touch of the glass against your lips serving as a momentary distraction from the impending wait. As you take a measured sip of water, the realization sinks in — a quiet acknowledgment that the road back home may stretch longer than initially anticipated.

“I'm sorry about your mom,” he offers his condolences, and a palpable pain reflects in his eyes. The depth of his empathy hints at a connection with your mother that might surpass your own or perhaps, he carries the weight of loss in his own experiences. Regardless, you express gratitude, but as you do, a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders accompanies your words. “It's whatever,” you say, attempting to downplay the complexity of emotions that linger beneath the surface, yet the weight of grief echoes in the unspoken spaces between you.

He offers a minuscule smile, a mere flicker that fails to reach the depths of his eyes, and a subtle shift in the atmosphere becomes palpable. A quiet tension weaves through the kitchen, the air thickening with unspoken complexities. It's as if the very walls themselves have become sentient, closing in with a slow and deliberate intent, creating an immersive sense of confinement that mirrors the unexplored territories of emotions lingering between you and Jimin.

The rhythmic clank of boots announces her arrival before she materializes in the doorway — Jessi, a force of raw determination, a cascade of muttered curse words trailing in her wake. 

With an aura of purpose, she strides into the kitchen, a whirlwind of energy that disrupts the tension-laden air.

“Aren't you supposed to be working?” she demands, a subtle undercurrent of anger weaving through her voice as her gaze fixes on Jimin. 

You sense that you've slipped beneath her radar for now. Jimin responds with a casual chuckle, turning his head in your direction. In that moment, you feel the weight of her steel gaze bore into you.

You observe the subtle tensing of her body, her gaze meticulously scrutinizing every inch of you. Arms crossed defensively, she acknowledges your presence with a guarded stance. 

“Long time no see. What do you want?” The words, delivered with an edge that slices through the air, reverberate with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, embodying the complex web of emotions that intertwine your shared history.

Your lips involuntarily tighten, the already tense atmosphere escalating to an almost suffocating degree as Jessi's presence intensifies. A rhythmic tapping of her foot reverberates through the room, an erratic metronome that hints at a cocktail of emotions—perhaps nervousness, perhaps anger, the fine line between the two eluding your understanding. 

“The inheritance,” you utter, and a visible transformation sweeps over Jessi. Her countenance, already frosty, plunges into an even colder abyss. The pallor that washes over her skin accentuates the darkness of her brown, curly hair, transforming it into a cascade that seems to absorb the shadows of her perturbed soul.

A nervous gulp echoes in the charged silence, your attempt to fortify a wavering resolve. The mission is clear — secure her signature, liberate yourself, and sever the lingering ties. The weight of unspoken history and familial complexities hangs in the air, urging you to complete this fraught encounter, hoping that once the ink meets the paper, you’ll leave and never bother her again.

“I want to sell my share of the ranch. I just need your signature.”

The declaration hangs in the charged air, a revelation that sends a ripple through the room. Jimin tenses visibly, gaping in clear surprise at your bold proclamation. Your sister, on the other hand, is barely faring any better. The undercurrents of anger surge to the surface, a tempest of emotions that bobs precariously, threatening to breach the veneer of composure that barely holds. 

She hisses, the sound cutting through the charged silence like a serpent's warning, and grinds her teeth together with a simmering intensity. “You're not getting that,” she declares with a venomous resolve, the words laced with an unmistakable determination that resonates with the unyielding clash of wills in the room. 

The sternness and anger in her voice reverberate through the room, creating an invisible barrier. Undeterred, you summon a quiet resolve and press forward, attempting to cut through the emotional tempest that surrounds her. “I just need your signature, and then I can go,” your words, a delicate plea amidst the tumultuous clash of emotions, hang in the air, a fragile bridge between the chasm of familial discord and the resolution you seek.

She strides purposefully towards you, anger etching furrows into her brows. Coming to a halt just before your seated form, she looms over you with a fiery intensity in her eyes. 

“No. Get the fuck out,” she commands, the force behind her words reverberating in the charged space between you. The air crackles with the energy of unresolved conflicts, and her words hang in the air like a proclamation, leaving no room for negotiation.

Jimin's expression no longer holds surprise, his features now marked by a disapproving shake of his head. As Jessi retreats from you, turning with a storm brewing in her wake, the kitchen becomes an echoing chamber of unresolved tensions. She storms out, leaving you and Jimin in the wake of her departure, the remnants of conflict lingering in the air like an unspoken presence that refuses to dissipate. 

You clench your hands into tight fists, the physical manifestation of the internal turmoil that courses through you. The realization dawns, like a belated epiphany, that her vehement reaction was all but predictable. A heavy sigh escapes your lips, and you slump back into the chair, the weight of disappointment settling upon you like a shroud. This isn't unfolding as you had envisioned.

The wind whips through, mercilessly tossing your hair into a chaotic dance across your face. Grumbling, you navigate the exterior of the main house, entering a realm where nature and grandeur coalesce. The yard unfolds before you, a testament to meticulous care, stretching expansively with paddocks extending for miles. To the left, a substantial stable stands as a regal sentinel, while to the right, three cottages punctuate the landscape.

Your gaze sweeps across the panoramic expanse, capturing the undulating beauty of the paddocks that cascade over the hills while the sun slowly sets. Cows and horses graze lazily, mere dots in the vast canvas of the countryside. The scene unfolds before you like a living painting, each blade of grass, each creature contributing to the symphony of nature. Amidst this serene image, you find yourself standing at the crossroads of contemplation, pondering the labyrinth of decisions that now lay before you.

Jessi won’t give you her signature, and you need her damn ink on that paper to be able to sell your share of the ranch.

Maybe if you get on her good side, she’ll reconsider? It’s worth a try at least.

“Hi,” a lilting female voice disrupts the current of your thoughts, a melodic intrusion that yanks you back from the recesses of contemplation. Your pivot is swift, attention now redirected to the stranger who has materialized behind you.

Her hand extends gracefully towards you, a gesture that transcends the usual formalities. “I'm Soo-ah, one of the stable hands here,” she introduces herself with an easy confidence, her words resonating with a sense of belonging and familiarity within the expansive realm of the ranch.

“Ah, hi,” you muse with a soft smile, extending a handshake that bridges the gap between stranger and newfound acquaintance. Her stature is modest, a curvature of curves, with a disarming smile that reveals a charming imperfection in the form of endearing crooked teeth. Clad in short denim shorts adorned with delicate white lace on the trim and a pink tank top, she exudes an aura of comfort and warmth. Her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of blue, gleam with a radiance that speaks of love and hope, amplified by the contrast against her sun-kissed tan skin.

“Your trip didn't go according to plan?” she inquires, the gentle cadence of her question accompanied by the sweep of a hand, gracefully gathering her long blonde hair away from her face. 

A chuckle escapes you, accompanied by a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders, as you confess, “Not really.”

“You know, this place means a lot to Jessi. It's her home. She wouldn't want you to sell your share for some random people to buy it or worse, use the land for housing or something.” Her eyes mirror the softness of her words, and a gentle smile graces her lips, a gesture that carries an unexpected soothing effect on your conflicted heart. 

The weight of her words settles on your conscience, a realization you had secretly dreaded. You grasp the depth of your sister's emotional connection to this land, an affection you once shared but have since outgrown. The prospect of selling your share, allowing strangers to lay claim to the cherished homestead, unfolds before you, and you acknowledge why Jessi vehemently opposes it. Yet, your heart remains indifferent to the sentimental ties that bind others to this place. It ceased being home long ago, and the notion of it ever regaining that status in your life appears as elusive as a distant memory fading into the horizon.

“Say what. It's late, and dinner's almost ready. Why don't you come eat with us and meet the rest of the gang? After that, I'll show you one of the guest rooms!” Her invitation resonates with a contagious enthusiasm, her voice exuding a warmth that almost verges on giddy. The surge of energy she emanates feels almost overwhelming, a stark contrast to the subdued atmosphere that has accompanied your arrival.

“I haven't packed anything. I didn't plan on staying…” you mumble, your words trailing off into the evening breeze. Despite your half-hearted protest, she seizes your hand and playfully pulls you towards the main house. Reluctance threads through your steps, a tangible resistance to the unexpected detour that fate seems to be orchestrating. 

“There's a guest room in the house, and you can borrow some clothes from Jessi or me. Those heels and that dress aren't exactly farm-friendly attire.” She laughs, a melody of warmth that resonates through the short walk to the house. Soo-ah guides you to the guest room where you'll be spending the night, and then you both make your way to the kitchen. 

There, you encounter another enchanting presence—a statuesque woman, tall and slender, her ebony hair culminating at her neck. Her eyes, a captivating shade of incredibly dark brown, bordering on obsidian, stand out against her lovely fair white skin. Clad in a simple yet elegant ensemble of a dark t-shirt paired with dark blue denim jeans, she moves gracefully around the kitchen, orchestrating what appears to be a culinary feast in the making. 

“I'm Ha-rin.” A casual wave accompanies her introduction, a seamless dance of gestures as she deftly grabs a handful of vegetables with the other hand.

“This is Jessi's sister,” Soo-ah introduces you with a warm smile, and Ha-rin nods in a gesture that suggests a preexisting understanding. “How can we help?” she inquires, her words carrying a blend of genuine curiosity and an unspoken readiness to extend hospitality. 

“You can set the table. I'm almost done with the food,” she declares, seamlessly transitioning to the task of cutting carrots with a professional speed that leaves you duly impressed.

Soo-ah guides you to the location of plates and glasses, and in a synchronized dance, you both embark on setting the table in the dining room. The collaborative effort carries an unexpected warmth, a departure from the solitary routine you've grown accustomed to. The act of sharing this communal task conjures a sense of nostalgia; it's been a long time since you've partaken in such simple yet meaningful rituals. Your dining experiences have often been solitary, occasionally shared with a partner, although those instances are rare occurrences in the tapestry of your solitary meals.

In no time, Ha-rin completes the culinary masterpiece, presenting a spread of oven-cooked chicken, a colorful assortment of vegetables, and tantalizing kimchi. The table becomes a canvas adorned with the promise of a delectable feast. As you all take your seats, another presence joins the gathering—Ara, a tall woman with big brown eyes and chocolate-brown hair cascading gracefully over her shoulders. Her curves and paler skin distinguish her from Ha-rin, yet she radiates the same warmth that characterizes the group. 

The door swings open, and into the room strides your sister, a pronounced frown etching lines of disapproval on her face the moment her sharp eyes lock onto your figure seated at her dining table. 

“Didn't I tell you to leave?” Her voice cuts through the air, laden with an undeniable tension that hangs like a storm cloud, casting a shadow over the gathering. 

With an exasperated roll of your eyes, you confront the directness that has always characterized Jessi, even if it doesn't always come across as nice. “It's getting dark, and Soo-ah graciously provided me with a room for the night. I'm not leaving until I get your signature,” you assert, the declaration hanging in the air like an unyielding challenge. 

Jessi's voice carries a distinct air of deflation, and it becomes evident that obtaining her signature won't be a victory achieved tonight, if at all. Resigned, she takes her place at the head of the table, a silent acknowledgment of the impasse. 

A stretch of silence envelops the dining room as everyone engages in the act of eating, a temporary truce. However, the calm is shattered as Jessi, unable to contain her emotions any longer, erupts like a dormant volcano. “Why can't you just keep your share of the ranch, huh?” Her words punctuate the air, each question a stab to the atmosphere, accentuated by the forceful plunge of her fork into the unfortunate chicken.

“Honestly?” You draw in a deep breath, preparing for the verbal fallout, fully aware that you've stepped into a minefield. “I just need the money.” The words hang in the air, a stark admission that lays bare your motivations. Jessi's frown deepens, her disapproving expression not eliciting the slightest surprise from you. 

“Why can't you just buy my share?” The words escape you in a frustrated huff, irritation building with each passing moment. Jessi's ability to get on your nerves becomes increasingly evident, a skill she's always excelled at. 

“I don't have the money to buy you out,” she states bluntly, her voice carrying a mix of blankness and anger, turning the tension at the table sour. Your plate, once adorned with the delicious offerings crafted by Ha-rin, now sits neglected, the food losing its appeal in the wake of the strained conversation. What a shame, you think, as the beautifully prepared meal becomes a casualty of the familial clash, and your appetite dissipates like the vanishing aroma of an abandoned feast.

“Why are you so mad at me?” you sputter out in frustration, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to pull at your hair in exasperation. The room echoes with a tense silence, interrupted only by the subtle sound of your sister's scuff, a precursor to the deep inhale that precedes the unleashing of her fury upon you.

“I haven't seen you in twenty years. You stomp in here, wanting to take my home away from me. And you didn't even attend Mom's funeral. Some balls you have.” Her voice is stern, each word laced with venom, and her glare cuts through you like a knife. To punctuate her disapproval, she slams her hands down hard on the table. “I'm going to bed. Goodnight.” 

Then she stomps off. At least she has some manners, you think, acknowledging the begrudging ‘goodnight’ she offered. Nevertheless, you sigh, the rest of the girls casting pitiful glances in your direction.

You lean back in the chair, contemplating the daunting challenge of ever getting on your sister's good side. The prospect seems as elusive as catching a shooting star, an almost impossible mission. Just as you sink into the depths of your thoughts, Ara shatters your contemplation with a beaming smile. “We're having a party tomorrow. Won't you stay for that?”

You take a few seconds to mull over her offer: a party in the countryside does sound intriguing, but the prospect of extended time with a sister who harbors animosity towards you gives you pause. Soo-ah, sensing your hesitation, steps in with a persuasive grin, “There'll be hot men!”

Then, in an instant, thoughts of Jimin flood your mind, and the prospect of his presence at the party becomes a tantalizing factor. A glimmer of optimism flickers; perhaps attending won't be as unbearable as you initially thought. Contemplating the possibility of a good time, you decide, “Who can say no to that?”

A forced laugh escapes your lips, but within it, there's a hint of genuine enjoyment. Sometimes, you remind yourself, you have to fake it until you make it.

The barn pulsates with the rhythm of the music, a lively mix of country tunes, not exactly your preferred genre, yet the melodies weave seamlessly into the rustic ambiance. Couples and friends sway to the slow beats on the dance floor, creating an intimate atmosphere that, despite your initial reservations, feels oddly fitting. Most attendees linger along the walls engaged in conversation, and as your eyes scan the scene, you notice a handful of men. The girls weren't exaggerating – the company includes some undeniably attractive men.

The majority of women sport casual dresses, much like the one you've borrowed from Ha-rin. Clad in a long black lace dress that subtly accentuates your curves, you navigate the sea of familiar and unfamiliar faces. In stark contrast, Jessi's attire veers towards practicality – shirt, jeans and boots, a reflection of her enduring tomboyish nature. While you entertain a fleeting thought about the silliness of her choice for a party, a deeper understanding dawns. She’s always been more practical, and her choice of clothes tonight might align with that too. 

Surveying the lively scene again, your eyes lock onto your sister, deeply engrossed in a conversation with Jimin, an interaction that sparks both curiosity and a twinge of apprehension within you. 

As Ha-rin diligently tends to the culinary offerings, ensuring a variety of light snacks for everyone, Soo-ah and Ara steal the spotlight on the improvised dance floor. Their laughter echoes through the barn, a harmonious blend of joy and camaraderie, and you can't help but be drawn into the dynamic and diverse interactions unfolding around you.

Turning on your heels, a craving for the crisp embrace of fresh air seizes you. Opting for the subtlety of a quiet exit, you make your way toward the back door of the barn. The metallic touch of the door handle graces your palm with a forgiving chill, a stark departure from the warmth and vibrancy pulsating within. Pushing the door ajar, the night air rushes to greet your face, prompting a sigh of contemplation. 

However, as you step outside, your serenity shatters with a startle – a towering, muscular figure leans against the barn, arms crossed, waiting in the shadows of the night.

A startled yelp escapes your lips, accompanied by an inadvertent inhalation of lingering smoke in the air. The features of the stranger remain elusive, shrouded in the haze, as they release a deep and resonant chuckle in response to your momentary disarray. 

“Scaredy-cat?” he teases, the resonance of his laughter causing an animated jiggle through his entire upper body. Your gaze inadvertently drifts to his well-defined pectorals, emphasized by the snug fit of his ripped tank top. The exact hue of the fabric eludes you in the dim light, a mysterious darkness with a hint of, perhaps, deep blue.

You approach him, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance, though inwardly acknowledging the undeniable truth – you are indeed a scaredy-cat. Closing the distance, your eyes trace a path from his broad shoulders down his right arm, a canvas adorned with a full sleeve of tattoos. Among the intricate designs, some manifest in striking black and white, while others burst forth with vivid splashes of color, each telling a silent tale waiting to be unraveled.

Approaching him, you realize you've left his question hanging in the air. Coming to a halt in front of this enigmatic figure, you find yourself captivated by his deep, dark brown eyes. In the obscurity of the night, tiny glints of light echo the stars above, gleaming in his gaze. His pitch black long hair, with small curls at the end, frame his handsome face. Contrary to the rugged bulk of his body, his facial features exude a surprising softness. Thick, black eyebrows frame his expressive eyes, while a slim, pointed nose adds to the symphony of features. A sharp, defined jawline contrasts with the plushness of his rosy lips, gently circling a half-smoked cigarette.

“Jessi’s sister, huh?” He inhales deeply from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke that dances in the air beside you. 

“Y-Yes,” you stammer nervously, a feeble symphony to the deep timbre of his laughter. Nonetheless, you summon the courage to introduce yourself, your name a tentative melody lingering in the night air.

“I'm Jungkook.” He announces, the remnants of the cigarette meeting its demise beneath the sole of his boot, extinguishing any lingering embers. A subtle caution against the spark that could set the night ablaze.

“You look hot. Want to make out?” His gaze boldly traces over you, and a sudden self-consciousness grips you in the delicate embrace of your lace dress. Your cheeks ignite in a bright red flush, caught off guard by the unexpected boldness of his proposition.

Your flabbergasted expression seems to amuse him, and his laughter echoes, revealing an endearing smile that prompts a soft, airy chuckle to escape your lips in response.

“I'm serious, you know,” he says, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. Another blush creeps up on you at his bluntness. Initially thinking he was joking, you now realize he's actually serious. As you assess him, you can't deny his incredible attractiveness, coupled with a nice smile and soft eyes. Perhaps he can't be all bad, right?

You saunter closer, conducting a swift yet thorough assessment of him. With a teasing lick of your lips, you signal that you're up for the game. “Sure.”

In a bold surge, he captures your lips, biting down on your lower lip as if seeking entrance. Yielding to the magnetic pull, your tongues engage in a fiery dance. His hands firmly grip your shoulders, giving a reassuring squeeze before deftly maneuvering you against the wall.

In a ravenous and swift embrace, his lips claim yours, leaving you breathless when he breaks away, his gaze smoldering with a lustful intensity that ignites a fiery sensation beneath your skin. Though not one to engage in impulsive encounters, the intoxicating allure of the moment fans the flames of excitement within you. Reminding yourself of the imminent departure tomorrow, you boldly lean in, craving another taste, and surrender to the intoxicating dance of desire.

As the kiss deepens, his demeanor doesn't exude sweetness or tenderness, and strangely, you find solace in that. After all, tomorrow marks your return home. The intensity of his kiss, possessive and profound, spirals you into a mindless whirlwind, your thoughts dissipating into nothingness, overwhelmed by the feeling of his rugged frame pressed firmly against yours.

His gravelly voice breaks the kiss momentarily as he breathlessly declares, “Your lips are so damn soft.” 

Locking eyes with you, he plunges back into the intoxicating exchange, this time with an urgent and fervent intensity that mirrors his escalating desire, leaving little room for restraint.

Your fingers dig into the firm contours of his hips, tracing an electrifying path along the sculpted landscape of his toned body. The rhythmic play of his muscles beneath your touch is a tactile symphony, every ridge and sinew a testament to his strength, creating an intricate dance beneath the fabric of his shirt.

His lips embark on a tantalizing journey, lingering on your cheek with teasing kisses before reaching your ear. A low, guttural growl escapes his lips as he presses his pelvis against you, sending a bolt of electricity through your body. The warmth of his breath against your ear ignites a wildfire of sensations, and the undeniable presence of his arousal is impossible to ignore. Control slips away like sand through your fingers, and you find yourself succumbing to the irresistible pull of desire.

You bite down on your lips, the struggle to suppress a moan palpable. Despite the lively party unfolding just a breath away, Jungkook possesses an uncanny ability to whisk you into a world of his own creation, making the chaotic celebration fade into insignificance.

His hands explore the contours of your breasts, coaxing a soft moan from your lips. The absence of padding in your bra leaves your nipples immediately responsive to his teasing fingers. Sensations surge through you, and as your panties cling uncomfortably, an urgent desire to shed them intensifies.

His breath hot against your ear, he whispers, “I want to fuck you so bad, can I?”

The firm squeeze on your breasts sends a wave of desire through you. Fuck. The craving intensifies, and the anticipation of being with him grows insatiable. It's been an eternity since you felt this desire, and you're already on the edge, yearning for his touch.

Your response escapes in a breathy whisper, “Hell yes.” 

Your fingers find purchase on the contours of his chest, seeking stability amid the whirlwind of desire that envelops you both.

The symphony of desire crescendos as you catch the melodic jingle of his belt being undone, the tantalizing slide of metal against leather, and the whisper of a zipper surrendering its secrets. Soon, his jeans cascade down, pooling around his knees.

Your curiosity takes over, compelling you to cast an audacious gaze downward, and even through the fabric of his underwear, the impressive outline of his arousal is undeniable. The undeniable bulge hints at a restrained intensity, and summoning your courage, you boldly cup him, your touch sending a low, guttural groan reverberating through the charged air.

“Are you good to go without any prep?” His question, a tantalizing whisper in your ear, sends shivers down your spine, and the resonant, lust-laden timbre of his voice resonates deep within you. 

Nodding in affirmation, you can't help but bite your lip, feeling the promise of an exhilarating encounter ahead. “Yes,” you murmur, a breathy admission to the impending intensity.

As he lowers his underwear, his dick is unleashed, an impressive display of length and girth, veins tracing its sculpted form. The engorged head, flushed and intense, undergoes a few suggestive strokes from his skilled hands, droplets of precum glistening as they descend to the ground below.

His touch is commanding, fingers tracing a path down the contours of your dress, gathering the fabric in his strong grip. Swiftly, his hands venture beneath, reaching the apex of your panties. In one bold motion, he removes them, allowing them to cascade to the ground as you gracefully step out, shedding inhibitions along with the delicate undergarment.

Unexpectedly, he seizes your hips, effortlessly lifting you into the air. As you leap, your legs instinctively wrap around his tiny waist, aligning your bare core with his throbbing dick, a subtle gasp escaping your lips as your wetness coats his cock.

A soft moan escapes your lips at the tantalizing contact, and Jungkook, seizing the opportunity, grips your supple curves, pressing you firmly against the wall for stability. Skillfully, he produces a condom out of thin air, wraps his cock with it and positions his dick at the entrance of your eager pussy. Your hands instinctively clutch his neck, a mixture of anticipation and desire written across your face as you brace yourself for the impending ecstasy. With a devious smile playing on his lips, he tantalizingly teases the velvety folds of your cunt with the head of his cock. But the pretense of gentleness is short-lived, as he discards any lingering pleasantries and thrusts his dick into your warm and eager core in one seamless motion.

A gasp escapes your lips as an exquisite stretch engulfs you, momentarily testing your limits. Yet, the generous coating of your arousal ensures that the discomfort swiftly transforms into an intoxicating wave of pleasure, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.

He moves with an urgency that suggests an impending deadline, setting a pace that mirrors a sense of immediacy, as if time is a luxury he can't afford. The reasons behind his haste remain a mystery, and in this moment, you find yourself indifferent to the ticking clock, wholly absorbed in the intensity of the present.

“Mmmhh. You’re so tight.” 

You gasp at the force of his thrusts, feeling the impact resonate through your body as your back collides with the wall. The slight discomfort is eclipsed by the overwhelming pleasure, and his raspy pants only intensify the raw, visceral connection between you, each movement a symphony of pleasure and urgency. He thrusts forcefully, plunging into the depth of your pussy.

Wrapping your legs around him, you greedily pull him closer, breathless huffs escaping your lips with each relentless thrust. “Yes! Right there!” The pleasure becomes almost blinding as he unerringly targets that sweet, sensitive spot, sending shockwaves of pleasure that build an exquisite tension, promising an impending climax that pulses in the depths of your core.

“Shit.” He pants huskily into your ear, a shiver running down your spine in response. The intensity of his thrusts is unparalleled, each powerful movement leaving an indelible mark on your senses. The realization hits you that tomorrow might bring soreness, but in the heat of the moment, with a dick this good, you decide it's a price worth paying.

Your moans have evolved into uninhibited symphonies, each thrust hitting that exquisite spot that sends shockwaves through your body. The coil in your tummy tightens, ready to snap, just waiting for that final nudge to propel you over the edge. “I’m so close.”

Jungkook's grip on your ass tightens, but with skilled precision, he frees one hand and navigates it down the narrow space between your bodies. Despite the limited room, his large hand finds your clit and begins to rhythmically rub it to the beat of his thrusts. The sensation is mind-blowing. Every rub and thrust unravel your body, sending waves of ecstasy through every inch of your being.

Then he leans in, his hot breath grazing your ear, and he moans, pushing you right over the edge, “Come on my cock, pretty.”

“Jungkook!” You pant his name erratically as the coil inside snaps, and you release your fluid over his cock, synchronized with his relentless thrusts. You gasp for air, momentarily feeling your vision blur as your orgasm surges through your spent body.

He keeps thrusting into you, and you feel utterly spent, so you’re just hanging on and clinging to him for dear life. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, closing your eyes as he relentlessly fucks you, searching for his own sweet release.

At a particularly hard thrust, you open your eyes, and they collide with a figure standing in the shadows. 

Brown eyes and blonde hair meet yours. 

You gulp, feeling your core clench instinctively. 

It's Jimin. 

His eyes reflect a mix of sadness and disappointment as they lock onto yours for a few lingering moments. He turns away and retreats back into the lively party. You don’t appreciate the unsettling expression on Jimin’s face, but there’s little you can do about it now. A strange and disconcerting feeling settles in your stomach.

“Fuck, you just got tighter, babe. I’m almost there.” His hands tighten their grip, his biceps flexing as he pulls you closer, syncing your movements with the intensity of his thrusts.

You sense Jungkook's thrusts growing more erratic, a telltale sign he's close. Despite his exhaustion, he strives to give his all in those final fervent moments, and you feel the warmth of his release filling the condom inside you as his pace slows. He's visibly breathless, and you empathize; after all, he exerted himself, utilizing every ounce of strength to keep you elevated. In his position, you'd likely be a panting mess on the ground.

“You good?” He inquires, scrutinizing your expression. Whether he discerns the melancholy etched on your face or not, he doesn't comment. Gently withdrawing from you and discarding the condom, he steadies you on shaky legs. You respond with a pensive smile and a nod. The night was undeniably enjoyable, yet Jimin's forlorn gaze lingers in your thoughts, casting a shadow over the post-passion atmosphere.

“I had a good time, thank you.” You muster a smile, though it feels a bit strained. Whether he perceives it or not is uncertain, and even if he does, you doubt it holds much significance to him.

“Same here. Thanks, babe.” His laughter rumbles as he rights himself, adjusting his underwear and fastening his pants. As he tends to his attire, you scan the floor for your abandoned panties.

As you retrieve them, you notice the dirt clinging to the delicate fabric, deciding against putting them on. Instead, you allow them to slip from your grasp, figuring you'll retrieve them tomorrow for a wash. The last thing you want is to flaunt dirty underwear at the party.

Jungkook strides confidently back into the lively party, and you trail closely in his wake, anticipation and a lingering heat coloring the air around you.

As you reenter the vibrant party scene, a sudden hush falls over the crowd, and the weight of all eyes on you feels like an invisible spotlight, making you wish for a momentary escape beneath the ground.

As you scan the crowd for Jimin, your gaze briefly collides with his, only to witness him quickly diverting his eyes elsewhere. 

A perplexing mix of emotions lingers in his gaze—perhaps hurt or frustration. Puzzled, you question the impact of your intimate encounter outside, contemplating why he might be affected when, by all accounts, you share no significant ties.

As you enter the dining room, the tempting aroma of Ha-rin's carefully prepared breakfast envelops you, offering a flavorful farewell before you embark on your journey back to the bustling city.

As you approach the table, a surprising sense of harmony fills the room, with everyone already seated, including Jessi, who appears to be in higher spirits—perhaps fueled by the knowledge that she’s getting rid of you today.

Soo-ah's eyes sweep the table, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she starts, “ I discovered a pair of lacy red panties outside the barn this morning.”

You nearly choke on your food, a sudden realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. “Shit. Those are mine. Completely slipped my mind. My bad.”

All eyes suddenly fixate on you, their curiosity palpable. Soo-ah's gaze is practically bulging out of her eyes, Ara looks equally stunned, and Ha-rin can't help but release an amused ‘ooohh.’ Even Jessi, with her usual nonchalant demeanor, can't completely hide the flicker of intrigue in her eyes as she rolls them at the unfolding gossip.

Curiosity and a mischievous glint spark in Ara's big brown doe eyes as she leans forward, her cheeks tinted with a hint of red, and pops the question, “Who did you fuck?”

Between casual bites of scrambled eggs, you drop the bombshell, “A guy named Jungkook. You know him?” The nonchalance in your tone does little to mask the intrigue dancing in your eyes, leaving the table hanging on your every word.

A heavy hush descends upon the table, and you scan the faces around you, perplexed by the sudden silence. Disapproval lingers in Jessi's slow shake of the head, while the exchange of disconcerting glances among the girls hints at a shared, unspoken concern.

“What’s wrong?” Concern etches your voice as you inquire, the subtle panic seeping through, unable to grasp the sudden tension enveloping the table.

Soo-ah leans in dramatically, her words hanging in the air like a heavy secret. “You fucked Jungkook,” she drawls, the gravity of her statement sinking in, and a chill coursing through your veins. “The same Jungkook who's been with half the town—Park Jungkook.” The weight of his name leaves you wide-eyed, a sinking feeling settling in your gut.

Your jaw practically hits the floor, or it would if that were humanly possible. Park? Jungkook and Jimin are brothers?

Fuck.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

Omg 🫢 How did you like the ending??? I hope you won’t be too mad… The fling with Jungkook only happens this one time, but necessary to happen for the rest of the story to make sense 🥲

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[middlingmay]

WOTA Halloween Event: Fic 2

Undercover Lover (5K)

Whilst undercover at a horse ranch trying to catch a serial killer before they strike, John loses and bet that puts him and Gale in the hot seat. Once the case has been solved, they have to pay up.

Read on AO3 or read below.

Fuck, have I missed writing fluff! @trashbag-baby666, hope it does the Criminal Minds Au justice!

"No. Nuh-uh. I didn't promise you a damn, thing. I am not doing that. Egan!"

John jumped where he was talking to the manager of the ranch, Red Bowman. One look at the glower Gale levelled his way and the twitch at the side of his eye had him making rushed apologies and jogging over.

"What's up, Buck?"

That goddamn nickname. It was going to haunt him beyond this case and well into the future, he knew it.

Gale thrust his finger at the sparse bundles of fabric, tasselled boots and bright coloured leather clutched by the grinning ranch hands, Will Quinn and Joseph Payne.

"You got anything to do with this?"

John took one look at the miscellaneous leather and suede and his hands jumped into his curls, started pulling and playing. One of his rare nervous gestures.

"Ah. Yeah. About that. I was gonna tell you, Buck, but I got a little side tracked. Potential killer on the loose and all that—"

"What. Did you do?"

Joe piped up helpfully. "He made a bet!"

John's hand, making violent slashing motions across his throat, fell limp and he smiled sheepish.

"And what, exactly, does that have to do with me?"

John was already walking backwards. "Well, uh, y'see Buck. 'Member when you did that race not long after we first got here? Me and the boys, we just made a friendly bet. That's all."

"Egan." Gale advanced on him step for step.

"And it's not my fault! I didn't think you'd lose! You told me you were good on horses and I just thought—"

"We were undercover! 101: you don't show everyone your full hand!"

"I know that but—"

"What was the bet?"

"Uh…"

John stumbled into a low-set rounded table, the kind for setting drinks on when you were sitting on a haybale. He sprawled over it on his back and Gale hauled him up by the collar of his shirt and growled in his face.

"What was the bet?"

"Buck, please don't be mad."

A horrified pit opened up in Gale's stomach. There wasn't a moment since they met where John wasn't 100% assured that his charm would get him out of trouble. For him to be asking mercy from Gale already meant nothing good.

"John."

Will answered for him, though his voice shook with mirth he at least tried to contain. "Oh, it's not that bad. You just gotta dance in the show is all!"

"Buck." John pleaded with his hands out. But it was no good. All the dimpled smiles, twinkling eyes and curling hair couldn't save him now.

Gale pulled him closer. And goddamn that son of a bitch because even now, Gale watched his eyes spark up with interest. Well, he would squash that under his boot, yes he would.

"You got ten seconds before I come after you, Egan. Get."

John tore out of there in a blur of straw and dust.

One week earlier.

“You cannot be serious.”

Gale had one arm folded over his chest, hooked into the elbow of his other whilst he worried his chin with his knuckles.

“I’m afraid so, Cleven.”

“I am a Special Agent with the FBI.”

“If there was another way—”

“I am in the BAU. Our business is catching serial killers. Not…this.” He cast the object of his offence such a scathing, withering, vicious look, Harding was surprised it didn’t just go ahead and burst into flames and save itself the trouble.

John, always a perfect counter to Gale, sat slouched and spreading in one of the chairs. He slapped his hands happily against the oiled wooden arms. “Ah, come on, Gale! Live a little. They don’t look so bad.”

Something at the side of Harding’s eye twitched. He knew Egan wasn’t doing this because he wanted to, or thought it was a good idea. He was doing it because he wanted to see Cleven, well, in a way none of them had ever seen him before, frankly. Or had ever really wanted to.

Apart from John.

A large, rectangular box sat on his desk. Inside was a frankly indecently tight pair of blue jeans, a belt with a garish buckle, and a set of boots he'd been told were supposed to look 'distressed' because they'd be made immediately if they turn up on a ranch wearing immaculate footwear.

Gale, apparently deciding to switch tactics, looked at him wide-eyed and soft. It was a staggering, devastating contrast to his lethal gaze just moments before. Harding didn't know how John had been able to stand it for so long, given how head over ass he was about the other man, trying to act like he wasn't.

"I am not the only member of this team," he pleaded. "Why does it have to be me—"

"Born in Wyoming to a farmer father and a farmer mother, with farmer grandparents on both sides. Several strong lines of thoroughbreds and good racers came out of Cleven Ranch, until it went into foreclosure. For a few years afterwards, local people still advertised the lineage of their horses as hailing from Cleven Ranch."

Gale's silence was furious.

"Cleven. No one knows this environment like you. No one else can be lead on this. And you know that. This is your job. To use our expertise and our insights into human behaviour to catch serial killers."

Gale's silence was defeated.

So Harding dropped the other bomb. "But you won't be going in alone." From underneath his desk, he plucked another box and dropped it down into the lacquered surface with aplomb.

An almost identical outfit lay inside, but bigger: bigger chest size, bigger waist band, bigger boot size. They'd had to modify the calf of the boots in fact, to fit Cleven's partner in the undercover investigation.

John's face dropped as Harding beamed at him. Gale looked like he didn't know if that made things better or worse. Neither did Harding.

Boxes tucked under their arms, John and Gale stormed out of Harding's office, and though a few tentatively called after them, no one braved stopping them as they marched out the bull pen.

Gale was so intent on stewing that he didn't notice John yanking open a door, and nearly lost his feet when he was shoved inside.

John sat his own box on a dark metal table, and wrestled Gale's away from where he clutched it to his body. It was a feeble barrier between him and John, anyway.

But John didn't touch him. And it irked and endeared Gale in equal measures that John knew how to read him so well after so short a time of finally giving in to this thing between them.

Then again, he and John had been building their intimacy for years. No one knew them better. Not Marge. Not Curt. Not even their mommas.

It's why John cut straight to the quick, forgoing his usual delighted frolicking through as much bullshit as he could find.

"What's got you so upset?"

And even though it was John, Gale's reaction was still automatic. "I'm not upset."

"Gale I have seen cats freshly dragged from the river that look happier than you right now."

Gale scowled.

"I've literally seen serial killers staring down a life sentence look less upset."

"Fuck you."

John tutted. "Not at work, jeeze. Show some restraint, Gale."

And goddamn him again, but Gale couldn't have stopped the smile from creeping up his face if his life depended on it.

Now John touched him. He settled his hands on the dip of Gale's waist and pressed in soft, before slipping them round his back and smoothing them up and down his spine.

"What's going on in that big ol' brain of yours, hm?"

"This all just seems…unnecessary. There hasn't even been a body. No one's even missing. It's just a few letters and—"

"—and Crosby swears up and down dead they're genuine. Same person. Same indications of some deeply fucked up pathology. You 'member when Huglin was here, and he ignored Croz the last time he said he was sure?"

Gale balked and reeled back. It remained the bloodiest shit show he'd ever had to deal with on the job. And the beginning of the end of Huglin's career.

"So," John prompted with a nudge of his nose on Gale's. "What's the real issue?"

Gale let himself fiddle with the large silver button stitched into a small strap at the bottom of John's jacket. It wasn't that horrendous woollen beast he loved so much, thank God. He wouldn't get rid of that thing for nothing. Not even when Gale asked nice.

"It's…it'll be the first time I've been back on a ranch since…"

Since the last time he saw James Cleven, and his mother, and the horses he loved so much growing up.

John, pushing his luck inside the offices of the BAU, pulled Gale a little closer and rested their foreheads together.

"I can't make that better for you," he said like it upset him, and Gale hated that he'd upset him. "But like Harding said, you won't be alone. I'll be there the whole time."

Some of the tension finally seeped out of Gale's shoulders, letting them slump and inch or two.

"And think about it Gale, y'get to see me try and ride a horse. Me. Can you imagine it?" Gale's cheeks crept up his face again and he huffed out a reluctant laugh. "What poor horse deserves to have my butterball ass bouncing around holding on for dear life, huh?"

Finally Gale laughed properly before he poked John in his ribs, lined nicely with protective fat and muscle. "Stop talking about yourself like that." It was an old warning. "Nothing wrong with you. I like the way you look, and all your buttery bits."

John threw his head back dramatically. "Oh, now you've done it. Oh, it's coming."

"What?"

"No choice, Gale. I'm gonna have to kiss you."

"John." Gale hissed and looked around the closed room like someone had somehow managed to sneak in after them.

"Nuh-uh. Not getting out of this one. Target locked and bombs away, Cleven."

Gale snorted at the utterly ridiculous sentiments this man managed to let fall out of his mouth. "Idiot."

"Mhm. Your idiot." And then John was kissing him. His hands had crept up from rubbing soothing lines into Gale's back, to clasping each side of his neck, the thumbs gently stroking up the side of Gale's face. His lips were soft but urgent: John rarely kissed him like he was something gentle and Gale loved it.

He let his own hands come up the clutch at John's wrists and thumbed along the bony protrudences and the coarse hairs peeking out from where the sleeves of his jacket had ridding up.

A small suckle on Gale's bottom lip that John had never been able to resist and he pulled back. But not before Gale got a little nip in, stuttering John's breath out of him.

Gale got a real good look at him. "You sure you're up for this?"

He'd been cleared for duty for months, but this would be the most active John had been in the field since…

John's eyes twinkled at his fussing. "Yes, ma. Got a note from doctor and everything."

Gale pushed him and John let himself be pushed. At least, Gale thought about this whole affair, at least John's first time back in such intensive field work, he'd have Gale to watch his six.

And he would. Nothing would happen to John whilst he was around.

"Alrighty!" John said plucking up his own box from the table, and Gale groaned to hear the shitty fake southern accent he really should have been expecting. "Let's get and saddle up, partner. It's a long pony trek back to the farm."

"You're going to get shot within five seconds on that ranch if you so much as think about keeping that voice, John."

"Aw, come on!" John giggled. He did it far more than a grown man should but it warmed Gale to hear it, always. "No good?"

"I didn't think much would be worse than what you did in New York, but I was wrong."

"Gale."

"You're from Wisconsin, John. Accept it."

Present day.

The leather pants were red, dashed through with white lines that tried to speak of an age they didn't have. There were no tassles, thank God. Only a few fixed to the black suede boots that hit below the knee. They'd shoved him into a black cotton shirt a full size to small for him and unbuttoned it down below the breastbone. He had to stop himself from pressing the gaping fabric against his chest in some feeble defence of modesty.

He'd tried to get out of it. He'd been at his manipulative, Special-Agent-with-the-BAU best, but it hadn't worked. His desperation had been too strong and too amusing. He'd thought that when they realised he really was a terrible dancer, they'd surely let him bow out of it then. But no. They'd promised him that dancing with a group could hide a multitude of sins and shoved Gale into the first number: a simple line dance to warm up the crowd. Too bad his footwork was the worst part of all. The rest of his body moved alright, but he was too conscious of his feet and nearly took more tumbles than there were minutes in the song.

But they were here, now. All avenues of escape exhausted.

The crowd fell into dead silence as the lights went down and the dancers took their place on the stage.

Gale's heart jackrabbited inside his chest and he promptly forgot everything a team of people had tried to teach him all afternoon.

The squeal of a fiddle and the lights snapped on, and Gale had once lain on the floor with a serial killer on top of him trying to choke the life out of him and had been less frightened than this.

The snap of a dozen heeled boots hitting the floor in time jolted Gale back into himself. Mercifully, it worked out like they promised and the other dancers were able to move him along and make up for his false start and stumbling misstep trying to get back in line.

He grit his teeth and persevered and stumbled through it. One sequence simply involved turning on one foot, hitting a full circle quarter by quarter, and circling his hips over and over the whole way around. Gale was in the middle of the line, and when that part came up the dancers either side of him broke off, and jeering and hollering sprang up from the audience.

"Shake it!"

"I'll ride that bronco any day!"

"Excu—he is an officer of the law, ma'am!"

Gale smothered his laugh, and managed to get through the rest of the number without falling on his ass. A hard-won victory, he thought.

At the end they took a bow, and Gale fled the elbows nudging at his ribs and the hands slapping his back before they tried to rope him into something else. He spotted the safety of Chick Harding and the rest of his team sitting at a table in the middle of the floor, and made a beeline for them.

He didn't make it unscathed. The tables were packed in tight, and more than one set of stray fingers found their way to his ass to try and pinch him through the leather.

He could arrest them all in a second. But Harding would kill him for screwing up relations with the locals. Maybe he'd tell John, see how Chick liked it then.

Crosby was shoving an ice cold ginger beer at him before he even sat down. Gale loved Crosby, he really did. He drained nearly half the glass, partly out of thirst and partly out of an inability to look his team and his boss in the eye after gyrating in stage in leather pants in front of them.

He gently placed the glass on the table. He held up one long, stern finger. "Don't—"

"Where'd you learn to move your hips like that?"

"Kenny."

"How, more to the point?" Helen eyed him contemplatively. "Those pants are tight, Buck."

"If a case ever takes us to a strip club, we know who's up." Gale gaped at Crosby's betrayal. He turned to Chick, pointing.

"This has to be workplace harassment."

Harding checked his watch. "We've been off the clock for five hours, now. So I don't know what you're talking about, Cleven."

"Then normal harassment!"

Marge petted his shoulder. "You want to talk about harassment? You should really be looking at those pants of yours."

Gale shifted in his seat. "Why anyone wears these by choice, I don't know."

"Oh, honey," Marge cooed in her finest brand of condescension. "The leather pants are not for you."

Kenny grinned around the straw and whatever liquor he was sucking down with flushed fervour. "They're for us."

"Kenny!" Kenny flirted something rotten with John, and that was nothing compared to the eye-fucking shenaniganry that he and Curtis Biddick got up to whenever he was in town, but Gale was rarely on the receiving end.

Helen reached over and tried to take Kenny's drink from his hands but he squirmed and batted her away.

"Give it."

"No."

"Kenny!"

"Stealing's wrong. Ask Chick. Chick!"

Harding sighed around the frankly obscene cigar puffing away in his mouth. "Kids, play nice. Or I'll turn this barn around."

Thankfully, as the next few acts took to and left the stage, the team focused less on ribbing Gale and more on the performers, and waiting eagerly for John who'd been tasked with the second last number of the show.

John, naturally, had taken to their rehearsals like a duck to water, but when it came to doing them in costume, he'd demurred. Gale thought it would remain one of the oddest things he'd see in his life for a long time. He didn't know John was capable of it, if he was being honest.

"Don't want to ruin the surprise, Buck," he'd said, looking at the floor and blushing.

Blushing. The same man who not three days before had cornered him in an empty stables and muttered filthy things in his ear about what else Gale could ride whilst sticking his hands down his pants.

Gale blushed too and crossed his legs. He shot Harding a shifty look, momentarily worried he could read Gale's thoughts. He couldn't very well complain about harassment when he was getting pulled off on the government's dime by his colleague with whom he was in an undeclared, clandestine relationship.

The acts stretched on. Some singers warbling sentiments about home and hearth that never really resonated with Gale. More musicians and dancers. One 'strong man' who tried to lift a donkey but had to dive out of the way as it aimed a kick at him and proceeded to shit all over the stage as it ambled off. Gale applauded the donkey, if nothing else.

Then finally, the lights dimmed once again and the announcer called out the next act.

"Alright, folks, we've got a real treat here for ya, today. Now don't say we don't listen to you. After complaints last year about always puttin' women in the riskier numbers, we thought we'd switch it up for you. So please, welcome to the stage, Bucky."

The lights came up, and there, on the 31st October 2024, Gale Cleven died.

Bucky stood all in white. White leather hot pants. White leather boots than came over the knee. And a sheer, white tank that did nothing to hide the dark coils of his chest hair or the flushed pinkness of his chest. Gale knew that John perspired a lot when he was physical, so he knew that the shirt was only going to get more see through as his number went on.

"Damn."

"Kenny!"

Kenny was undaunted by the admonishments of the table. Helen finally managed to wrestle his glass off him but he only stole Harding's, who took it back and forced Helen to return her prize.

But the three of them could have rolled around in an all out brawl for all Gale knew. He could not, would not, take his eyes off John.

The number was clearly a regular around here. The crowd were already clapping and singing the opening bars with fully lubricated enthusiasm. Even Chick's leg was thumping to the beat.

And John strut. His long legs swallowed up the stage easily. His first move was to leap onto a crate, hands on his hips, and look over the crowd. Everyone hooted and whistled, and Gale had a momentary flash of wanting to break some fingers.

John sank down to his knees, the leather providing soft padding between them and the rough wood of the crate. His hips pulsed to the song and he swung the long tassels fixed to the belt of his shorts in a loop.

He dived into a roll on the floor, and only then did Gale notice he had two women dancing with him, too, dressed up in sturdy denim deans and thick plaid shirts, and grinning like they were having the time of their lives watching John—

God. Lifting his pelvis off the floor and winking at the crowd.

Some pathetically meek sound slipped passed the prison of his lips. Crosby and Marge grinned at him all teeth, and Gale regretted one of rare evenings drinking almost a year ago when he spilled his guts about his crush on John.

The dance seemed to go on forever, but Gale felt like he'd only blinked before John was leaping off the stage to steal a woman's white Stetson from her head. Right there, in front of her whole table, John held onto that hat on his head with both hands and rolled and rocked his hips, dancing just out of reach of their stretching grasping fingertips.

Using those long legs to step back on the stage effortlessly, John stood with his back to the crowd and threw the hat. The song was reaching it's final crescendo, and the other dancers each grabbed one side each of John's flimsy, sodden shirt. The crowd belted out the last words of the song, and just before the lights went out, the women pulled and tore John's shirt right off his body. He left them all with one bare glimpse of the shiny, sweaty, muscle-lined skin of his back.

The crowd erupted into applause. The team, except Chick, leapt to their feet yelling their praise, but even their boss was chuckling under his breath and banging his now empty glass on the table.

Gale couldn't move. He could only stare at where Bucky had been, even as the muted lights between acts came back on as they prepared for the last part of the show. It was only when Harding clasped his shoulder with one meaty hand that he snapped out of it.

"We're leaving for the plane in ten. Go get ready, and hurry Bucky up, too."

Nodding numbly, Gale staggered away from the table and drifted backstage.

Backstage was really just a small annex for stalls affixed to the main barn. It was practically empty, with the last performers ready to take the stage and everyone else either in the wings or in the crowd to watch them. Only one of the stalls, used as make-shift dressing rooms, was occupied. Right at the back.

He heard John shuffling round from within. As Gale rounded the thick wooden beam running floor to roof, he saw John bent over his kit bag, still dressed in his outfit. Without the shirt, obviously. Gale watched his muscles shift and move. He watched droplets of cooling sweat glisten and roll over fuzz and goosepimples and freckles.

He watched John cock his hip and the flesh of one ass cheek bunched up. The shorts hadn't held up; how could they under that kind of strain? They'd ridden up and Gale now got to bask in the glorious view they left behind.

"Like what you see, Buck?"

Gale snapped his eyes back and and John grinned at him over his shoulder. In his hands he held his standard plain back t-shirt. Gale scowled at it.

But there was something else bothering him more.

"Where's the hat?" The Stetson. The one he took from the woman then threw off into the wing.

John turned slowly, his face smug. "You liked the hat?"

Gale nodded, open mouthed, as John's sweat-slicked chest was presented in front of him. There was something about John sweating; about the proof of a hard-working man that plucked at something in Gale's brain, his chest, and much deeper down into his belly, and made him hungry.

Without thinking, with zero connection between his brain and mouth, Gale said, "My daddy had one."

Soon as the words left his mouth and Gale realised what he said, his face burned with a humiliated flush. Why did he say that? What kind of person—he stared at John wide-eyed and frantically trying to think of a way to backtrack. But John stared right back and folded his arms over his chest.

"Did he?" he said, nodding to himself and working his bottom lip between his teeth. "Want me to go get it? Put it on and tell you what a good boy you are—"

Gale pounced. He threw himself at John like the damsels in shitty romance movies or the books Marge loved the thumb so much with that glint in her eye. But there was no room for shame or embarrassment in Gale anymore. John had burned it up. Like he burned away each and every one of Gale's defences.

Gale kissed him, consuming and messy. He sucked John's tongue into his mouth and gasped around the slick wetness. John's hands frantically pulled at his shirt and and yanked and the ping of buttons littered the stall and Gale moaned and bit John's lip.

John tugged off the remains of the shirt, leaving Gale in nothing but his pants. He kissed down the newly-exposed skin, mouthing along the defined line of Gale's collarbones and grabbed palmfuls of his waist, using it to haul Gale in impossibly closer.

He could feel every part of John in the firm line against him.

The floor was piled thick with straw, and Gale stuck his foot behind John and shoved him down, tripping him to the ground. He fell down with him, hands grasping John's thigh and dragging it high over his hips.

A slow, hard grind and John was throwing his head back, mouth wide open and shouting his pleasure.

"Oh, okay," he gasped in Gale's seeking, searching mouth. "That does it for ya. Noted."

John's hands dropped down to Gale's belt and yanked the leather open. He worked on Gale's buttons, straining against the hardness they were fighting to contain. He managed to just slip his hands between the unforgiving waistband and Gale's heated skin to get some leverage to work with and Gale groaned at his manhandling—

When yelling erupted from the mouth of their stall.

"Aw, jeeze, guys!"

"RIght there in the hay! An animal lives here!"

"Who had Halloween? Was it Curt or Rosie? I think it was Rosie."

"Great. Thank you. Now we have to pay a lawyer the pot. Great job, guys!"

"Fuckin' knew it! Budge up, I want in."

"Kenny!"

Gale still had John pinned underneath him, though both of them blinked wide-eyed and open mouthed at their colleagues arguing over them when they'd been dry-humping like teenagers and half naked.

In a moment of clarity, Gale tried to spring up, But John clamped down with his legs and shook his head desperately.

"Fuck sake, not yet! Don't. Move."

Gale gave up, and slumped down, letting John bear all his weight and hopefully his humiliation, too.

Marge, bless her soul, shooed Helen and Crosby and Kenny out of there, turning her back to let the boys make themselves decent. They hurried out of their costumes into their own clothes as fast as they could. Gale was fairly sure his shirt was on inside out. But he didn't trust himself to look at John and ask him to check.

"Um," John's shaky voice broke the silence and Marge spun around on her heels. "Could you, uh, not tell Chick about this?" His chagrin melted some of Gale's embarrassment.

John gestured to him. "We agreed to tell him when we were ready and we haven't really spoke about it, so…" He looked helplessly at Gale, and he couldn't help the soft smile he shot back.

Marge snorted. "Sure," she agreed easily. "But he's gonna know, anyway."

"Why?" Alarmed, Gale checked them over, thinking one of them had left a hickey or something equally incriminating.

"Honey, who do you think set up the pool about you two in the first place?"

[strwberri-milk]

Songs of Sorrow - Ch. 10

Rancher!AU || Boothill x Fem!Reader || Slowburn, Drama

You’re looking out the window again, enjoying your time to yourself as Boothill’s workday comes to a close. You’ve already finished dinner for him and the others again, ignoring his insistence that you didn’t need to cook for everyone. He managed to convince one of the ranch hands to go into town and buy you some clothes, able to use the guise of buying things for a sibling which meant you could actually leave the house and not feel severely underdressed - or like you were Boothill’s mistress. 

You watch jealously as the others start to mess around with each other, shooting each other with the hoses as the dogs nip at their ankles. After Boothill’s warning you were careful to listen to his instructions. You know it would absolutely tear him up if something happened to you on his watch, pouting to yourself as you wait to see if he’ll see your text. 

You look down at your phone for half a second, screaming when you look up and find yourself face to snout with a horse. Thankfully it doesn’t seem to scare at all despite your reaction and you look up to see Boothill on it’s back. 

“You bored?” he asks casually through the open window, gesturing for you to come outside to meet him. 

You excitedly run to him, throwing on some boots he got for you as you run outside quickly to stand beside the horse. 

“Can I come on?” you ask, your enthusiasm making Boothill laugh. 

“‘Course you can doll.”

He slips off easily, landing beside you gracefully. You’re about to reach out to grab the saddle, aiming to take some of the weight of your body to make it easier for him but he easily grabs you by the hips and helps you climb on. You stare at him wide eyed, still open mouthed when he gets on behind you. 

“How did you do that?” you ask in sheer disbelief.

“What? Pick you up? Darlin’, I’m stronger than I look.” 

That must be a feat because you know he looks incredibly strong, not understanding just how strong until you feel his chest press against your back as he grabs the reins. You can feel his muscle against you, the arms that picked you up effortlessly resting easily on your hips. You wonder if he has to sit this close to you, mind spinning at the scent of his cologne and shampoo. 

You try your best to focus on the greenery while the two of you are riding, his breath on your ear doing nothing to help your focus. At some point he rests his chin on your shoulder, practically nuzzling into you. 

“Ya don’t mind, do ya?” he asks, voice rubbing up against your ear in the most perfect way. 

“N-no, not at all,” you stutter.

“Good. I’ve had a long day,” he sighs, arms wrapping around your midsection as he starts to direct his horse using just his legs. 

“If you want me to get off just let me know, alright?” he says kindly. 

“I will,” you promise, hoping that the way you lean into his touch isn’t too obvious. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t see your text sooner,” Boothill says with genuine remorse. 

“I got caught up in helping the dogs round up the cows. They weren’t havin’ it today.” 

“It’s fine. I’m sorry if I interrupted something important. I was just hoping to at least go for a walk. Staying all cooped up in your house isn’t really my idea of fun.”

“I know, I know.” 

He keeps his horse at a steady gait, the greenery passing you by as you slowly come off his land into a more wooded area. You’ve never been out this far before, always having seen the forest but never been able to actually go and visit it. You look around in wonder, taken aback by how beautiful everything looks. 

You can’t see the way he looks at you as you’re trying to savour everything around you. You don’t see how his eyes soften, the tender way his arms are careful not to hold you too tightly. He can feel your breath gently fanning against his lips if you turn your head towards him and ask him a question about the plants. He’s also acutely aware of the fact that if he leans forward just the slightest bit more under the guise of needing to lead his horse his lips would brush against the soft skin of your cheek. He’d feel your lashes brush against his skin and find himself content with just that to keep him company. 

You let him take you out to a clearing in the forest, far away enough from the main road that neither of you have to worry about being seen. The comforting gurgle of a river accompanies the sweet chirping of birds as you sigh happily. You’re glad to hear something different for a change, eagerly trying to jump off of the horse. Luckily, Boothill feels you beginning to squirm, making a sharp sound you’ve heard him use on the dogs before on instinct before you can fall off the horse. 

“Sorry. Forgot you’re not a dog,” he laughs, hands holding your hips in place as he nudges you to look back up at him. 

“I’ll letcha down gorgeous, don’t worry. Just lemme come off first an’ break your fall.” 

“I won’t fall!” you insist, swinging a leg over at the same time he slips off the horse. 

You’re about to jump off yourself when you realise the drop is a lot further down than you expected. A big man needs a big horse and you realise now you’re going to have to relent, pathetically putting your arms out for him to take you down.

“There ya are. Sweet little thing arentcha? Knew ya could listen to me,” he coos with a smirk, his praise making you blush furiously. 

You’re at a loss for words, following him blindly as your brain shuts off. He guides you with a hand on your lower back, taking you to sit on a log with him. 

“Why did you take me out here?” you ask once he’s settled down, pulling something out of his pocket. 

“You were bored. You texted me,” he says plainly, gesturing at your phone. 

“Yeah, but I thought you were going to entertain me by making me watch more calf castration,” you joke.

“The look on your face from last time still makes me laugh,” Boothill chuckles, looking back at the memory fondly.

“How was I supposed to react when you just…” 

He snaps his hand in front of you quickly, making you jump as he mimics the movement he’s honed to a perfect art. It makes you squeal, jumping in place as he laughs at you.

“I didn’t realise you were squeamish. Got a little princess on my hands, huh?” he teases as you shudder.

“I think my reaction is more than deserved when you said “Watch this!” then just laughed when I stared at you, mortified,” you pout.

“I’m just messin’ with ya, don’t worry,” he reassures, looking up towards the sky. 

“Sorry if I actually made you uncomfortable. I enjoy messin’ witcha but not if it’s gonna make ya upset, yeah?” 

He looks back at you, eyes carefully watching if you were really upset with him. His bangs frame his face perfectly, hair tied high to keep it out of the way while he works. You always have the urge to run your fingers through it, wondering how he kept the locks so shiny. 

“It’s okay. I know you weren’t actually trying to hurt me or anything,” you mutter, looking away from him. 

The two of you enjoy a moment of silence. You close your eyes, instinctively leaning into his body. You feel him shift around, about to tell him that you can move if he’s uncomfortable with the weight of your body when you hear the sound of a harmonica playing softly beside you. You look up to see Boothill playing the instrument. 

Boothill looks perfectly at ease, eyes closed as he guides the instrument along his lips. The tune he plays is melancholy, a sorrow you understand far too well being pulled from somewhere deep in your core. His foot taps lightly on the ground, keeping his beat. You can only admire him for so long - you’re saddened by the song ending far too soon as he turns back to look at you.

“I didn’t know you played,” you say in shock, somehow thinking he can’t further encapsulate the rancher stereotype as you try to compose yourself. 

“Oh yeah. This and guitar ya’know.” 

You nearly swoon at the thought, imagining him sitting under a shaded tree singing a song to you. It makes you blush, covering your face. You can’t help but wonder how his voice would sound crooning to you, promising you a big ring and happy life on the farm. You know you’ve heard your fair share of such songs at work, wondering if they sounded any different when directed at you. 

“Nothin’ like playin’ a song under the stars though,” he says after a moment, the last notes of his song still ringing in your mind. 

“One day invite me out for a duet then,” you say half jokingly. 

“Alrighty then. It’ll be a date.”

“Wait Boothill - I didn’t mean -”

Your face flushes. Even if he was just joking, the heat that runs up your body is very real as you panic a little, wanting to take back the words. His hand comes to gently fuss with your hair, shaking you lightly as he shakes his head. Your heart beats quickly as he leans in closer to you, nose almost brushing against your own. 

“I’m just kiddin’ doll. Don’t freak yourself out.” 

You’re glad he’s just joking, laughing softly in response to his words as you will your heart to calm down. 

Or at least you think you are. 

[casual-praxis]

Rivers in the Desert [Rainbow Ranch AU]

Summary: Panicking is not an option, but man--Shadow kinda wishes it was. With only a vague location, a distress signal, and the dawning realization that time is waning; what do you even do when the resident desert expert goes missing in said desert?

Warnings: Swearing (thanks Blue), blood and injury (though not to a graphic extent), and depictions of what may be a panic attack. Please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 4,301

--Start--

Today is the day, he's sure of it. Chat may be doubting him, but he's never felt more confident as he dances around the edges of the corrals, swinging his phone around precariously on a makeshift selfie stick.

The sound of mini-small-scale nukes, out-of-tune music boxes, and unbridled cheer is quick to bombard his microphone, but a quick adjustment of his audio puts an end to the horrid peaking issues. Or at least, he thinks it does. He really can't tell.

Oh well. It's probably fine.

"Alright y'all, listen up!" Shadow grins into the camera, holding it steady as his eyes subtly dart over his other equipment. "Today we're goin' hikin' through the Moss Blanket. There's a Gordo there who owes me money and it's had it too good for too long. So I'm gonna go poke it with a stick and see what it do."

Behind him, a pair of Red's Boom Rad Slimes leap with delight over his theatrics, despite not knowing what 'owing money' meant. He quickly covers his ear closest to the corral as the slimes, true to their nature, promptly explode.

Chat reacts accordingly, and he watches the small monitor on his wrist flood ten times over with multicolored words of all varieties. Some were encouraging, some near deaf, and some were thirsting over Blue, but that was neither here nor there. Par for the course, honestly.

He shakes it off easily.

That is, until his monitor beeps a cheerful, "da-da-da-daaaa" and promptly spits out a lovingly rude message about his navigation skills in its smug robotic voice.

Jostling the stick around for a new angle, nearly whacking it into the side of a corral post, he glares into the camera while walking backward.

"Hey now, bitch, I will turn this hike right back 'round if you don't ditch that cringe take," he says flippantly, raising a clawed, glove-bound finger to his viewers. "For serious--I know where you live."

More messages flood in, most of which are buried under waves of emote spamming and text-to-speech chatter, all the while Shadow slowly zooms the camera in on his face. Just to annoy them. No cute slime content for the traitors.

They had to earn that privilege back.

Preferably through donations, and lots of begging.

Maybe he'd even film the ground the whole way just to really drive the point home...

Either way, things were already off to a well-rehearsed start. A few more minutes of banter and they'd be on their way. This was expected. This was normal.

So you can probably forgive him for not immediately noticing when his communicator went off. The vibrating is faint, barely noticeable among the jittery movement he was already prone to. It took him a moment of nearly walking into roaming hen-hens and tripping on stray plorts before it finally registered.

He holds up a hand to the camera as if to say 'just a moment,' before digging around in his hoodie pocket for said source of intrigue. Out comes a phone-sized device most of his chat had never seen before, bright in color and pinging a soft chime.

"Huh. Well, that ain't good," Shadow mumbles, more so to himself than anyone else. His gaze flickers back up, almost nervously, and he laughs a half-hearted excuse. "Sorry y'all, we're gonna have to rain check this."

His chat isn't able to sway him for any further details as he speeds through his usual farewell spiel, hurrying through the motions of shutting down his broadcast and rushing back to the house. His normally relaxed and bouncy gait is swapped out right alongside his stream gear, left at the front door as he leaps down the steps back into the ranch. He can worry about it later.

Green is right where Shadow had last seen him, still standing off to the left side of the ranch, staring at their coop with mild exasperation and a defeated slump to his posture. His ear twitches at Shadow's approach, head tilting ever so slightly in his direction.

"Change of plans?" Green asks.

Shadow skids to a stop, kicking up dirt as he slides, prompting Green to sidestep to avoid it. That gets his full attention. Observant emerald irises pin him immediately, radiating concern (along with trace amounts of actual radiation, but that wasn't important).

"Problem?" Green not so subtly gives him a cursory once over, frowning when it didn't reveal the issue right away. Shadow would have made a joke about it, but now really wasn't the time.

Lifting his communicator up, he waves it obnoxiously--as if Green needed any prompting. "Distress ping from Vio."

Green's posture changes at that.

"Any details?" He asks, keeping his jaw set; standing a little straighter.

"Nah." Shadow turns the communicator back to himself, staring at it almost forlornly. "Just the ping."

Green's hand finds Shadow's shoulder, startling him from his worries before they could spiral. His eyes reflect back the same concern, but a small, reassuring smile is beginning to work its way onto Green's face, and he squeezes lightly.

"No worries, Vio knows how to handle himself." Green's eyes flicker off to one side briefly, and he raises his unoccupied hand to make the nearly universal 'come here' gesture, before returning his attention to Shadow. "We know his location, and our Firefly should be somewhere around the Ancient Ruins right about now. I'll shoot him a message and get him moving in that direction, kay?"

Shadow can only nod as another arm winds around his shoulders from behind, pulling him back against a much firmer chest. Green huffs out a laugh as Blue rests his chin against the top of Shadow's head, paying no mind to Shadow's near squawk of outrage and futile struggle.

"Sup?" Blue raises an eyebrow, tightening his grip on Shadow even as he begins trying to gnaw his arm. He covers Shadow's mouth with his free hand and a hissed, "fuckin' stop that."

Green lifts a finger as he pulls out his communicator, leaving Blue in the dark a little longer. The sound of flurried typing echoes over the bawks of the hen-hens, and Blue sticks his own fingers into Shadow's mouth in response to having his hand licked.

"We have--don't gag him--a situation," Green finally illuminates, clipping the device back to his belt.

"Good situation, bad situation? Blue asks, finally relinquishing Shadow's freedom to wipe the spit off his fingers.

Green's expression does something complicated. "A not good one."

"VeVe S.O.S'd," Shadow coughs.

"Seriously?"

"Red's en route, I'm going to meet him at our Desert teleporter. We should be able to find Vio within the hour, assuming he stayed within his intended radius." Green nods to himself, starting off towards the lab.

"And if he didn't?" Blue calls after. Shadow looks at him sharply.

Green pauses in his stride, inclining his head up in thought, before continuing at a slower pace. "In that case, it may take a little longer."

"Even with Red's help?" Shadow questions.

"He doesn't know the Desert like V does," Blue points out, moving to follow Green. "He told me he's been there like, maybe three times total. And one of those times he just sucked faces with V instead of exploring."

Shadow titters, jogging to catch up. The other's longer legs made for an unfair advantage, but the hurried march made sense. Blue glances between the pile of tech in front of the house and Shadow as they go by, but keeps his mouth shut and allows it to pass without comment.

By the time they make it to Vio's lab, Shadow's nerves are starting to fray once more. The yellow teleporter ("It's butterscotch!" Red would insist), loomed just outside the open doors to the building, allowing the fluorescent lighting to spill out onto the dry ground. It looks oddly empty, without their resident scientist mulling around inside.

Something about that thought made Shadow's insides twist.

"Are you guys coming too?" Green asks, a bit redundantly, given he already knew the answer. Shadow nods without hesitation, stepping up alongside him to face the teleporter.

"I need to grab something first." Blue doesn't wait for any responses. Ducking into the lab, shuffling boxes and metal dragging on metal faintly fills the otherwise still air.

Once he reemerges, Shadow briefly catches sight of something small being slipped into Blue's belt pouch, but he's quickly distracted again by Green stepping onto the teleporter. In a flash of brilliant gold, Green disappears, and Shadow isn't slow to follow.

The sun immediately begins to glare down on him from the other side, and he yelps, ducking behind Green in a fruitless attempt at shelter. Green chuckles despite the situation, and wordlessly readjusts to properly shield Shadow from the worst of the rays.

Blue appears shortly thereafter, raising one hand to block the light from his vision as he looks out across the shifting sand. He gives it a good once over, before dropping his hand and turning to Green. "The fuck are we?"

"North of the Warp Station, silly!" The three jostle slightly, turning just in time to see Red come bounding across the uneven terrain like it was nothing. His shoes barely even seem to sink in the sand as he draws closer, hopping onto a fallen pillar of some sort before kicking off with his hands outstretched in Green's direction.

To his credit, Green didn't stumble as he caught Red in his arms, spinning them both with the momentum as Red's infectious laughter began to spread. He places Red down--only for him to dart over to Blue, hugging him tightly and nuzzling his shoulder.

Shadow blinks, and Red materializes in front of him next, lacing their fingers together as he leans forward to peck him on the lips. It was chaste, barely enough to even feel, but the warmth behind it was enough to chase away the twisting anxiety that had wedged itself between his ribs, if only for a moment.

He tugs Red back to him as he tries to slip away, pressing their lips more firmly together and smothering Red's laughter between them. It's hardly enough; the warmth much too addicting, but he knows better than to push for any more.

Green's amused ahem backs up that decision.

Shadow pulls away, noting with smug satisfaction that Red tries to follow. And that smug energy only shifts to humor once Blue snags Red around the waist, dragging him into their own barely contained kiss. Making eye contact with Green, Shadow smirks playfully, and Green can only sigh.

"If we're all done making out with Red now," Green starts, clapping his hands to get their attention, "we do kinda have a reason for being out here if you'll recall."

Red pushes at Blue's shoulders, leaning backward in his arms to stare at Green from upside down. "I don't recall, actually. What're we doin' again?

"You didn't fill him in?" Blue intoned, letting go of Red completely and dropping him into the sand. Shadow only felt a little bad snickering at Red's exaggerated 'oof'.

"Hey, I didn't exactly have time to explain in detail," Green defends, though he does concede to Blue's glare, lowering his head slightly. "I figured I could explain as we go. It'll be faster that way."

Red jumps to his feet, brushing the sand from the folds of his pants with a tilt of his head. "If that's the case, then let's go! Where to?"

"West of the center point. Know where that is?"

Red hums, bounding past Green and towards an arch in the landscape's natural mountains. He stops before he gets too far, turning back to stare at them expectantly.

"If we're just heading in a direction, then I can probably lead us," Red explains, "but landmarks are finicky. I don't think anythin' actually has a name out here. Vi said no to all my suggestions."

"Right, well that's better than nothing." Green shares a look between Blue and Shadow, stepping forward and nearly stumbling as his boot takes on sand. "Let's--ah, talk while we walk. We still don't have a full scope of the situation, but we're hoping..."

Shadow stares after them as they begin to drift away, bumping shoulders with Blue as he moves past. It's clear from the proximity that Blue intends to stay close, likely as a preventative measure to keep him from wandering off. And he can appreciate that. After all, the last thing they need right now is two missing people.

He hopes Green has finished explaining by the time they catch up. Shadow's own anxiety about the situation had reached a tolerable simmer thanks to Red's bubbly aura, but he wasn't sure what would happen should that aura pop.

Thankfully, Red was the kind of guy to take everything in stride.

Everything would be fine.

They'd explain things to Red, he'd lead them to Vio, and Vio would be fine. Maybe it was just a misclick. Maybe they'd find him wandering about and he'd have no idea they were even concerned in the first place.

Vio would be fine.

Everything would be fine.

----

Everything was not fine.

Everything was so not fine.

They'd reached the area Vio was meant to be in without issue. Fairly straightforward. They had a vague idea of what to be looking out for, and the landmark was indeed very obvious, and just as Vio had described to Red the night before.

The actual problem was Vio not being there.

Sure, there were signs all around the isolated plateau that Vio had been up to something nearby. But none of it pointed to where he had gone, and to make matters infinitely worse, they had a brand new issue to contend with.

Apparently, the Glass Desert was named that for a very specific reason—one that, according to Red, was fast approaching and signaled by the dramatic uptick in heat.

So, yeah. By this point Shadow could safely say he hasn't been so stressed in literal years.

The plateau and its immediate surroundings were busts. Branching off was their only option, and that's how they found themselves in the stupid situation they are now: racing through unfamiliar territory in a frantic search for their missing link.

A lot of it's a blur.

Blue may have stayed back to check the sea (and Goddesses, he hopes Vio hadn't drowned), while Green had gone...somewhere else. And Red, well.

The speeds at which Red moves are difficult enough to keep up with even on more stable terrain, but with Shadow's shoes constantly sinking and sliding in the loose grains, he has no hope of keeping up.

He can only fall further and further behind as the impending fallout ticks closer and closer.

Firestorms were no joke.

Even the slimes, fearless as they may be in their element, tended to cower at the might of a solar anomaly, hiding away in crumbling ruins and under towering crystalline structures; existing testaments to the sheer intensity of the Desert.

And Vio was out here somewhere.

Lost, despite claiming this as his element.

Shadow couldn't help but wonder what had gone wrong. Did he really misclick after all? Had a slime caught him unaware?

...was he safe?

Shadow's foot caught in the sand, sending him tumbling to the rough ground below as if to spite him. Hot tears jostle to the corners of his eyes, barely comparable to the arid heat wafting around him, and he balls his fists into the grains with a frustrated growl.

He pushes himself to his knees, scrubbing at his face with his jacket sleeves. Goddesses, he hates crying. He was going to kill Vio himself for worrying him so bad. The stupid...smart bastard better still be alive for him to follow through on that delirious vow, or so help him...

Climbing to his feet, Shadow made it another few steps forward before a shrill scream tore through his very core like lightning. Distressed, unintelligible; less a coherent word, never mind a name, but Shadow knew it all the same.

It carried on the wind, reverberating in his skull. He was moving before he even had time to fully process it. The high cliff walls around him blurred together as he stumbled through a winding, weathered path, fighting the drag of his own weight through the unforgiving sands.

When the sheer cliff faces began to subside, pulling away to let him breathe, he was met with a sharp drop down into a clearing. His heart was hammering in his chest as he wobbled forward, vertigo kicking in hard as he'd already pieced together what likely lay below.

Red's stuttering sobs bounced off the rocks, piercing through Shadow like jagged glass, tearing at his fragile composure. He staggers, dropping to his knees at the edge of the drop, unable to keep his balance.

He peers forward over the side.

He stops breathing.

There, splattered along the side of the dry rock, popping against the craggy orange stone...dotting Red's hands...as he cradles Vio's still form to himself.

Blood.

So much.

He couldn't breathe.

...was Vio breathing?

Numb, almost unresponsive fingers move to his communicator, unhelpfully mashing down the distress button over and over, and over, and over...

Where were the others? Red was crying, couldn't they hear him? They need help.

They need help. They need help.

Vio needs help.

"S--!"

Help.

"--dow!"

Help.

"Sh-dow!"

Help, someone-!

"Shadow!"

Fingers dig into his shoulder, tearing his gaze away from the scene and hiding his vision away in the crook of someone's neck. His breathing was ragged, choppy. So loud in his own ears. What...

"It's okay." Green's voice. Shaky, wet. "It's okay."

A hand found it's way into his hair, carding through it with unwavering care. Green. Green was here.

"Is-" Shadow's voice shook. "...Vio..."

Green lowers his chin onto Shadow's head, resting it on his hand for a moment. And for once, Shadow can't find it in himself to hate it.

"He's...okay," Green murmurs. "He'll be okay."

...okay.

"We need to go."

He doesn't wait for a reply. Shadow closes his eyes tightly against the harsh, red light of the Desert around them, burying his face further into Green's neck as he's lifted. The world shifts, the sound of a jetpack goes off, and Shadow's just lucid enough to wonder if Green had his vacpack this whole time.

The feeling of burning hot heat lasts for only a few minutes more, before the drone of a teleporter hums loudly in his ear, and his consciousnesss fades.

----

He should be dead right now.

Vio is aware enough to admit that.

Miscalculations are common enough in his particular field of study to be expected. Accidents happen, no matter how experienced you are, so it wasn't too surprising.

He knew the moment his foot missed the ledge and gravity took over that he was dead. The fall was survivable, sure, but all those collisions he had with the cliff-side on the way down? Astronomically less so. He was dead. So, so so dead.

The others were going to find his half-charred, slime-eaten body at the bottom of some random cliff and conclude he was actually a fucking dumbass. Goddesses, he hopes they skip the mourning process and just chuck his body into the sea.

At least then he'd still be attributing to science. He's still morbidly curious after all; do corpses float in the slime sea?

Questions for another time, he supposes. The fact he could even think at all was pointing toward a conclusion much more curious all its own.

He's still alive.

He really shouldn't be, and yet...hm.

His body feels numb. Moving is proving to be difficult, but that's never stopped him before and won't stop him now. Scrunching up his face, he forces his eyelids open with some effort, wincing at the glaringly familiar white ceiling above him. The blurriness slowly recedes as he blinks back to steady consciousness.

More and more of his surroundings come into focus. A soft weight on his left side, shifting gently out of sync with him; another person. Then, a different, more noticeable weight against the right side of his body, blowing light, warm air onto his neck; no doubt, yet another person.

His eyes slip closed again as he allows himself to just breathe.

Breathe.

He really should not be able to do that right now. Or ever again, actually. Not that he's complaining. Though it probably sounds as if he is. Still fairly curious about the slime sea, after all...

But no, he's...hm. Having trouble thinking.

"You done defragging yet, Windows Vista?"

Oh, he knows that voice.

"...luuue..." he slurs, tilting his head towards the source.

There's an irritated clicking noise, before a chair squeaks, and one of Vio's eyes is pried open. He instinctively squints against the feeling, a whole three seconds late.

"Fucking hell...you are concussed, damn it." Blue's blurry face twists into a scowl before he leans away again, momentarily revealing Shadow as the person lying on his right side, and then he's dropped back into darkness.

"Mmm n-n-naah," Vio glitches.

Blue scoffs again. "Mhm, yeah, no. Try again when you can say actual words."

"Sh--hn tr..ee," Vio tries again.

"That one didn't even make sense."

Dull pain blooms behind Vio's eyelids, and he whines low in his throat.

Hurts. It hurts. His muscles are fighting him, he can't lift his arms. He needs...he needs to...hm...?

"...we're gonna need to talk about this."

Pain--

Painpainpain--!

Vio's eyes shoot open, and he gasps, instinctively clenching his jaw as the pressure around his wrist registers. Shortly after, Blue's face comes into view, twisted into a grimace. He has one hand wrapped loosely over the deep purple bruise of skin Vio calls his right wrist, the other keeping him propped up over the side of the bed.

"Fuck," Vio mumbles, forcing his body to relax. It's the first coherent thing he's said in days, and Blue's not exactly happy about that. "Let go."

Blue doesn't have to be told twice.

"You aren't phasing anymore."

"So it would seem." Vio shuts his eyes once more. "Are the others asleep?"

"Have been for a few hours now." Blue leans back, causing the mattress to spring slightly once his weight is off it. "Green's out working through his stress, the idiot. These two just don't wanna leave you be."

Ah, so the other person is Red. That makes sense.

"Sorry," Vio says automatically, "I didn't mean to worry everyone."

Blue emanates the aura of someone rolling their eyes, and it's a little impressive he's able to communicate that so well to someone with their own eyes closed.

"Shut the fuck up. You have a lot more to apologize for than just that."

Vio reopens his eyes to level a blank stare at Blue.

"Don't look at me like that."

Vio squints.

"Or like that!"

A soft chuckle escapes Vio, only to be immediately chased down by a wince as his ribs protest loudly. He curses his low pain tolerance silently in his head as Blue sighs.

"You're injured, dumbass. Fell off a damn cliff apparently." Huh. That does sound familiar. "You really scared the hell out of these two when they found you."

Ah. No wonder they were clinging.

"Green's coming up with a whole lecture on group safety as we speak. No more Desert trips alone."

Vio raises an eyebrow at that. Or at least attempts to. "There's no way he can enforce that."

"Yeah, well, he won't be the only one." Blue crosses his arms and nods towards the two cuddled up to Vio's sides. "Good luck going anywhere without at least one attached to you."

Fair point. It wouldn't be the first time he's had them nipping at his heels wherever he went, though it has been a few years. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. He didn't remember minding it back then.

Then again, his research efforts might drop dramatically in productivity. Both could be distracting on their own, but together? He'd never get anything done.

He's lured from that particular conundrum as Blue abruptly stands, stretching his arms over his head with a groan. Vio would probably appreciate the sight more if he weren't concussed and struggling with complex thoughts.

"M'kay, well, I'm gonna go let Green know you're kinda lucid right now. Don't think you're getting out of that conversation later." Blue does a few more stretches to fully wake up his joints (just how long had he been sitting there?) before heading over to the door. Oh, this is his room; no wonder the ceiling looks familiar.

Blue pauses in the doorway, seeming to think something over, then turns back with a smug grin and a flippant wave. "Oh, and by the way, one of your teleporters is in the middle of fuckin' nowhere now. Sorry not sorry."

"Wait, what--?"

Blue cackles to himself as he leaves, completely aware of how Vio's attempt to sit up was barred by Shadow and Red 'conveniently' choosing that moment to wake up and tighten their holds on him.

And it was about at that point, where he was being smothered by his two more affectionate boyfriends, that Vio decided, yeah, actually, slime sea theory can wait a few more years.

Or ten.

Maybe thirty.

That conversation could be a future non-concussed Vio's problem, too.

This is nice.

He should fall off cliffs more often.

Or maybe not. He really should be dead right now.

He wonders how many realities in which he did die there. He wonders which reality is he. Is there a true Vio out there? What quantifies as a "Vio", anyway.

...he wonders where they put his bracelet.

He's starting to slip again.

--End--

Please feel free to tell me what y'all thought! I haven't written anything to completion in years so I'm still a bit rusty.

I intended to address Vio's bracelet more, and there was a whole extra plot thread I ended up cutting, but hopefully I'll get to those some other time. This was getting a bit long and I didn't want to lose motivation before I finished it. I'm placing this in dubiously au canon for now. We'll see if it still fits in as I expand the au.

Thanks so much for reading this far! Hopefully y'all liked it!

Here’s a bonus: the in-game map with some of my notes on it. In blue, the area where Vio was supposed to be. In purple, the area they actually found him.

I like to think in this AU, one of the others put that cartoony danger sign next to the cliff.

As requested: @zeldathusiast

It’s done! :D

[onboardsorasora]

Enchanted AU: Part 36

Your eyes do not deceive you, its a new chapter! (which I started months ago and tabled). We're going back to irregular updates here-- mostly whenever I feel a vibe. If a new plot forms, it forms! I missed these two, happy to write them again.

Enchanted AU - Disney Princess Dan 1 | Part 35

Max placed his hand on Daniel's bouncing thigh as they sat in the back of the SUV. The skyline was a beautiful orange that reminded him of the smoke that followed him around the grandstands.

Perth was beautiful.

Joe had only given him a stern look in place of a shovel talk before shaking his hand. No doubt Grace and Michelle took care of that. Daniel had clutched Joe like his life depended on it and Max was able to see the absolute relief that fluttered over the elder Ricciardo’s face. 

Daniel seemed to get more and more nervous the closer they got to the family ranch. He'd begun biting his cuticles along with his leg hopping.

“What's wrong?” Max leaned over to whisper. Daniel jolted a little before smiling.

“I'm just excited to see everyone I think. It's like been so long.”

“They'll all be happy to see you, I think.” Max knew Daniel meant all the animals in his ‘everyone’ and he couldn't wait to maybe meet some of them. 

They arrived not too long afterwards and there was a flurry of activity. Daniel was scooped up into many hugs and Max was even enfolded into the bosom of an older woman who mumbled to him in Italian. She looked at Max's face this way and that from varying angles before she smiled beautifully as if satisfied.

“Nonna please.” Daniel came to save him, he muttered to the woman in Italian in a pleading tone and she only smirked at him and said something in what Max could only claim as an ‘i told you so’ tone.

“Don't mind her.” Daniel was blushing as he spoke, tugging Max out of the house by his hand. They exited through a door in the kitchen and Max saw that the land went on for kilometers. 

“Would you like to meet everyone?” Daniel asked shyly. Max threaded his fingers through Daniel's and brought the back of his tattooed wrist to his lips.

“I'd be honoured.”

Daniel led them through a side gate that separated a garden area from what seemed to be the greater farm. They didn't walk very far before they were immediately swarmed by a small herd of llamas, sheep and horses. 

Daniel took a minute to laugh and interact with the animals before tugging Max forward. He sang Max's introduction, and soon he was overwhelmed with animals trying to get his attention.

Max doesn't know how long they spent out there, going for rides with the herd. He was amazed at how excited the animals were to see Daniel again. It felt like the time in the glade in Monaco on steroids. Max watched as Daniel stroked the head of a foal tucked into his side, he smiled softly as they were presented with all of the new babies to ooh and ahh over.

If Max didn't know any better, he'd have thought they stepped into a Disney movie or something.

Grace stepped out onto the back patio with a grin and her hands on her hips. Daniel looked up from where he was nuzzling an alpaca and nodded. 

“It's dinner time I think.” Daniel murmured, reaching for Max's hand.

It took some coaxing and promises of more cuddle time for the animals to let them go. Daniel also promised to brush the horses before the night was over. 

“C’mon Mr popular.” Max teased, pulling Daniel close by the wrist. Daniel ducked his head in a blush and pushed Max's shoulder with his. 

“Did you– everyone enjoyed meeting you.” Daniel bit his lip nervously. He hoped Max hadn't been too overwhelmed.

Max kissed their joined hands. “It was lovely. Everyone really loves you.” Max said honestly. He only felt a little badly that he'd had Daniel to himself all this time. 

“I missed them as well. If I knew I'd have been gone for so long I'd have given everyone more kisses!” Daniel babbled. “I'll make sure to spend time with everyone before we leave for Melbourne.”

They stepped onto the back porch and Max pulled Daniel into his arms. He kissed Daniel's temple, smiling a little at the thought of Daniel coming with him to a race weekend. He was more excited than he realized, the anticipation of Daniel in his world– seeing him in his element was high. 

“I'll come with you.” Max promised, enjoying the beaming smile Daniel sent his way. It would be lovely, he knew. Any time spent with Daniel was.

[possibilistfanfiction]

Hi can we have some hallmark AU from Beas POV? Maybe their first Meeting?

despite what you know everyone believes — and what most of them aren’t afraid to say — you’re not lonely.

it’s a good life, the one you have, the one you have earned for yourself and made with your bare hands. it’s quiet, sure, and there’s solitude, and perhaps your therapist didn’t mean, a few years ago, that you should move far out of the city when they suggested you get away for a little while to be further from your parents and the feeling of this specter of trauma that floated all around that city, afraid you might see them at every turn. 

even if it was an accident — or maybe because it was an accident — it had been easy to fall in love with this place, with the mountains and the cabin with floors you refurbished and bathroom tiles laid by your own hands, the practical clothes that fill your closet, the boots lined up neatly by the front door. 

you had fallen in love with a family more complete and full of grace than you had thought possible — mary and her warm, safe bar; camila who always shares her books; lilith who helped you, despite a near panic, cut your hair for the first time; shannon and the ranch full of animals she always treats with such care; everyone who took care of you — with joy, without judgement or resentment — after top surgery, suzanne driving you to and from the hospital, four hours each way, and then a rotating cast of company and food, tidying around your home that has become theirs too, while you healed, and had, months later, mortifyingly whistled relentlessly the first time you went swimming in the lake the next summer. suzanne comes over sometimes with a bag from the farmer’s market to make you dinner and split a bottle of wine; camila has never forgotten your coffee order since the first time you went; lilith never complains on hikes that make you both bend over, exhausted by the time you summit, with matching grins; mary and shannon have you over every year for your birthday, throwing you a big party even though you insist you’re fine without. you are celebrated and seen without reproach, a miracle in itself.

you have theo, a great love of your life, no matter what anyone says, who had wandered up to you quite bravely the first time you went out to the ranch when she was still tiny, not quite coordinated, still downy and velvety soft in the way only her ears are now, with black freckles on her white chest and sharp puppy teeth when she chewed on your finger. you fell in love with the way she made shannon and suzanne laugh when she squared up with the sheep, much bigger than her, her fearless and ineffective attempts at herding both promising and adorable. she was never meant to be a working dog on the ranch full time, so when suzanne offered her to you as a companion who could work some days with the stock, it had felt like things slid into place. you talk to her and she tilts her head to listen; you laugh together and explore and she curls up, spine to spine, during the middle of the night; at sunrise you feed her scraps of bacon from your plate when she rests her head on your thigh. 

you love and are loved so much; you are not lonely.

you know the entire town is meddling and loves to gossip, lilith being the worst even if she swears she’s not invested at all. camila is obvious about it, getting to know every person who ever visits to try to set you up with the ones she deems “eligible,” which, at this point, you think just translates into someone you would find physically attractive — not narrowing it down much — who is “probably” (camila’s words) single. it’s a lost cause, you’re fairly certain, even though everyone insists it’ll happen one day.

you should know to bet against god, or love, or fate, or whatever, because it’s an average day just like the others when you meet ava. 

you had been reading a twitter thread the day before about how metaphors are relational only; they are rarepairs; they never fully tell the truth. it runs through your mind the first time you see her, laughing by shannon’s side, the snow just beginning to fall — you’ll think back on it years later and have no words or associations to really tell the whole truth of what you felt: like a door had opened in front of you that you had thought was a wall, or suddenly the grey light of the waning afternoon sounded a gentle purple, or planets and stars and the entire universe. there’s nothing but the truth of ava: her smile and her dark eyes and her cane getting caught in the fresh snow every time she takes a step, clearly annoying her but going unmentioned. her impractical puffer jacket, her red cheeks. you have never felt a pull like this before in your life, and it unsettles you.

theo barks at you, embarrassingly, after you’ve just been standing still, your world reorienting. she’s tired from working the sheep back from pasture to the barn before the storm, probably wanting water and a nap in your warm truck as you head home. you scratch behind her ears to soothe her and she shakes you off, still annoyed, which makes you laugh and follow as she trots along in front. 

you haven’t felt this young maybe ever, suddenly blanking on literally any words when theo goes up to shannon — and, so, ava — and you don’t even know her yet, have never heard her name yet, but she beams at you.

‘beatrice,’ shannon says, and all you can do is offer up a weird, awkward wave, which shannon lifts a brow at, her smile sharpening when she sees what must be a blush on your cold cheeks, ‘this is ava; ava, this is beatrice.’

you take off your leather work gloves before offering your hand to shake.

‘wow,’ ava says, ‘that was so chivalrous, i loved it.’ before you can even respond, she leans forward excitedly. ‘and who is this?’

‘this is theo.’ theo, for her part, waits patiently by your side as her tongue lolls out in a happy, tired smile, her little coat admittedly very cute. ‘you can say hi, if you want. she loves people.’

ava is delighted by this, and she crouches down and pets theo happily but considerately, not getting too excited or up in her space. ‘i know you said she loves people, but i’m feeling very special right now.’

you laugh. ‘she has that effect.’

ava eventually stands, and you kind of resent shannon for leaving at some point in the last thirty seconds while you were both distracted. ‘do you —‘

‘—where are you—‘

‘apologies,’ you say.

‘sorry,’ ava says.

you reach out and touch her hand gently, briefly, enough to send a shock of electricity — warm and new — through you. it’s starting to snow harder, and you had planned to beat the worst of it and settle in for the night. ‘did you drive here?’ you ask, forgoing your first desire to ask where are you visiting from? or how long will you be staying? or why are you here? 

ava laughs. ‘nah, mary gave me a ride. i was at the bar and she was telling me about this place; i do marketing and social media for an agency in the city and it sounded like the ranch could use some of my incredible expertise, maybe, for fundraising views. plus it sounded cute, so i wanted to see it and she offered. anyway —‘ she rambles and then takes a deep breath. ‘she didn’t say anything about you.’

you feel, mortifyingly, for a moment, like you might pass out, but you gather yourself. ‘oh, i, uh, i just volunteer here. with theo. we work stock. i don’t —‘ you clear your throat and ava looks on, grinning, ‘do you need a ride back to town?’

[tgmsunmontue]

More than movie magic... 5/24

Hangster AU. Explicit (eventually). Jake is a Hollywood actor and Bradley is a stunt coordinator. Jake's about to make a few self-discoveries. So is Bradley.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR

                He drives the slightly battered hire car, well, truck, down the road. When he’d asked if they had something more like a sedan they’d laughed at him, and he’d realized then that all the newer nicer cars were probably reserved by cast and crew, people far higher up the food chain than Bradley. That’s okay, he’s got this Bronco, something he’d never drive normally, although he does have to admit the room in the back is an advantage, all his gear fits easily and while the outside might need some TLC the inside radio works and the interior has obviously been restored. It’s grown on him as he’s neared Hazy Days Ranch, following the directions from his phone to the location that they’re apparently using for this film.

                Half of his team are already there, arriving even earlier, needing to work with Machado and Bassett, despite already doing some preliminary work with some basic lessons in California. He knows Jake is busy wrapping up the promotional tour and Bradley refuses to acknowledge out loud that he’s looking forward to seeing him again. Along with his own team he knows the advance crew have already arrived and set up everything, including trailers, storage, lighting, costuming.

                There’s security on the gate and he shows his ID, waits for his name to be checked off the list and then he’s being waved through and directed to where he should park up. It’s slightly chaotic, which doesn’t surprise him. They have a few weeks before they start filming, but there are no hard boundaries around a set this big, and it seems like everyone is just wandering around and enjoying the early summer weather. He knows they couldn’t start filming earlier, not with the higher risk of tornados apparently, but it all looks calm. Weather wise at least. He needs to figure out where he’s sleeping and eating for the next six to eight weeks, and god he hopes it doesn’t take longer than that.

                “Hi there!” A young man greets, smile wide and he can’t be more than eighteen, but he’s dressed in what Bradley can only think of as cowboy.

                “Uh, hi?”

                “You here for the film?”

                “Yeah, Bradley Bradshaw. I’m the stunt coordinator. You need to see some ID?”

                “N’aw! They woulda checked that at the gate already. They’re just serving up the evening meal in the mess hall. Come on, we better hurry if you want food. I’m Freddie.”

                The guy holds his hand out to shake and Bradley takes it with a little amusement, murmurs that it’s nice to meet him and wonders when the film required teenagers, because he’s read the script. Maybe the kid is doing a summer job or something. His stomach grumbles then, and he huffs in amusement at Freddie’s laugh, follows him toward a large building, clearly newly built, probably built solely for feeding cast and crew for the next couple of months. The food smells good, and there are a lot of people, more than he expected.

                “Aunty Kaye! Got another one!”

                “Well now, they just keep coming don’t they!”

                Bradley almost feels like he should apologize, except the woman making a beeline for him is smiling widely, not perturbed at all by his arrival and she’s clearly related to this Freddie, the family resemblance is there even if he hadn’t just called her Aunty Kaye.

                “I’m sorry I’m late –” Not that he had a set time he was meant to arrive by, but Mav and Ice raised him to be polite and damned if he’s not going to be as charming as possible when faced with someone who is apparently going to feed him.

                “Oh! Don’t ya worry about that, I’m used to feeding people whenever they turn up at my door. Now what’s your name dear?”

                “Bradley Bradshaw ma’am, nice to meet you,” Bradley offers, because he has a feeling that this woman might be part and parcel of the whole ranch, given the proprietary air she has toward the entire room and all the people in it, like they’re all her guests and she wants to ensure they’re all well fed and cared for.

                “Well! Bradley Bradshaw. It is nice to meet you. Hmm. Welcome to Hazy Days. You can call me Mama Kaye.”

                “Oh. Um,” Bradley starts, because he hasn’t called anyone mom, or mama other than his own mom, and he knows it’s an offer borne of kindness, but…

                “Or Aunty Kaye, if that’s easier for you honey.”

                “Aunty Kaye,” he accepts, smiles and nods gratefully, because this woman seems incredibly perceptive given that she’s just met him.

                “Freddie, you show Bradley here where to find everything and then I can show him where he’ll be bunking down when he’s finished eating.”

                Clearly Freddie takes direction from this woman and he spends the next few minutes giving Bradley a quick rundown of where to find the bathrooms, utensils, plates, how to line up for food. He finds Natasha, Rueben and Bob and quickly eats his meal. They all tell him they’ve had the welcome wagon in the form of Mama/Aunty Kaye and he nods and smiles, accepts it’s just pass and parcel for the orientation here.

                There’s a table filled with mainly men, some women, they’re all dressed similarly and he realizes that they might actually be the real deal. Clearly dusty and dirty from being outside working. Holy shit. They’ve mixed ranch hands with the film crew and god, it’s a fucking working ranch. His stomach twists a little with anxiety over the lack of controlled conditions, but he’ll just have to deal with it. He’s not responsible for the day-to-day activities of a working ranch or its workers. After scraping his plate Aunty Kaye suddenly appears beside him, gestures for him to follow her and he doesn’t really have any choice but to, raising his hand in goodbye to his friends.

                After being instructed to he grabs his bags (filled with some of his oldest clothes) and follows after her. The woman has smile lines all over her face, and Bradley wonders what his mom would look like now, all the photos he has of his mom are ones where she’s sporting a huge grin and she’d probably have happy wrinkle lines like this. It’s a nice thought.

                “Well, here are bunk rooms, we got them upgraded a little while ago. The family house is up there a little way, but down here we have a bigger kitchen and I can cook for everyone who’s here. It’s gonna be like a little party every day ain’t it?”

                “I guess so,” Bradley agrees, because he guesses for someone who doesn’t live like this the novelty must be quite nice. She leads him through a spacious bunkhouse, there’s a common area with cards and some boardgames, refrigerator and coffee machine, clearly to meet the needs of early morning coffee addicts. There’s a long corridor with about six doors on each side and fucking hell, how many people do they have staying in here.

                “I put you in here, upstairs so you don’t have the noise of the people coming back and forth all the time, or clompin’ about above you. There is a little balcony as well, facing toward the sunset. Real pretty.”

                “Thank you, it’s lovely,” Bradley offers, because honestly, it really is. He wasn’t expecting a queen-sized bed, or even his own space. He’d been expecting to share at a minimum. This is pretty damned luxurious, it’s going to make it a lot more comfortable given the physical nature of what some of the tasks he’s going to have to undertake for this job.

                “You’re a good boy. Nice and polite.”

                “I try to be ma’am,” Bradley says.

                “Well, you keep on tryin’ and I’ll just be glad for you to keep everyone safe on set…”

                “Uh…” he’s pretty sure that’s the realm of the safety personnel, whom he works with obviously, however he wonders what it is she thinks he does exactly.

                “I mean with regards to the stunt work honey. I hear wee Jake complained about not being allowed to do some of the riskier things. Glad there’s someone like you watchin’ out for him. That boy can be far too reckless for my likin’.”

                “Wee Jake?” Bradley asks, amused. “Is there a non-wee Jake around? Have you known him a while then?”

                For some reason that makes her laugh, and if his comment like that sets her off it explains the laugh lines.

                “Oh honey, you’re funny. I’ve known Jake his whole life. His grandpa was big-Jake.”

                “Oh. Okay. I didn’t realize that Jake grew up around here…”

                “Around here? Well –”

                “Bradley! Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

                “It’s no problem dear, I’ve gotta keep reminding myself you lot are all here to do a job and I gotta stop distracting y’all.”

                “You weren’t distracting me, you were showing me to my room. Thank you again.”

                “You’re welcome, I’ll let you catch up with your friends. Welcome again Bradley.”

                “Thanks.”

PART SIX