soft sappy romantic college AU ranchers at the end of a long day. that is all <3

so uh. remember how i said i'd do these requests? how i said they'd help me get back into writing and such? well! um! don't mind that that was. months ago. anyway, here is a very short little drabble from College AU, which i made a while back with the asker above, my good buddy theo! i haven't talked about it much on here but for some context if everyone else is interested: uh imagine ranchers but they are semi-secretly seeing each other and tango has to climb into jimmy's bedroom window to see him most nights. that's all you really need to know. :) i just wanted a lil bit of fluff tonight and this called to me, so thank you for the request, theo! sorry it took me so long. <3 hopefully this is okay, haha.

As soon as Tango hops into the bedroom, Jimmy can tell it has not been a good day.  Maybe it’s the paleness of his face that is usually more flushed, or the curl of his brow in the focus on pulling the window closed, but he looks.. spent. 

Jimmy turns away from the bright screen of his laptop, the habitual smile of a familiar entrance a little less bright once Tango looks at him. 

“Hey,” he says.

Tango’s blond hair is a mess, the parts usually slicked back now loose and dangling across his forehead. His eyes look dim, mouth drawn down in a perpetually grumpy expression. 

“Hi,” Jimmy says softly, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m alright," Tango says, rather un-convincingly, with how his voice is so flat and almost lifeless. He crouches down, unfastening the laces on his boots, as he usually does. It makes Jimmy feel excited, that small guarantee in simply removing his shoes that Tango will be there for more than just a brief visit. Though, the excitement is run over by a wave of worry.

“Pardon me if that doesn’t feel very convincing,” Jimmy says, smiling just a little, “Y’don’t really look alright..” 

Halfway through unlacing his other boot, Tango’s hands go limp as he deeply sighs. He doesn’t look at Jimmy, eyes falling shut for just a second, as if the very action tires him. 

“Just been a long day,” he says, “Tired.” 

Jimmy’s mouth twitches with a frown, already feeling his heart ache at Tango’s worn expression. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Tango says firmly, standing up once he’s done. He kicks off his boots and moves further into the room, socked feet padding against the creaky wooden floor. 

While Jimmy thinks to push, he knows better. His eyes follow Tango across the room, just as he sits at the edge of the bed. 

“You- You didn’t have to come by tonight, if you wanted to just go home,” Jimmy says, suddenly feeling an odd wave of guilt, “I really don’t mind.” 

“We planned to meet up,” Tango hums with a shrug, “You still wanted to hang out, right?”

“Well, always. But y’know-”

“Jimmy, it’s fine,” Tango grunts, “I wanted to see you. Like I said, I’m just a little worn out, okay?”

Tango’s eyes focus down at his hands in his lap, which wring and rub at each other. Jimmy stands from his chair immediately, wandering over. One hand finds Tango’s forearm, while the other gently pushes its way between Tango’s hands and curls into an oddly executed clasp. He can feel how Tango’s hand twitches a bit before relaxing, clearly not expecting it. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk? I’m all ears, you know,” Jimmy says. 

Jimmy offers a smile, despite knowing Tango won’t really look at him. There looks to be consideration from Tango for a moment, but he just shakes his head. 

“Alright. That’s fair,” Jimmy hums, giving Tango a gentle squeeze of the hand, “What can I do? Anything?” 

Tango looks up at him, finally. He reaches his free hand up, knocking it free of Jimmy’s grip on his forearm and pokes at Jimmy’s chin. He brushes his calloused thumb across the stubble there, soft scratching noises coming off it. It shifts from chin strokes, to holding the side of his face, to that same thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Jimmy can’t help it when he giggles a little. 

“Seriously, love, what can I do for you?” he asks softly. 

There are quiet mumbles of something under Tango’s breath, who pulls at Jimmy’s hand. Taking the hint, Jimmy stands up, allowing his wrist to be yanked while Tango moves further onto Jimmy’s bed. 

Jimmy cocks an eyebrow, especially as Tango lets go and adjusts himself a bit, arms now outstretched to Jimmy. It takes a moment and in a rather intelligent move, Jimmy points to himself. 

“Yes, you,” Tango says. 

“You want me?” Jimmy asks, a little shocked, and partially amused. 

“No, I just want to sit here with my arms out,” Tango says sarcastically, then does a small grabby motion with his hands, “Come on, less talk-y, more crush-y.” 

With a snort, Jimmy crawls onto his bed. A little awkwardly, he slips into the space between Tango’s arms, wrapping his own around the thin waist in a tight embrace. The two tip back, momentum taking them and flopping into the cushy comforter underneath. Jimmy makes an oof noise, now enveloped in a very pleasant warmth. He feels Tango wrap his legs around his waist, squeezing, and everything in Jimmy feels like it comes to life. He will admit, in the fairly short time they’d been together, he still wasn’t used to this. Jimmy still worries of being too stiff, or causing damage, or just not doing this.. correctly.

But Tango stares up at him, lips parted as a long breath escapes. There is a sense of melting underneath Jimmy, with how Tango’s once tense body now relaxes beneath his weight. 

Okay, maybe he was nervous, but he likes how that feels. 

“Better?” Jimmy says quietly.

“Yeah. Better,” Tango says, “Been waitin’ for this all day.”

Jimmy feels his stomach flutter. “You- really?”

“Mhmm,” Tango hums, his free hands grabbing at Jimmy’s face and holding him gently. He smiles big now, tired eyes looking even more sleepy, but in a much nicer way than before. 

“..Oh.” 

Feeling a bit flustered, Jimmy’s face heats up. 

“What? Never been told someone wants to get under you before?” Tango asks, a once sweet expression turning to something a bit more cheeky— and if steam could shoot out of his ears like a hot kettle, Jimmy is sure it would. He drops his face, averting his gaze.

“Why did you have to say it like that?” he asks. 

Tango bursts into laughter, shaking entirely underneath him. 

“Because you look so scared,” Tango coos, “Loosen up.” 

“You’re the one who’s had a long day,” Jimmy retorts, “You should be the one relaxing.”

“I’d relax much easier if I wasn’t lying underneath a literal plywood board. Come on, Angel, lean on me.”

Jimmy looks at him, wrinkles his nose, and nods. His back muscles, a little more tense than he thought, slowly disengage. More and more parts of their torsos, their hips, their chests, all press against one another. The warmth gets more intense. They sink further into each other and Jimmy tries hard to take a deep breath. It feels so close, their chins bumping into each other, which prompts quiet chuckles and a mumbled apology. When there are no sudden cries of pain, no demands for him to get away, Jimmy’s odd breathing pattern begins to even out. 

Okay, Tango was right—it did feel much nicer. The two lay in a warm, cozy heap, only the distant sound of a late spring breeze in tune with their own gentle breathing to be heard. His room is dark, only the yellow-y desk light on Jimmy’s desk illuminating their faces in a soft outline.

“There we are,” Tango whispers, “See?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jimmy says, still flushed, “I know, you were right.” 

“Always,” Tango says, “And this is perfect, you know why?”

“Why?”

Suddenly, and rather overwhelmingly, Tango leans his face unbearably close. Jimmy nearly lurches back, but Tango’s arms wrapped around his neck makes it a little difficult. 

“Because I can reach you much better now,” Tango whispers. 

He then reaches up, pulling Jimmy into a slow kiss. A surprised hum escapes Jimmy, but he does not falter, instead taking the kiss into stride. It’s brief but so sweet, Tango coming out of it with a big grin. Unable to help it, Jimmy laughs, voice now a little squeaky and raspy. 

“Was that your plan the whole time?” he asks. 

“Mm.. maybe,” Tango says, shrugging lightly, “It was just too easy. Had to go for it.”

“Of course, there were just no other options,” Jimmy teases, rolling his eyes playfully. 

“Are you saying you’d prefer I didn’t do that?” 

Suddenly feeling very serious, Jimmy rapidly shakes his head. 

“No! No, no, not at all,” Jimmy rattles off, “Nope. It’s great, Tango, I like this option.”

“Mhm. That’s what I thought."

“how do you talk to star?” - title from the song of the same name by everybody’s worried about owen (since it’s back up, ao3 link is here!) characters: jimmy (mainly)/tango cw: none unless you consider the insane amount of introspective themes throughout this thing. so! little note! guess who wrote something new and finished it. for the first time in months. it is short, i am rusty, and i DEFINITELY wouldn’t say it’s my best work but i like the concept a lot and churned this short and sweet little introspective fic last night in a writing haze! i missed four calls from my family members help.

It is based on this prompt list, specifically number 7. :) hope you all enjoy this super short, ramble-y, jimmy is very much pining one-shot! ~

Jimmy has learned it takes nothing. Barely a glance, he has found, for all of the sediment—that he thought was long stationary—to be kicked up again, to clog every artery and leave him struggling to breathe.  His conundrum lies in the side profile of Tango. The curve of the tip of his forehead, drooping into the bridge of his nose and rolling over two delicate hills of pretty, thin lips. Yes, he with the dancing eyebrows and teeth flashing, pulling against his lip when he grins and eyes that almost sparkle in sync. Tango—devastatingly, heart-achingly, undeniably and beyond beautiful Tango who has yet to notice his staring.  If Jimmy were to be grateful for anything, he’d be grateful for the obliviousness of his quarry.  Tango, in a stunning move, laughs without a care in the world. It’s so loud and clear and Jimmy feels a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip, the cause of such being obvious to anyone who may notice his ogling. Though, making a home in the corner of this crowded living room, he has no intentions of intruding. Of course, maybe he wishes he was the one making Tango laugh like that. Maybe he wishes that intoxicating gaze could be on him, rather than those who engage him. “You know, you can just go talk to him, right?” Grian asks, a gentle nudge of Jimmy’s elbow making him turn. Jimmy snorts.  Maybe that’s the problem, isn’t it? Jimmy probably could just go talk to him. He’d been watching him for so long, for so many occasions—if he were a more attentive man, he’d have studied the patterns by now. He’d understand every little joke, made a note of everything that could make him more appealing, more fun to talk to. Instead, he gets lost in it. When he tries to keep track, he fails. Being analytical was never his strong suit, and it never failed him more than when he was trying to figure out how to talk to the one he is very much in love with. The one who, as far as he knows, is very much not in love with him.  “We talk,” Jimmy says, “We’re just friends, that’s what friends do” “Yeah, Tim, and I’m just an idiot.” “You said it, not me.” Jimmy tries to say it seriously, but he can’t help the grin. “I bet he’d like to chat. You two always get along well,” Grian says, dodging the jab flawlessly and turning his eyes to Tango, the two now watching from the shadows.  “Well- yeah, I guess.”  Another problem. They did get along well. Too well, in fact. He had friends, had people who he could count on and talk to or laugh with. Jimmy even knew what it felt like to be flirted with, to be teased in that way. But it never quite felt the same when it was with Tango. And it just confused him anyway, was Tango flirting with him? Was he flirting back? He knows well that sometimes he just stumbles into things without looking first, that was no doubt. It could very well be that Jimmy was just fooling himself, wandering into something that he didn’t get a good look at before exposing his neck to the danger of misinterpretation.  Maybe, in reality, Tango was just indulging him—even if he is a really, really good guy, the concept was dangerously easy for Jimmy to trust.  “I just think that if you’d get off your perch and just go up to him, or wave or- geez, just stop staring and do something, it’d probably be fine.”  “I appreciate your suggestions, but I am comfortable right here,” Jimmy says, “He’s busy, anyway- see?” He nods up in the general direction of Tango, noting how he is casually conversing with Impulse and Zed, who keep him engaged. Grian groans.  “Not gonna be busy forever, man.” “Well, I can’t go talk to him right now, then. Maybe later.”  He feels Grian clap a hand onto his shoulder, sighing. “Whatever you say, Tim. But those feelings are just going to fester till you say something, you know.” “..I’ll- I’ll take my chances,” Jimmy mutters, swallowing hard.  He only glances at Grian for a second while he moves off into the rest of the party, not bothering to track where he’s heading once he leaves.  When he finds Tango again, there’s not much of a difference. Zed left. Impulse still has him explaining something. He can tell by how his hands move, how his gestures get big and small and create the shapes of whatever figures are drawn out in his mind. Jimmy always admired that. He’d gotten it up close, once, when Tango got into one of his redstone rambles and talked at Jimmy while he just nodded and smiled and listened, despite having zero clue about what he was saying. Jimmy may not be good at redstone, but he’s sure if he was asked what he liked about Tango, he would go into the same sort of ramble. Big hand gestures, small hand gestures—anything to properly convey how smitten he had him.  Tango had no idea.  Jimmy was sure, at this point, he was destined for a forever’s worth of pining. A lifetime of restless stomachs, of rocking heartbeats that sound more like scattered drums than something meant to keep him alive. He will spend the majority of his days avoiding the fire and getting used to the cold of the corners, growing fond of the way his eyes glaze over as if he has stared at the sun for a little too long. … and.. still.  Something inside of him roared, clawed at its cage and said let me out, said tell him. He couldn’t really tell what was holding him back—was it just fear? Anyone would be scared to confess, sure. It could be the rejection, the dreamt up, awkward and letting-you-down-easy smile. The sorry, I’m just not into you that way. Or, maybe, it was the worry that things would go well. After all, they had gotten to know each other closely. Teaming up will do that to you. Talking almost every day will do that to you. Running into each other at parties, taking walks, talking about redstoning and building and bearing your every wound to each other almost shamelessly on the bad days and sharing in the joys on the good days, as if it was always meant to be just like this. Jimmy feels himself suddenly come back into himself like a head slamming into a wall, taking note of an astonishing development.   Tango is looking at him. Impulse now gone from sight, he leans against the same wall, but he is looking. Then offering an adorable wave with a tiny smile, Tango straightens his shoulders when Jimmy waves back, like some attempt to make himself look taller—and with the rush of feelings rolling over Jimmy, he feels adrenaline-fueled laughter forcing its way to the surface; it comes out in a quiet wheeze.  It finds him right away. The familiar sensation of Jimmy’s insides dropping like a sinking building, leaving nothing but dust-caked breaths that feel sticky, catching in his throat with every other inhale. He is a ruined mess of a man. A weak, mumbled puddle of warmth and heavy pulses and heat.  He is fucked. Royally, deeply, this-is-it fucked. And they stay that way for seconds, but it feels like years, and Jimmy can’t get enough of it.  Loving someone does feel quite good, doesn’t it? And maybe, being loved right back could feel even better. If he could just get over himself and try.

HELLO. holiday fic's up. go look! go read! i know the tags seem a little weird, i'll fix it some other time asdfkdsj anyway. enjoy!! <3

“i ain’t ever liked sweets (till you sugar coated my teeth)” (AO3 Link is here!<3) pairing: jimmy / tango cw: kisses, neck kissing (which, among a few other things, makes me label this one as mildly suggestive! nothing TOO bad happens, but just be aware.) happy valentine’s day, everyone! i wrote this very self-indulgent, plotless, tiny valentine’s day fluff one-shot for the ranchers. because i’m a sap. yeah. ya’ll are probably so sick of my rancher fic posting but SORRY i am ROTTING over them, alright?? at this point, it’s turning into my brand. anyway. i hope you guys enjoy! :D thanks for reading and all the support recently! p.s. the title is from “Sugar Rush” by Addison Grace! <3 ~ “Uhh, alright- now we need to add a cup and a half of sugar..” Jimmy reaches across the kitchen island for the white and pink bag, sitting in a cluster with the other varying ingredients. He grabs it with one hand and hauls the heavy paper bag down, landing with a dull thud against the counter. Pulling it open at the top, he’s about to find a measuring cup, only for Tango to hold it out for him.

Jimmy smiles warmly and takes it from him.“Thank you.” “Mhmm,” Tango hums, grabbing the cookbook splayed out in front of them and pulling it close. On the page, there’s a picture of a very pink cake. It’s decorated perfectly, with curly piped frosting and cut strawberries tracing the heart shape of it. The book itself is a little old, some of the edges of the pages folded in and yellowing. Right at the top of the page, Valentine’s Day Chocolate Cake: A perfect treat for you and your special someone! He feels like laughing. So corny. Tango’s eyes fall onto the steps of the recipe. “Hey, did you preheat the oven?” “No, um- Can you-?” Jimmy asks, focusing hard on the tedious movement of the heaping cup to the bowl placed between the two of them. “I’m on it!” Tango says, turning around and heading for the oven just behind them. In doing so, he bumps Jimmy’s elbow, making the heaping cup of sugar jerk to the side. Jimmy lets out a tiny squeak, and some of the sugar is cast onto the workspace. “Tango!” Jimmy exclaims, though he snorts, “Careful!” Tango’s shoulders jerk up, turning back to look at Jimmy with gritted teeth. “Oops, sorry..” He quickly presses a few buttons, setting the oven to a toasty 350 degrees before coming back and joining Jimmy, careful to avoid getting too close this time—though, their shoulders still brush. He doesn’t want to be too far away, of course. Tango watches Jimmy pour in another cup of sugar, the sparkling white dust building up the tiny hill of ingredients forming in the bright red bowl. Jimmy’s face is something like a determined child’s, his tongue lightly peeking out with furrowed eyebrows as he leans over the cookbook. His eyes scan over it intently. “Lookin’ good, chef Jimmy,” Tango says. Jimmy’s tongue disappears as he breaks from his focus, head turning to him, a goofy smile appearing. “Thanks. You’re quite the assistant, yourself.” Tango finds himself leaning in, getting onto his tippy toes as he attempts to steal a quick kiss. Jimmy, at first, looks like he’s going to meet him halfway—but instead, turns his face and looks back down to the bowl, leaving Tango with puckered lips and a furrowed brow. “Nice try, love. Cake first.” Tango lets out a long, pathetic-sounding whine as he falls back onto his heels roughly. “What do you mean?” he asks, puffing out his bottom lip as he’s ignored, “It’s Valentine’s Day!” Jimmy shakes his head, grabbing the vanilla extract. Tango doesn’t stop his job, which he has decided is handing Jimmy things when he needs them, so he holds out the spoon despite his pity party. “I knoooow,” Jimmy says, graciously taking the spoon and pouring the sweet-smelling extract into it, “I just don’t wanna get distracted. And you know that’s what’ll happen.” Tango shrugs a little. Okay, fair. They definitely had a tendency to distract each other. It’d be something completely innocent or non-related, like Tango at his workbench or Jimmy trying to work on something in the barn and well.. one thing leads to another. Maybe it was the lingering “honeymoon” phase, maybe it was because there was a mutual, un-tethered obsession with each other. Who could tell? But Tango couldn’t help it, not today. Even Tango was not impenetrable to the forces of Valentine’s Day. The cheesiness infects you from dawn to dusk, and he’s already constantly hanging all over Jimmy. All in all, it was a recipe for disaster. “Gah,” he huffs, poking at a bottle of bright pink sprinkles, “Fine. I guess.” “That’s a good Tango,” Jim teases, still not looking at him as he moves onto whisking in the bowl, “Can you get the cake pan, my little assistant?” “Don’t deny me kisses and then patronize me,” Tango says, narrowing his eyes at Jimmy, who grins evilly. “Please?” he asks again, very sweetly. Wrinkling his nose, Tango nods. He grumbles like an old man, shuffling over to the cabinets and popping one open. Scooping out the cool, gray pan, he pushes a few things aside before setting it on the counter. Tango continues watching intently, afraid to touch anything as Jimmy gives the pan a spray-down with oil that makes him want to cough. Slowly, Jimmy then lifts the bowl and pours the dark mix into the heart-shaped cake pan, now slick and shiny. He looks pleased with his work as he sets the bowl aside. Where Tango feels he lacks in these things like baking and cooking, Jimmy makes up for it. In fact, Tango doesn’t even like sugar-y foods that much. It’s good on occasion, but he doesn’t go out of his way for them. But then he shows up for their date, and Jimmy shoves that recipe in his face. Those eyes so big and starry with excitement, bouncing on his heels and saying how fun it’d be... Tango couldn’t say no. He’ll eat cake for Jimmy. Frankly, he’d bend over backwards and kill a man for Jimmy—but for now, cake. One that he’s, successfully, barely helped with. “You’re really good at this,” Tango says, letting the thoughts fall. The oven beeps to signal it’s ready, and Jimmy glances over to him as he picks up the pan. Jimmy’s cheeks get a little pink, and he looks a little taken aback, though it melts into a smile. “Stopp..” he says, taking the cake pan from the counter. “What? It’s true!” Tango says. Jimmy just chuckles to himself. Pulling open the oven door, Jimmy quickly slides the cake onto the rack and sets the timer. He turns around once it’s closed, leaning his back against it and looking at Tango. “25 minutes,” he says, “and then I’ll have to check it with a toothpick.” Nodding, Tango slowly steps over. He hears 25 minutes and his brain reels with ideas and opportunity. Curling up close and fiddling lightly with the collar of his shirt, he purrs.  “25 whole minutes,” Tango says, staring intently at those big brown eyes, “What should we do?” “Hmm, I think I have an idea..” Jimmy hums, voice going low and husky. Tango grins. “Mhmmmm?” “We could..” Jimmy starts, and Tango feels him grab at the sides of his arms lightly, “Make some frosting. And cut some strawberries.” As Jimmy pulls back from his ear, he plants a quick kiss on Tango’s cheek, then spinning the two of them around to change places as he hops back to the counter. Tango stays next to the oven, a little dumbfounded for a second. He feels all warm and tingly now, and that playful frustration only grows within him. Oh, he’ll get Jimmy for this one. “Wanna cut the strawberries?” Jimmy asks cheerily, though it’s laced with the knowing that he’s being a little cheeky. “I-.. Yeah, okay.” Jimmy hands Tango a knife once he’s back in his station, sliding over the bowl of water-speckled strawberries from when they were washed before. Tango gets to work slowly chopping them, one at a time. Next to him, Jimmy hums as he throws together the ingredients for a frosting. It’s pink and fluffy within a few minutes, while Tango’s empty plate has a decent pile of bright strawberries. Tango picks one out and plops it into his mouth, that sweet and tart taste attacking him immediately. He lets out a pleased hum, reaching for another. When he catches sight of a few fingers reaching for the bowl, though, he swiftly smacks them away. “Aye!” Jimmy says, dropping the spoon into his bowl as he holds his hand, “What was that for?” “No kiss, no berry,” Tango says in a very firm way, mouth still half-full, “That’s the rules.” “Since when?” “Since now.” “No fair!” Jimmy exclaims, reaching for the berries once more. Tango smacks him again, cuing yet another dismayed cry from Jimmy. Trying to fight the smile that tempts his face, Tango ignores Jimmy’s pitiful and intent stare as he picks up the knife. “Sorry, Jimmy. You know what you have to do..” he says in a sing-song voice, about to continue his work, when something cold and pink is smudged across his cheek.  He gasps, retracting a bit as he whips his head to the side. Jimmy licks some remaining frosting from his finger, overwhelmingly happy with himself. “Did you know pink’s a good color on you?” “You little-!” Tango huffs. Instinctively, he reaches into the open bag of flour, gathering a bunch into his fist and tossing. It scatters across Jimmy in a cloud, covering his entire upper half. “Tango!” he says, pulling at the blue t-shirt that is now covered in flour, “Ohh, you are goin’ to get it..” “That so?” Tango asks, putting his hands on his hips and wiggling them playfully, “What are you gonna do, huh?” The two moving in such slow sync could only be described as predator and prey, Jimmy holding out his hands in preparation. Tango watches a glint of mischievousness flash through Jimmy’s eyes, and he prepares to run. “C’mere and I’ll show you!” Jimmy suddenly says, reaching out to Tango with both hands and dashing forward. Tango jumps back, but Jimmy’s surprisingly quick. He’s scooped up into big arms before he can get away, laughter bursting out from him as he grabs at Jimmy’s shoulders as his feet leave the ground. “What the- You were so fast?!” Tango questions, looking down at his grinning partner. “Gotcha,” Jimmy says. With the word, he leans in and plants his mouth right on Tango’s cheek. In a sloppy kiss, he licks most of the frosting right off his face. Tango can feel warmth crawl up his neck at the sensation, a bunch of tingles spreading from head to toe and shocking his nerve endings with something weirdly exciting. Despite this, his face scrunches up with a high pitched shriek as he tightly grips Jimmy’s shoulders while he attempts to lean away. When Jimmy pulls away, he’s halfway to a full mess. Covered in of flour still lingering on his neck and dusting his face, mouth now a little artificially-pinker than before, his tongue swipes across his bottom lip. “You’re right, I am pretty good at this baking thing,” he chimes, “That frosting is quite good.” “You..icing-coated jerk..” Tango grumbles, though it’s full of so much love he can taste it and his smile is undeniable. “Excuse me, that’s your icing-coated jerk, thank you,” Jimmy says, smiling big as his eyes scan over Tango’s face, who is a bright tomato red even still. With an easy lift, Jimmy sets Tango up on a clear area of the counter. He tears a paper towel from the roll set aside for occasions like this—though, maybe not exactly like this. Tango goes to take it himself, but Jimmy pushes the hand away and gently wipes at his cheek, getting rid of any remaining.. frosty stuff. Jimmy’s eyes drift to Tango’s as he cleans it off—who is shamelessly staring when their eyes meet. Jimmy’s teeth burst past lip in a smile, something dopey. With the sight comes that warm, syrup-y feeling that seeps from Tango’s chest and alllll the way down to his toes. Butterflies kick up in his stomach, heart rate exploding. “What’re you starin’ at?” Jimmy asks, cocking an eyebrow. The crumpled napkin joins the mess of bowls and other half-open ingredients once he’s done with it. “Nothing,” Tango says softly, eyes flicking down to his lips, “Just somethin’ real pretty..” “And what might that be?” Jimmy insists further, voice delicate as his hands find Tango’s knees and gently rest upon them. It sends a chill down his spine. “If I say it’s you, will you kiss me already?” “Maybe.” “Okay then, mister..” Tango reaches out, curling his fingers into the belt loops of Jimmy’s jeans and giving them a decent tug. Jolting forward a bit, Jimmy glides into the space between Tango’s legs with ease, pulled right up against the counter until it stops him. “It’s you, my pretty thing,” Tango says lowly. Jimmy goes red in the face, cheeks a pleasantly rosy color that matches the cake frosting almost perfectly. As if by habit, the closer Jimmy gets to Tango, the further his hands slide up. They grip Tango’s hips lightly, resting like they’re meant to be there. “Awww, Tangooo..You think I’m pretty?” Jimmy asks, giving a gentle, dramatic gasp. More teasing. With a roll of the eyes, Tango leans up and presses his lips against Jimmy’s, closing the mere inch or two they’d had left between them. Jimmy giggles against it, but the delighted noise dies off as he kisses him deeper, more hungry as the seconds pass. Unhooking his fingers, Tango’s hands wander slowly up his waist, snaking around Jimmy’s neck and clasping behind it. Pulling him in further, he can feel Jimmy’s hands grip his hips tighter now, the tall man letting out a low guttural groan that makes Tango’s jaw buzz. Oh, he wishes he could get closer, even scooting forward just a tad (spare not immediately falling off the counter) and hooking his legs around Jimmy’s hips. With the movement, big hands shift to his back and fingers roughly hold the fabric of his t-shirt in fists, sending sensations all the way up to the back of Tango’s head. Distracted.. might be an understatement. Maybe Tango understands why Jimmy was so insistent on not getting into this earlier, as stopping is the last thing on his mind. Jimmy breaks the kiss with a quick inhale, only to dive below Tango’s jawline and press a long kiss there. Tango’s sharp teeth graze at his own bottom lip with a delicate gasp, claws curling into the blonde hair on the back of Jimmy’s head.. He can feel hot breath casting onto his neck and fingers on skin and... A loud, high-pitched beep sounds. They stop moving, Jimmy plopping his forehead onto Tango’s shoulder with a raspy chuckle. “Damnit..” he curses. “I promise I’ll forgive you if you let the cake burn,” Tango suggests, whispering right into his ear with a grin. Jimmy looks up to him briefly, only turning to look at the oven as it beeps again, attempting to beckon him. He bites at the inside of his cheek, visibly weighing the option. When Jimmy turns back to Tango, he waves away the the oven. “It probably needs another minute anyway. Altitude and.. things..” he says. “Of course, of course. It’ll be fine,” Tango says, nodding rapidly. “It’ll be fine. Few more minutes,” Jimmy says, words dissolving into Tango’s skin as he dips back below his jaw. Safe to say, Tango and Jimmy decorated a slightly burnt cake that day. And Tango finds that he might be more inclined to indulge his newfound sweet tooth. 

what if. golden rings AU grian and jimmy or tango and impulse <3 pls I need the boys so badly

wow! another request filled!! this is crazyyy wowoww anyway. have some Golden Rings Tango and Impulse. it's... very self-indulgent, i am so sorry. thanks for the request, theooooo. <3 (for a note: this isn't spoilers! so even if you haven't read golden rings/aren't caught up, you'll be fine! just a fun one-shot, somewhere in time in the golden rings AU!<3)

~ “Well, don’t you look official.”

Swiftly turning around, Impulse removes his hard gaze on the bedroom door, spinning around slowly to the new figure in the room. Backed by warm lantern light, the silhouetted, lithe figure’s shoulders shake with a soft laugh. 

“Didn’t even hear you come in,” Tango says, smirking, “Did I scare you?”

Impulse shakes his head. “You’ll have to try a little harder than that.” 

With a snort, Tango moves over to the vanity in the corner of the room. “You jumped. I saw it.”

Scanning over the prince, he focuses on the attire—clearly prepared for the evening’s events, but.. lacking. He grunts, noting the missing jewelry, lack of crown...

“Aren’t you ready, your majesty?” Impulse asks, voice low, “I’m tasked with escorting you to the ball within the next few minutes.” 

“Your majesty?” Tango asks, clearly taken aback. He turns around on the tiny, tufted stool and his mouth gapes. “We’re usin’ titles now?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

The prince dodges the inquiry. “What happened to Tango, huh? Get caught slipping?”

“No, sir. Just getting back into habit. It’s an important night.” 

Impulse moves further into the room. He takes post at a wall like usual, leaning against the perfect spot, that of which allows him to see Tango’s bedroom door in the reflection of the vanity but allows him to keep an eye on the prince too. 

“I guess.”  Tango shrugs, turning back around and facing himself in the mirror. He fiddles with a box, cracking it open and revealing a bright bunch of golden bits and bobs within. Digging his claws in, Tango pulls a couple indistinct pieces of jewelry and sets them down. It’s all very slow, Impulse notices, far too methodical for Tango who is..usually rather decisive regarding these things. 

“Your highness,” he says again, like a warning. 

“I know, I know. Late. ” Tango rolls his eyes, both hands working to fasten an earring, “Late to a bunch of chatter.” 

“It’s important to your father.”

“Yeah, but why do I have to go dance with a bunch of strangers? It’s his party.” 

At that notion, Tango’s eyes suddenly flick up in the mirror, meeting Impulse as he fastens in the other earring. There is a quick smile, and he’s turned around again, to which Impulse wants to groan in irritation. Here we go. 

“Hey, Impy.” 

“Yes?”

“Do you ever dance at parties?” 

With a sigh, Impulse shakes his head. For the moment, he feels his knightly exterior slipping into the casual conversation the two commonly shared. He tries to hold steady. 

“Is this really the time? My liege-”

Tango pats at his thighs eagerly. “Come on! I’m curious.” 

Offering a heavy eye roll, Impulse leans his back against the wall. 

“Not often, no. Now, will you please get ready?” 

“Do any knights know how to dance?” Tango teases, “Aren’t you taught that in your training?” 

He’s standing now. That familiar, memorized shape of his charge’s body slinking towards him. The darkly colored fabric of Tango’s skirt consumes the greater, lower half of him and makes him look a little like a ghost, if not for the bright and lively eyes. If not for the dazzling smile. Had Impulse been a braver man, he would’ve told Tango how lovely he looked—only for the idea to make his mouth go dry. 

“My job isn’t to dance, your highness.” 

“Well, ya can’t go to a ball without knowing how to dance, can you, Sir Impulse? Since we’re using titles now..” 

His title, sitting so playfully on Tango’s tongue, sends Impulse’s heart into a stampede. Impulse tries his best not to gulp, swallowing a mouthful of words. He knows his task, and yet, the prince always did so well at weakening his backbone.

Tango, now very close, stares up at Impulse. Unsure if it’s a trick of the light, or if there is actually something to cause the effect, Impulse can almost see a shimmer across Tango’s face. They often had moments in this dimness, when the lanterns go from simulating a sense of daylight and are turned down to something more representative of the night: lower, quieter, warmer. Something in the spare firelight makes the prince glow, and it makes Impulse feel particularly reverent. 

But his brain gets the better of him, and Impulse just stares right back with a more insistent look. One that says please your father is absolutely going to kill me if we don’t go and come on and Tango, but he feels Tango’s hand brushing at his and his face feels like it’s gotten a hundred degrees hotter. 

“Come on,” Tango says, pulling Impulse from the wall. 

Something inside lets him move. He weakens, unable to say no. 

“No music,” he mumbles awkwardly, one last ditch effort to stop the whole affair. 

“Eh, who needs it?” 

The two find themselves in the middle of the room. Prince Tango’s eyes roam over the knight’s demeanor, leaving what feel like tangible, burning lines that melt through Impulse’s armor. 

"Usually it’s...”

“Sir Impulse, you really don’t want to dance with me, do you?” 

“That’s not what I said,” Impulse says, “it’s just that you’re expected downstairs and..”

Pushing closer, Tango enters Impulse’s space fully now, sending Impulse’s words off into the ether. His defenses shatter. Gently taking Impulse’s hand away from the hilt of his sword, which he’d found himself holding tightly, Tango presses the gloved hand to his waist. Impulse feels jitters crawl up the arm, hand twitching. 

For the first time, Impulse’s composure cracks, breath hitching. He hopes Tango doesn’t notice, the prince now taking his other hand. When he finally looks at Impulse, the knight straightens his back out of habit, and Tango smirks. Impulse feels his breath brush across his face, tickling his skin. There is a heavy feeling settling all over, and it makes him want to either tuck tail and run or just plain melt. He can’t decide which. 

“Perfect,” Tango hums, “You just keep your hand there, alright?” 

“This is.. very against my oaths to your father,” Impulse says, gesturing to their clasped hands, “You realize that, right?” 

“Of course I do.” Tango grins. He takes a step, leading Impulse into the beginnings of a very slow, clunky waltz. “Don’t worry, you won’t be smote. I won’t blab if you won’t.”

“He’s going to ask where we’ve been.”

“And? I’m the prince, I can do what I want.”

“...To an extent.”

“Are you questioning my power?”

“I think you deserve it, your highness,” Impulse says, letting a smile slip. 

Tango makes a face, screwed up in playful frustration. A laugh bubbles up in Impulse’s throat, flowing out in a hefty, rasped chuckle. When Tango smiles, it’s overwhelmingly fond, sending a chill down Impulse’s spine. 

The two slowly move around the empty space, making messy shapes with their path. Impulse finds that he can’t quite get the hand on Tango’s waist to relax. The fingers dangle, his palm hovers, the side of the prince only brushing against the inside of his glove when certain movements allow it. There is something that prevents it, and if not for the fact that Tango laced their fingers together, the other hand would likely be the same way. 

“You know, you can touch me,” Tango suddenly says, noticing the hesitance. 

He removes his hand from Impulse’s shoulder without skipping a step, bringing it down and pressing Impulse’s hand into his waist. His fingers instinctively wrap around, digging into soft muscle and slipping towards his back. 

When the desire to pull Tango in makes itself apparent—when it slips through the broken defenses, he lets it. He listens, using the hand to pull Tango closer. It feels so much like second nature that Impulse swears he has never acted in a way that felt more correct. 

Tango lets out a breath, like he meant to laugh, but it comes out as more of a delicate gasp. Impulse doesn’t know what to say, all the words caught in the back of his throat. The room feels smaller, narrowing to how it feels to have Tango this close, in his grip. The walls blur around him, his focus landing on the prince before him, staring slightly wide-eyed. Instead of shock, it looks more like bewilderment—a pleasant surprise, he hopes, to be held this way.

Impulse feels something well up in his chest, something he can’t quite put a name to. It was warm, and fuzzy, and making itself at home in the very deepest corners of his heart. It’s distracting, it’s overwhelming. 

So much so, that he isn’t quite sure when they stopped moving. 

When Impulse meets his eyes, Tango immediately looks away. He sees the skin of his glowing face grow pinker. They stand still, locked in what now feels like an embrace.

“...You’re not half-bad,” Tango says, his voice barely above a whisper, “And you said you don’t dance.”

“I said I don’t do it often.” 

Regaining his composure—or, attempting to, Impulse clears his throat. When he lets go of Tango, his hands drag. He almost wishes, for a moment, it was his skin: ungloved, unobstructed touch. It’s painfully slow, as if savoring every centimeter, before he steps away. 

“Well,” he says, “Now that you’ve sufficiently distracted me..”

Tango doesn’t respond for a moment, hands lightly wringing in front of him as he looks down at the floor. Impulse’s hand rests back on the hilt of his sword, and he makes for the door, posting up near it. 

He tries his best to ignore how everything inside him burns, offering a glance to Tango once more. 

Impulse can’t help how, when he speaks, his voice feels so full. His throat feels tight, heart pounding. 

“Are you ready, my prince?” 

(And what if I said “my prince”  but actually meant-)

“..Um. Yeah, yes, of course,” Tango says, “We should go. Late enough as is.” 

And when Tango lightly touches Impulse’s arm as he passes him on the way out, muttering something that sounds like a “thank you” under his breath, the grip on his hilt tightens. 

He tries not to fall to pieces. 

“19% touch-starved and 81% in denial” (this one’s a little longer, so here’s the ao3 link for those who want it!) pairing: Jimmy / Tango cw: none! p.s. i wrote this back in like.. July, or so. when i didn’t really know what i was doing. but it’s one of my favorites, so i wanted to post it! enjoy. <3

Their home is almost done. Jimmy sits at the edge of the bed. He’s a little smiley, full of excitement from what they’ve accomplished, even with the sleepiness and soreness from the day kicking in. He closely watches Tango pitter about, tucking things into place and tossing stuff into the chests. He hasn’t noticed Jimmy’s staring, thankfully. Tango even seems to be happy, too. Or maybe just content, which are both good options. Heck, he’d even take plain ol’ toleration of their pairing, as long as he wasn’t completely unhappy. All Jimmy can think about is how much he likes his odds, though. A partner who, even after being taken down with him in his first death, has been so gung ho about it all. He hasn’t heard one peep about how funny or sad it is that Jimmy was the first to go, his alleged “curse” taking hold. If anything, all he remembers is Tango apologizing earlier that day in the forest. Tango apologizing. No laughter or mocking or dread. It gives Jimmy hope. He runs over the events of the day. A death, a happy coming-together, the sounds of building and the newly-raised home they’ll call their own. The little wheat farm that will keep them and the cows fed (hopefully) pops into his head too, as he makes a mental note to check for any successful sprouts in the morning. A ping of guilt hits him as he remembers the bucket from BDubs, which can be seen in a glint of silver within the chests as they’re opened and closed. He didn’t tell Tango where he got it, or more importantly, that they now share an IOU. Jimmy might’ve made the deal, but when your life is literally hooked to someone else, it ties them in. It makes concern bubble up for what will be owed down the line. Protection during battle when it inevitably arrives? Trade of important resources? For a bucket? Well, it was Bdubs. You never know what to expect from him. But he'd be so angry, Jimmy thinks. Tango would have a cow if BDubs just showed up one day and took up their deal, discovering that Jimmy made it without even asking or discussing it. He’s heard the tales of betrayal-induced rage through whispers and rumors. Jimmy knows of the flames and the fury deep within his partner. He doesn’t want to set that off—who would? Soiling such a perfect, already solid connection that feels so innocent in times like these. His stomach knots at the idea, and he finds himself taking a deep breath to keep the nerves down. “Y’know, I’m really proud of this.” Jimmy suddenly hears. He lifts his head quickly, almost as if he’s been caught staring off into space, to see Tango standing right in the middle of the room. His arms are proudly crossed, and he has a smile splayed across his face as he glances around. Jimmy takes point and does the same, looking at their little home. Dimly lit, basically windowless, but cozy. Two chests plopped hastily in the corner of the room, containing minimal resources and food. The single bed that holds him tucked into the corner, and a soft hum of moo-ing cows as a trophy in the next room. Jimmy goes to speak, but is interrupted before he can get the words out. “And I’m proud of you, too,” Tango adds, turning to Jimmy with that same bright smile, “You’ve done a lot for us today!” Jimmy looks at him for a second and lets out a—well, he can’t decide if it’s a clearing of his throat or a sheepish chuckle. It’s a mixture of both. He looks away from Tango’s gaze and nods. There is still a bit of residual guilt after thinking about his little deal with Bdubs. He wasn’t expecting him to say anything like that. “Well, I couldn’t do it by myself. Not without you,” Jimmy says, staring down at his legs as he kicks them a bit. “Oh stop; we’re the best team in this place because of you!” Jimmy’s heart flutters in his chest. He clenches his fists, not out of anger, but out of being well on his way to being overwhelmed already. Two nice compliments in, and he can barely handle it. He just smiles, though he hasn’t looked back up to Tango. “Well.. I mean.. that’s not true. You’re amazing, too. You built the house, so we’re safe tonight. I just helped out,” Jimmy says, trying his darndest to hit him with something just as nice. “Is this a compliment competition now?” Tango asks, walking over and taking a seat next to Jimmy on the edge of the bed. The heat radiates off of Tango in the close proximity, which is kinda nice against the nightfall chill setting in. It’s reassuring too, knowing they’ll never be cold and hungry. Maybe just hungry, if the rest of the server decides they’re easy pickin’s. Jimmy basks in the heat for a moment, instinctively wanting to get closer. Though, this is interrupted by Tango leaning forward and getting inches away from his face. Jimmy can’t help but bend back a little, with what he’s sure are wide eyes. “Because I’ll win.” Tango grins, reaching over and poking Jimmy’s nose. Jimmy opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He’s not used to.. this close. Tango chuckles a bit and retreats, putting his hand up and playfully ruffling Jimmy’s hair, still looking over at him. Jimmy lets out a breath to keep cool, as much as one can when you’re next to a wildfire of a man. He often struggles to admit that he doesn’t respond as easily to compliments and affection, usually keeping it to himself until he’s forced to reveal it. But.. Tango’s hand in his hair sends all the fuzzy feelings everywhere and..oh boy. The urges to either lean into his touch or run away from it are having a fist fight inside his head. He’s not sure who’s winning. “Just accept it, Jimmy. You’ve done well today. We’ve both done well, obviously, because we’re the best soulmates. But we wouldn’t be where we are without you,” he adds, moving his hand down to his shoulder and pulling him into his side slightly. Jimmy doesn’t really resist, but he does go stiff. Finally, he feels like he can speak. “Aha.. alright, alright. Well.. thanks. But I really don’t think it’s-” “Do you even know how to take a compliment?” Tango cuts him off, chuckling. “Of course I do!” Jimmy says, maybe a little too fast. Tango doesn’t respond right away, and Jimmy can only feel the movement next to him as his eyes find the floor once again. He jumps slightly when a hand lightly scoops the side of his face, pulling it to the side. Gently, but clearly without the intent of letting him get away, Tango makes Jimmy look at him. He’s fully up on the bed now, his knees pressing into the side of Jimmy’s leg as he eliminates more space between them. “Then why do you keep trying to deny it, huh?” Jimmy looks everywhere but Tango’s eyes for a moment before locking onto them when he runs out of options. It taps at his heart. They look like they’re burning all the time, which is such a jump from any eyes he’s ever seen before. There is a strange sense of pride in knowing only he gets to look in them like this now. So lovely, so easy to get lost in. And he does, before he realizes he should be speaking. He clears his throat. “I—well, I just, I just don’t.. I don’t have people sayin’ things like that to me usually,” Jimmy says, his words having less and less volume as he reaches the end. It feels silly, speaking to him with such direct eye contact, practically unable to look away now. Tango’s eyebrows furrow a bit. His fingers graze Jimmy’s forehead a bit as he brushes a bit of hair out of his eyes, slightly fixing the mess he’d made just moments ago. It sends a quick shiver down Jimmy’s spine, and Tango grins on cue, as if he can feel it too. It makes him wonder how much soulbounds can really feel, leading into sudden panic at the idea that Tango can feel his nervousness, his internal reactions. Tango’s got such a solid hold on his face, though it doesn’t hurt. And he’s sure the heat and the attention have turned his face a bright shade of red. “I’ve heard what they say about you,” Tango says, still focused on his eyes, “I know you probably don’t wanna bring it up, but I’ve heard that they think you’re some kind of bad juju.. curse-y guy.” “I kinda am.” “Jimmy!” “It’s not necessarily bad! It’s just my.. I don’t know. My thing, you know. First to go.” “Well, that’s not gonna be us,” Tango says, matter-of-factly. “Exactly. We are winners, after all.” “So now you decide to be Mr. Confident?” Jimmy chuckles a bit and shrugs. He really wasn’t ever really too worried about the curse. Not till it mattered, in the final moments. Or when it took him by surprise just before it was over. But if anything, he was usually pretty good about it. Even with the jokes and the mocking. The whispers about being the canary and that he brings death wherever he walks. Maybe it was true. But he was always gonna fight to prove them wrong. Jimmy did not believe that he was bad luck. He’s just.. Jimmy—who isn’t used to taking compliments. Or touch. Two things that Tango was apparently not holding out on, which sent him into a tizzy. “Look, what I wanted to say was that.. I don’t think that about you,” Tango says. Jimmy’s jokey smile drops to something more genuine. He can feel his heart squeeze. Tango’s eyes hold something very truthful, and who wouldn’t believe a sight like that? “I’ve never thought that. Even when we died today. If anything, it was totally my fault and.. yeah. I know we’re past that now, but..” “I told you it was alright, Tango,” Jimmy says, habitually tipping his head to the side a bit with a smile. In tipping his head, Tango doesn’t move his hand. He cups the side of his head, catching him without hesitation. It feels foreign to Jimmy. He almost wants to try and adjust himself again and get out of it. Relax, he thinks to himself, it’s just Tango… your soulmate, Tango. And then his heart rate picks up again. “I know you did! Just.. I’m happy it’s us. I’m happy it’s you. I don’t think we’re gonna mess this up. We’re in this til the end, you and me. No one else.” At that, Jimmy feels himself start to melt. He’d been doing so well at keeping it together, but something in him just gives out. Tango holding his face, talking so sweetly and calmly. It’s like a dream, glowing with torchlight and the slightest shine of moonlight from hidden crevices keeping them in each other’s vision as night settles into her role. A rather goofy, maybe even starstruck smile sneaks onto his face. “We’re gonna be alright,” Jimmy says quietly. “Yeah.” And it’s true. They will be alright, for now. Even with secrets and “curses” and hopefully more of those beautiful hair ruffles too. Jimmy really hopes for those. But they’re gonna do it together. That’s the key word, it seems: together. Teamwork. Soulmates. He feels so very lucky. The two of them, not necessarily against the world, but against the odds. Seconds pass in silence. Tango’s thumb brushes lightly back and forth across Jimmy’s cheek, and neither of them are quite sure when their free hands intertwined with each other, but they’re all tangled fingers now. It feels.. nice. Really nice. And he’s got that terrible feeling of wanting to just get all of the touch and none at the same time. But everything sounds so good, like he’s stuck a toe in and wants to dive deeper. More hugs, more anything. There’s those deep urges back again, but stronger. Yet, it makes him nervous. There was so much inner conflict, all because he just wasn’t used to relationships like this. “Hey, Jimmy?” “Hm—Oh, yeah?” With a swift, rather smooth drop of his Jimmy’s cheek, Tango lurches forward and wraps his arms around him. He immediately buries his face into Jimmy’s neck and shoulder, sending him rocking back a bit before Jimmy can even respond. Meanwhile, Jimmy has gone into statue mode. His shoulders tense. He does the automatic reciprocation, awkwardly wrapping his arms around Tango as well. But his own hugging feels.. wildly different than how Tango holds him. The way Tango wraps his arms around Jimmy’s torso so tight, like he never wants to let go. He can feel him put all of his weight into the embrace, and if Jimmy would have been ready for it, maybe he wouldn’t have immediately stiffened up. He hopes Tango can’t feel it. He doesn’t want to make him upset, or like he’s ungrateful for the sudden affection. He thinks for a moment about pulling away, readying an apology. Maybe that’d make this easier. But he refuses. He’s not gonna let this win. He forces himself to breathe, first off. The heartbeat in his chest slows slightly, even if his lungs and heart feel like they’ve got minds of their own. He closes his eyes, and thinks solely about the warmth. Jimmy was right, he’s a raging wildfire trapped underneath skin. Perfectly sized space heater, all to himself. It feels like playing with fire, even knowing that this body in his arms could burst into flames when provoked. There is odd curiosity in it, giving him just a little bit of distraction. As his shoulders and chest slump slightly, he can feel Tango lean into him, seizing the opportunity to get even closer. Jimmy can’t help but chuckle a bit, tipping his head down into Tango’s hair as his fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. He grips him tightly, overcome with a slowly building need to be as close as possible. Jimmy knows the world will be so oh-so-cold if he lets go now. He wonders why he never had someone like this sooner. The nerves in his back come alive as Tango softly rubs little circles. His fingers dance. Jimmy melts yet again. As they quietly embrace, breathing each other in and learning each crevice and nook of the opposing body, peace finds them. The exhaustion of their first day is coming in full force, and Jimmy can’t help but start to feel a little sleepy. His eyelids grow heavy, and his head seems to lean further onto Tango’s. A soft giggle erupts from his chest, and he feels Tango’s breath through his shirt as his shoulders shake a little. “What’re you laughing at?” Jimmy mumbles into his hair. “Finally got’cha,” Tango teases, obviously referring to the absolute puddle he has turned Jimmy into. So he can feel it. Jimmy doesn’t open his eyes. He just smiles. “Yeah. You got me.”

“old heartbeats die hard” (ao3 link is here!)

pairing: grian / scar cw: none! a quick programming break from our usual team rancher-related postings for a short and sweet scarian/desertduo fic! as i mentioned in the ao3 tags, this can be read as /p or /r, though be aware i did definitely write this with lowkey /r in mind. enjoy, and thanks for reading! ~

Did you know that listening to someone’s heartbeat can have a calming effect on your own heart and breathing pattern?

Grian knows this. And he knows it’s working right now, even if it’s not enough to lull him to sleep quite yet. Though, there is still relief in knowing that one is still thumping away in Scar’s chest. Its pace is still fresh and lively and steady, just how he likes it—even if he’d never say something like that out loud. His ear is pressed up against his chest, rumbling with soft snores and other breathing sounds. But he’s locked on target: the heartbeat.

Ba-bum.. Ba-bum..  

Sleep doesn’t come. He can’t find it in him, just in-case. You never know. No one knows at this point, with how things have been going.  

As his head rests on Scar’s chest, he’s got his arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He’s clinging to the taller figure, and hasn’t let go since he first laid down.

Grian came back from the escapades at the pool party to find Scar asleep on their little make-shift mattress on the floor, just as he said he’d be when Grian left. After a couple soft pokes to the face and arm, Grian knew he was sleeping deeply enough that movement wouldn’t disturb him. So, the little winged man crawled up beside him and practically attached himself to Scar. There was risk of him waking up, asking what he was doing. And Grian knew that after all he’d done the past few days, it wouldn’t be an easy answer on the fly. But he clung to Scar anyway.

He wasn’t planning on finding such an infatuation with his heartbeat, but once he found it, he couldn’t seem to move after that.

The night crawls on, taking its sweet time. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t mind the silence, or the safety, even if it isn’t their keep.

He can feel Scar’s every move, little twitches and shifts every so often as dreams or sleep cycles take their hold. Grian can’t help but smile, just a little, when he mumbles and even talks occasionally in his sleep. He just listens. Nighttime noises creep in from the outside, with some occasional shouting far in the distance. It feels oddly nostalgic until he remembers where they are. The little space he put together for them isn’t as home-y, but it’s safe and far from everyone else for the time being. They’re both safe.

Scar is safe, he keeps reminding himself.  

He takes a deep breath, his own nerves kicking up when he thinks about the tower earlier that day. The smoke and the panic and the death that surrounded them. They got lucky, he knows that full well. Then there’s that memory again, floating back, the clear image of his soulbound leaping from the side of a tower and plummeting down. Arms too short to grab him, time moving too fast. The loud screams erupting from his throat, which now seems to twinge with a bit of soreness now that he thinks about it.

Just a few seconds of admiration of Scar’s compassion, only for it to be consumed by stress. His stomach drops even as he remembers. He tries to ignore it, leaving his head completely still as he closes his eyes and focuses on the heartbeat.

Ba-bum.. Ba-bum.. Ba-bum..  

There’s flashes of falling from other tall places, all that time ago. More screaming, more devastation. More heartache as the worst was revealed, only for Scar to pop up moments later, shocked but thankful to have another go. Even as Grian was still on his knees, lungs caught in his throat.

He’s so used to it, yet it never does get easier. Now, they share their life source, and it feels even worse. He’s concerned for himself, sure. But Scar. The one who always ends up in his hands. He’s the kicker. The tug on the strings.

Their heartbeats are in sync, and feeling them both nearly stop before the luckiest save he’s ever seen..something like divine intervention, or kismet.. Well, it’s shaken him up a bit.

As the memories flitter in, Grian’s arms squeeze lightly around Scar’s torso. He holds him tighter—desperately—like letting go would mean he’d never be able to keep him this safe again. Like some void would open up and send Scar into another freefall. There is security found when he’s within reach.

He knows that the morning will greet them with separation. The concern for safety poking at the back of his head as the days go on, their hearts stumbling and the phantom pain haunting every misstep or accident. Constant wonder of when the other shoe will drop.. when it’ll suddenly be over and starting again.

Things change when people die, and in this place, it’s so fast. It’s so fast and hard and nerve-wracking, and narrow escapes are the only difference between life and death. And they were lucky. But he wonders if their luck will ever run out. Fate has played such huge roles here. It’s been sticking its fingers in and playing with all of their soulbound strands like ribbon, knotting it and yanking it taut. And it’s exhausting. It brings the two together, like always.

Grian thinks about how he’s not sure if he wanted this, and he’s been so frustrated with what’s been put in front of him that he’s tried his chance at cheating the game. Finding a path that was not laid before him. His own heartbeat starts interrupting the peace, quickening and creating a cacophony of thumps.

Ba-bum, Ba-bum, Ba-bum, Ba-bum!  

“..Grian?” A very low, sleepy voice suddenly asks. Grian freezes. He slowly lifts his head for the first time in hours, looking up at Scar’s face as a bit of soreness spreads across his neck. He can see fairly clearly, even in the dim light of the cave. Scar’s eyes are barely open, squinting at him with a curious glance. He has a slight goofy grin on, as if he knows he’s caught him. Grian’s stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging agape for a moment. Finally, he speaks. “Sorry.. Do you want me to—” Grian starts to ask, ready to move. Scar doesn’t let him finish his sentence before turning onto his side and scooping Grian into his arms. He wraps him up equally as tight, habitually careful to avoid his wings. His hands rest at just the right place on Grian’s back, as if he knows exactly where to put them, even while half-asleep. The slight grin blooms into a brief, sleepy smile as he closes his eyes again.

“I’m.. glad you made it back..” Scar mumbles, his voice falling off as he falls right back to sleep. Grian’s entire body still feels stiff, suddenly consumed by the hug. He still has his arms wrapped tightly around Scar as well, the nerves having created a rather solid grip on him. He isn’t sure what to do as the seconds pass. He feels.. oddly comforted, now. Like he doesn’t have to hide. Scar knows Grian cares, deep down.

Moments like this are inescapable at the end of the day, and so are Scar’s hugs. But even with his disdain for destiny’s choices, even with the semi-begrudging care and concern for his partner in crime.. Grian doesn’t try to leave. He allows acceptance. He stays, nestling in a bit and pressing his forehead to Scar’s chest.

Scar’s breath slows once again to a relaxed pace, and Grian finds that his own breath does the same. His shoulders relax, the oh-so-familiar warmth enveloping him. He even welcomes it. The silence returns, the heartbeat no longer right in his ear. It feels a little sad without the sound for a moment, but the loneliness in his senses disperses quickly.

That safe feeling finally reaches him, too. He feels at enough ease to sleep, his eyelids suddenly feeling heavy before he starts to drift off. He can still feel Scar’s chest rising and falling. He’s still breathing, still safe.

There is an acknowledgement. A silent agreement between them. Whatever comes next, even as the last of their kind, can be tackled together. If they don’t make it to the end, or even if they do.. it’s together. He doesn’t have to face it alone.

Suddenly, tomorrow doesn’t feel so dreadful.

And two heartbeats fall into sync. Fresh and steady and lively—just how Grian likes it.

“small / cuts” (kinda like a sequel to “bruised / kissed”) (from this prompt list again. i had my friend pick this time!) edit: this is also on ao3 now! :D pairing: jimmy / tango cw: kisses, very mildly suggestive(?), one little wound, knives also, fun fact: i found “kitchen song” by tessa violet right after i wrote this. so, if you’re interested, that song is definitely associated with this now, and rather fitting! give it a listen. :) i don’t know how much justice i did for the prompt, as i mostly had ideas for the second word rather than the first. so, do with that what you will, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless! ~ Jimmy is.. okay at cooking. He’d never properly learned how to make the fancier things, and he was often prone to burning things that he had no experience with. Usually, you could tell it was the first time he was making something if it came out with a thin layer of black across the top, steaming. Bonus points if it got a weak thumbs up from Tango across the table, muttering something like “It gives it flavor” through a full mouth, chewing quickly and scrambling to swallow before he can really taste it. Jimmy knows this. So does Tango. Neither seem to let it get in the way. The one thing Jimmy is good at is prep work. He’ll cut fresh vegetables from their garden all day, using their array of knives to cut carrots or celery, all the results of a good harvest depending on the season. Despite never being the most dexterous person out there, he seemed to have an odd talent in it, all along enjoying it. He sweeps the pieces of a sliced carrot from the cutting board and into a shiny porcelain bowl next to him. They plop in with a clink , joining the small pile he’d just begun working on a few minutes ago. Jimmy hums a soft tune, accompanying the quiet, rapid click of the knife slicing through and knocking against the wooden board beneath his hands while he continues to prepare for dinner.  It’s just as he swipes another one into the bowl that the door swings open.

He glances over at the expected company. Tango closes the door behind him with a big heave of air, then crouching down and working on undoing his laces. “You know, I expected fixing the gate latches with the cows inside the pen would be a little challenging,” he says, standing up and stepping out of his boots, “But never did I think they’d be so keen on knocking me over every chance they got.” He walks over right away, leaning up and kissing Jimmy’s cheek. “They just like your company,” Jimmy says with a chuckle, eyes going back to his work, though he smiles goofily at the affection, “They hardly ever get to play with you.”  “Play…” Tango considers the suggestion, snorting, “Sure, hon.” Jimmy allows the arm around his waist as Tango leans against him, watching him cut. The warm man smells like fresh grass and dirt, surprisingly missing a more unpleasant scent that Jimmy fully expected. Not that he’d notice anyway, with how often he was out in the cowpens himself.  “Hungry?” Jimmy asks.  “Mhmm,” Tango hums in response, dirt-smudged face practically inhaling the fabric of Jimmy’s shirt sleeve as he’s face first into it.  “It might be a little while, I got a bit of a late start. You’ve got time to clean up ‘n things if you’d like.”  There’s brief silence. Tango moves off and places his hands on the edge of the counter. Jimmy spots him watching, and is about to ask what he’s staring at as he pauses his cutting. “You should let me help,” Tango suddenly says, immediately reaching for the knife in Jimmy’s hand. He yanks it away instinctively. It glints in the lantern light as he does, pulling it off to the other side of them and out of reach. Tango pouts, and Jimmy’s laughing. “Well, I don’t suggest trying to steal my knife! Bad start,” Jimmy tries to scold through the giggles. “I know what I’m doing,” Tango says, looking almost offended as he does little grabby hands in front of him, “Let me do this while you work on other stuff!” “Tango, darling, I have a handle on it. You’ve been workin’ outside all day. It wouldn’t be very fair,” Jimmy says, “And if this is some attempt at getting me not to burn-” “No, no! Really, I wanna help. It’d be fun. Please?” Tango asks, all smiles and a voice full of something sickly sweet. It makes Jimmy’s stomach whirl, seeing him so keen on them cooking together. He can’t say no to Tango generally, and he certainly won’t be able to at this moment either. Jimmy sighs, a little dramatically for effect, and holds out the knife handle-first to Tango. “That would be fun. Here. You cut the carrots, I’ll get the table set.” The excited smile on Tango’s face is reminiscent of a child’s, pointed teeth on display in a happy manner. He gently takes the knife from Jimmy and gets to work. Jimmy knows he’s fully capable, so he moves around to the other side of Tango and swings open the top cabinet. The knocking against the cutting board while Tango cuts is slow at first, awkward and funny to Jimmy’s ears. He’s pulling down two plates and reaching for a cup when he gets a look at Tango, who seems to know what he’s doing, but it’s a little funny to watch him—a man who works directly with inventions and tiny machines and things of the like—cut the most wonky carrot slices Jimmy’s ever seen. Despite the comedic effect of it, his chest swells with that sensation of love. It’s adorable, Jimmy thinks. “Is your back feeling better?” Tango casually asks as Jimmy passes behind him, walking over to the small wooden dining table tucked into the corner.

“Yeah.” Jimmy nods, setting the things down, “Much better compared to last week. I think the bruising’s clearin’ up too.”

The memory of that evening slips back in briefly, making those very nerves in his back come to life while his breath seems to hitch for just a second before releasing. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s obvious that the memory will forever be tinged with the chills.

“That’s great. Try not to go falling off any more ladders, huh? Can’t have my pretty bird getting hurt again.”

The words and endearing term flitter out of his mouth with apparent ease, and Jimmy’s getting a little warm at pretty bird when his mind continues to wander.

He notices Tango’s dense focus on the task at hand, and raises an eyebrow to himself. After setting one of the plates by his own chair, he makes an effort to be nonchalant as he approaches. Slowly, stalking, a playful nature coming about him in a wave. Hands tingling with some sense of anticipation and a sneaky revenge plot in his head, Jimmy slowly snakes his arms around Tango’s waist from behind. “I should be almooooost… hi, what are you doing?” Tango starts to say something, but his voice gets a little squeaky. “Nothing. Observin’ your work,'' Jimmy says, leaning his chin down and resting it on Tango’s shoulder, “Keep going, don’t mind me.” He peeks over, looking down at the carrots. Tango’s shoulders tense beneath Jimmy’s chin, especially when his back is gently pulled against Jimmy’s torso and leaving no space between them. With a closer proximity now, Jimmy’s brushed with the scent of him again. Grass and the faintest scent of smoke is a different kind of combo, but he can’t say he minds. It makes him think of summer camp, of nights in the forest, evoking senses and memories but mostly whelming him with that ever-present association of love. “Oh.. Right,” Tango says, sounding a little like he’s convincing himself, before returning to a very slow chop..chop... of the carrot. He audibly gulps. “A-And what’s the verdict?” “Hmm..” Jimmy hums curiously, trying his best not to laugh at the reaction he’s caused. He moves his mouth up, placing a big kiss on Tango’s cheek. “They’re a little small. Maybe bigger pieces, or else they’ll just dissolve in the pot,” he adds, voice low. Jimmy can feel Tango shudder,  a little nervous laugh bubbling out of his mouth. Jimmy’s lips remain on his skin longer when he kisses him again, lingering in what he knows is a torturous manner. He can feel Tango lightly squirm in his embrace, hands playing with the hem of the loose work t-shirt. “What are you doinnng?” Tango asks again, a little more insistently, that chopping now stuttering and nearly stopped, though a surprising amount of focus for someone who Jimmy knows to be so easily distracted. “I’m just watching. Gotta make sure you’re meeting.. carrot criteria..’n things..” Jimmy insists again, words floating as his mind goes a little fuzzy and his mouth finds the warm spot just below Tango’s jaw. He was good at teasing Tango, sure, but it didn’t go without its consequences. Just as it got a rise out of his partner, it got one out of him. “Mhmm. I have a feeling this is more of that payback you mentioned,” Tango hums with a rasp that can only mean satisfaction, “And I hope you know I am not falling for- Ah!” Tango lets out a sudden hiss, the sound of something clattering onto the counter as he jolts. The inherent need to get Tango as far away from the danger as possible—whatever that may be in the moment—takes over Jimmy as he instinctively pulls him back, arms tight around his waist. Tango stumbles back with him, the knife still wiggling on the counter with the movement. Jimmy releases him slowly, and Tango turns to face him with a tightly knit brow. He holds up his hand, pointing his pointer finger out. Just below Tango’s claw, and just visible with the red-stained skin, is a little bleeding cut. Nothing major, the knife barely having dipped in enough to make it bleed. It drips a little, and while it does unsettle Jimmy, that rising panic seems to die off. “Ouch..” Tango groans, not so much in pain, but just out of reaction. “Oh goodness.. Just a cut..” Jimmy breathes in relief. “It’s okay, I’ll go grab a bandage and get back to- Hey-!” Tango says, words getting caught up as his wrist is grabbed. Jimmy raises the injured finger to his mouth, and lightly places it between his lips. As he does, Tango’s pupils visibly blow up, consuming most of the space in his eyes. Jim gently sucks some of the blood away, that iron taste attacking his taste buds for just a second before he releases Tango’s wrist and lets the wounded extremity fall from his mouth. The moment is quick, but Tango seems to lag in processing. He’s silent, mouth hanging open in utter shock. Jimmy’s tongue swipes across his bottom lip, wiping away just a speck of blood that stuck around. He wonders how sick it is for him to be so entertained by the whole thing. “What the..” Tango starts to say, voice crackling. If he wasn’t overwhelmed a moment ago, he definitely was now. “Just to stop the bleeding for a second. I’ll go get a bandage for you,” Jimmy says with a genuine smile, but a slight, playful chuckle. “Oh no you will not,” Tango says, catching Jimmy’s shirt just as he steps back, yanking him in. “But your cut, Firefly-” “There’s no way you’re pulling a cute little stunt like that and thinking you’re getting away with it,” Tango says with sarcastic, wheezy laughter, “You big.. silly.. carrot..” Tango growls with the last words, silly as they might be, which makes Jimmy’s eyes go wide as a new energy seems to enter the arena. “And what about dinner?” Jimmy asks, curious but grinning wide. “Later.” is all Jimmy can process before he’s pulled into a long kiss. 

“bruised / kissed” (from this prompt list i found.) pairing: Jimmy/Tango (Team Rancher) cw: bruises (if that’s something to mention?), kissing (only a little!) “Where did you-” “It’s fine, Tango.” “This is not-! These aren’t..”  Tango didn’t know how to describe it. He’d only just hugged Jimmy minutes ago, sneaking up on him and wrapping his arms around him tightly from behind after a long day of being apart. This was a common ritual between them, one Tango adored, so it surprised him when Jimmy let out a wince of pain when he did so. There was brief panic and questions and a gentle shove before Jimmy’s sitting on the edge of the bed, white t-shirt tugged over his head and hanging on his shoulders with his back exposed. Tango perches behind him, shaky fingers dancing just inches above his skin, hesitant to touch as his breath hitches at the sight. All his words seem to get lost in the dark blues and purples that spill across Jimmy’s skin, all patchy and thick with the blood congealing beneath. The colors are so stark against his paleness, and despite their odd beauty, the sight makes Tango’s throat go tight. The bruising is dense up at his right shoulder, muddling down to his left side as they speckle out into smaller, brown spots that look less like he’d been beaten to shit. Jimmy keeps his head turned, trying to look back at Tango. Eyebrows turned down, but with a sheepish smile, he hums. “Really, it’s alright. You don’t have to worry.” “Uh-uh, mister! These are.. nasty. How are you even able to move?” Tango asks, eyes still tracing the shapes and funky lines that the bruises create down his back. “Not very easily..” Jimmy says, “But I’m managing, I promise.” Tango grunts. He wasn’t a medical expert, far from it, but he could tell that whatever did this, the impact was fresh. Jimmy also easily bruised, despite his constant hard labor, as Tango had discovered through his partner’s clumsy tendencies. Still, even though this was well-known, this instance worried him. “How did you do this? Did someone do this?” Tango asks, the second question holding a sharp edge. He’s about to jump onto his feet at any indication that other hands or beings caused it. “No! No, it wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own,” he says, dropping his head forward, “I just.. I fell.” “You fell?” “Off.. off the..ladder. In the barn.” Defeat laces his voice, quivering with some hesitation. Tango doesn’t have to see Jimmy to know he’s embarrassed by it. He’s sure his face is all red and his eyes are all shifty, and if there were any eye contact to make, there’d be none. Careful not to touch the bruised area, Tango reaches a hand forward and lightly holds Jimmy’s side. Jimmy’s shoulders tense up a little, but he visibly forces them to relax. “Why didn’t you mention it?” Tango asks, taking a gentler tone. “I didn’t think it was that big’ve a deal,” Jimmy says through a deep breath, “I was just trying to fix the railing on the hayloft and then I leaned just a little too far to whack at a nail annnd..” Tango cringes. “Splatty?” “Splatty..” “When did you fall?” Tango asks again, not sure if he wants to hear the answer. “..Um.. Maybe.. last night, just before I came in for supper.” “Last night? And you didn’t think to share? What if you broke something, or worse?” Tango stresses. Jimmy mumbles something under his breath, something with a little attitude and yeah yeah okay, but Tango barely hears him over the sound an idea makes when it pokes into his head. He releases Jimmy’s side, glancing down at his own hands. It’s very quiet for a moment, the only sound being their soft breathing and the sounds of the house around them, some animal noises coming from outside. He watches Jimmy shuffle a bit, almost like he’s about to pull his shirt back down before Tango jolts. “Wait, wait. Not yet,” he says, rubbing his hands together a little, “Can I try something?” “I don’t know what’ll help a bruised ba-hahaaa..” Jimmy starts to say, though his words float off as Tango’s hands press against his injuries. He’s gentle, of course, despite the little bit of wanting to punish him for not coming to him about something so important. He doesn’t, though. Tango doesn’t push too hard into the bruises, especially since the muscles feel like rock underneath his fingers even at the light touch. It’s light and tender, warm hands palming over the discolored skin and hoping the heat is enough to permeate through. Jimmy’s reaction seems to prove it works, as Tango’s fully aware of his biological advantage and feels a giddy sense of pride that it’s finally being put to more use than just “space heater.” “Does that hurt?” he asks. It takes a second for Jimmy to answer, head fully forward and shoulder muscles melting into a melted slump. “N..Noo..” Jimmy coos, “Very good.” Tango rubs in soft, little circles. “Good. Figured the heat could be useful here.” Jimmy nods, hair flopping a little as his head dangles forward. They stay like that for a moment, Tango gently rubbing at the sore skin while Jimmy hums his approval. The skin starts to stay warm, now softer and malleable compared to the solid texture of swollen muscle from when they started. Tango, though busying himself, stares as he works. He watches his fingers roll over the muscles in his back, wanting to trace the lines but forcing himself to stay on the task at hand. There hadn’t ever been a moment where he got to just look at Jimmy, especially a part of him so often hidden and disregarded. It was.. well, beautiful, even with the problems that he wants so badly to fix. He wants to say something about it too, but the words are all jumbled still and why would he think about him that way at a time like this and so he does the next best thing. Tango leans forward, hands still pressed, and plants the lightest of kisses on the back of Jimmy’s neck, just between his shoulder blades. He can see Jimmy’s visible chills, watching them practically dance up his spine as his shoulders jump. A shuddered breath escapes him, and Tango can’t help but grin. He moves down again, slowly giving him another kiss. And another. Till gently, in a perfect line, he sprinkles little kisses across his left shoulder—careful to avoid the bruises. Tango reels in the reactions, the twitches paired with the heavy sigh and apparent undoing occurring before him. Even as he’s the one doing it, he feels the warmth creep up in his own chest. It makes his own hands want to tremble, his own air daring to come out in wobbly patterns but he holds it together. Barely. The intimacy is just enough to nearly whelm him. “Ha..hey.. You-” Jimmy finally says, his voice tight and almost sounding choked up, “Tango.” “Hm?” Tango hums, “Sorry, I’ll stop.” Jimmy groans in protest, and Tango chuckles. “You’re getting all twitchy. I should quit before you hurt yourself again,” he adds, pulling back and continuing to rub at his skin. “But..” Jimmy starts to say, but cuts himself off and huffs. Tango reaches up and ruffles at Jimmy’s hair. “You’ll survive. Promise. Now, let’s see about getting some ice on this, huh?” It isn’t until a couple days later, when Tango’s hunched in the kitchen and prepping some breakfast, that he feels a presence behind him. He barely has time to register before two arms are wrapped tight around him from behind. Tango chuckles, reaching up and affectionately patting at the face that tucks into the crook of his neck, warming his skin with Jimmy’s breath. “Hi there,” Tango says with a grin building, “You’re supposed to be resting.” “I think my back is doing much better now, thank you,” Jimmy coos, “And I think some payback is in order.” Tango’s face starts to burn at his low, graveled voice. There’s a kiss on his cheek. Then another. And another on his jawline, scraggly beard tickling his skin, moving down. Then another and- Oh boy.

*taps mic* is this thing on?

hi there! you can call me rose (she/they) if you must refer to me, and if you’re seeing this, you’ve stumbled across the account that will hold all of my fanfiction and fic related things. Here’s my AO3! <3 And here’s my main blog, where i am putting all my other brain rot. I am also now taking fic requests! things to note: - all of my content so far is MCYT. - i write a LOT of ship fics. i think all of the ones i’ve got stocked up are shipping-based, so if you’re not into that, my work might not be for you! - my writing tag will be #seasonalwrites, and my ask tag is #seasonal-asks!

Current Ongoing Projects! When Fate Finds Golden Rings - A Rancher Duo, Arranged Marriage fic set in my own Royalty AU! Into self-indulgent stories with a royal aesthetic and lots of spitfire banter? Or just into enemies to friends to lovers? Go check it out here!<3 (On brief hiatus until further notice - be back at it soon!)