#cherry archetype

[saloonslut]

SPITTIN' DISTANCE. | F. TOJI

[SCENE: Pumpkin's Place. 10:23 PM. Pool, poker, and puckered lips.]

First, it'd been the pool table, but after a few games and losing, Toji demanded a game of poker. When Pumpkin was asked to bring out the chips, she scoffed but did so anyway—mumbling under her breath about men and their wounded egos.

"Careful now," she said to you as you and Toji sat down at the table. "He's a sore loser." She emphasized, flashing Toji a look before she walked off to tend to the other paying patrons.

"I can tell," you smiled to yourself and your success, giddy and loosened up after a few drinks. Thankfully, you weren't too bad in the party games department. Toji, on the other hand...

"Shut your mouth before I shut it for you." Toji grumbled, setting up the chips.

You were about twenty minutes... maybe half-an-hour in. To be quite frank, the odds weren't looking good.

"You're shit at this." Toji smirked, smug as a bug, as you both sat on opposite sides of a small round wooden table that rocked with every slight movement. You surmised one of the legs were broken. You didn't quite care, you just narrowed your eyes at Toji's face as you tried to call his bluff.

"You're cheating." You accused, puffing out your cheeks like a child.

"Don't get pissy because you're losing, sunshine." He teased, putting in all of his chips. "Let's spice things up, eh? Our original bet still stands. Loser still pays the tab." At the same time, his leg brushed against yours—right against your calf. You tried not to let his distract you, squirming in your seat. “Let’s raise the stakes,” Toji drawled, tossing a chip into the center.

“Fine,” you shrugged, trying to sound cool.

“Winner gets a kiss.”

That stopped you cold.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

"You're bluffing." You said, eyes narrowed thin into slits.

He leaned back, arms draped over the chair, shirt clinging to his chest with the humidity of the room. “Don’t tell me you’re scared, sunshine.”

He wasn't breaking a sweat or even furrowing a brow. You gritted your teeth, internally weighing your options. You couldn't lose. You wouldn't lose.

This man was a liar with a pretty face.

"All in." You said with as much confidence as you can muster, pushing your chips in as well. Toji's eyebrows shot up, and his smirk widened even further, forming a toothy grin. Fuck you.

Then, you flipped the cards and your heart sank.

You stared at the cards.

Then again.

He had the higher suit.

You lost.

No fuckin’ way.

“I lost?” you muttered. The disbelief made your throat tight.

His grin said it all.

"Are you serious?" You breathed out slowly. You double-checked the cards, once, then twice. You really lost. After all that, you'd lost.

Face scrunched up in irritation, you fumbled for your wallet, you stood up to go pay for both of your tabs as Toji sat in his seat, legs spread, waiting for you to return.

"You really cheated that young girl." Portia muttered, walking past the tall man.

"I really didn't, Miss Portia," Toji replied as innocently as he could, a Cheshire grin plastered onto his face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Tell that to the cards you stuffed into your pockets. You better apologize to that young lady before Pumpkin loses a valuable customer and friend." Portia suggested, nodding towards the saloon doors that swung behind you as you sauntered out of the pub. "Fast. Up and at 'em."

"Shit."

Toji was on his feet instantly, following you out of the pub.

He caught the door just before it swung shut, muttering under his breath, “That damn kiss better be worth the ass-whoopin’.”

He saw you trailing across the small lot, easily hastening his stride to catch up with you. "You runnin' out on me, sweets? Not a good look. Tends to be the other way around usually." He called out to you as you rounded your navy and white Chevy truck that looked like it'd seen better days.

"Not running," you said stubbornly, pulling open your driver's side door with a huff. You were flushed, face hot, and the white tee you wore clinging to your sweaty body as a breeze swept by.

"That ain't what it looks like to me," Toji chuckled as he stepped in front of you. You sat in the seat sideways, legs dangling off the side. He was tall like this. Taller than you, even though you sat comfortably in your truck. Damn him. "You forgetting the other end of our deal?"

You shifted, thighs pressing together. "No." You said after a beat, but you didn't look too happy about it.

Toji almost felt bad. Almost.

"Now who's being the sore loser?" Toji retorted, reflecting your own words back at you like a shitty, cracked mirror.

"I'm not a sore loser," you snapped, inhibitions loosened by the liquid courage flowin' through your veins. Fuck it. What was one kiss? At least he wasn't ugly. You leaned in, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging him in close. He seemed surprised by your boldness. Good.

Make him swallow his slick words.

Your lips met, short and brief, but he seemed to regain his wits quick enough. His large hands reached out, pawing at you as you crossed your legs, running a hand up your denim-covered calf. He was the one to deepen it, his other hand finding purchase on the small of your back. Hot and heavy.

He licked at you like he had the right to; forced his way into your mouth like it was his.

You broke the kiss, panting, heat coiled low in your stomach. He leaned in like he wasn’t finished—like he’d already decided he’d be getting seconds.

“Enjoy your damn prize,” you muttered—even though your lips tingled, and your knees were still shaking.

"Oh, I can think of a few ways, sweets," he drawled, gaze glued to your lips like he’d already marked them for later.

[saloonslut]

NOTHING SACRED BUT SMOKE. | F. TOJI

[SCENE: St. Kateri Tekakwitha Church. Dusk and tumbleweeds.]

a/n: contains religious themes, mentions of sin/guilt, irreverent dialogue in a church setting. please avoid if that makes you uncomfy.

You're seated in the pew, praying alone in the empty church at dusk. You don't look at the bottle tucked inside your purse or acknowledge the smoke hanging out the side of your mouth. Worse of all, the guilt engraved deep into your bones.

Still, you sat, hands clasped together.

Praying.

You're stuck in your head, rolling thoughts this way and that way. You hadn't even noticed when someone slid into the pew across the aisle from yours—only when you'd lifted your neck to get rid of the stiffness in your joint. You froze.

"It's alright," a low drawl, shuffle of movement as he lifted his hat from his head, resting it on his lap, "I didn't mean to startle 'ya."

"No, its just," you started, eyes sweeping across his frame—tall, big, and mean. This guy looked leagues ahead of you in age and strength. Like he could toss you around for fun. But that scar that sat vertically across the right side of his mouth said he was definitely cut from a different cloth entirely. "I thought the church would be empty by now." You stated, smoke balanced between your lips, glancing at him then towards the cross.

"I thought so too." He hummed, leaning back in the pew, a heavy hand resting on the inside of his denim-covered thigh.

Then, silence.

No words were exchanged, just the sound of your breathing as you exhaled slowly and softly.

Tentatively, you introduced yourself. You'd done this so many times already, every interaction seemed like a transaction. Sharing your name to earn one.

"Name's Fushiguro Toji," he said, eyes sliding over to meet yours across the aisle, voice thick as gravel, "I know your name. Ain't nothing secret in this town, sweets." He spoke through a slight smirk like he knew something you didn't. He probably did. You wouldn't ask. He probably wouldn't share anyway.

"Don't I know it," you muttered, plucking the smoke from your mouth and rolling it between your fingers. You wouldn't light it. Not yet. You looked at him again—he was completely unphased by the presence of a cigarette in your hand as you sat in the pew. "You're not picking me apart."

"Yeah, so?" He asked lazily, raising an eyebrow. "You want me too, girl?"

"No, I—" You bite your lip, twisting the cigarette. "It just seems everyone around here always has a lot to say."

"Heh," he snorted, smothering it by running a hand over his face, "listen, sweets, you're going to hear a lot. A lot of hearsay. A lot of bullshit to be quite honest." Toji shrugged. "But they ain't bad. Just got a bit too much time on their hands."

"Yeah." You mumbled, trying to read between the lines and hear what he was saying but wasn't saying. "I guess."

"Ain't no guessing around here, sweets," Toji shook his head, abruptly standing from the pew. He crossed the aisle towards you, fixing his Stetson over the silky black hair on his head. "The game is knowing. You know more? Then you're already winning." He took the smoke from your hand, placing it between his lips instead. At your muted face of surprise, he only grunted, pulling out his silver lighter. "What? You ain't going to smoke it. It'd be a waste." The cigarette was lit in a second.

"I wasn't going to smoke it in here." You corrected, glancing around uneasily as the two of you inhabited the church.

“Wouldn’t make a difference. Sin’s still sin.” He took a slow drag, exhaled toward the altar. “God can sort it out later."

[saloonslut]

CAR TROUBLES? | G. SUGURU

[SCENE: Rattlecreek County. 11:45AM. Somewhere... in the middle of crops and a lone dirt road.]

You knew you shouldn't have bought that busted old Chevrolet—thing ran like it was one bump from the grave—but the minute you saw her, you fell in love. Vintage cars, vintage love, vintage life.

Hell of a start for your new beginning.

You sighed in frustration, half-buried in the engine, 'bout ready to cry right there in the middle of nowhere. You’d been hoping to drive into town—Pumpkin had encouraged it, said not to let the stares scare you off—but your new place sat a few miles deep into farmland.

Dirt roads and rows of corn as far as the eye could see.

You were good and fucked.

Groaning, you wiped the back of your hand across your cheek, debating whether to call Pumpkin. The sultry woman had given you her number when you'd both first met last week, but you felt hesitant. You didn't know her that well, and while... she seemed nice, she had a look in her eye that gave you the shivers.

You nearly missed the sound of hooves.

Your head jerked up just in time to catch sight of a rider cresting the dusty road. He was tall, lithe, with dark hair tucked beneath a black Stetson. Sharp eyes. Sharper jaw. White tee stretched across broad shoulders, jeans worn and dusty, boots to match the hat.

Good lord.

Your breath hitched the second your eyes locked as he pulled the reins gently, halting just a few feet away.

"Hey there," he said smoothly, voice covered in velvet, "car troubles?" He asked, eyes flicking toward the heap you were halfway inside. There was a teasing note in his tone, but not unkind.

"Yeah, something like that," you mumbled sheepishly, ducking and coming up from beneath the hood, food on the air filter inside. With your vision obscured, you couldn't see the way he swallowed thickly, eyes stuck on how your ass locked in those denim jeans propped up on the front bumper. "Usually I can just jimmy these things myself, but I'm having a hard time today. I was just trying to get into town." You murmured, easing your way off the front of your truck.

"You mind if I lend you a hand?" Suguru asked, clearing his throat, face passive even though his thoughts were everything but. He'd heard that there was a new face in town, word travelled fast. Far. As far as county lines, but seeing it for himself had his jaw going slack. Mouth drying. Just at the sight of you. "Geto Suguru. I work nearby." He offered to make you feel more at ease. He hadn't wanted to tell you he worked on old man Yaga's ranch, much less dive into the county politics of who, what, when, where, and why. Didn't even want to tell you that you were trespassing on private property using a private road. Did you even know where you were going?

"No, not at all, thanks for stopping," you said as Suguru threw his leg over the saddle, the pretty large brown horse huffing as its rider descended from his seat. "I really appreciate it." You continued to make small talk, introducing yourself in the process, as Suguru held the reins while he walked over; tying the horse to a nearby post of the wooden fence lining the road.

He glanced at you as he tied the lead, watching the way your eyes crinkled, cheeks puffed up ever so slightly as you spoke. It was cute. He gave you a quiet nod, a ghost of a smile curving at the corner of his mouth. Something about the way you smiled when you introduced yourself made his chest ache — round cheeks, bright eyes, like you didn’t even know what kind of trouble you’d walked into. He approached the Chevy, sun beating soft on the back of his neck, and all he could think about was how damn lucky he was to be the one who found you first.