#Country Homes WA

[wildchives4]

M's mom might want to adopt one of our dogs which would mean we can get a cat:)

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 18) tw: minor character death, injuries, and misogynistic language

masterlist

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He’s far off still, the smoking gun held tight in his hand and aimed up at the sky. A warning shot.  

At first, you don’t quite believe it. He appears like a mirage in the distance after wandering through the desert for days, on the brink of starvation. Like a trick of the eye. You squint against the light, sure that you’ve mistaken the familiar felt pinch front hat and the speckled Appaloosa he sits astride for someone else, a stranger come to save you instead of the man you’ve been desperately pining for since Graves stole you from your home. 

But the longer you stare at the man coming towards you, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face save for the grim set of his mouth, the harder it is to deny that it really is John. 

Your chest is fit to burst. Heart pumping wildly against your ribcage. The sight of him is revelatory—a burning bush, a stream of light through storm clouds, St Elmo’s fire. The euphoric high is almost overwhelming.

“Son of a bitch,” Graves hisses beneath his breath, hand reaching for the revolver on his belt. 

John is quicker though, firing off another round, this time at the ground between them, alarming Graves enough to make his arm jerk away from his side. Even you yelp. The gunfire cuts your swell of adulation short, bringing you back flush to the surface of the real world again. Graves’ horse scrambles back a few steps, nearly rearing up before Graves gets control of him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, now—” Graves booms, right in your ear, so loud that you wince, curling into yourself. 

The gelding chuffs at John’s approach, unsettled. Graves digs his spurs into the horse’s side when it takes a few nervous steps back, making it whinny in pain. You’d tell him off, but you’ve learned by now to hold your tongue around Graves. He only knows how to impose his authority through pain. 

“Easy, alright—” Graves calls out, holding out the hand not tangled in the reins to show that it’s empty, the revolver still sheathed in its holster. “No one’s gonna do anything stupid.”

The horse John sits astride is the one he never dared to train you on. The one you know would buck you straight off if you tried to hoist yourself up on its saddle. He’s bigger than Buttercup, all muscle and broodsome aura like its owner, and he doesn’t take kindly to strangers. 

When it breathes out, you imagine its breath should smell sulfuric. Fire and brimstone. 

Closer to you now, you can see his eyes under the brim of his hat. He glowers at Graves, the same look you’ve seen only once before, staring through the window of the general store at the scowl carved into his face when he dragged a man across town, but intensified. Not so much as a glimmer of sympathy or understanding in his eyes. Just cold rage. 

The lines in his face are deep from lack of sleep, dark troughs under his eyes. Shoulders stiff; every muscle of his tensed, poised to react. You wonder how long after Graves took you John realized and followed the two of you in pursuit. 

“I’m gonna say this once and you best not try my patience: let the lady go.”

The sound of his voice rumbles through you, making the hair on your arms raise. Seldom have you heard him use that tone of voice, more man than sheriff. 

Graves’ hand tightens on the reins, knuckles going white. You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that he has the same obsequious look on his face as he did back in town, indignation relegated to his extremities. You can see it in the tensed muscle of his forearms.

“Now Sheriff, you may have the run of this county, but I’ve got the power of the law on my side. The state of New York has issued a warrant for this woman’s arrest.” Graves’ smarmy evocation to the legality of his actions rankles you. He acts like the whole situation is out of his control, that he takes no joy in your apprehension. Simply a matter of duty. 

Not that it seems to make a difference. Even you could tell Graves that. 

“I won’t ask again.” John’s voice is threaded with fury, angrier than you’ve ever heard him speak. 

And true to his words, he doesn’t. The silence stretches between the two men, fraught with tension. Graves is a rigid line at your back. 

He’s the first to break the silence; the first to give. “At least let me show you the warrant, Sheriff,” Graves implores. “I ain’t just some vagrant that’s come and taken the sheriff’s wife without cause—and I assure you, there is cause.”

John doesn’t say a word, blue eyes still severe. Colder than the waters of Cocytus. 

Graves must take his silence as permission because he reaches a hand into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He holds it out to John at first, perhaps expecting the man to come close enough to take it from his hand, but John doesn’t even glance at the hand offering him the arrest warrant, eyes still locked on Graves. 

“See now, I’ll even read it out—” he says, clearing his throat and half turning the paper back to him. “‘Whereas it has been represented to Government that—’”

“Give the letter to my wife,” John cuts him off, gesturing towards the warrant in Graves’ hand with his gun. “She’ll deliver it to me once you’ve handed her over.”

The interruption stuns Graves into silence, the warrant still held in his outstretched arm. He must not be accustomed to men deferring to women instead of him, much less a criminal like you. Your stomach cramps with nerves. The blow to his ego worries you more than John getting his hands on the arrest warrant. His behavior up to this point has been predictable—violent, but unsurprising. You aren’t interested in finding out if losing his temper changes that. 

John’s eyes flick to yours. The first time he’s really looked at you since arriving unannounced, just a quick glance over you to ensure that you’re well. He must not like what he sees because the skin around his eyes tightens. 

The moment of inattention is all Graves needs, eyes trained on it like a hunting dog. John’s eyes barely twitch away to meet yours and Graves draws his gun, his aim wild when he shoots. 

You don’t see what he hits, but the gunfire drives John’s horse into a panic, throwing its head back and rearing up onto its hind legs. Graves fires again and the ground between you explodes, dirt and debris erupting into the air. The horse roars, the sound deep and throaty. 

Graves grabs you by the back of your dress, forcing your back to arch and shoulders to pull back, using you, for all intents and purposes, as a meat shield. You can hear John try to take control of his horse, but it’s near mindless with fear, braying and bucking when Graves fires again, white smoke billowing from the muzzle. Panic seizes you by the throat when John’s horse bucks him right off, bellowing a curse when his body slams to the ground. 

A scream bursts from your throat, but Graves holds you in place before you can slide off the saddle, spitting a tense shut the fuck up into your ear before digging his heel into his horse’s flank and steering him around, beating a hasty retreat. His horse moves in a wide arc until his body is turned back in the direction that Graves was originally heading. 

You struggle against him until the horse moves at a speed too dangerous to chance falling from its back. It covers ground fast, moving at a breakneck speed. 

“Stop—let me down!” you scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The howling wind carries your voice away. 

The violent toing and froing makes it impossible to cast a backward glance and see if John is in pursuit. All of your senses narrow down to what’s in front of you; from the saddle horn digging into your stomach and the air whipping past your face to the feeling of Graves’ breath wafting over the back of your neck as he pants. 

A booming crack fills the air and you scream, fear soaring to an unfathomable height. 

Graves grunts and tenses behind you, his hands spasming around the reins and letting go involuntarily. Then you feel the body behind you slump to the side, his weight almost unbalancing you until he falls off the horse altogether, feet slipping out of the stirrups. 

The blood in your ears masks the sound of his body hitting the ground. Your head whips around to follow the trajectory of Graves’ body, but a wave of vertigo slams into you, a head on collision that forces you to dig your fingers into the horse’s mane and turn your body back around. 

The horse barely notices the body slipping off its back though, tunnel vision on the road ahead. Legs pumping furiously beneath it, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt. You’d have thought the horse would’ve slowed up with the sudden unburdening of the other person astride it, but if anything, it picks up speed. 

You can’t calm down enough to catch your breath; it gallops ahead of you as well, your vision growing spotty with the short, jagged breaths you take in. Lungs collapsing under the weight of your chest. Eyes squinted against the piercing wind. Sunspots brighter than light itself. 

Your instinct is to make yourself small; shield yourself from the impending pain. That inescapable reality rushes towards you as quickly as you race towards it. You’re going to fall. It’s almost certain. You whimper when a particularly rough stride makes you slip an inch to the right, your fingers gripping into the horse’s mane ever tighter, desperate to keep yourself astride.

Someone’s voice breaks through the noise and you open your eyes. 

In your fearstruck state, you almost don’t recognize the man riding beside you and keeping pace until he says your name—your real name—and you snap back to yourself. No time to contemplate your name in his mouth though, no time for anything except keeping from slipping into total panic.

“Pull up on the reins!” John roars over the clamor of hooves. 

You peel your face from the horse’s mane to meet his eyes. The parallel of a memory from long ago. It flashes before your eyes and you remember yourself. Numb hands fisted in the horse’s mane unclench. 

“Pull up!” he shouts again, and this time you comprehend. It’s the same as the time before. 

Summoning every ounce of courage in your bones, you tighten your thighs and belly to lift yourself up, gathering and bridging the reins in your manacled hands. Half halt, release, and half halt again. 

“Good—now circle!” John’s voice booms in your ear and through your blood. 

You flinch when you try to steer your horse into a wide, sweeping turn and he resists at first, but on your second try, he follows your pull, his strides gradually slowing, easing up. When your horse finally comes to a standstill, walking its last few strides before coming to a stop, you sit with that bubble of tension until it bursts. Under your thighs, you can feel your horse’s ribs expand and contract with its labored breath. 

The world blurs for a moment. The adrenaline flooding your body dissipates more with every breath you take, but the crash is just as intense as the rise. You can feel the shakes that wrack your body in a way that your mind can’t quite yet take in, still outside of itself. The first thing you truly register is your husband suddenly at your side, coaxing you down from the horse, your handcuffed hands braced on his chest as he helps you down and then holding on to him when your knees nearly buckle under you.

“Thank Christ,” he growls, pulling you into his chest. 

The smell of tobacco and cloves is woven into the fabric of his shirt and you breathe it in zealously because it’s his. The reassurance that your husband has you, that he’s with you now, and the bad is over, nearly bowls you over. Makes you shake all the harder.

When you finally pull your face away from John’s chest, he cups your cheek with a gunpowder dusted hand, tilting your head up so he can press his lips to your forehead. Your gaze flits up and you stare at him with bleary eyes, wondering what he sees when he looks at you. Messy hair and a fleeting breath that quivers out, breaks to pieces, illuminates the sky when you glance over his head and it’s so blue that you could swim in it. 

John frowns when you accidentally roll your shoulder back and wince. “You’re hurt.” 

There’s no use in lying when he'll find out the truth soon enough, so you just nod. 

“His doing, was it?” he assumes more than asks, inspecting you closely now and noting all the fresh abrasions immediately visible to his eyes.  

Most of your injuries are surface level, more than apparent to him after a quick perusal. A split lip and plenty of scrapes just beginning to scab. You’re too tired to recount the events of the day before though, so you just shrug. Then hiss, the pain so intense that your bones go cold for a split second. 

His forehead pinches with his frown, ghosting his hand over your shoulder as if to hold it in place. “I’ll look at it later, okay, darlin’?”

Every inch of you aches. You wish it could just be over now and you could be back in your bed by sundown, but you know the way home will be just as long. No rest unless you want the journey to be twice as long. The exhaustion alone might have you keel over before night falls. 

Then someone coughs and drags you back into the real world. 

You follow the sound with your eyes until they land on its cause. The crumpled form of the bounty hunter that dragged you out of town lies a quarter mile back. It’s difficult to make out the state of him from so far away, but you can tell it isn’t pretty, mangled and bloody from the fall he took off the horse. 

“Oh God…” you murmur, eyes widening when the man twitches against the grass. 

John’s hand falls away from your cheek. His anger is so palpable that you can feel it fill him back up, blue eyes going steely and jaw tightening as he stares at the man that tried to take you from him. 

“Stay here,” your husband growls, hand reaching down to draw his pistol again.

John leaves you by the horses some distance away as he makes his way over to Graves’ prone form. Blood seeps from a gunshot wound in his shoulder, saturating his shirt and wetting the dirt beneath him, and even from where you stand, you can see the odd angle of his ankle from where he hit the ground. 

With no small amount of effort, Graves props himself up on his good arm, the other hanging limp against the ground. Even the sight makes you wince, bile churning in your stomach. He has to be in tremendous pain. Even John limps a little as he approaches the other man, hip likely sore from his own fall. 

Against your better judgment, and your husband’s command, you take a step towards them. And then another.

You have no reason other than the sinking feeling in your belly. If it were you with the gun, things would be different, you think. You’d do it again, without a second thought. Anything to keep Graves from opening his mouth. 

The gun in John’s hand makes clear his intentions in no uncertain terms. Out on the plains in the middle of nowhere, even taking pity on the man and bringing Graves to the nearest town might not be enough. It’s a rough world out there. Tougher still with a wounded shoulder and sprained ankle. 

More to the matter, John’s face says it all, jaw clenched and lips drawn into a tight line. 

“It doesn’t have to go this way, sheriff,” Graves wheezes when the other man draws close enough to hear. 

“You know I haven’t got a choice now,” John says, gazing up at the sky for a moment before looking back down at the man on the ground. “Not after you laid a hand on my wife.”

Despite the distance, Graves’ voice carries when he speaks. “You think you know that bitch? You don’t know this woman from Eve. What makes you think she won’t butcher you like she did that man back east?”

So casually he says it that you almost miss it. And then you don’t. The words pour over you like a sudden rain and you are back in that room, dread so potent that it chars the flesh, leaving cratered, necrotic holes wherever it touches. The worst moment of your life. 

And Graves says it like a sin of your own making, like it was something you wanted, not a moment in your life haunting you from beyond the grave. 

Your heart stops when your husband looks over at you assessingly. The truth lours over the two of you now, out in the open at last. All those months of hiding it, squandered in a moment by an injured man’s words. All you can do is stare helplessly at the man outlined by the blue sky, the horizon forever etching him into your memory. It’s the first time since you stumbled into the sheriff’s office all those months ago that you haven’t wanted him to think that you weren’t the woman that was supposed to be his wife.

“Shoulda listened to me, sheriff,” Graves laughs, his voice pained and raspy. “That Jezebel needs to answer for what she did.”

You can see it in his eyes that he believes Graves. And why wouldn’t he? The man has committed no crime; spoken not a lie to this point. 

John looks at you in such a strange way though. There’s no surprise there; just a glint in his eye meant only for you. A glint that says darlin’, this ain’t nothin’ new; you never could’ve fooled me. 

He knew your name after all. And you wonder how long he’s known. If he found out sometime in those first days or somewhere down the line or if the arrest warrant fell across his desk in recent days and he knew it would come to this, someone hunting you down across state lines to bring you back. If he knew he’d always have to come after you and rescue you from the jaws of death. 

Everything comes all at once, each moment flashing across your mind barely long enough to leave an impression. Everything is proven immaterial in seconds. 

There’s so much between the two of you. History, obligation, duty. Tenderness shouldn’t even be the half of it, and yet it bears down twice as hard. It’s the only thing that matters when you look at him—not the thought of being dragged back east and forced to stand trial, not the injustice of being made to atone for protecting yourself against a worse fate, but the thought of being taken away from him, of never seeing him again.

You can feel that worry evaporate the longer you hold his gaze. There’s something intentional there, something he is saying without words. 

These days, you do not think to tremble when his hands are on your lips. You tilt your head instead, wait for him to make his next move. Your trust, implicit, underlying everything. Knowing he’ll break the bread and feed you from his hands if need be.

Though you can’t unhinge your jaw enough to ask him to promise that he’ll keep you, his eyes say that it’s a foregone conclusion. How could he ever let you go? You’re everything he’s ever wanted, the only thing even duty could never take from him. 

John looks back down at the man lying at his feet. “Couldn’t help runnin’ your mouth, now could you?”

Graves opens his mouth, but John doesn’t wait for a response. He pulls the trigger.

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Away From You For The Holidays

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: unstable family relationships, please don't take offense this is completely fictional

Since Lando and you are not from the same country, this is another holiday that the two of you spend apart from each other. You still haven't gotten to the point where you spend the holidays with his family or he with yours because during the year you're both on the road all the time and spend little time with your families, so when Christmas time comes, your family wants you to spend that time with them, just like Lando's family wants to be with him.

You came home to your hometown a week before Christmas, and now that it's already the third day after Christmas, it's becoming difficult for both of you to be so far away from each other.

Now, your family can be tough sometimes. You've never had the warm and close relationship with your parents that Lando has always had with his. You love your parents as much as they love you, and you can thank only them for everything you've achieved in life, but the truth is that growing up, they weren't always fair to you, and you never had the emotional support from them that you wanted and needed as a child.

For example, your mom always has to add something a little negative to every compliment she gives you. Always. And if you mentioned to her that her comments sometimes, most of the times, hurt you, she would somehow find herself offended. It's just always been that way, and that's why you don't like spending too much time at home with your family anymore.

It was the same today, your mom made some inappropriate comment that threw you off balance and it just all came together and became too much for you. You missed Lando, so you retreated to your room and started crying quietly longing for his warm comforting hug. Lando seemed to sense that you needed him because not long after tears started to fall down your face, your phone rang showing his name on the screen.

You quickly wiped your tears trying to hide that you were crying knowing it would upset Lando before you answered.

"Hey, baby" You spoke, sniffling a little.

"How's my most beautiful girl in the world?"

"I'm fine, I'll be even better when I see you." Your eyes water and you sniffle again.

"Baby, are you crying?" Lando notices immediately.

"I'm not.."

"Baby, what's wrong?" He asks worriedly. "Turn on the camera, let me see you."

"I'm okay, don't worry. I'm just a little emotional that's all."

"Can you please turn on the camera? I want to see you." He pleads.

You hesitate for a second, but when he asks you so tenderly, you really can't say no.

"Hey" You smile at him, but your red eyes betray your sadness.

"My baby..what’s goin on?"

"It's nothing, I'm just tired of being home and I can't wait to be with you again."

"I'm getting on a plane tomorrow and I'm coming to pick you up." You expected this from him and that's why you didn't even want him to know you were crying because you didn't want to disturb his family time at home.

"No, no! We're both flying to Spain in two days anyway so I'll survive until then, don't worry." You reassure him because you definitely planned to spend the New Year's together in Spain.

"I know, but I don't want you to spend a single second sad, especially not during the holidays. I can't sit still at home knowing that you're crying miles away from me."

"Don't worry, love, I'm fine, you already know how it goes during the holidays at my house."

"I really want this to be the last year we're not together for Christmas. Next year, I don't care if anyone gets mad, but next year on Christmas Eve I want us to be together in our home in front of our Christmas tree and under our blanket. I'm tired of being miles away from the person I love most in the world on such special days of the year."

"I know, baby, I want that too more than anything, but-"

"No but's, no, I know what you're going to say and I don't wanna hear it. You're my priority and I want you to be next to me at all times." He says and you sigh knowing it's easier said than done. "Baby, one day we'll have our own family and we'll most definitely want to spend Christmas at our home with our kids, and then later come everyone else. And I want it to be like that next year as well, you and I at our home for Christmas, and then we go and visit our families together. Okay?"

His words brought a smile to your face and warmth around your heart already fantasizing about what it could be like next year. You wanted it more than anything. You and him. Together.

"Okay, baby. I want that too and I honestly think that's the only right way."

"It is. No more crying, okay?" He says and you nod. "Ugh, I wanna kiss you so bad right now” Lando sighs tilting his head and looking at you with nothing but pure love.

"Trust me, you won't be able to get rid of me in two days."

"Baby, in two days, I'm not letting you out of my arms anymore."

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐱 || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ your task was to keep an eye on the enigmatic salesman while gi-hun attempted to join the games again, but it turned out to be harder than expected as you end up falling in love with him

warnings_ age gap (not specified but legal) reader is implied to be American but not specified, sexual tension, reader is constantly bullying the salesman, ooc salesman, fluff?, angst?, violence, manipulation, stockholm syndrome???, questionable morals, do not romanticize this irl pls

notes_ i can’t stop associating so bad from Jesse Jo Stark and IT girl from JADE with this man sorry. RECOMMEND SPECIFIC DRAMAS OR MOVIES WITH GONG YOO TO WRITE MORE FICS, I ALREADY PLACED HIM IN MY PHONECASE, MAKE THIS CRUSH WORTHY

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 gong yoo

✰ Index (+ fics here)

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Lies can’t be considered to be completely bad. Sometimes you must avoid the truth to be safe, to protect… to seek. You left home with the excuse of a research project for your thesis. Truth is, you wanted to know what happened to your brother.

He graduated with a business degree and left for Chicago but after hearing nothing from him two months later, your parents went to the police.

None could be done. He was simply gone.

But you didn’t believe that. There was more, there had to…

With luck, you discovered your brother left Chicago two days after his arrival, and then boarded a plane with a route to Seoul. With almost zero comprehension of why he would leave the country, hell, the damn continent! It resulted astonishing to you.

It was so great you needed to get answers that you ventured into the unknown. You didn’t know how to speak Korean, you didn’t know much about the country you landed eight months ago.

And you didn’t believe a hundred percent about faith or destiny. But your first clues to your missing brother lead to a man who looked at a card in his hands while he flipped it continuously.

That was Seong Gi-hun. A man who had lost everything and then won but didn’t feel like that afterward.

For some weeks, you couldn’t process the fact that your brother was dead. He had joined some games deathly games that were worth it for many since you could leave as a wealthy winner.

Even more senseless because perhaps your family wasn’t rich, but your brother couldn’t have anything else than student debts and that was something that most adults could deal with.

It all led to drowning in sorrows and thinking your efforts to find him were in vain. The year your brother played the games was 2022 and the winner wasn’t him.

Gi-hun didn’t give up on you. He took care of you when he didn’t have to. Later told you about his plans and suggested you join him.

For your brother.

It was for his memory that you agreed to learn how to wield and use a gun. For his memory, you decided to stay and overcome the people behind those hideous games.

Leading you to become a ghost. Working as a teacher’s assistant until the plan was coming closer and you had to quit. Living in a rented apartment until you had to move out to a little house Gi-hun bought under a pseudonym for you to use while he was inside the games. He assured you could take all you needed from the money he had. Although you didn’t like to do so, you had to because you no longer had a job.

And for a long time, you had to be at the subway station looking for an apparent handsome, tall businessman who offered to play Ddakji and slapped people when they lost. Nobody had seen the salesman yet.

You avoided judging beauty but you hadn’t seen anyone who you considered to be handsome, and no man was slapping people.

Between lifting weights, practicing core strength, having no job and searching for a businessman who bullied random people, you had found a routine.

A lonely routine. You held some camaraderie with the men who also looked for the salesman, but you hadn’t found a real friend other than Gi-hun.

It was late when you were told they had found the salesman. Rain poured and you were at a restaurant having dinner. With hurried feet you took a cab that left you at the door of the solitary pink motel, never noticing certain cops looking from the other side of the street.

When you opened the door, you heard voices and secluded cries. You pulled out your gun and carefully walked towards the pleading sounds.

In a room, there lays a tied man, pleading for freedom. You know him; it’s Choi Woo-Seok.

His eyes are teary, he’s beaten and shakes desperately. You only let him know with his hands to quiet down and to calm down.

Both of your hands are on the trigger. You slowly walk back towards the entrance, where the voices can still be heard. You identify Gi-hun as there. So you try to be more careful, even when the music playing disturbs you.

The darkness of the room makes it easier for you to disguise. That’s when you can see the men sitting in the middle of the room.

They’re playing the Russian roulette and it makes you frown from cringe and panic.

It wasn’t hard to understand that the man facing Gi-hun was none other than the salesman.

He was indeed handsome. He looked like a clean and neat businessman, and the way he arrogantly spoke and held his gun said a lot about him. He was insane.

The only thing you can care about is to prevent death. Your hand doesn’t shake, fingers confidently on the trigger, waiting for the right moment while your free hand sneaks inside the pocket of your coat, pulling another loaded gun.

When the salesman raises the gun, pointing at the ceiling and he is busy talking, you pull the trigger.

Both men turned to look at you in surprise.

Gi-hun suddenly looks relieved, while the salesman stares at you so deeply that it makes you nervous for a second.

But your reflexes were fast enough to see that he was about to move, so you pointed at him with the other gun, shooting at him with a potent sedative right in his shoulder.

“Where did you get that?” Gi-hun asked you. “A month ago, in the kitchen of the Chinese lady’s restaurant around the block”

“Thank you” You nod at him, seeing how he went straight untie the man in the other room.

You look back at the salesman, who is unconscious on the couch. Slowly, you walk towards him. Almost nervous that he would move, jump out and kill you, but it’s impossible.

Your hands start wandering around his neck, taunting his skin and fabric covering it to see if he possesses a microphone or camera that would put everyone in danger.

At the same time, a cop arrives, accusing you and Gi-hun of killing the salesman.

Everything changed in the span of a night.

…

He woke up to the smell of alcohol. His eyes could barely focus but he knew his head was in the lap of a woman. He knew he was in handcuffs and his feet were tied up.

Between faded memories, he remembered your face and hands pointing a gun at him.

When he tried to focus his view again, he realized you had stood up, he saw your blurred silhouette glancing around the room until he felt more oriented. He could hear you talking in English, often mixing words in Korean with bad pronunciation. Something about a doctor and ordering Mexican food for takeout.

Pretty woman, he thought. From your sophisticated and unusual pick of heels, your dress and coat, your earrings, hair, and shade of lipstick. You truly were a sight.

Once you hang up, you turnto see him seemingly awake.

“Gi-hun! The freak is awake!” you yell, making him frown.

Freak? He has been an honest gentleman with you.

“Your Korean is not good” his voice sounds raspy and he can barely sit straight with his extremities tied up.

“Neither is your English” he chuckles briefly.

Choi Woo-Seok appears at the door and looks scared at the salesman, who barely eyes him, still focused on you.

“Gi-hun left with Jun-ho to speak properly” You roll your eyes, nodding.

“Alright. I ordered food for everyone, the dentist is coming to check Gi-hun and this man over here. Keep an eye on that, please” he nods, closing the door and leaving you alone with the salesman again.

“I guess I’ll have to do it myself” you basically whisper to yourself.

“A doctor?” Ignoring the man, you step almost between his legs and you sense he got taken aback by the proximity.

“Take off your clothes” his eyes opened a little more and you almost laughed.

“Excuse me?” one of his brows looked slightly arched, half playfully and half taken aback.

“Take off your clothes, sir” you repeated, trying to sound calm.

“I’m afraid I’m handcuffed and tied from my ankles, miss” he shows you his hands and oddly moves his free fingers.

“Hmm, too bad. I will then…”

You only made him look like a mess. But you found a tiny camera and microphone well hidden in his blazer.

Your hands never trembled over his skin. And unbeknownst to you, he was on fire. You even cleaned the blood on his face and he discovered how soft your hands were.

Once you crushed the camera and microphone, you took a seat in the same place Gi-hun was an hour ago, facing the salesman.

“Two years ago you handed a card to a man. He was non-native, had green eyes, ebony hair, tall like you, and was very friendly” you start, feeling a pang in your chest while describing your brother.

Meanwhile, the man thought back on the hundreds of people he had tricked. It was easier since less than 8% of the players were non-Koreans.

“Ah, yes, I remember him. Very expressive and handsome. You people from the occidental are very extroverted” he said with a cheeky smile and you almost rolled your eyes. “That was your brother, I’m assuming”

“He was, and yes; While you only made an offer and he accepted, you didn’t tell him his life was at stake” The way he looked at you with arrogance made your blood boil.

“Ma’am, the games are made for the mere reason of helping people. It is just one lucky individual who takes the prize”

“Bullshit. It is entertainment for the rich and a purge of innocent people you and your shitty folks believe are useless. I come from the epitome of capitalism, don’t fool me” he stares too much at you. In his head, he wondered why you got so invested in the whole situation. You seemed young, smart, pretty even. Why were you wasting your mundane life trying to be a hero?

“You and Gi-hun are not saviors, miss. Him trying to contact my boss is useless. You keeping me here, is pointless. The games will go on and my superiors will succeed, while you will watch and hate that your attempts to stop it were worthless” he says.

You huff tired, walking back and forth in the little motel room.

“Good lord, Why are you so obsessed with protecting an organization that will likely replace you the moment your heart stops beating?” He tilts his head, with his hands in cold handcuffs under the table and a little smirk. He almost looks adorable.

“I know where you come from. I know you have never experienced the extreme lack of money. I was doing my research when my superior; The Frontman, found a foreign woman working with Mister Gi-hun” In his words, you try to hide the fear. Of these people hurting your family. Of them knowing more than they should about your plans with Gi-hun and Jun-ho. “Don’t be fearful, ma’am. We have no business with people outside of Korea. But you shouldn’t be digging along those filthy scums. Now you’re also part of this”

The silence makes him feel like he won. His smile is pretty, but he was a fucking asshole.

“And for what miss y/n? For your brother? Who proved to be desperate and needy like everybody else. A man who died and nobody came for him…” he leaned, showing you his cuffed hands and mocking you with every bashful word he spitted out.

Your eyes get teary. You sigh, nodding and looking away. The salesman stared at you with ease, believing he had won once again.

But you take him by surprise when the heel of your boot kicks his ribs and sends him to the floor.

You quickly grab your gun and kneel beside him. The barrel of the gun traces his temple and cheekbone slowly as you lean to his ear.

“You are a man and I’m a woman who are simple mortals. Quit with the arrogance and start speaking the truth” you spit out with feigned sweetness. Your knee brushes his lips and he only looks at you defenseless, but soon goes back to smile. “Why don’t you try to be a good boy for me, sir…”

“You waste your time, dolly,” he says in Korean and makes you frown.

“Fuck you” you spit at him, literally. You couldn’t care less if you weren’t acting decent. The salesman could go to hell. You just grew more eager for Gi-hun and Jun-ho to accomplish the mission.

…

The door was softly closed even when your ears were ringing in anger. Gi-hun and Jun-ho were standing, expecting you.

“Did he say anything?” you sighed, shaking your head. “He’s a fucking asshole”

“We can’t give up. The plan must keep going but now that we have him, he could give us details” You nod at the young ex-cop. Gi-hun only huffed but ended up agreeing as well.

“The only way to keep him steady is if you stay with him” Your heart almost stops as you look at Jun-ho feeling mortified.

“Me?” He nods, crossing his arms.

“Either way is dangerous for y/n. She’s definitely not coming with me to the games, she shouldn’t go searching the island, and staying alone with that sociopath will not calm me while I’m gone” The worry in Gi-hun made you smile a little, he really cared about you and it made you feel like everything was worth it.

For him, your brother and anyone who had joined or planned to join the games.

“I will stay with him. We would be pretty much isolated and if we stay together 24/7, I shall be fine”

“You will be protected, you have my word,” Jun-ho says softly.

“I won’t be able to see you tomorrow. Take care of yourself, use any of the money, and do not give up on making the salesman speak” The tone the older man uses makes you feel a little teary, it’s a goodbye. “Jun-ho and Woo-Seok will keep you safe. And if anything happens to me, take all the money and go back home”

You frown, continuously shaking your head.

“Gi-hun, I wouldn’t be able to leave if something happened to you. I would stay until I knew what happened” he smiled, giving you a quick hug before he got his jacket.

“Keep your eyes open, kid” you nod, wishing him farewell.

The room fell into silence. And it was only you and the salesman in the other room.

…

If anyone walked into the house in one of the most humble districts, they would believe it was a social experiment. A man tied up from the hands and toes has to follow a woman like a lost puppy each day.

From having breakfast, lunch, and dinner together, him being blindfolded while you took a shower and you playing games on your iPad while he took one too.

The silence was the excruciating part. He barely talked and when you tried to pry about him, it likely ended up with you furiously pulling his hair and leaving the room made a mess.

“I could be useful, ma’am,” he said, sitting straight at the table. “The least I can do in lockdown is to help you with banalities”

Out of his suit-tailored suit, he almost made you think about the word ‘domestic’. He was wearing a grey hoodie, black sweatpants, and white socks.

“The only thing I’m asking you to help me with, you cannot provide” you reply, serving him a cup of coffee.

“I don’t drink coffee” he politely declines de cup, and you roll your eyes.

“Really? You look like someone who needs a lot of caffeine” The playful tone came out of nowhere and it made you bite your tongue.

“And I wouldn’t take you as an addict for it” It’s the first time both of you actually speak and it’s odd. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Yeah, I like it very toasted with just a smidge of almond creamer” You hear him chuckle and it makes you smile. But you remember the reason why you are there.

You aren’t there to talk about coffee.

“So… How long had you been doing… your job” one of his hands was cuffed to the chair beside him, and with the free one, he was able to eat.

“Some years, five, maybe seven. But I’ve been in the organization for longer” You almost dropped your fork, surprised to hear he was actually answering.

You wouldn’t push it too far.

“Are the games really that terrible like Gi-hun said?” The man tilts his head.

Perhaps he was getting dementia and he was forgetting you had him captive in a random house. But he was willing to answer.

“They are. But that’s what they sign up for…”

“No. That’s how you and your peers have shaped the games” he makes a feigned pot, cleaning the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “We’ve already talked about this…”

“Listen asshole, I just need you to tell me where the fuck is that damn island” It’s obvious you were getting exasperated and he was enjoying it.

Wearing a sundress and sandals, messy hair, and barely traces of makeup, you looked lovely to his eyes. Almost impossible to imagine you could get angry so easily.

“If your friends were smarter, perhaps they would have already figured it out”

“You really rather die than accept you’re just their dog. Just a messenger who will be replaced once they notice you have mysteriously disappeared…”

Now was his turn to get angry. You could see the way he was tense.

“Not very different than you, ma’am. You were left behind to keep an eye on me. Just a little ragdoll to use”

You slap him so hard that even some birds peeking in the window fly away at the sound. The red tonality starts spreading across his pale cheek.

“Do it again” he blurts out and it boils your blood. He must’ve felt hard by your harsh action but you were enraged.

So you did again, harder this time.

His expression was indescribable. He seemed pleased and you hated it.

“Fuck you!” You yell exasperated by him.

“I told you once, this is pointless” You harshly grab his jaw and make him look up at your eyes. He has a playful smile and some of his hair falls scattered across his forehead.

“I will make you spit out every dirty little secret of yours. Even if it takes longer than needed”

He leans even closer and you literally feel his dry lips against yours but it doesn’t make you flicker.

No matter how wet the whole situation is making you feel.

“Why so quiet, doll?” he asks, grabbing your hip and moving his hand dangerously back and forward towards your ass.

“What a shame you are not complying. If you did, you’d had me begging for you to fuck me hard”

He gulped shocked, you won.

Your free hair, the view of your cleavage, the proximity to your lips, and the words that spilled out of your mouth were driving him crazy.

“You’d love it, right? I can tell no one has fucked you good enough. That’s the real shame, sweetheart” You want to ignore the way you feel you are throbbing, as well as the sight of his tightening pants. “No need, I can get wild by myself”

“Really? You like to get messy in the sheets?” You nod, feeling bold and sassy, gently touching his inner thighs and abandoning the touch once you’re inches away from feeling his hard cock.

“Yes, sir. I love watching my own reflection, gasping and moaning while my fingers slip in and out of my cunt and I feel so close to squirting”

“Fuck…” he curses in Korean a trail of words, which makes you smile as you leave.

…

The salesman was once very poor, he was a guard in the games, became head of them, and then jumped to be the recruiter.

He killed his father and became the most isolated man to protect his and the organization’s identity.

At least that’s what he revealed when you forced him to get drunk. You also got drunk to set it equal but both of you remembered everything. The salesman even earned the right to be out of the handcuffs. Which resulted odd to you, because he hadn’t tried anything to kill you or escape.

It also made you wonder if he was feeling weird things like you.

Sat on the balcony at midnight during a sudden heat wave, watching the skyline of Seoul at a fair distance, it almost felt like a simulation. Where he wasn’t your captive, he was a good man and both of you were having a date. As ridiculous as it sounded.

“Okay. I get you’ve had enough in life, but don’t you want to actually live? To wander and experience tranquility. You’re getting old and time will pass” you unexpectedly said, even taking yourself aback.

“I chose this life some time ago. It’s what I get…” you wanted to take his hands and tell him he had a chance.

But he was just the salesman.

“I would like to beg you to think twice. To question yourself if you want to die as their… dog, or start living. But you won’t listen, you are missing the warmth of life… and love”

You didn’t mean to say all that. But you were also drunk. And that’s what you honestly thought about him.

And that was two days ago.

The most important phone in the house rang. And you literally jumped out of the bathtub to pick up the call.

In a drenched dress that was supposed to be your outfit of the day and hair tangled up in a towel, you get towards the phone, ignoring the salesman seated steps away.

“Hello?…” you are greeted by a distorted voice but soon you know it’s Jun-ho.

“…y/n!… Hope you’re alright, Have you found out anything?” You sigh, already answering the man.

“No. Tiny details of the man but nothing that would actually lead to the island” you almost whisper, hoping the salesman won’t hear you.

“Not much luck here either. A storm will impact tonight. And we lost contact with Gi-hun”

“WHAT?” You nearly scream, the salesman looks up at you with curiosity and you continued the call, opting to whisper if needed. “Yes, the microphone is gone”

“For fuck’s sake…”

“If nothing can be done. We will return tonight, but I have high hopes” he says.

“I’m hopeful too. I will try again with the salesman, Jun-ho” The call was getting harder to understand, you could barely hear the man on the other side. You only hear one thing.

“If needed, kill him, y/n” he hangs up and it leaves you made a mess.

You look back, finding him charming while trying to flip the page of a crossword book.

You couldn’t kill the salesman.

Developing feelings for the man who tricked your brother into joining the games, was almost insane.

You sobbed without care sitting on the couch facing the bed, feeling like you were dancing on your brother’s grave. Like you were failing Gi-hun, Jun-ho, and all the crew. Your friends…

But your salesman was interesting, every conversation with him made you forget about everything as simple as it could be. You liked his big hands and his silly smile whenever you tried to outsmart him.

You are so screwed.

He stared at you sobbing with your hands covering your face. And something made him feel sorry. He hadn’t realized that spending a week with you made him remember a lot of things about humanity.

He knew you were stressed out and scared of losing your friends. He never had friends or girlfriends to rely on, because he thought he didn’t need them. He was better off alone, feeling powerful and condescending for finally being on the other side of the coin.

But what was life without love?

“Let’s play a game,” he says.

“Not in the mood for your bullshit” when you turn to look at him, he is pointing at the open balcony and the view of the city.

“We’ll play mimic. I will tell you the location of the island and you only have three guesses” You roll your eyes. “You can say random shit to confuse us”

“You have my word. This is your only chance…”

“And if you win?” He shrugs. “We can talk about that later”

He would make sure you won.

“Three guesses…” You nod at him, noticing he wasn’t being playful and cocky as usual. He was calm and almost looked innocent.

Slowly, he points at the painting above his head; it’s the sea.

“In the sea, yes, we know the island is on the sea, genius” he smiles, then points at the painting again. This time, his fingers trail downwards, trying to reach one of the edges; to your left.

His hair hadn’t grown in the slightest, but out of his suit, with ordinary clothes and no way to tame his hair, your salesman looked divine. With an adorable expression, hoping to make you understand.

You loved him.

“You are not paying attention” you huff in annoyance.

He trails his fingers down the painting and then points at the decoration of candles at the little table between you two.

His fingers touch each candle, making you follow the pattern of a simulated bridge.

“Dammit, Couldn’t you be less specific? I don’t understand shit…” he sighs, shifting on his seat.

“One more guess…” you’re not sure if you believe him. He could either keep making lies to shift your attention somewhere else. And you didn’t have the heart to call Jun-ho with uncertain hopes.

The salesman points at the painting one last time and you pay real attention. He had big hands and long fingers, fitting a pianist. They move downwards above the sea of dried oil paint. Then, he points at the skyline of the city and finally trails the candles forming a bridge.

Inthe sea, left, south, bridge and the city.

Your eyes snap open.

In the sea, towards left and south, with a bridge that connects to the city.

“THE ISLAND IS LOCATED SOUTHWEST, ALIGNED WITH THE PIER OF THE CITY!” you scream in happiness and the salesman nods in silence, you cheer, typing the message and sending it to Jun-ho “OH MY GOD, I LOVE YOU”

You were about to hug him, but you stopped. Quickly, you stand up but you feel his hand pull you down again.

“Say it again…” his voice sounded deep and it made you feel even more embarrassed after all.

“I’m sorry. I hate to admit it, but I’m human. We’ve spent so much time together that…” Feeling completely helpless and embarrassed you look away. But his touch is there again, caressing your thigh. This time his touch is delicate, unlike the first days where he would seek control and indulge pain even in the slightest.

“I feel things too” he admits, shocking you.

“You feel things?”

“By telling you where the island is, your friends can succeed and with luck, everything will be over. You’ll have avenged your brother and helped future people who could’ve died in the games. The government would step in and I would be charged, you’ll likely get deported or fined even when you did the right thing” You let him speak and trace random patterns in the skin of your thigh because it felt right. “I am no good and I shouldn’t say anything else, but if you’d have me… I would gladly run away with you”

Your heart makes your cheeks bloom a beautiful color of blush. It was wrong, not part of the plan, out of your mind. But it felt right, an inevitable consequence.

You literally jump to kiss him. And in an amazing turn of events, the salesman transformed into the most submissive man.

His hands were almost trembling while they held you.

He couldn’t believe it. All the efforts he put into being loyal to the island that gave him the chance to become someone, were over the floors. All he knows is that when he looked at your bright eyes, he wanted it to be his sight forever. Your company matches him perfectly, you are the type of woman he didn’t know he craved.

“We might need to go to therapy and this is a terrible idea but I’ll pretend you’re worth it,” you say in his lips, biting his lower lip gently.

He smiles. Unsure if he’s making the right decision but confident that he’s choosing the right partner. The salesman believes he doesn’t deserve a second option. He hated himself for a variety of reasons. But he couldn’t comprehend the way you made him feel. It was his obsessive nature what had been completely shattered by your arrival. Transforming into something else, unknown and prone to make him addicted.

He hated vulnerability, but he was welcoming it with open arms for you.

“I don’t want to ever let you go”

“Don’t you dare, darling” you say, moving to straddle him and kiss him a little more.

___________

SALESMAN X READER X FRONTMAN FIC NEXT AND IT’S WEIRD AND MESSY AND A DISAPPOINTMENT, STAY TUNED

[woso-dreamzzz]

Hair

Irene Paredes x Child!Reader

Summary: You help your Mami when she gets a red

You’ve travelled with Mami for once.

Mama is at home with your little brother Matteo but you’re not really worried.

You’re a good traveller. Mami says so because you were born when she used to play in France so you’re used to going back and forth between countries. You know how to amuse yourself by playing or doing your homework or your reading.

Mami says you’re very responsible.

Since coming home to Spain and to Barcelona, you’ve not travelled as much. You’ve stayed with Mama at home even though travelling and going on planes is much more interesting.

You don’t know why Mami decided you could come with her this time but you have and you’re happy.

Or you were happy until Mami got her red card.

You’re not quite sure what happened apart from the fact that her leg was too high.

You know all about high legs.

At Taekwondo, your teacher explains all about how head shots are very dangerous because the head is a very important part of your body and that’s why people wear caps to protect them during sparring.

You’re still kind of small (but growing all the time!) so you’re not allowed to do any head shots of your own. But you know they’re dangerous and you know Mami is not going to argue her card even if someone else will.

“Mami?”

“Go back to the bench, squirt,” Irene says as she breezes past you to the locker rooms.

When you were younger, that used to work but you’re nearly eight now and Mama says you’re moving under your own power so you think that means that Mami’s orders don’t work on your anymore.

“No!” You say stamping your foot right in the tunnel.

Irene scrubs a hand over her face as she turns around to face you. “I don’t have the patience to deal with a tantrum right now, squirt. Go back to the bench and finish watching.”

You stamp your foot again. “I’m not having a tantrum, you’re having a tantrum!”

Irene sighs. “If you come with me now, you’re not allowed back out. We stay in the locker room. But you can keep watching the match if you head back outside.”

Your foot goes again. “With you.”

You’d inherited her stubbornness, Irene notes. Her hair. Her eyes. The tight set of her jaw. And her stubbornness.

Irene holds her hand out for you. You take it.

You’re a different beast to your brother.

Matteo is still small, still practically a baby. She and Lucia had been worried about the age gap between you both. At nearly eight, you towered over him with your toys and your rambunctious nature.

You were not unlike Lucy and Keira’s (and increasingly Ona's) Pup but maybe a bit lower energy now that you’re gotten older. More disciplined is what Lucia would say, now that you’ve had your energy redirected into Taekwondo. Disciplined and strangely emotionally intelligent.

Irene supposes she should pat herself on the back with that. She’d never agreed with hitting kids even if it’s a little scuff on the back of the head to redirect them. No whacks, no spanks, no hits.

She talked your through your emotions and now that you were older, you were able to talk her through them too.

You hold her hand now as she walks back to the locker room.

“Mami, are we showering?”

“Aren’t you a bit too old to shower with me, squirt?” She teases, grabbing her toiletries and a towel. “You’re nearly eight now.”

You puff out your chest at the reminder. “I’m not going in with you! Just wanted to know.”

“I’m going to shower. You can take a shower if you want but you have to come into mine if you’re going to be washing your hair.”

You tug at the end of your braid.

Lucia likes your hair long and Irene has to admit that she does too.

You’d come out with a full head of hair, screaming and crying your arrival to the world as Irene panted from all the energy she’d spent pushing you out. Screaming, crying, with thick hair as you were gently rest on her chest.

Your hair had remained just as thick as then, growing quickly to the point that regular trips to get it cut were needed.

But washing it was always a challenge. Lots of shampoo. Lots of conditioner. Lots of time spent in the tub trying to get it all washed.

It’s part of the reason why it’s done in the morning too. You hate the hairdryer but you hate sleeping with wet hair even more so washing it is always done in the morning so it can air dry before bed.

“Wash my hair?” You ask and Irene nods.

“You’ll have to shower with me then if we’re washing your hair. Is that okay?”

You nod. “Uh-huh.”

“Alright, squirt. Let’s go.”

Irene’s original plan was to drown herself in the shower, to stay there until the match was over and she could finally face her teammates again. The red card was justified, she knows that but it doesn’t mean there isn’t still a bit of a sting.

She was happy to leave you on the bench, safe with the others so Irene could wash away her anger and resentment while you were occupied.

But now you’re here with her, asking to have your hair washed and looking up at her like you just know she needs something like this to keep occupied.

It’s an easy routine to get through, to lather her hands with shampoo and massage it into your scalp. To wash it all out before moving onto the conditioner.

Two rounds of conditioner and you look up at her with a smile.

“I can wash your hair now, Mami?” You ask and Irene laughs, pushing away the wet strands from your face.

“I think you’re a little small to be doing that, squirt.”

You puff out your cheeks. “Are you sure? I’ve definitely grown since Mama last measured me!” To demonstrate, you stretch up to your tiptoes and reach as high as you can.

“Maybe when you’re taller,” Irene says placidly,” Come on. Grab your towel and we’ll get out.”

Irene’s just gotten yours and her own clothes on by the time that everyone else has arrived.

“Whoa,” Jenni says as she comes in,” You’re dripping everywhere, squirt!”

Irene sighs as she turns around. “You should have seen just how wet it was earlier. Absolutely everywhere.”

“We can tell,” Codi snickers,” There’s a river to the showers.”

“I’ve braided it back again,” Irene offers up weakly as she watches Alexia crouch in front of you.

“You know you’ll have to sleep with that wet hair,” Alexia reminds you.

You giggle. “No, I won’t. We call Mama and Matteo tonight. Mama will see my hair. She won’t let Mami put me to bed with wet hair. She says it’s naughty.”

“Devious,” Alexia says approvingly.

You high five her and look back at Irene, who shakes her head fondly at you.

“We’ll be having words about your eversion to the hairdryer.” She wiggles her finger teasingly at you and you grin.

You stick your tongue out. “You have to talk to Mama first.”

[ana-bananya]

Aid Marafi in Escaping War and Finding Hope

Current progress: $15/$5,000

This campaign was shared by @/modathirzainalabdeen and listed in his link tree

Please take a moment to read Marafi's words and support her campaign. Her campaign was created back in August and remains extremely low on funds.

"My name is Marafi Hajo. I used to live a simple life in Khartoum, striving to build my future through education and hard work. I’m studying Mathematical Sciences with a focus on Statistics and Computer Science, aiming to make a positive contribution to our country’s future. However, when the war broke out, our lives were turned upside down. We had no choice but to leave our home and everything we owned behind, fleeing in search of safety. Initially, we moved from Khartoum to an area in Sennar, hoping to find some peace and stability. But even there, we weren’t safe from the effects of the war. As the situation worsened and the risks increased, we were forced to move again. We hoped to find a safe haven, but it seems like the specter of war is following us wherever we go. Our journey hasn’t been easy; we faced attempts at robbery along the way and moments when fear and anxiety consumed our every thought. I was terrified not just for the few possessions we still had but also of the constant threat of physical violence or rape. I’ve never felt as endangered as I did during those moments. Even though we’ve reached the Northern State, the peace we were seeking is still out of reach. Now, we’re facing the threat of floods, and there’s nowhere else we can go. As the only one in my family who has the ability to travel and provide assistance, I need to first find a safe place where I can also secure a job to help my family. That’s why I am considering traveling to the UAE. Now, I am reaching out to you for help in our fight for survival, to give me the chance to live the life I deserve. Your donation will help revive a dream that has been denied, restore a life that has been stolen, and bring hope that has never been felt by my family. I humbly ask for your support; with your assistance, you will have saved an entire family."

[mononijikayu]

chasing heaven — geto suguru.

“You shouldn’t love me.” he finally said, his voice low, almost pained. “It’s unequal. I would taint your name, your reputation. You’re much younger than me, and you deserve someone who can offer you the future you deserve. I can’t… I’m not looking to marry, not now. I have my duties, my career—” “I don’t care about any of that.” you interrupted, your voice firmer now, driven by the strength of your feelings. “I don’t care about reputation or duty. I only care about you, about what we could have together. I want you to be with me, Suguru. Not as my brother’s general, but as the man I love.”

GENRE: alternate universe - sengoku jidai au!;

WARNING/S: angst, fluff, romance, love, age-gap (reader is in her early 20s, suguru is early 30s), hurt/comfort, nsfw, mild smut, falling in love, friendship, comfort, hurt, pregnancy, sexual intercourse, protectiveness, subsequent marriage, happy ending, depictions of misogyny, depiction of pregnancy, mention of parting, mention of war, mention of misogny, mention of children, mention of seppaku, satoru is an overprotective, loving brother, general-warrior! suguru!, lady gojo! reader;

WORD COUNT: 9k words

NOTE: some of this is a bit inspired by abelard and heloise, who are like one of the most interesting love depictions and intellectuals in history. and bit of the ending came from the outlaw king??? the meeting at the beach??? yeah, we got that in the temple. i wanted to keep this short, but it ended up getting longer and longer and i feel like you're sick of reading long fics. i'll try to do better next time~ anyway, i still hope you enjoy this. i love you!!! <3

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•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

YOU THOUGHT THIS DAY WOULD NEVER COME. But somehow, it has. In the quiet stillness of the temple, you had grown accustomed to the gentle rhythms of monastic life. The mornings began with the melodic chime of bells, the scent of incense filling the air as you joined the nuns in their prayers. Your world was small, contained within the temple walls, but it was peaceful—a safe haven amidst the chaos of a warring Japan.

But that peace you knew of, in this aloof mountain temple, was shattered the day your brother came.

You had always known of him, the brother who was more myth than man, a legend whispered among the nuns, among servants, among town’s folk who visited the temple. Gojo Satoru, the warrior fighting to bring the country out of disaster, was a name that carried weight even within these sacred walls.

He was the eldest, the one your mother had borne long before the war consumed the land. But you had never met him, had only the faintest memories of a mother who held you close before the temple became your home.

When the day arrived, you were summoned to the temple gate. The nuns had prepared you, dressing you in the finest robes the temple could offer, your hair carefully arranged as befitting the sister of a warrior. They had spoken in hushed tones, reminding you of your duty, of the homage you owed to the man who was your blood, your kin. But you felt a tremor of unease, an uncertainty that gnawed at the edges of your calm.

And then he appeared.

Tall, imposing, with a presence that seemed to command the very air around him, your brother was unlike anyone you had ever seen. His hair, stark white like the snow that capped the mountains, caught the light of the setting sun.

But it was his eyes that struck you most—eyes as clear and bright as the sky itself, filled with a depth that seemed to see through you, to the very core of your being. Just like your own. You had never found anyone that looked like you before. Somehow, you were not alone anymore.

For a moment, you stood frozen, uncertain how to greet him, this man who was both a stranger and your closest kin. But then he smiled, a smile that was warm and reassuring, and something in you eased.

"You’ve grown, little sister." Satoru said, his voice gentle, as though he feared to startle you. "I was worried I wouldn't recognize you. But I suppose….I suppose it would be normal, wouldn’t it? You and I have been apart long before you were born, little one.”

You found your voice, though it came out softer than you intended. "Brother…"

The word felt foreign on your tongue, a title you had never before spoken, but it also felt right, like a missing piece sliding into place. Satoru stepped closer, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. His touch was firm, but not unkind. 

"You will come and live with me now, hm?" he told you, his tone leaving no room for argument, but there was no harshness in it. Only certainty. “You will not be apart from me again.”

You nodded, the weight of your new reality settling over you. The life you had known, the only life you remembered, was ending. But this was your brother—your family—and though you did not know him, you knew that you owed him your loyalty, your respect.

"Yes, brother." you replied, lowering your gaze in deference.

Satoru squeezed your shoulder, his smile widening just a fraction. "Good. There’s much for us to do, but we’ll manage together, little sister.”

He turned, signaling to the men who had accompanied him, and they began to prepare for the journey. You looked back at the temple, at the nuns who had raised you, their faces serene yet tinged with sadness. They had known this day would come, had prepared you for it, but it was still a farewell, a parting of ways.

As you followed your brother, leaving the temple behind, you felt the weight of the future pressing upon you. You were no longer just the orphaned daughter raised by nuns. You were the sister of Gojo Satoru,  a daughter of the Gojo clan and that meant something in this world torn apart by war. 

And as you walked beside him, his presence a shield against the unknown, you felt a glimmer of hope that perhaps, in time, you would come to know this brother who had claimed you from the shadows of the temple.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

IT WAS A WHOLE NEW WORLD FOR YOU. But perhaps it was because you had not grown into the life that your brother had been consumed by for years. Yet you were not going to be left behind, that was a promise you made to yourself. You were going to catch up and serve your brother, as destiny had intended for you. 

It hadn’t taken long for you to prove your worth in the world your brother had thrust you into. From the moment you had joined Satoru's side, your intelligence shone like a beacon, drawing the attention of those who served him.

You were quick to grasp the intricacies of strategy, the delicate balance of politics, and the subtle art of diplomacy. Satoru, ever perceptive, saw in you the sharp mind that had been honed within the quiet confines of the temple, and he wasted no time in bringing you into his fold.

He did so without hesitation, without shame, despite the murmurs of discontent that rippled through his ranks. You were a woman in a man’s world, but Gojo Satoru was unbothered by such conventions. What mattered was that you were like him, a Gojo. And as such, you had the same power too. Perhaps it was why he trusted you more than anyone, and he made that trust clear by placing you at his side, seeking your counsel in matters great and small.

And so you sat with him, advising him openly in front of his men, your voice carrying the weight of his trust. You spoke with confidence, your mind as sharp as any blade, and Satoru listened, often nodding in agreement before issuing commands that bore your influence. It was a sight that unsettled some of his warriors—men hardened by battle, who found it difficult to reconcile the image of their fierce leader relying on the wisdom of a woman. 

But Satoru was adamant. “She is my sister, and I trust her above all.” he would say, and that was that. His word was law, and most of the men knew better than to question him. “Do not make light of my sister. A Gojo is a Gojo, regardless of sex. Do not dishonor me with your pitiful pride.”

However, the day came when your brother had to leave, called away by urgent matters elsewhere in the battlefield. He left you to lead his council in his absence, placing upon your shoulders a great responsibility. “They will listen to you, sister.” he assured you before he departed. “And if they don’t, remind them who you are.”

For a time, it seemed Satoru’s confidence in you was well-placed. You led the council with the same decisiveness and intelligence that had earned you your brother’s trust. Yet, despite your best efforts, there were those who could not look past your gender, who saw your presence at the head of the council as an affront to their honor.

The murmurs of discontent grew louder, the defiance more overt. They spoke over you, dismissed your ideas, and questioned your authority at every turn. It was subtle at first, but it quickly escalated into open disrespect. The council chamber, once a place where your voice had carried weight, became a battleground for your credibility.

You stood your ground, unyielding, but it became clear that your authority was being eroded with every passing day. The men who defied you believed that without your brother’s immediate presence, you could be undermined, your power stripped away.

It was during one of these tense council meetings, as the murmurs of dissent reached a fever pitch, that Geto Suguru intervened. Suguru, your brother’s general and most trusted right hand, had watched the unfolding situation with a quiet intensity.

He had always been a man of few words, but when he spoke, his voice commanded attention. That day, as you stood before a council of men who dared to challenge your authority, Suguru rose from his place, his expression one of stern resolve.

“Enough.”

The single word silenced the room, the weight of his presence alone enough to command respect. He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the gathered men, who now shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“This woman,” Suguru began, his voice calm but edged with steel, “is not just anyone. She is Gojo Satoru’s only sister, and she speaks with his voice. Any defiance of her is a defiance of Satoru himself. And if there is a man among you who believes he can dishonor her without consequence, then he dishonors Gojo Satoru. Such a man should commit seppuku to preserve Satoru’s goodwill with him.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the implications of Suguru’s words settling over the men like a shroud. You could see the way their expressions shifted, the bravado draining from their faces as the gravity of the situation became clear. To defy you now was not just to defy a woman—it was to defy the very man they served, the man who had led them through countless battles and brought them victories beyond measure.

Suguru’s eyes bore into each of them, leaving no room for doubt. “If there are any among you who wish to test this, step forward now.”

No one moved. The silence stretched on, thick with unspoken tension. Finally, one by one, the men lowered their heads, offering the respect they had withheld before. Suguru’s gaze softened as he turned to you, a subtle nod of reassurance in his eyes. You returned the nod, grateful for his intervention, knowing that his words had restored your authority where it had been threatened.

From that day forward, the council meetings proceeded with the respect you had earned, the respect that Suguru had demanded on your behalf. The men no longer questioned your place at the head of the table, for they knew that to do so was to challenge not just you, but Satoru himself.

And in those moments, as you continued to lead in your brother’s stead, you felt the strength of your bond with him, a bond forged not just by blood, but by the unwavering trust that had brought you to this place of power.

As the council meeting came to an end, the tension that had filled the chamber slowly dissipated. The men dispersed, their heads bowed in respect, a far cry from the defiance they had shown earlier. You remained seated, your hands resting on the table, the weight of the day’s events heavy on your shoulders.

Geto Suguru lingered behind, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the sea of uncertainty. He approached you quietly, his movements deliberate and calm, and as he drew closer, you found yourself exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“Thank you, my lord.” you said softly, turning to face him. The gratitude in your voice was unmistakable. “Your words... they meant a great deal to me, my lord. I don’t know what I would have done without your support.”

Suguru met your gaze, his expression warm yet composed. “There’s no need to thank me, my lady.” he replied, his tone sincere. “What I did was nothing more than what was necessary. You are Satoru’s sister, and he is like a brother to me. By extension, you are family to me as well. I would do anything for the both of you.”

His words, so simply spoken yet filled with such conviction, touched something deep within you. The bond between Suguru and your brother was well known, but hearing him extend that sense of loyalty and kinship to you was both comforting and humbling. You had not had a true family before. The nuns were kind to you and treated you well. But they were not family. They never will be. BUt maybe, just maybe — Satoru and Suguru could be what family means to you. 

“Family…” you echoed, a small smile forming on your lips. “It’s strange to think how quickly that word has come to mean something so new and important in my life.”

Suguru nodded, his eyes holding a gentle understanding. “It’s a powerful thing, family. It binds us in ways that go beyond blood. And now, you’re part of that bond, just as much as anyone else.”

You looked at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between you, the kind that only existed when words had already said enough.

A thought crossed your mind, and you spoke before you could second-guess yourself. “Suguru… would you like to share dinner with me before you leave?”

The invitation was simple, but it carried a significance that you hoped he would understand. In this world of shifting alliances and uncertain loyalties, there was something to be said for breaking bread together, for sharing a moment of peace in the midst of so much chaos.

Suguru’s smile widened just a fraction, a rare softness in his usually stoic demeanor. “I would like that very much, my lady.”

The two of you made your way to the dining hall, where a modest meal had been prepared. The setting was humble, far removed from the grand feasts that often accompanied council gatherings, but it was welcoming in its simplicity. The table was set with warm rice, grilled fish, and a selection of seasonal vegetables, along with a pot of fragrant tea.

You took your seats across from each other, and as the first course was served, the tension of the day seemed to melt away. The conversation flowed easily, a mix of light banter and deeper reflection. Suguru spoke of the campaigns he and Satoru had led, the victories and the losses, and you shared your experiences of life in the temple, the wisdom imparted to you by the nuns who had raised you.

As the evening wore on, you found yourself laughing at a story Suguru told about Satoru—how your brother, for all his prowess on the battlefield, had an unfortunate habit of getting lost in the most mundane of places. The image of the great warrior wandering aimlessly in a village square, confused and exasperated, was enough to bring tears of mirth to your eyes.

Suguru chuckled, his own laughter low and warm. “He’d kill me if he knew I told you that, my lady.” he said, shaking his head. “But it’s true. Satoru may be brilliant, but even he has his moments.”

“I’ll keep your secret, my lord.” you promised, still smiling. “It’s good to know he’s human, after all.”

Suguru’s gaze softened, and for a moment, he simply looked at you, his expression thoughtful. “You’re a lot like him, you know?” he said quietly. “Not just in the way you think, but in the way you carry yourself. Satoru may not say it often, but I know he’s proud of you. You’ve come into this world with such strength and grace. It’s no wonder he trusts you so completely.”

His words struck a chord within you, and you felt a swell of emotion that you hadn’t expected. To be compared to your brother, to hear that he was proud of you… it meant more than you could put into words.

“Thank you, my lord Suguru.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “That means a great deal to me.”

He nodded, and the two of you fell into a companionable silence, content to simply enjoy each other’s presence. The meal continued, and as the last of the dishes were cleared away, you felt a sense of calm settle over you—a feeling that, despite the challenges you faced, you were not alone.

When the evening finally drew to a close, Suguru stood, bowing his head slightly in a gesture of respect. “I should be on my way, my lady.” he said, though there was no rush in his voice. “But I want you to know, if you ever need anything, you can always call on me.”

“I will.” you replied, rising to see him off. “And thank you again, my lord Suguru. For everything.”

He smiled, a small, genuine smile that seemed to light up his features. “Take care, my lady. And remember—family sticks together.”

With that, he turned and made his way out into the night, leaving you with a sense of warmth and a newfound understanding of the ties that bound you to those around you. And you think to yourself that you wanted it to last for the rest of your lives.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

YOU THINK SATORU HAD LEFT SUGURU FOR YOU TO HAVE A FRIEND. Many days and weeks pushed on, but Geto Suguru made it a point to stay by your side.You think that Satoru was smart with such a thing, keeping his trusted sister and friend together. So far, it had worked like a wonder, keeping all the men in line. 

And Suguru had been gallant, in trying to appear for each and every session of the council. He knew all too well that in a world dominated by men, your authority could easily be questioned in Satoru’s absence, and he wasn’t about to let that happen.

With Suguru’s steady presence, the council meetings continued to run smoothly, the men now fully aware that any disrespect towards you would not be tolerated. His mere presence was enough to quell any lingering doubts or challenges, and in time, the council began to accept your leadership with the same respect they afforded Satoru. 

But it wasn’t just in the council chambers where Suguru’s support made a difference. Beyond the formalities of the politicking in the clan hierarchy, Geto Suguru became your intellectual companion, someone with whom you could share ideas freely. He did not once mock you for your interest in many things, in fact — he encouraged it, with every meeting, with every conversation, he indulged your wants.

The two of you spent countless hours long after council was over, engrossed in discussions that ranged from the teachings of the Buddha to the intricacies of clan politics.

Suguru had a way of making even the most complex topics seem approachable, and you relished every moment spent with him, whether it was delving into the nuances of the emperor’s court, debating the merits of various poems, or considering new ideas for education reform. His intellect challenged you, and you found yourself growing in ways you hadn’t expected.

One evening, as the council hall emptied and the candles flickered in the growing darkness, you lingered in your seat, knowing that Suguru would join you soon. When he did, he settled beside you with a thoughtful expression, his eyes filled with the calm intensity that had become so familiar to you.

"You’ve been quiet today." he remarked, his voice low and steady. "Is something on your mind?"

You glanced at him, feeling the weight of your thoughts but unsure how to express them. "I’ve been thinking about the future," you admitted. "About what happens after the war… after everything settles."

Suguru nodded, understanding your unspoken concerns. "It’s natural to wonder. But the future is not something we can control, only prepare for. And you’ve done more than anyone to prepare our clan for what’s to come."

His words were reassuring, but they didn’t dispel the unease that had settled in your heart. "I just… sometimes I wonder if all these preparations, all these plans, will truly lead to peace. Or if we’re simply paving the way for another conflict."

Suguru considered your words for a moment before replying. "Peace is always fragile. It requires constant vigilance and wisdom. But I believe that with the right leadership—your brother, and perhaps even you—peace can be more than just a fleeting moment. It can be a legacy."

His faith in you was unwavering, and it touched you deeply. "I hope you’re right," you said softly, your gaze dropping to the parchment on the table before you. "But sometimes, I feel like I’m just grasping at straws, trying to make sense of a world that’s constantly changing."

Suguru reached out, gently lifting your chin so that your eyes met his. "You’re doing more than that. You’re shaping that world, guiding it towards something better. And you’re not alone in this. I’m here, and I’ll continue to be here, to support you in any way I can."

His words sent a warmth through you, one that made your heart ache in the most bittersweet way. "Thank you, Suguru," you whispered. "For everything."

A small smile curved his lips, and he withdrew his hand, though his presence remained as steady as ever. "There’s nothing to thank me for. This is what I want to do, for you and for Satoru."

As the night deepened, your conversations continued, flowing from one topic to another with ease. And when Suguru was away, he would always write to you, his letters filled with the same thoughtful insights and challenges. Each letter pushed your boundaries, urging you to think more deeply, to see the world through different lenses.

One day, as you read through one of his letters, you found a passage that made you pause:

"The world is vast, and our understanding of it is limited by the walls we build around ourselves. But if we can break down those walls, if we can push beyond what we think we know, then perhaps we can find something truly extraordinary. It is you whose intelligence I hold dearest and in truth, the person who can do things that would change the world.”

You traced the words with your fingers, feeling the weight of them settle in your chest. Suguru’s challenges were never just intellectual exercises; they were a call to action, a reminder that the world was still full of possibilities, and that you had the power to shape it.

And so, you wrote back, your reply filled with your own questions, your own thoughts, eager to see how he would respond. The correspondence between you became a lifeline, a connection that sustained you both through the trials and tribulations of the war.

Suguru had always been a thoughtful man, deeply reflective and wise beyond his years. His understanding of the world was shaped by both his experiences on the battlefield and his deep respect for philosophical teachings. You found his insights fascinating, often finding yourself lost in the depth of your conversations, which ranged from the practical to the profound.

During those moments, Suguru couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes lit up when you spoke of something you were passionate about, the gentle curve of your smile when you made a point that resonated with him. He had always thought you were beautiful—anyone could see that—but it was your tenacity, your intelligence, and your gentleness that truly captivated him. 

You were unlike anyone he had ever met. In you, he saw a rare combination of strength and compassion, a mind that was as sharp as any blade and a heart that was kind and forgiving.

The way you navigated the complexities of your new life, balancing the demands of leadership with the grace and wisdom you had learned at the temple, left him in awe.

Yet, despite the growing admiration he felt for you, Suguru kept those feelings buried deep within. To him, you were someone beyond reach, not because of any external barriers but because of his own sense of unworthiness.

He was a warrior, a man forged in battle and bloodshed, while you were a beacon of light, someone who had been touched by the serenity of the Buddha’s teachings. In his mind, the distance between who you were and who he was could never be bridged.

There were moments when he caught himself lost in thought, watching you as you spoke with that quiet authority, your words shaping the course of decisions that would impact the lives of many.

In those moments, a part of him longed to reach out, to tell you how much he admired you, how much he cared. But he never did. He couldn’t. To him, you deserved someone who was your equal, someone who could match your intellect and your spirit in ways he believed he could never hope to.

So, he stayed by your side, offering his loyalty and his companionship, content to be whatever you needed him to be. He ensured that no one dared to disrespect you, not just because of his loyalty to your brother, but because of the deep respect he had for you as an individual. He became a constant presence in your life, a steady rock in a world that often seemed to shift beneath your feet.

And while you might have seen him as a trusted ally and friend, for Suguru, every moment spent in your company was a reminder of what he could never allow himself to hope for.

You were, in his eyes, someone too precious, too good for a man like him. And so he kept his feelings hidden, choosing instead to honor you in the only way he knew how—by standing by your side, protecting you, and cherishing every conversation, every shared idea, every moment of quiet companionship.

In this way, Suguru made himself an indispensable part of your life, not realizing that his quiet devotion, his unwavering support, and the way he truly saw you for who you were had already made him far more worthy than he could ever imagine.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

YOU WERE GLAD TO KNOW THAT SATORU WAS COMING HOME. The day your brother, Satoru, returned from the front was filled with anticipation. The courtyard was alive with the excited murmurs of those gathered to welcome him home, the air thick with the scent of incense and the rustle of fine silks as the crowd shifted in expectation. Your heartbeat a little faster, not just from the prospect of seeing your brother again, but from the knowledge that he would be pleased with the work you had done in his absence.

As Satoru arrived, tall and imposing in his armor, the crowd parted to allow him passage. His white hair gleamed in the sunlight, and despite the long months of battle, his step was as sure and confident as ever. His gaze swept over the gathered people, but it was your face he sought first. When his eyes found yours, a smile broke across his face, and he quickened his pace to reach you.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into a warm embrace, his laughter rich with relief and pride. "Dearest sister!" he greeted, his voice filled with affection, "I’m home."

You returned his embrace, feeling a wave of emotion at having him back safely. “Welcome home, brother!” you replied, your voice steady, though your heart swelled with joy. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

He pulled back to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “Thank you,” he said earnestly, “for all your hard work on my behalf. I knew I could trust you to lead in my stead, and you’ve done more than I could have ever asked.”

The warmth in his words settled deep within you, a validation of all that you had done in his absence. “I did only what was necessary.” you replied, though the gratitude in your voice was clear.

Satoru turned then, his gaze shifting to Suguru, who stood a respectful distance away. The moment their eyes met, Satoru’s expression softened further, a familiar tenderness evident between the two men.

“Suguru!” Satoru called out, beckoning him forward.

Suguru approached, bowing his head in respect before speaking. “Welcome home, Satoru. I’m glad to see you returned safely.”

Satoru’s smile broadened, and he clasped Suguru’s shoulder in a gesture of deep friendship. “Thank you, Suguru, for being a confidant to my sister during this time. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to know she wasn’t alone.”

Suguru shook his head, his expression as composed as ever. “It is nothing but a great duty to fulfill for my vassal lord and friend,” he said, his tone formal and deferential.

But Satoru frowned at that, his grip on Suguru’s shoulder tightening slightly. “Don’t be so formal with me, Suguru,” he chided, though his tone was light. “You know better than that. You’re more than just a vassal. You’re my brother in arms, my friend. And you’ve done more for me and my sister than I could ever repay.”

Suguru’s gaze flickered with something unreadable, but he quickly schooled his expression. “I appreciate your words, Satoru.” he replied quietly. “But my duty calls me back to the front. I must return soon.”

Satoru’s frown deepened, and he shook his head, refusing to let go of Suguru’s shoulder. “No, I won’t hear of it!” he insisted. “You’ve been at the front longer than anyone. You need rest, and I won’t have you running off the moment you’ve set foot here. Stay as long as you can. That’s an order.”

Suguru hesitated, clearly torn between his sense of duty and his loyalty to Satoru. But seeing the determination in your brother’s eyes, he finally nodded. “If that is your order, Satoru, then I will stay.”

“Good.” Satoru said, his tone firm but kind. “That’s settled then. You’ll stay here with us, and you’ll take the time you need to rest and recover. The front will still be there when you’re ready to return.”

As Suguru accepted the command, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Having Suguru stay, even for a little longer, was something you hadn’t realized you’d wanted until now. He had become an important part of your life in your brother’s absence, and the thought of him leaving so soon after Satoru’s return had left you with an unexpected emptiness.

Satoru, ever perceptive, caught the fleeting look on your face and smiled knowingly. “You see, sister?” he said, turning to you. “I’ve managed to keep our dear Suguru here for a little longer. We all need him here, not just on the battlefield.”

You smiled, grateful for Satoru’s understanding, and nodded. “Yes, we do. Thank you, brother.”

With the matter settled, the three of you made your way into the inner chambers, where preparations had been made for a private celebration of Satoru’s return. The atmosphere was light, filled with laughter and the shared relief of being together once more. As you sat together, the bonds of family and friendship felt stronger than ever, and for that moment, the weight of the world outside seemed to fade away.

As the weeks passed, you found yourself spending more and more time with Suguru. The bond between you deepened, the trust and respect that had grown in your brother's absence now blossoming into something more complex, something that you couldn’t quite name but felt deeply. Suguru was older, wiser, and had seen so much more of the world than you had, but there was a connection between you that transcended those differences. Slowly but surely, you realized that you were becoming enthralled by your feelings for him.

Despite the age difference, despite his steadfast focus on his career and his role as your brother’s most trusted general, you couldn’t help the way your heart quickened when you were near him. Suguru, ever the composed and duty-bound man, never gave any indication that he was aware of your feelings. He was kind, respectful, and treated you as an equal in your discussions, but there was always a certain distance, a formality that he maintained, even in the quiet moments you shared.

One evening, after the council had ended and the palace had settled into the calm of the night, you found yourself wandering through the lily gardens with Suguru. The moon was full, casting a soft, silvery light over the still waters of the pond and the delicate white lilies that floated on its surface.

The air was cool, a gentle breeze stirring the leaves of the nearby trees. It was a serene, almost otherworldly setting, perfect for the conversations you often found yourselves having under the cover of darkness.

As you walked side by side, your footsteps soft on the stone path, you spoke of the future. Of what might come after the war, when the battles were over, and the land was finally at peace. You talked of the things you wanted to do—small, simple things like traveling to the nearby villages, visiting the temples you had only heard of in stories, and seeing the world beyond the palace walls.

Suguru listened, his expression thoughtful as always, but there was a trace of something in his eyes that made your heart ache—a longing that mirrored your own, though he would never voice it.

But tonight, there was something more pressing on your mind, something that had been weighing on you ever since your brother had returned from the front. After a pause in your conversation, you gathered your courage and spoke, your voice soft yet firm. “Suguru… Satoru has begun to find a husband for me.”

Suguru stopped walking, turning to face you. His expression didn’t change, but you saw the subtle tension in his posture, the way his hands clenched slightly at his sides. “It’s what’s best, my lady.” he replied after a moment, his tone carefully neutral. “A marriage to form alliances would strengthen your brother’s position and secure your future.”

You shook your head, the words catching in your throat. “I don’t see it that way,” you admitted, your voice trembling with the emotions you could no longer contain. “Because… I’ve fallen in love with you, Suguru.”

For a moment, there was silence. The world around you seemed to still, the only sound the gentle rustling of the lilies in the breeze. Suguru’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or maybe something deeper, something he had kept hidden for a long time.

“You shouldn’t love me.” he finally said, his voice low, almost pained. “It’s unequal. I would taint your name, your reputation. You’re much younger than me, and you deserve someone who can offer you the future you deserve. I can’t… I’m not looking to marry, not now. I have my duties, my career—”

“I don’t care about any of that.” you interrupted, your voice firmer now, driven by the strength of your feelings. “I don’t care about reputation or duty. I only care about you, about what we could have together. I want you to be with me, Suguru. Not as my brother’s general, but as the man I love.”

Suguru looked at you then, really looked at you, as if seeing you for the first time. There was a deep conflict in his eyes, a battle between his sense of duty and the emotions he had tried so hard to suppress. He took a step closer, and for a moment, you thought he might reach out to you, might take your hand or pull you into his arms. But he stopped himself, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I’m not worthy of you, my lady.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just a soldier, a man who has done terrible things in the name of duty. You deserve someone who can give you the life you’ve dreamed of, someone who can stand beside you in the light, not someone who is forever tainted by the darkness of war.”

Your heart ached at his words, at the pain you could hear beneath them. But you refused to accept them. “I don’t want someone else.” you said, taking a step closer to him, closing the distance between you. “I want you, Suguru. I don’t care about the past or what you think you deserve. I know who you are, and I love you for it. Please… don’t push me away.”

Suguru’s resolve seemed to falter then, his purple eyes closing as if trying to block out the reality of your words. He was silent for a long moment, the only sound the distant chirping of crickets and the soft rustle of the wind in the trees. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw with emotion. “I don’t want to hurt you, my lady.” he said, opening his eyes to meet yours. “But I’m afraid I already have.”

You shook your head, tears gathering in your eyes. “You haven’t, my lord.” you insisted. “But you will if you walk away from me now.”

Suguru looked at you, his expression filled with a sorrow that you hadn’t seen before. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, resigned. “If I stay, if I allow myself to feel this way about you, it won’t be easy. There will be challenges, people who will try to tear us apart. Your brother might not even approve…”

“I don’t care, my lord….Suguru.” you said, stepping even closer, so that you were only a breath away from him. “I’ll face whatever comes if it means being with you.”

Suguru looked at you for a long moment, his purple eyes searching for yours, as if trying to find the strength to say what he needed to say. Finally, he reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch was hesitant, as if he was afraid to break you, but you leaned into it, closing your eyes as you felt the warmth of his skin against yours.

“I wish I could be the man you deserve.” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet despair. “But if you’re willing to take this risk, then I won’t let you face it alone.”

You opened your eyes, looking up at him with a mix of relief and determination. “I am willing, Suguru.” you said softly, your heart full of the love you had for him. “As long as you’re by my side.”

Suguru nodded, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Then I’ll stay, for you.” he said, his voice firm with resolve. “And I’ll do everything I can to protect you, to make this work… even if it means defying everything I thought I knew.”

With those words, you knew that the bond between you had changed, deepened in ways that neither of you could have anticipated. The future was uncertain, the challenges ahead daunting, but for now, in the quiet of the lily garden under the moonlit sky, you had each other. And that, you knew, was more than enough.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

THE MORE YOU WERE TOGETHER, THE MORE YOU FELL FOR HIM. And along with the flow of time, the boundaries between you blurred until they disappeared entirely. What began as stolen moments in the lily gardens turned into lingering touches, soft words whispered in the dark, and eventually, the first tentative kiss. That kiss led to another, and then another, until you both could no longer deny the passion that had ignited between you.

Geto Suguru, ever the restrained and disciplined man, tried to keep his distance, to maintain the boundaries that he believed were necessary. But you could see the way he struggled, the way his resolve weakened whenever you were near. And you, in turn, found yourself growing more insatiable for him, drawn to his quiet strength, his intellect, and the gentleness that he showed only to you.

It wasn’t long before your relationship became intimate. The nights you spent together were filled with whispered confessions, tender caresses, and the kind of closeness that left you breathless, yearning for more. Each touch, each shared moment, only deepened the bond between you, until it became something undeniable, something that you couldn’t hide, even if you tried.

Suguru’s movements were rhythmic and deliberate, each thrust a testament to the intensity of his feelings. Your body responded instinctively, shivering under the persistent wave of pleasure that seemed to emanate from every part of him. The connection between you both was palpable, a perfect union of touch and desire that left you breathless and yearning.

As he pressed closer, the heat between you became almost unbearable. You could feel every inch of him, his length moving with a purposeful glide that seemed to match the cadence of your own heartbeats. His focus was unwavering, his gaze locked onto your expressions of bliss, as if he were memorizing each fleeting moment of your shared ecstasy.

Suguru’s lips were gentle yet insistent, trailing a path of fiery kisses along your skin. He started at your jawline, moving down to your neck, where his kisses became more fervent, brushing against the sensitive spots that made you moan uncontrollably. His touch was a mix of tenderness and passion, each kiss a silent declaration of his love.

The way his lips traveled over your shoulder blades and collarbone, down to your breasts, was both reverent and adoring. He seemed to savor every inch of you, each kiss a testament to his longing and his desire to make you feel cherished and adored. His breathing grew ragged, his desire for you as evident as the ardent affection in his kisses.

Suguru’s love was consuming, a powerful force that seemed to envelope you both in a cocoon of heat and intimacy. His movements were a dance of devotion, each motion and kiss an expression of his deep-seated love. He wanted to give you everything, to love you with a passion that knew no bounds, until either of you could bear the intensity any longer.

Suguru’s senses were overwhelmed by the intense heat enveloping him. Each time he pulled back, he felt the burning warmth of your inner flesh clinging to him, a tantalizing reminder of the connection you shared. The contrast between the cool air and the searing heat of your body created a heightened sense of urgency, making every moment even more electric.

He withdrew momentarily, the emptiness only intensifying his need to be reunited with you. His breath came in ragged bursts, a mixture of frustration and desire fueling his movements. When he finally pressed back into you, it was with a force that spoke of his longing and the sheer intensity of his passion.

Suguru’s hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding and angling them to better meet his thrusts. His movements were decisive and powerful, each push and pull a testament to his deep-seated desire. The rhythm he established was relentless, his member driving into you with a raw, unrestrained energy. Every thrust was accompanied by a shudder of pleasure, both from him and you, as the heat between you built to a fervent crescendo.

His focus was entirely on you, the way your body responded to him, the way you felt around him. The sound of your moans and the look of sheer pleasure on your face drove him to new heights, his need to be with you, to feel this connection, only growing stronger with each passing second.

But as much as you tried to keep your relationship a secret from your brother, it wasn’t long before the truth could no longer be hidden. The realization came with a sudden, undeniable clarity: you were pregnant. 

The days following that intense night were filled with a mix of excitement and anticipation. As you navigated through your routine, you began to notice subtle changes in your body. What started as a vague sense of nausea and fatigue soon became more pronounced, prompting you to a conclusion.

The morning understood what was going on, a whirlwind of emotions took over you. You stared at yourself and then your belly, your heart pounding in your chest. Fear and excitement warred within you as you grappled with the reality of your situation.

You were carrying Suguru’s child, a life born from the love that you shared, but also a secret that could change everything. You knew that your brother, Satoru, would not take the news lightly. He had always been protective of you, and this… this would be seen as a betrayal.

The day your brother discovered the truth was etched into your memory with vivid, painful clarity. You had dreaded this moment, knowing that the inevitable confrontation would come, but nothing could have fully prepared you for the storm that followed.

The atmosphere was thick with tension as you stood in the living room, your heart racing. Satoru stormed in, his eyes blazing with a mix of fury and hurt that made your stomach churn. His usually calm demeanor was shattered, replaced by an intensity that you had never seen before. He had sensed something was wrong for weeks, and the truth had hit him like a sledgehammer.

“Who is he?” Satoru’s voice was a harsh whisper, laced with a barely contained rage. His eyes locked onto you, his gaze piercing through you as if trying to unravel the truth hidden within your silence.

"Brother, please...."

“Who’s the father?” His demand echoed through the room, each word sharp and accusatory, slicing through the fragile veneer of your composure.

The weight of his anger was suffocating. You stood there, feeling small and vulnerable, your hands trembling at your sides. The emotional turmoil inside you was overwhelming, a tangled mess of guilt, fear, and sorrow. You wanted to explain, to find the right words to make him understand, but the sheer intensity of the moment left you paralyzed.

Suguru, who had been silently supporting you, stepped forward, his own face a mask of regret and determination. He had been waiting for this confrontation, knowing that it was his responsibility to face the consequences of their actions. With a deep breath, he took the weight of the situation onto his shoulders. 

“Satoru,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with a sorrowful undertone, “I’m the father.”

The revelation hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. Satoru’s expression shifted from anger to disbelief, and then to a deeper pain that seemed to cut through his very core. The anger that had once burned so fiercely now gave way to a profound sense of betrayal and heartbreak. His eyes, usually so full of warmth and understanding, were now clouded with tears that he fought to hold back.

Suguru’s admission was met with a silence that was almost unbearable. The tension in the room was palpable, each of you waiting for the other to break the silence. You could see the struggle in Satoru’s face as he tried to process the reality of the situation, the hurt and confusion evident in every line of his expression.

“I never thought...” Satoru’s voice faltered, his anger giving way to a raw, aching sadness. He looked between you and Suguru, his emotions a turbulent sea of conflicting feelings. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why keep this from me?”

Suguru’s gaze was steady, but his heart was breaking as he met Satoru’s eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Satoru.” he said softly. “But I know that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

“You do not have to worry.” Suguru said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. He met Satoru’s gaze head-on, not flinching even as the anger in your brother’s eyes intensified. “It was not planned….But I take full responsibility, Satoru. Please.”

Satoru’s reaction was immediate and explosive. “You’re supposed to be my most trusted general, my friend, and you… you’ve done this? With my sister? And you didn’t marry her?”

Suguru’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “I never intended to disrespect you or your family. I care for her deeply, and I will do what is right.”

The words only seemed to fuel Satoru’s rage. “You should have done what was right from the start! How could you let this happen, Suguru? How could you—”

“I didn’t need to marry him.” you interrupted, your voice shaking as you tried to step between them, to defuse the situation before it spiraled out of control. “I love him, Satoru. We love each other, and I don’t need a marriage to prove that.”

But your words only seemed to make things worse. Satoru turned to you, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. “You don’t understand what this means, how it looks. If you’re with child and not married, it could ruin everything. Our alliances, our reputation—everything we’ve fought for…..”

Suguru placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding you even as the storm of emotions swirled around you. “I will marry her, Satoru.” he said firmly, his voice calm but resolute. “You don’t have to worry about shame. We will marry and no one will know.”

Satoru stared at Suguru for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with the force of his emotions. It was clear that he was torn, caught between his duty to his family and his loyalty to Suguru. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“I have no other choice about this.” he said, his voice heavy with resignation. “If you’re going to marry her, then you need to do it soon. We’ll make the arrangements, and you’ll stand before everyone and make this right.”

Suguru nodded, his grip on your shoulder tightening slightly as if to reassure you. “I will. You have my word.”

You looked up at Suguru, your heart full of a mixture of love, relief, and anxiety for what lay ahead. This wasn’t how you had imagined things would unfold, but you knew that as long as you had him by your side, you could face whatever challenges came your way. And so, with a heavy but hopeful heart, you took a deep breath and prepared to face the future together.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

YOU NEVER EXPECTED ALL OF THIS, BUT LIFE IS STRANGE. And perhaps you were now more resigned to it than ever before. The day of your wedding to Suguru was both solemn and beautiful, a ceremony that cemented not only your love but also your shared commitment to the future.

Despite the circumstances that led to it, the vows you exchanged were heartfelt, and as you stood beside him, you felt a deep sense of belonging, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

Suguru remained by your side through the remainder of your pregnancy, refusing to leave even as the war called to him. He was there for every moment, every kick, and every anxious night as you awaited the arrival of your children. When the day finally came, and you bore twin daughters, his joy was immeasurable. He held you close, kissed your forehead, and whispered his gratitude for the family you had given him.

The day Suguru had to return to the battlefield was a poignant reminder of the harsh realities that overshadowed your time together. As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room, the reality of his departure loomed heavily over both of you. The weight of impending separation was unbearable, each moment stretching painfully as the hour of his departure drew nearer.

You found yourself clinging to him, your grip firm yet trembling, as tears streamed down your cheeks. Every part of you ached with the fear and sadness of watching him leave for another dangerous mission. His presence had become your sanctuary, and the thought of him stepping back into the chaos of war was almost too much to bear. Your sobs were muffled against his chest, the fabric of his uniform a stark reminder of the danger he faced.

Suguru’s hands were gentle as he reached up to wipe away your tears. His touch was tender, yet firm, as if he were trying to transfer some of his strength to you. His own eyes were filled with a sorrowful resolve, the weight of the duty he was about to undertake clear in every line of his face. Despite his bravery and determination, it was evident that leaving you behind was a painful sacrifice.

As he held you, his gaze shifted to the cot where your daughters, Mimiko and Nanako, slept peacefully. Their innocent faces were serene, their small bodies rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. Suguru’s heart ached at the sight of them, his love for them and the desire to protect them a palpable force. His eyes lingered on them, a silent vow passing between him and their slumbering forms—a promise to return safely, to be there for them and you.

"I don’t want to leave you." he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he held you close, feeling the warmth of your daughters swaddled in his arms. “All three of you.”

"I know that." you whispered back, your voice breaking. "But you must. For Satoru, for our peace… But promise me, Suguru, that you'll take care of my brother. Bring him back to us. And…And come back to us too. Please."

"I promise, my love." he vowed, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "I will protect him with my life, just as I will protect our family. I will come back to you, I swear."

The parting was an agonizing ordeal, each moment stretching into an eternity as you watched Suguru ride away. With your daughters, Mimiko and Nanako, nestled in your arms, you felt the weight of the world press heavily upon your heart. The sight of him disappearing into the distance, framed by the setting sun, was a poignant reminder of the uncertainty that lay ahead. As the last glimpse of him vanished, you could only hold your children tighter, whispering prayers for his safety and for a swift end to the unrelenting war.

Days turned into months, and months into years, each passing moment a relentless reminder of the ongoing conflict. The once-familiar rhythm of life had been disrupted, replaced by an enduring wait for peace. The world outside was fraught with turmoil, but within the sanctuary of the temple where your journey with Suguru had begun, you found a semblance of tranquility.

Returning to the temple was a return to roots, a place of peace amidst the chaos of the world. It was where you had first found solace and a sense of purpose alongside Suguru, and now it became a refuge for you and your daughters. The temple's serene environment provided a safe haven where you could nurture them, shielding them from the harsh realities of the outside world. 

Every corner of the temple held echoes of the past—memories of quiet moments shared with Suguru, of dreams and plans woven together in the tranquil surroundings. It was a place that had once symbolized new beginnings, and now it served as a testament to endurance and hope.

As you raised your daughters in this sanctuary, you immersed yourself in the rhythms of temple life, finding comfort in its routines and in the community that embraced you. You taught them the values and lessons that had been so important to you and Suguru, hoping to instill in them the same strength and resilience that had guided you through these challenging years.

The temple, with its tranquil gardens and reverent halls, became a living monument to your waiting, a symbol of the enduring love that bound you to Suguru. Every day was a step closer to the dream of seeing the land united and your husband safely returned to you. Until that day came, you held onto the hope that peace would prevail and that your family would be whole once more.

In the stillness of the temple, surrounded by the quiet hum of prayer and the gentle presence of your daughters, you found a sense of purpose and patience. Your love for Suguru remained a guiding light, illuminating the path through the darkness of uncertainty and keeping the promise of reunion alive in your heart.

Years passed, and news of the Gojo clan's victory spread across the land and peace was finally achieved. The land was finally unified, and the long years of war had come to an end. You clung to the hope that with this victory, Your Suguru would return to you, that the promise he made would finally be fulfilled.

And then, one day, as you stood at the steps of the temple, you saw him. Geto Suguru, looking weary yet strong, with the weight of years and battle etched into his features. He stood there, gazing at you with eyes full of longing and love, and you felt your heart leap in your chest.

Without hesitation, you ran to him, your daughters' voices calling after you, but you couldn’t stop. The world seemed to blur around you as you crossed the distance between you and the man you had been waiting for all these years. When you finally reached him, you threw yourself into his arms, holding him as tightly as you could, as if to make up for all the time you had spent apart.

"Welcome home, my love." you whispered, your voice thick with tears, your face buried in his chest. The scent of him, the feel of his arms around you, it was all so familiar, so comforting, that it felt like a dream.

Suguru held you close, his embrace fierce and full of the love he had carried with him through every battle, every hardship. "I’m home, my dear." he murmured into your hair, his voice choking with emotion. "I’m finally home."

Your daughters, now old enough to understand the significance of the moment, stood a little ways off, watching with wide eyes as their father returned to them. You turned to them, beckoning them forward, and they ran to join the embrace, their laughter and tears mingling with your own.

[theangryman]

“Other countries have social safety nets. The U.S. has women.”

“Other countries have social safety nets. The U.S. has women. Women in the U.S. have long done a disproportionate share of the unpaid service work in institutions and at home. They’re the ones who run the bake sales so the school can have an art teacher or enough books to go around. They’re the ones who run church outreach programs to attract new families and serve community members in need. They’re the ones who check in on sick coworkers, remember birthdays, and help their colleagues feel like part of a team. Women do all of that unpaid service for the institutions in their lives, and then they go home and do even more.

Women serve as the social safety net because norms (norms that serve capitalistic, patriarchal, and white interests) in the U.S. tell them that’s their role. And because breaking those norms leaves them open to judgments (or worse) from others and judgments from themselves.”

[beenbaanbuun]

country boy w/ mingi

thinking thoughts about country boy mingi who talks to you in a southern drawl as he leans his upper body on the bonnet of his truck. he’s so shameless with the way he looks you up and down, and you really don’t mind at all. in fact, you almost wish you could swap places with that stupid toothpick he keeps dangling from his pretty lips.

“don’t you think you ought to be getting home, doll?” he croons at you as you push yourself up to sit on the hood. the way your thighs spread against the red metal makes him salivate, but he’s a strong man. he can control himself, “i don’t think your daddy is my biggest fan; he wouldn’t appreciate you hanging around someone like me after sunset.”

as much as you hate to admit it, mingi is right; something about the farm boy from the neighbouring ranch just didn’t sit right with your daddy. maybe it’s his cocky way of speaking, or the rumours that get passed around town by all the pretty buckle bunnies who had their turn with him. the cowboy had built quite a reputation for himself, over the years. he likes to fuck and chuck; he’d rarely beds the same girl twice, and never more than three times. those brief encounters seem to be enough for most of the women you come across in the local bars—they do nothing but rave about how nonchalant and uncaring the cowboy is in bed. apparently, the way he fucks them hard and rough makes him all the more attractive.

yet he was never anything but soft with you. soft smiles, soft words, soft touches. just soft. if only your daddy could see the way he grins at you as he pulls the hat from his head and settles it atop yours, or the way his lithe fingers tighten the string around your chin to secure the hat in place. the deep chuckle that leaves him as the brim falls over your eyes goes straight to your chest, your heart beating unhealthily quick.

“my daddy doesn’t control me,” you push the brim up so you can see his pretty face. his skin is gorgeously tan from all those hours he spends in the field with his boss’s horses. you often watch him from your window, sketchbook in hand as you messily draw him over and over. he doesn’t look quite as good in graphite as he does through the glass of your bedroom window. seeing him like this, so close that you could touch him, is even better, “and i’m not ready to go home yet. besides, didn’t you promise me a ride on mr campbell’s prize pony?

he smiles and it shines brighter than the sun that’s taking its time in sinking below the horizon. his laugh puts the sound of morning birds to shame. his skin is smoother than your daddy’s whiskey, and his eyes sharper than his switchblade. nothing compares to him, you figure as you gaze into his deep hazelnut eyes; you could watch him and never hunger for anything else. you’d be sustained for life.

“sure i did, doll,” he takes the toothpick out and flicks it to the ground. you watch as it lands in the dirt by his dusty leather boots before letting your eyes drag themselves back up his body to reach his eyes. every part of him is just as pretty as the next and you find that the more you stare, the more you want to have him, “but it’s getting to be dark soon, and like i said, your daddy doesn’t approve of me. i’m not quite good enough for his little princess, am i?”

“i think you’re good enough for me,” you blurt out, heat immediately rising to your face as you take in what you’ve just said. humiliating yourself in front of the man you’ve been dreaming about for years is never good, especially not when you see the man almost every day. you look to the floor, cursing yourself as you hear mingi hum in amusement. it’s not for long, though. he catches your chin on one long finger, drawing your eyes back up to his.

“i’m sure you do, doll,” his voice is teasing, as is his lopsided grin. it sends a shiver down your spine as he taunts you, “precious little thing, thinking i don’t see the way you stare at me from your window. i see the hearts in your eyes, y’know. the way they turn green whenever you see me with one of those towny girls. it's cute; you’re cute.”

a huge hand comes to rest on your exposed thigh. you freeze in place, eyes on his, heart in your mouth. then his other hand meets with your other thigh and without any resistance from you, he parts them just enough to shuffle his body between them. you swallow down the knot in your throat as he invades your personal space.

“part of me wants to agree with your daddy; you’re too good for me, doll. you deserve someone better,” his face is too close to yours. you’re holding your breath as if you might blow him away if you were to exhale. his own fans across your face, the scent of mint and menthol filling your senses. suddenly, it’s your favourite smell in the world, “but then again, i tend to be possessive over things i consider to be mine… and i don’t think i could bear it if i were to see my doll hanging off another man’s arm, hm?”

he whispers that last bit, the slow drawl of his accent echoing through your brain, turning your thoughts to mush. you’re sure he can see the effect he’s having on you; the shallow rise and fall of your chest, your swollen lip from where your teeth continuously tug against it, your glazed-over, thoughtless eyes. you’re also sure that it’s only serving to encourage him.

still, even if mingi currently has your legs in a gelatinous state and your heart ticking like a time bomb, your daddy didn’t raise a pushover. a princess, yes, but never a pushover. one of your (extremely shaky) hands finds its way to his chest, pushing at the linen-clad muscles ever-so-gently until he stumbles just a few inches back. despite your eyes not being able to find his face, you know you can do this.

“well, what about you?” your voice is feeble. you clear your throat in the hopes of making it stronger, “you think i like watching you flirt with other women? to hear all those nasty stories about what goes down in the bed of your truck?” the more you talk, the more your courage builds. you look him in the eye, only to see he’s still smirking. that beautiful, infuriating smirk, “you’re not the only possessive one, mingi. if i’m yours, you’re mine—”

the next few seconds happen in a flash, but you can pick out three key events. first, he bullies his way between your thighs again, pushing them wide and pulling you close until his pelvis is flush against yours. then, with a determined hand, he rips the hat away from your head, slamming it down onto the hood of his truck and making you jump. there’s almost no time between that and the final event, though, as before you can say a single thing more, a pair of determined lips find your own.

they’re hot as they trap you in a kiss, moving quickly and sloppily against your own. he’s quick to take charge, fingers pressing deep into the flesh of your thighs as he moves his lips against yours. it’s like he’s been waiting for this for years, and now that he’s finally got it, he’s not willing to let it go. desperate, and hard and fast, it makes your head spin in the most delicious way. so much so, in fact, that you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck to act as some sort of stability as you melt into his touch.

he pulls away for mere seconds, just enough for you to catch your breath, before diving in for more. this time, he leads with his tongue, bullying his way into your mouth as soon as his lips are on yours again. there’s no fight for dominance, the both of you already knowing that he’s the one in charge of this whole ordeal. you just let yourself sink into it, enjoying every second of him devouring your mouth.

all you can hear is moans mixed with the sound of lips smacking against lips. you can’t tell where your moans finish and his start, but perhaps it just goes to show how in sync the two of you really are.

he finally pulls away again, for good this time, and a heavy sigh falls from his lips, “i’ve always been yours, doll,” his wet lips meet your neck, and you tip your head back as a moan tumbles from your parted lips, “from the moment i met you, i was yours.”

“what about—”

“gossip spreads in a small town like this,” he cuts you off, “not everything you hear is true. you have a one-night stand to get over a girl once and suddenly you’ve slept your way through the whole town. honestly, i’m kind of glad the story focuses on how good i am in bed and not on the way i cried about you after i came…”

you can’t stifle the giggle that bubbles from your throat as he nuzzles against your neck.

“you cried about me?” you laugh.

“multiple times, doll,” he confirms, “what can i say, i’m a softie at heart.”

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

-

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in. 

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time. 

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor. 

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket. 

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill. 

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway. 

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged. 

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away. 

And then it lingers. 

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside. 

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head. 

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss. 

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.  

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what. 

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night. 

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again. 

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.” 

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. 

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate. 

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking. 

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years. 

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you. 

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been. 

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get. 

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near. 

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting. 

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle. 

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone. 

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs. 

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound. 

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off. 

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake. 

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake. 

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall. 

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him. 

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked. 

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid. 

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.  

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.  

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back. 

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you. 

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out. 

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else. 

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken. 

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs. 

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft. 

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for. 

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss. 

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest. 

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it. 

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants. 

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you. 

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming. 

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

[lazycats-stuff]

Hi author how are you doing I hope your doing fine?

I hope you don’t mind can I request a Batfam x Genius child male reader like child male reader is basically smart (and comes from a wealthy and influence family) and has higher IQ for someone so young (smarter than the rest of Batfam) Bruce met child male reader in the funeral when child male reader grandparents died leaving child male reader orphan because his parents also died. Somehow child male reader was strangely attach to Bruce even tho it's there first time meeting so he just walk up to Bruce and stare at him in wonder. Which also leads everyday male reader running away from home and going to Wayne manor because he wanted to stay close to Bruce and meeting the rest of family and which leads the male reader Butler (who's taking care of reader for time being until someone or close relative steps up and takes the role to raise reader) to apologize everytime when picks reader up from the Wayne manor. Reader already knows all the Batfam especially the Justice League secret identity with just one look at them. Male reader who is shy, quite (rarely ever makes a sound) and well mannered. Male reader has a habit of touching the technology of the bat cave or the Justice league base and knows how to fix them aswell

Btw I hope your doing all good author don’t forget to take care of yourself and have a wonderful day🥰🥰🥰😊😊

Oh the little rascal. Also, you take care of yourself too and have a great day or night, whatever time is in your country at the moment. No ideas for gifs anyone... It's pretty though. Also, your beloved author turned 19 on the 5th of May. I do have to say, I have a interesting birthdate.

Summary: (Y/N) is a very smart cookie.

Warnings: funerals, (Y/N) is smart, minor cursing here and there... Some angst, fluff

Bruce sighed quietly as he stood over the graves of Tim's parents. He put the flowers down on their graves. Tim was fighting a flu so he couldn't do it himself and Bruce has offered to do it for Tim. It was their death anniversary and Bruce knew that Tim was just dying in bed from the flu and was dying from feeling guilty of not coming.

Bruce turned his head as he heard church bells. Another funeral. Bruce looked at the church and the procession that has followed it. Two caskets...

Hold up.

He knows that face. The boy was (Y/N) (L/N). Bruce knew that his parents passed when he was truly young and that his grandparents took him when that happened.

It seems that his grandparents passed away too. Bruce met them a few times and they were lovely people and he was told that (Y/N) was a genius, but he didn't know just how much that intelligence reaches. Poor boy.

The procession was slowly passing and Bruce watched from Tim's parents graves. Bruce knew how it felt to lose your parents so young. It's almost like a big piece of you was taken and you will never be able to bring it back, no matter how hard you try.

Bruce looked back down at the graves, trying to keep the attention off of him. He didn't want to disrespect anyone, especially not the dead and besides, it's not about him. Somehow, there aren't any reporters.

Which is a very good thing, but it's a bit weird because like the vultures they are, they can sense when to come in the worst day possible and to use a tragedy for publicity. Thankfully, Bruce put his foot down when it came to his family.

Anything that invades privacy, Bruce would go after them and make sure they don't do that to him. His family didn't have anything to hide. Besides their night job, but that wasn't really illegal... It was something nice to do for the people of Gotham.

Bruce looked up when he felt that someone was watching him. It was (Y/N). He... He didn't want to be rude, but why wasn't he following the procession? Sure, he is young and saying that your parents will be 6ft underground is no easy task, but still...

Wouldn't it be good for him to get a bit of closure at least?

Bruce didn't say anything as (Y/N) simply walked up to him, in silence. Bruce noticed the suit and couldn't help but notice that he almost saw himself in the young boy.

Bruce also noted how (Y/N) watched him in wonder, tilting his head, clearly observing him.

" You are Bruce Wayne... " He said as a matter of fact, trailing off quietly at the end of the sentence.

" I am and you must be (Y/N). How come you aren't with your butler? " Bruce asked as he squatted down to (Y/N)'s level.

" I don't want to be. Too many people. " (Y/N) said and Bruce chuckled.

" I know, but it would mean a lot to him if you stayed with him. " Bruce said, remembering Alfred and his support when his parents died.

Bruce wouldn't have been the same without Alfred and his support.

" I guess so. " (Y/N) said as the the butler approached, a small smile on his face.

" Master (Y/N), what are you doing here? " The butler asked, but politely nodded at Bruce to acknowledge him. Bruce nodded back and (Y/N) huffed.

" It's way too many people. " (Y/N) said, crossing his arms with a pout on his face.

" That means your parents were liked, so come here. You won't be alone. " The butler said and (Y/N) huffed again, but took the butler's hand into his.

" My sincere condolences. " Bruce said and the butler nodded, a sad look on his face.

" Thank you... It was all by surprise. " Butler explained and Bruce nodded.

" Can I ask what they died from? " Bruce asked and the butler nodded.

" Heart attacks. Just in their sleep. " Butler explained and (Y/N) nodded. Death can come at any place, at any time. Death simply takes.

" At least it was in their sleep. " Bruce mumbled and checked on the grave the last time before turning to the duo. " I won't hold you two up anymore. I have to go and again, my condolences. " Bruce said, shaking hands with them both before leaving to his car. He walked to his car and drove off home.

" Master Bruce, master (Y/N) has arrived, yet again. " Alfred said as he walked through the kitchen, busy with making some food for everyone.

Bruce put his newspaper down and look down at the small child who went to the living room and Bruce's boys let out a cheer. Besides Damian who was still skeptic of (Y/N), but was getting there to start trusting slowly.

Then, (Y/N) slowly walked to Bruce, who sipped his coffee slowly, just to make sure to get awake. It was hell during patrol and everyone has gone insane. Just nuts. Probably more than Joker. Which is a feat of its own, but hey. Gotham is just Gotham and everything is possible.

Gotham is a city where everything's possible, but instead of dreams, you get nightmares. According to other people outside of Gotham.

" You are Batman. " (Y/N) said and Bruce spat out his coffee, coughing out the remains, trying not to choke from the said beverage. Heads whipped from the living room, shocked that (Y/N) was able to figure it out.

" I beg your pardon? " Bruce asked, still coughing as he wiped the coffee from his mouth and table. (Y/N) couldn't have done it, could he? How in God's name did he figure it out?

" You are Batman. " (Y/N) stated, so straight forward and blunt in it, making Bruce cough yet again, trying to figure out what to say. Also, to say that he was caught off guard is an understatement of the century. He is always on guard with everyone, besides his sons, and this took him... Well, using Gen Z slang would be 'took him out'.

If he guessed correctly.

" I'm not Batman. " Bruce said, trying to appear normal and not like he was just discovered and that his cover was blown wide open.

" You are. " And (Y/N) started saying how he knew and Bruce was sure he would have passed out if he was a normal human and not a vigilante.

The boys were silent as they watched it all in silence, hoping that Bruce would deter him from that answer. Something. At least something. But with how (Y/N) was talking and explaining... It was clear that they couldn't get out of it. Nothing. They couldn't lie their way out of this one.

Bruce sighed and (Y/N) smiled softly, clearly happy that he guessed.

" Yes. I'm Batman. When did you figure it out? " Bruce asked softly and (Y/N) smiled cheekily. Bruce smiled softly and thought to himself that (Y/N) was a little cheeky shit.

" When I first saw you. " (Y/N) and Damian, well, even he was impressed. That was... A bit... Holy shit.

" Afraid to interrupt, but master (Y/N)'s guardian is here. " Alfred said as he led the other butler in, who crossed his arms, but there was a fond look in his eyes.

" Master (Y/N), what did we talk about? " The butler asked and (Y/N) simply huffed.

" Come here please. " The butler added and (Y/N) nodded coming into the butler's arms. " Again, I don't know what's going on, but thank you for being patient with him. " Butler said and everyone simply replied with no problem and Jason replied with a cheeky 'kids, am I right.'

(Y/N) was slowly but surely getting way more comfortable. He saw the Batcave and fixed things that bothered everyone a lot and it was something that impressed them and made them pissed. Both at the same time, which is actually impressive.

And no one needed to explain to him how anything worked. That pissed and impressed Tim, who was proud to say that he knows their technology the best. It was just that. Impressive. But infuriating at the same time.

Either way, (Y/N) spent more time at the manor and Alfred and (Y/N)'s butler became good friends, often found venting to one another about the things that 'their billionaires' do that piss them off to no end.

Of course, (Y/N)'s butler didn't know of anyone's secret identities, just to make sure that he was the right person to tell, which is something that isn't easy to see. Sometimes, people hide their true selves and it's funny to decipher them.

Also, (Y/N) both impressed the Justice League by fixing a glitch they had in their system for months that no one was able to fix. Bruce was proud and everyone else impressed and low key jealous.

But either way, (Y/N) was now a staple of the Batfam and his guardian had no qualms about it.

[woso-story]

Until Next Time - Part Two

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Part One | Part Three | Last Part

Life in Portland was everything you had hoped it would be, and yet, it wasn’t.

The city welcomed you with open arms. The fans were passionate, the team was ambitious, and playing for the Thorns felt like stepping into a new world of possibilities. Jessie had been a lifeline during the transition, making you feel at home in a foreign league, in a foreign country. The NWSL was challenging in ways you hadn’t imagined, but it pushed you to grow as a player every day.

Still, there were moments—quiet nights in your apartment, long flights after away games—when your mind wandered back to Barcelona. Back to Alexia.

The bond you shared hadn’t disappeared; it lingered in the corners of your heart, in the subtle ways your lives still intertwined. You had agreed not to talk anymore, a mutual decision to help you both move forward. But the absence of words didn’t mean an absence of connection.

It started with Instagram.

Alexia posted a photo of her and her sister Alba, sitting at a café in Barcelona, her smile as radiant as ever. You double-tapped the post before you even realized it, your chest tightening at the sight of her happiness. Minutes later, you saw she had liked one of your photos—a candid shot Jessie had taken of you laughing during a team dinner.

The interactions were small, almost insignificant in the grand scheme of things. A like on a picture of you and Jessie hiking in the Oregon mountains. A subtle “🔥” comment on a post of Alexia celebrating a Champions League victory. They were breadcrumbs, scattered across the digital space between you, small reminders that you were still on each other’s minds.

One night, after a particularly tough game against OL Reign, you found yourself scrolling through Alexia’s profile. She had posted a picture of herself training, the caption reading: "Sin excusas. Siempre adelante." (No excuses. Always forward.)

It struck a chord. You left a comment before you could second-guess yourself: "Inspiring as always."

The notification that she had liked your comment came seconds later.

The bond was still there. It was unspoken, but it was undeniable.

---

Months passed, and Portland began to feel more like home. You fell into the rhythm of the league, forging new friendships and embracing the challenges. But there were still moments when the weight of what you had left behind crept in.

The first time you faced FC Barcelona in a preseason friendly, it was like stepping into another life. You caught glimpses of Alexia during warm-ups, her familiar figure commanding the pitch with her usual grace. Your eyes met for a fleeting moment, and you both nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the history you shared.

During the game, there were no words exchanged, only the occasional look. She congratulated you after the match—a brief handshake, a soft “Good game.” It was professional, yet charged with an unspoken depth.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. You scrolled through Instagram again, finding her latest post—a picture of her in the match, captioned simply with a heart and the Barça colors. Without thinking, you left a comment: "You were amazing out there."

Her reply came an hour later, even though it was the middle of the night: "So were you."

---

The first year in Portland came and went. You celebrated successes and endured failures, but through it all, Alexia remained a quiet presence in the background. The small likes, the occasional comments—they were enough to remind you that she was still there, even if she wasn’t.

On the anniversary of your move, you posted a photo of yourself standing on the Thorns’ pitch, looking out at the empty stadium. The caption read: "One year ago, I took a leap. Grateful for every moment since."

Alexia liked it within minutes. Then, to your surprise, she left a comment: "And look at you now."

You stared at the words for a long time, your heart swelling with a mixture of pride and longing. You wanted to reply, to say so much more, but instead, you simply liked her comment.

---

Life moved forward, as it always does.

You didn’t know if you and Alexia would ever find your way back to each other. But for now, these small moments—these digital echoes of the love you had shared—were enough.

And maybe one day, when the timing was right, you would meet again. Until then, you held onto the bond that refused to fade, a reminder that some connections are too strong to be broken, no matter the distance.

[buttonbuckfarm]

Joined the WA state Quarterly Meat-Up. Good news is WA risk is relatively low currently. I’ll share some bullet points here for people interested.

Monthly testing is done on all grade-A dairies.

All positive cases in WA have been from DIRECT contamination from infected or deceased birds. No tracking over from other sources yet, at least here in WA.

Beef cattle has yet to test positive. H5N1 has learned to reside in mammary tissue, aka the udders.

The only current active H5N1 watch area is Mason county.

Reporting mystery dead birds immediately is the most important thing. You will only be compensated for birds that are alive upon call response happening.

A home flock eradicated due to H5N1 will get a 180 indemnity period before re-introducing birds.

Human transmission seems to be primarily from inhaling particulates of infected bird feces. Feces have a high rate of viral shedding.

The CDC has received large scale cuts to lab testing and vaccination planning, impacting our ability to respond across the country if/when things worsen.

If the recording is posted afterwards, I’ll share that as well.

[absolutebl]

Top 10 Great BLs That Are REALLY hard to find (but worth tracking down)

You may want to go hunting anyway!

Seven Days

Seven Days: Monday-Thursday

Seven Days: Friday-Sunday

Japan 2015

Never doubt my ability to recommend this show. One of the best live action yaois ever made, with perfectly structured angst, fantastic characters and acting, and no problematic tropes (rare in Japanese BL). The leads have excellent chemistry although it’s low heat there’s still some really cute mutual kisses.

Cherry Magic AKA 30-sai made Dotei Da to Mahotsukai ni Nareru rashii

Japan 2020

The sweetest fluffiest magical realism BL, packaged as a pinning office romance, very low heat (practically chaste) but the cutest. It’s truly great.

Cherry Magic Thailand

Thai 2024

A soft charming warm hug of a show about crushes and mind reading and self worth, with no-fuss execution from a consummate team and an OG lead pair proving why they remain eternal and deserve to grow up. Look, here’s the thing, Cherry Magic is a great Thai BL in its own right not comparing it to any other iteration. But even when I do compare (and I've seen all the Cherries and read the manga) it still stands. I personally like it slightly better than the Japanese live action, but I think that’s because I just really like Thai BL and I LOVE TayNew. Also all the kissing was both present and better than any other iteration. As it should be from Thailand.

I Feel You Linger in the Air

Thai 2023

IFYLITA is an exquisite BL, from filming techniques to narrative framework (much like Until We Meet Again). Steeped in history and family drama it edges into lakorn (but no as much as To Sir With Love and with way less scenery chewing). This is an elegant and classy BL... from Thailand which normally doesn't even try for classy. The main couple (both as a pair and individuals) were excellent, particularly Bright (Yai) whose eye-work acting style is a personal favorite of mine. Pity about the ending. Oh it wasn’t that sad but it wasn’t good either. This show could easily have earned a 10/10 from me except that it fumbled the… erm… balls in the final quarter. Argh. Whatever.

All about the ecstasy and the agony here.

Restart After Come Back Home AKA Risutato wa tadaima no ato de

Japan 2020

Atmospheric study in rural Japan meets complex family dynamics built on a romance framework of city boy meets country boy, grumpy/sunshine. It’s beautiful and icy sweet. Slow moving in places but ultimately worth the patience, low heat, low angst, and stunning.

Given

Japan 2021

Boy joins band, falls in love with other boy. The singing is terrible, fast forward through that but with the possible exception of the hair styles, this BL could have been made in 2015 and no one would be surprised. As such, it wasn’t ground breaking, but it didn’t disappoint either.

Make a Wish

Thai 2023

A doctor who can see the dead strikes a bargain with a wish-granting irreverent tree angel - naturally they fall in love (from Sammon: Manner of Death & Triage). Stars Fluke Natouch opposite not-Ohm, but who tf cares because Fluke has chemistry with everybody. Once again the Thai afterlife is incredibly bureaucratic but I enjoyed the premise and the unfolding of the story (it’s not predictable but still satisfying and with nice little twist). I like that the doctor is just gay AF - fag hag bestie and all the swagger. The cast is excellent even if the comedic stylings are a bit overblown and tonally off. It had sad parts and did make me cry but is ultimately happy with a great sex scene, good smiley kisses, and all the agency. Definitely recommended.

2 Moons The Ambassador AKA 2 Moons 3

Thai 2022

A Thai pulp that felt like it came out 5 yrs prior, with many of the flaws inherent to that time and studio system, including manufactured angst and convoluted plot, but an ultimately sweet main couple that (as a pairing) feels a bit more modern and satisfying to watch than they started out. This will probably go down in history as one of the few BLs where I genuinely didn’t care about any of the side couples. All that said, I find this show oddly appealing and rewatchable and I have no excuses for that except, I enjoyed it probably more than it deserved. Nostalgia & d**k, it's what's for dinner.

I Want to See Only You AKA Kimi no Koto Dake Mite Itai

Japan 2022

This is a beautiful well acted piece of cinema, about two boys who are opposite personalities and grew up together. Gifted and serious Sakura pines after outgoing eccentric manic pixie dream boy, Yuma. It is very pretty and this is the kind of atmospheric elegantly performed BL that only really comes from Japan (complete with dead fish kisses - what you though Korea invented them? oh no). If you want something stylish, this is it.

Triage

Thai 2022

BL does Groundhog Day featuring a doctor stuck in a time loop who must save a poor little rich boy from death by seducing the stuffing out of him, then PLOT TWIST, poor little rich boy must do the same for the doctor! Unfortunately... stuffing keeps leaking. I thought the plot was engaging if a little redundant and occasionally exhausting. The pairs were all well done, low heat but with decent chemistry and the support characters were likable (or unlikable, as required). If anything, the romance arc detracted and distracted from the main plot, but that doesn't stop this from being a genuinely good show.

HONORABLE MENTION

Great Men Academy

Thai 2019

Bodyswap involving unicorns turning a teenage girl into a boy makes this questionable as a BL (because, ya know, gender). But the fact remains that James is killer in the lead, and I (who do not like bodyswap) loved this damn show. Look, there is actual plot, hotties at boarding school, "bully the one you love" trope, some weird VR shit, very bad CGI, and yes, the boys end up together... whether they boys or not, so to speak.

Some of these shows may appear on a smaller streaming service, like WeTV, or they may be on a legal platform in your territory. I hope it goes without saying you should check there first.

(source)

This list updated Spring 2024, not responsible for cool stuff that went missing (or was added to a platform) after that date.

It's it last in a series the rest of which are:

[thecreelhouse]

I’ll see you in my dreams

Eddie Munson x platonic!reader / Steve Harrington x platonic!reader (this is more Eddie centric though)

WC: 3K+

CW: canon character death, grief, hurt/little comfort, angst, some dark humor, mentions of the afterlife, and the like.

A/N: I started this a while ago to kinda cope with too many losses between last year and this one. I’m not fussing over editing this one, bc it was cathartic to just… get out. Sharing this for the few that were interested, but I get not everyone’s up for a sad fic these days. If you do decide to read this, thank you <3 Tell and show your friends you love them, as much as life allows you.

Title is from I’ll see you in my dreams - Bruce Springsteen (but the live version bc it makes me cry like a baby lmao)

—————

You got the call, while hundreds of miles from home.

It’s not like you knew— not really; this was the one time you weren’t home with whatever latest disaster unfolded in Hawkins. You didn’t know the danger that tried to swallow everyone whole.

You didn’t know someone you loved dearly wouldn’t make it back.

A somber tone weighs heavily on those five words: “Did you hear the news?”

In brighter circumstances, different context in a more pleasant timeline, that question could lead to something good, something worth celebrating.

Instead, those words landed on the opposite end of the emotional spectrum; even with lack of context, your heart dropped as they hit your ears.

Maybe to an outsider, that could’ve seemed like a drastic, overnight change, but deep down you knew that this had been building for much longer than one night.

You knew hearing those words on the other end of a line could send everything spiraling, no matter who broke the news, no matter who it involved, your heart would splinter apart. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Especially not after losing Eddie.

—————

A funeral— a traditional, open casket funeral— wasn’t possible, not when Eddie’s body lay rotting away in the Upside Down. Even if he was brought home, it’s not like Hawkins would welcome a funeral for who they saw to be a murderer; it’d be no celebration of his life, or mourning the good person he was, not with the entirety of Hawkins believing he was practically the devil himself.

Even so, you couldn’t make it home in time for the very hush-hush memorial service, only among close friends, and family, being only Wayne, of course.

Everyone in the party were grieving in their own ways, as people do when losing someone they love, but the loss of Eddie had a twisted spin on it. 

While your friends here saw him shortly before he was killed, before he gave up his life to try helping everyone else, you had no visual closure. That’d be unbearable, probably more-so than how you’re grieving.

Steve, Robin and Nancy saw him before they split ways with Eddie and Dustin; a plan set in motion to take out Vecna required the separation. Dustin might’ve been the one hit hardest, having to watch Eddie run off to do what he believed was right. The kid, who found one of his older brother figures, bleeding out on the ground once the bats were gone.

Dustin, too young to witness such horrors, too young to face such grief over Eddie, too young to lose his life over something no one could wrap their heads around.

Though not a competition in mourning, that kid had to have the worst grief of them all.  

You wondered if the kids on the other side of the country felt such strange, empty “closure” as you did. Though, Mike was the only one out of that group to have any connection with Eddie, being in Hellfire and all.

Then everyone else here, the kids, the older teens— one way or another, little or large, everyone had some kind of connection to Eddie. They all had faced the same living nightmare, even if on different levels, it was all in the same realm of suffering.

Steve, who called you to deliver the bad news, knew very little about Eddie before all of this. Once skeptical of Eddie— and honestly, a little jealous over the way Dustin looked up to him, feeling replaced— towards the end, had hoped if they all made it out alive, maybe the two could be friends. Maybe they weren’t so different after all.

That hope was long gone, now.

And you, what a strange plane of grief you existed on. You left to start life over elsewhere, reluctant to leave your friends, but in need of change. Being away for almost one year, away from your friends, made this loss harder to comprehend.

Eddie would never be home when you’d return. Your mind took that as a “see you soon”, not a “goodbye”; you’ll never see your best friend again, but the distance warped your thoughts into “this is temporary.”

Death is certain, death is final, and you were well aware of that. You often had to remind yourself, though, that he wasn’t just absent because of the miles between you two, but absent forever.

Maybe that’s nowhere near as heavy as the grief everyone else has carried, and will carry until the end of time, but it certainly didn’t make this any easier to cope with.

—————

The quarry seemed like a good, quiet place to cry it out, for some reason.

Lost in your thoughts, daylight slips away; you turn to Steve, who was watching you closely, like you were too fragile to be left alone.

“Hey… you don’t have to stay,” You kick at an empty beer can by your feet, unable to look him in the eye. 

You couldn’t look anyone in the eye since coming home.

“I want to.”

You sigh heavily, “Steve—“

“I mean it. We don’t have to talk, or anything.” His voice is gentle, calm, even through the moments it threatens to break. “I— I’m here for you. We all are. You know that, right?”

You nod, pulling your knees to your chest, staring out at the quarry’s water.

“M’here for you too.”

It comes and goes, fluxes and flows; grief is funny like that. Things you’d expect to weigh so heavily on your heart, don’t; instead, the tiniest details of loss engulf you in what feels like a bottomless lake of dread.

“He did this… really stupid thing, always shoving straw wrappers in my glovebox when we’d grab food somewhere.” You chuckled, already bracing yourself for the inevitable. “On the drive back here, I opened the glovebox for my lighter, and all of these— these fucking straw wrappers, all crumpled up in like… like some damn accordion—“ Laugh wavering by the threat of a sob tightening your throat, you shake your head. “Fucking goofball would say he folded them like that so they’d spring out like confetti. And the fucker was right.”

Steve laughs with you, but it’s somber, and before you realize you’re crumbling again, his arm winds around your shoulders, cradling you into his side. 

“I cried more over that than when you called me with the news.”

He keeps silent, because right now there are no words to bring comfort, not without forcing a positivity neither of you can or want to carry currently. Sometimes having someone to listen is a little more soothing than screaming into the void.

“I keep— I tried calling him. Took a few rings to realize it’d only be his uncle that’d answer. Can’t listen to the mixtapes he’s made me, ‘cause I can’t bring myself to hear his voice on them with his silly intros. But I tried calling him to hear his voice again anyway. My brain feels… broken.”

The sun is fully set now, with a pink-orange hue lingering in the sky, mismatched to your emotions.

“He never got to fucking graduate. This is so wrong. My best friend is—“ A sob slips out as the force of a bleak reality settles in all over again; it gets cozy, makes itself at home in the walls of your shattered heart, when you never invited it in.

Steve’s rubbing your back softly, signaling quietly to continue, if you need. That’s when the shattered debris of your heart crumble further; at this rate, there’ll be nothing left. 

Maybe it’s not so bad being heartless. It’s gotta be easier than feeling … this. 

A double edged sword is the human experience, with it’s cruel lesson of grief, whichever path you take. You could be cold, bitter, but lonely, by not allowing anyone in; it’d save you the heartache of losing anyone you love. But you could also love, and be loved, experience this nightmare of life together, rather than stumbling alone; final goodbyes and a hole in your heart are the price to pay.

Maybe, it’s worth living a life rich in love and community, even if the payoff is a grim one.

“I’ll never see him again. None of us will. I kept staring at the door, expecting he’d walk through the door now that I’m home… use the spare key like he always did, waltz right in like everything’s fine. He was the only friend I had that liked going to concerts, or skipping out on a good night’s sleep to take last minute road trips in that janky-ass van of his.

“Now all we have of him are blurry, out of focus pictures, and notes with his goddamned chicken scratch handwriting. Everything in that DnD notebook he kept, all the campaigns and drawings… all his music, his battle vests—“ You glance up at Steve, finally. “The vest he let you wear, you know how many fucking times he stabbed his thumb sewing those patches? I finally got him a thimble so he’d stop jabbing himself with those whip stitches… for what? Now he can’t even fucking use it.”

The tiniest of details of loss really are the culprit of heartbreak.

It pains Steve that this is just one of those things where he can’t protect his friends from the hurt. He can’t shield you or anyone else from the inevitable heartbreak and unpredictable mourning this has and will continue to bring.

“It kills me the two of you didn’t have more time to get to know each other. You’re both Dustin’s favorites, you were so much more alike than either of you realized.” Rubbing your eyes, you murmur, “You’re both my favorite people, too. And I- I should’ve been here, I never should’ve left—“

“No, we all wanted you to be happy, wherever you went. I’m sure Eddie would’ve kept pushing for you to follow your dreams if you tried to stay.” Steve rests his head on yours; the position is a little awkward, with how you hold one another, but it’s a closeness you need, all the same. “I would’ve, too.”

For a few moments, you sit on unspoken words that come to mind; maybe they’re too bold to speak aloud, but your mouth’s always one to be miles ahead from your thoughts.

“You’re not allowed to die before me.”

It’s almost a silly demand, one that makes him snort a little, pulling back with a confused expression.

“What?”

“I mean it. You, everyone, I can’t handle this right now, how the hell would I handle losing anyone else? I could never handle losing you.”

“I’d never be able to handle losing you, either.”

“Well, I said it first, so wait your fucking turn.”

You glare at Steve, bleary-eyed and appearing just as bad as you feel, falling into a stare-off with him. It doesn’t last long; the two of you burst into laughter, real laughter, over how damn ridiculous that exchange was.

“This— this is fucked up to even joke about.”

“Oh, like dark humor’s not up Eddie’s alley? Please.” Your grins, short-lived, fizzle out, leaving the two of you in heavy silence. You don’t mean to break it, especially with such a naive thought, but you do. “He’s really gone… isn’t he?”

Steve nods with a sniffle, not bothering to pull tissues out of his pocket anymore— if there’s any even left to begin with.

“Y’know… back when my parents were around more, my mom told me something kinda comforting when my grandma died.” With a deep breath, his stare falls to the ground beneath the two of you. “I don’t know if it’s true, but she said that people visit you in your dreams after they pass. Kinda like… like, they’re telling you they’re okay on the other side.”

“Did you see your grandma?”

“Yeah, that night, actually. Maybe it’s some weird, psychological thing, ‘cause that’s kinda what dreams are anyway. Just your subconscious trying to tell you shit.”

You lean back, brow quirked in skepticism. “Since when did you become a dream expert?”

He huffs a laugh, “I got desperate trying to cope with the nightmares. Anyway— point is, I think you’ll see Eddie again. Dustin already saw him in his dreams, said he thanked him for trying to help…” Steve hesitates for a second, finishing, “… and for not allowing him to die alone.”

That just feels like a sucker punch straight to the gut.

“What if it’s just a way to cope?” The brain does some fucked up shit when you’re neck deep in pain; you and the others in the group are all too familiar with that. 

“If it is, so what? You have to grieve, or it won’t get easier. And Eddie might’ve beat himself up for running away, but he wasn’t the kind of guy to leave without saying goodbye. Not to his friends, at least.”

—————

There’s a full moon tonight, with only its light guiding you through the woods, but you don’t feel unsafe. There’s no sense of threats, or danger. Just calm, like you’re supposed to be here. The clearing of the trees reveal Lovers’ Lake, with Eddie’s van parked right at the edge of the water.

Hope floods through you, overflows into unshed tears and a pace picking up, closing the distance. You round one of the open doors of the van, finding your best friend. He strums lazily along the strings of his guitar, worn notebook laying open, with his famous chicken-scratch penmanship, chaotically covering the pages.

Eddie glances up, warmly smiling at you.

“Hey, punk.”

It’s a voice your heart’s been both aching to hear again, and not ready for, not yet. The sight is even harder to take in, overwhelming as you race through emotions rapidly.

But it’s like nothing’s changed. Nothing is different, not for now, at least.

You greet him like you always have, “Hey, freak.” Climbing into the back of the van, muscle memory almost leads you to your usual spot, a mountain of pillows in the van; this isn’t a casual hang out, though, so you settle next to him, legs dangling over the bumper. “You’re really here.”

“Harrington was right, y’know. I had to say goodbye the way we’d both want.”

There’s a light mist that dances along the lake’s surface, blanketing the entirety of it, but it’s soothing to see. The stars above, brighter than you’ve ever seen in your entire life, shimmer and glitter above.

“Yeah, guess we’re not getting stoned though, huh?”

Eddie sets his guitar behind him, sighing heavily.

“Maybe later, way later, when you make it to this side someday.” He throws an arm around your shoulders, giving a squeeze. “It’s not so bad here… but it’s not like I wanted to be here so soon.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t really get to see you before— before—“ Even here, it’s far too painful to say aloud. “I should’ve been here with you, with everyone—“

“You can’t plan your life around death, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, but it’s— I know it sounds silly, but not seeing you… not being here before you l- left… my mind refuses to believe it. I’m never gonna see you again, and my stubborn brain keeps trying to convince itself you’re still here.”

“That’d be denial, I believe.” He tries coming off lighthearted, but it falls flat. “Y’know I’m always gonna be with you, right? All that corny shit, in your heart and stuff, among the stars— whatever you wanna believe, I’m there.” He pinches his thumb and forefinger together, scrunching his face up as he adds, “I’ll even be in the teeny, tiny, little straw wrappers I hid everywhere in your car.”

“Oh my god, there’s more?!” You laugh through your tears, but it fades out fast. “Well I’m a selfish prick and want you here, with all of us.”  Kicking at a pebble, you watch it break the lake’s glassy surface. “How the hell do I keep going without you?”

“I don’t have an answer, but you just… do. Just know it’s not easy for me, either.” Eddie sniffles, then chuckles, “It’s gonna be boring as hell waiting on this side for you guys.”

That finally tugs a hint of a laugh out of you; he squeezes your shoulders again, hand shaking against you. 

“I am okay, though. There’s no angry mob ready to burn me at the stake, and no injuries, no pain. No Upside-Down bullshit, like, at all. And, as a wandering soul in the afterlife, I get to watch all the concerts I want, for free. So there’s a perk at least.” He rolls his eyes with a reassuring smile. “Aside from that… you’re gonna be okay, too.”

Eddie pulls away, reaching in his vest pocket— out fly old, crumpled receipts, loose change, some safety pins and dice; it’s a soothing sight, to see nothing changes one’s character when they make it to the other side.

“Aha!” He pulls out necklace cord, with a guitar pick dangling at the end, showing signs of wear, tear, and love over time. Sliding it into your hand, he pushes your fingers to roll into a fist. “Want you to have this.”

“Wh— but your uncle—“

“Dustin gave him the good one,” He snorts, “but my best friend gets the one with history.”

“Is this gonna be like winning the lottery in a dream, only to wake up, still broke?”

Eddie only laughs harder, smile fond, glassy gaze, a sight you take in, hoping you never forget it after waking up. He tugs you back into a bear hug, grip trembling as you mirror the hug. 

“See you later, punk.” He whispers, voice wavering. “Live a good life for me, alright?”

“Wait, Eddie, don’t— I’m not ready to say goodbye yet!” The world around you dissipates into the mist floating in, taking Eddie with it. 

You jolt up with a gasp, eyes darting around the room for some sort of sign or proof that Eddie never left, that it was all just a bad dream.

But was it really a bad dream? All things considered, even if it’s just a coping mechanism, it gives some closure.

Closure. For your dead best friend.

Sobbing, you place your hands over your face, already anticipating the pounding headache this will give you. Something pokes into your cheek, interrupting your tears.

Unfurling your hand, Eddie’s guitar pick necklace lays in your palm, just as it did in your dream.

“No fucking way…”

Holding it up against the moonlight, sneaking between the blinds, it’s the well-loved pick, scratches, worn edges and all. The way it gleams against the moon’s glow, seeing it clearly, feeling it in your hands, it’s real. And you have no idea how it could’ve wound up here, in your hand, but here it is.

This necklace won’t ease your grief, nor will recollecting the dream with Eddie, but you have the closure you needed to begin properly grieving.

Flicking on the lamp on your nightstand, you reach in the drawer for your journal, scribbling down as much of the dream as you can recall, before it fades away as consciousness settles in.

Steve was right; as shitty as this entire situation is, Eddie is okay.

He may not be here, but he’s okay. And in time, you will be, too.

[peninsulaisms]

hey now that it’s summer in australia can the americans following me pretty please do me a favour and actually care about my country and the people within it.

over half of my state, including where i live, is at an increased risk of bushfires. mafeking (pop 20), halls gap (pop 495) and pomonal (pop 356) are all under immediate evacuation orders

in a few hours this order will likely become “shelter in place - it is too late to leave”

WA has an extreme heatwave watch and act warning across huge swaths of the state along with bushfires.

queensland and new south wales are flooding. there are also bushfires popping up all across new south wales now

^ this isn’t even half of them

please understand this is never a “maybe” situation for australia. people always die in bushfires and floods and homes are always destroyed. please in the coming weeks and months keep your eye out for victims fundraising and charities. if you want to help now donate to one of our local fire services, lord knows they need it.