#everything worked well enough so tomorrow another stream!

[maple-and-pie]

Drew some silly Jirachis! They up in my shop now!

Edit: all sold! Thank you!

[justabunchofdragons]

hello o7

[checkeredflagggs]

Glazed and Confused

Pairing: Lando Norris x Potter!Youtuber!reader

Summary: when lando fails to make a simple mug, fans direct him towards your YouTube channel

a/n: I took 1 hr long class on pottery and quit. Don’t like the feel of it, have mostly forgot literally everything about it so…🤷🏻‍♀️

a/n 2: I really struggled to get lando’s voice down and don’t really think I did. Oops 😬 will work on that for next time (also plz ignore that changing of the handles. I try to keep them accurate but again I’m not on those social media platforms so…)

a/n 3: I tried to make sure that this reader was never gendered or given a race — there’s one photo near the end that depicts 2 white smaller hands but I think that is the only time. Please let me know how I did, if you could

Pottery Made Easy has posted

potterymadeeasy

liked by user1, user2, and 2316 others

pottermadeeasy: my newest video (mugs and bowls, pt 2) is now up! In it I show you ways to add a little flourish and decorations to the pieces you made from part 1!

view all comments

user1: thank you your majesty! Easy to understand and so so easy to follow!! (unlike my professor 🙄😬)

user2: right? If they either stopped mumbling or spoke up…

user1: might be asking too much of someone born in the 1800s 😭🙄

user2: unfortunately

user3: god your work is so gorgeous. Do you sell anything?

potterynadeeasy: occasionally! I’m based in Monaco rn and a friend owns a shop and sometimes they let me use a shelf or 2

user4: ohh! I’m in France. Plz plz plz make an announcement when you will next have some ready! I’d love to own a piece

potterynadeeasy: of course lovely 😊 vague plans are to have some ready in the next week or 2!

user4: seriously?!? Marking the calendar right now!

user3: you have no idea how jealous I am right now…

potterynadeeasy: dm me! I might be able to ship it to you depending on where you are!

user3: faints bless you

user5: landonorris here! They might be able to help you

user6: be so for real right now. It’ll take a miracle to help landonorris

user7: I hate to be a negative nancy but…yeah. That latest stream was bad bad landonorris

user8: I dont even know…that clay flew… landonorris

user9: would hate to be his cleaner…

lnupdates

liked by user5, user6, user7, and 1,897,455 others

lnupdates: some of our favorite moments from Lando’s latest stream where he was attempting to make a ceramic mug…bowl? It was certainly an interesting one to watch

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user5: interesting is one way to put it. Tragic is another

user6: no but really…that was. I legit have no words

user7: he needs to watch potterymadeeasy! I love their videos

user8: oh? I haven’t heard of them

user7: they’re a Monaco based potter that has a lot of simple how to videos!

user8: just watched one of them! And god their voice…🥵

user7: oh my god right?!?

user5: but are they gonna be enough to help lando?

user7: well they certainly couldn’t make it any worse tbh

user9: you got this lando! Pottery isn’t something easy to pick up - you just gotta keep trying!

user10: yeah! There was definitely some improvement by the end

Twitter

Private DMs

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and 2,790,469 others

landonorris: progress! these ones were mostly standing. I’m not done yet though - catch me tomorrow night giving it another go

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user11: those looked good! Most definitely an improvement!

user12: he’s almost there! It’s literally just the little things now

user13: oh how far we’ve come! In less then a year he’s gone from flying clay to something that could generously be called a bowl

user14: and an “artistic” vase!

oscarpiastri: definitely better then last time

landonorris: mate…

oscarpiastri: you don’t pay your cleaner enough

landonorris: mate!! get out of my comments

charles_leclerc: keep trying! Maybe one day you’ll get there

landonorris: yeah say goodbye to your Christmas present

charles_leclerc: 👎🏻

alex_albon: will be there! And will definitely be recording - gotta have proof 😂

landonorris: is it national bully lando day here or something?

user15: yes

user16: yes

oscarpiastri: yes

charles_leclerc: yes 👍🏻

georgerussell63: yes

alex_albon: yes!!

maxverstappen1: yes

danielricciardo: yes!

carlossainz55: yes!

landonorris: you freaking muppets!

user17: ok but am I the only one who noticed he kept looking to the side and like beaming?

user18: no but I thought I was going insane? Like he was so soft?

user17: yeah! definitely getting the feeling he wasn’t the only one there. Just who are you looking at?

user18: dare we say little lando norris has a partner now?

landonorris

liked by potterymadeeasy, oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, and 2,723,944 others

landonorris: haha! I did kt! A mug a vase and a bowl!! On to the next step - glazing! And you muppets didn’t think I could do it

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user19: woohoo! Congrats lando! Those look so so good!

user20: and those glazes are gonna be fire when they’re done. I use the same brand and colors he did and they turn out AMAZING

user19: ok don’t be shy drop the names plz

potterymadeeasy: those look great!

landonorris: thank you! Had a great teacher 😉

user21: ariana (potterymadeeasy) what are you doing here?

user22: thoughts are being thunk

user23: unthunk those thoughts right now

user22: sorry…thots are being thunk rn

user23: nurse she’s out again!

user21: really? Under my comment thread?

user24: I’ve connected the dots.

user25: you’ve connected shit

user24: no I’ve connected them

user25: god get a life

charles_leclerc: congrats!

carlossainz55: it only took a few months…

alex_albon: a couple of different throwing wheels

georgerussell63: and 3 different cleaning companies

landonorris: I’m gonna run you all over with my car

mclaren: legally this is a joke

landonorris

liked by potterymadeeasy, danielricciardo, carlossainz55, and 2,922,713 others

landonorris: first round of my ceramics are currently cooking in the kiln. Starting a new batch and stretching my creative skills

view all comments

user26: holy shit those look INCREDIBLE

user27: I’m so shocked! I just started watching the old streams so like in the course of a day he went from wet clay lumps to these masterpieces

user28: I’m so so proud of him - I’m currently trying to get into pottery and ceramics and watching him keep at it is so inspiring

user26: user28 you can do it! Persistence is key

oscarpiastri: man thinks he’s Picasso now…but for real congrats lando. Those look good! And functional too

landonorris: I’m only gonna give you the lumpy ones actually

oscarpiastri: I’m good thanks

landonorris: 🙃

oscarpiastri: honestly proud of you. You’ve come a long way

landonorris: thanks mate!

oscarpiastri: I’m also glad you can stop calling me crying about your latest fuck up

landonorris: you muppet!

danielricciardo: too soon to call dibs on that dragonfly mug?

landonorris: after the way you continuously kept laughing at me?

danielricciardo: in encouragement?

landonorris: 😑

danielricciardo: 🥹🧡?

landonorris: fine 🙄

user29: ok yeah good job on those designs and whatever but are we gonna mention those HEART MUGS?!

landonorris: 😂🧡😉

user29: get back here and answer some questions! What? Does? That? Mean?

landonorris: 🏃🏻‍♂️💨

user29: SIR!

maxverstappen1: i see you’re finished making my present but really? Matching heart mugs?

landonorris: not actually for you!

maxverstappen1: heart❤️ been broke💔🤕 so many times⏰ i don’t know❌🤷‍♀️ what to believe ����🙏

landonorris: …who are you and where is max?

maxverstappen1: I thought what we had was special

landonorris: not my favorite relationship anymore! Sorry 🧡

maxverstappen1: 💔

potterymadeeasy: those look good!

landonorris: I had a good teacher 🧡

potterymadeeasy: flatterer

landonorris: always 😉

User22: !!!

User23: shut up shut up shut up

landonorris

liked by yourpriv, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, and 3,123,321 others

landonorris: kiln unveiling and some upcoming projects!

listen. when I randomly decided that I wanted to learn how to make ceramic dishes, it was mostly because I wanted to make something with my own 2 hands — and when I wasn’t immediately good at it, I decided that I wouldn’t stop until I was.

Its been a long couple of months with a lot of struggles but I can finally say that I’m proud of how far I’ve come. It hasn’t been easy but the journey and the process has been fun and i genuinely can’t wait to see what comes next!

view all comments

user30: I’m? Crying? 😭

user31: omg same!!! To see how far he’s come and to hear that he’s finally proud of himself too…

user32: we’re excited for you too!

user33: excited? For what? Some more mediocre “Art” by some mediocre man?

user32: go fuck yourself. And get out of my comments. And off lando’s page

used34: user33 how about you go get some sun and maybe shove some kindness up yours! 🖕

oscarpiastri: seriously, congratulations. Those look incredible

landonorris: thanks mate! I do appreciate your support

oscarpiastri: and my cupboards appreciate your work

user34: 🩵🩵 ahhh he’s giving away his pieces

alex_albon: it’s been a fun ride watching you!

landonorris: thanks i think

alex_albon: no problem!

alex_albon: and could you send me the name of your newest cleaning crew? They most be ungodly good

landonorris: and there it is… cleaningcrew

alex_albon: anyway i could get a series of mugs inspired by albon_pets?

landonorris: I’ll need a lot of pretty good pictures

alex_albon: on it 🫡

landonorris: in fact I might need to visit in person

albon_pets: yay! We love ❤️ getting visitors

user35: UMMM?!? That 5th photo?!?

user36: IS THIS A SOFT LAUNCH? DOES LITTLE LANDO NORRIS FINALLY HAVE A PARTNER AGAIN?!?

landonorris: 🫢🤫

user36: YOU CANT KEEP GETTJNG AWAY WITH THIS

landonorris: 😂🏃🏻‍♂️💨

yourpriv: my love, I’m so proud of you! Putting yourself out there in the world to learn something new is never easy but you have done it with amazing persistence and talent.

landopriv: babe… you know I couldn’t do it without you

yourpriv: oh I have no doubt you would have gotten here on your own

landopriv: no. No i don’t think I would have. I’m a fast guy and I’m used to fast results. When I reached out to you, it was a last resort last string. If it didn’t work out with your help, I was honestly going to quit. You pushed me to get better, to stick with it till I made it.

yourpriv: 🥹🥹🥹

landopriv: I’m serious. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me — i love you 🧡

yourpriv: 🥹🥰🧡 I love you too hun

maxverstappen1: can’t lie — it was a fun ride watching you fail but I also can’t wait to see what you make next

landonorris: …thanks for your support 😑🙄😅

maxverstappen1: you know it!

landonorris

liked by yourpriv, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and 2,997,245 others

tagged: yourpriv, potterymadeeasy

landonorris: no time for a soft launch. Thank you honey for teaching me pottery and for designing such a bomb ass helmet!

comments have been limited on this post

potterymadeeasy: Lando! We had a plan!

landonorris: 🤷🏻‍♂️

landonorris: love ya!

potterymadeeasy:…love you too!

[forzalando]

hi marissa! first, i hope you have a wonderful time with your family!!

second, could i request “i might have had a few shots” with max, where reader drunk calls him after a breakup? thank youu 🫶🏻🫶🏻

i feel like i took some creative liberties with this one! i wasn't sure if you meant reader and max breakup or reader calls max after breaking up with someone else - so i went with the latter and couldn't resist making them idiots in love😭. after writing the danny ric angst, i needed to heal my own heart lol i truly hope you love it, liyah! thank you for always being so kind, it was a pleasure to write for you! wc: 1.8k warnings: cursing (most likely), a little bit of angst, mentions of drinking/reader being drunk

Getting ahold of Max Verstappen was nearly impossible – his use of the custom “Do Not Disturb” function was impressive. He had custom settings for everything: a work setting, a setting for when he was streaming, a race day setting, but his most prized was his sleep setting.

Once local time hit 10pm, Max Verstappen was unreachable to everyone. Well, almost everyone. His family, Christian, and you were the only exceptions, which aggravated Daniel to no end. “I’m your best friend, too!”, he’d claimed. But it wasn’t the same.

Max wasn’t secretly in love with Daniel. He’d take your calls anytime, day or night.

It was nearing midnight – Jimmy and Sassy were sound asleep at the foot of his bed and he’d been watching some legal drama you recommended. He hated it, but for you he’d watch it forever and take notes just to have another thing to talk to you about.

At this point, the show had practically put him to sleep, but the loud chime of his phone and your contact picture lighting up the screen jolted him awake.

“Maxie?” You yelled into the speaker. “Maxieee, are you there?”

“I’m here, liefje,” he chuckled. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Th’girls made me go out,” you whined. “Said I needed to dance and drink the night away.”

“And did you?” Max teased - by the sound of your voice, it was obvious you had taken their advice.

You giggled and the sound made Max’s heart clench in his chest. “I might’ve had a few shots, but don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret. Can you keep a secret, Max?”

His heart clenched now for a different reason – he was the best at keeping secrets. He’d been in love with you for over a year and the only living souls who knew were his cats. And probably Danny, though he'd had the sense to never bring it up.

“For you, I would do anything,” Max declared. In your drunken state, you failed to recognize the full extent of the meaning behind his words.

“Perfect!” You hiccupped, stumbling slightly before your friend caught your arm.

It was silent for a moment – Max waited for you to say something else but only heard your breathing through the speaker. “Is everything ok? Why did you call?”

“Well, no. Wanna go home but everyone else wants to stay out. Can you come get me, Maxie? It’s cold outside.”

“Are you alone?” He asked frantically, jumping out of bed and throwing a sweatshirt on in record time. He shoved his feet into his shoes so quickly that his ankle rolled – his trainer would be pissed when it came time for tomorrow’s workout.

“No, Nat and Peter are outside with me. They’re good friends. But not as good as you!”

Max breathed a sigh of relief – grateful that your closest friend and her boyfriend were watching over you. Unfortunately, the relief didn’t keep his stomach from twisting at “good friend”.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes, ok?”

You shouted thank you gleefully and hung up – he could picture you jumping up and down in excitement, you’d probably fall over unless Nat and Peter were close enough to catch you.

Minutes later, he pulled up alongside the club and he’d barely made it out of his car before you were jumping into his arms.

“I knew I could count on you, Maxie.”

He gently put you in the passenger seat, buckling you in and grabbing a jacket from his backseat to drape over you. Once you were comfortable, content, and ready to go, he turned to your friends to thank them for waiting with you.

“Thanks for staying with her until I could get here.”

“No problem at all,” Nat smiled. “We all thought she deserved a night out after the week she’s had, but I think she’d rather just be with you.”

Max blushed, unintentionally ignoring that your friend had just let slip you’d had a terrible week and he’d had no idea. He thanked them once again, and slipped into his car to find you half asleep and cuddling his jacket.

He thought you’d be out like a light in moments and turned the radio down, content to sit in silence until he got to his place. He’d rather die than wake you up to find your keys when you looked so peaceful.

“Can I tell you another secret, Maxie?” You murmured, startling him when you broke the still silence in his car.

“Sure, Y/N.”

“Alec dumped me. And I’m not even sad about it.”

Your latest boyfriend – you’d been dating for a couple of months. Max wondered why you had called him instead of Alec, but he didn’t want to ask since he didn’t particularly like talking about your boyfriends, even if they were nice. As far as he could tell, Alec was one of the nice ones.

“I’m sorry. Is that why your friends wanted you to go out?”

“They thought I’d be devastated,” you said bewildered. “And I haven’t even cried! You know me, Maxie, I’m a crier. I had to pretend to be upset when I told them.”

Max laughed at that, looking at you as you laughed along with him. His dimple and shining eyes caused your heart to skip a beat, and your smile slowly disappeared.

Suddenly, you had a horrified look on your face. You knew why you hadn’t cried – it was because you didn’t really care that much about Alec. Sure, he was sweet, kind, and attractive, but something was missing. When he broke up with you, he was so gracious, telling you that he thought the world of you but that it would never work because you were clearly in love with someone else. You’d protested – told him the only constant male presence in your life was Max, your best friend. He’d just smiled at you and said “I know”, leaving you perplexed when he left the coffee shop you had met up at. Until now, you had no idea what he meant.

You turned away from Max, shocked at the revelation of your feelings, staring out the window until he got to his apartment.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he explained when he saw your confused face. “Didn’t want to rifle through your bag for your keys or wake you up. The spare bedroom has fresh sheets anyway.”

You nodded, practically catapulting yourself out of the car and into his building. The speed at which you trekked up to his place was impressive, especially in the shoes you’d chosen for the evening, and Max began to sweat. Had he done something wrong? Were you pissed he didn’t take you home?

When he unlocked his door, you ran straight to the guest bathroom and shut yourself in. Max was disoriented – you didn’t seem that drunk, and truthfully you were only ever quiet when you were asleep.

While you were in the bathroom, Max put a change of clothes and spare toiletries on your bed, slipping out when he heard the sink stop running.

You smiled when you saw the pile Max had left on your bed, suddenly feeling very ashamed for abruptly ignoring him. The TV was on in the living room and after changing, taking off your makeup, and brushing your teeth, you felt slightly more sober and a lot more guilty.

“Max?” you whispered, slinking into the living room to sit beside him on the couch. “Can I tell you one more secret?”

“Of course, you can always tell me anything.”

“Alec broke up with me because he thinks I’m in love with someone else.”

“Well, that’s crazy,” Max scoffs. “He must not want to tell you the real reason or didn’t have one so he made that up. I mean, what guys do you know that he’s even met? Peter? Another one of your friends’  boyfriends? You don’t even have that many close guy friends except me and - ”

Max cuts himself off, slowly turning to face you. He doesn’t think he’s breathing, blood rushing in his ears and a tightness starts to spread throughout his chest.

You have a sad smile on your face and your eyes are downcast, playing with the sleeves of the hoodie Max had given you.

“I don’t think I even realized until tonight,” you whispered. “Looking at you in the car, watching you laugh, how you were the only person I wanted to call and you dropped everything to come get me. It just kind of hit me – who Alec meant, why none of my relationships have ever worked out.”

Max scoots away from you, and suddenly it’s painful to breathe. There’s an ache in your chest that almost burns –  like someone’s waving a lighter back and forth over your heart, each time leaving the flame against you a little longer.

“You’re drunk, Y/N, you don’t know what you’re saying. Please, please don’t do this.”

When you look at his face, see the panic that’s masking heartache, you realize that he’s not moving away from you because he doesn’t feel the same.

He’s moving away because he does, and for how long, you don’t know – but the flame licks higher and higher until the burning reaches your throat when you understand that he thinks you’re too far gone to understand your own feelings.

“Max, I’m not – ”

He cuts you off, reaching out to cup your face with his hand. “In the morning. If you wake up, and you still want to have this conversation, I will listen.”

You nod and stand up from the couch, leaving him sitting under the glow of the television. The apartment feels colder as you walk towards the guest room, and when you stop to look back at him, his head is in his hands and it terrifies you. Max was the one person in this world that you could never lose – it would shatter you.

Sleep never came to you – tossing and turning in the plush pillows that you picked out because Max wanted you as comfortable as possible in his space. When the sun came up, you crept out of bed and didn’t stop until you were in front of Max’s door. You knocked twice, rocking back on forth on the balls of your feet.

The door opened within seconds – Max’s tired eyes showed that he got about as much sleep as you did.

“It’s morning,” you whispered.

“It is.”

“It’s morning and I still love you.”

He smiled at you, so big and so bright, it rivaled the Mediterranean summer sun. You wanted this moment captured forever – painted perfectly in a portrait done by the most highly esteemed artist in the world.

You threw your arms around his neck, sacrificing seeing the beauty of him to feel him in your arms. His soft breaths tickled your skin, and your giggles made him squeeze you even tighter.

“You don’t know how many mornings I’ve spent waiting to hear you say that.”

“You’ll never have to live through another one again, Max.”

[marysfics]

In Your Corner

Your girlfriend has an important match tomorrow.

Fluff

The soft hum of the city at night drifted through the open window, mingling with the distant echoes of cars and the faint rustle of leaves in the cool breeze. The moonlight streamed in, painting the room in silvery hues, casting delicate shadows on the walls.

You sat on the edge of your shared bed, leaning against the headboard, your gaze fixed on her. Alexia stood by the window, the oversized shirt she always wore the night before an important match draped over her frame. It fell loosely over her shoulders, the familiar sight tugging at your heart. Her long hair cascaded down her back, catching the light, and her hands rested gently on the windowsill as she gazed out at the world, lost in thought.

You couldn't help but smile, watching her. There was something about this ritual, this quiet moment of reflection before the chaos of the next day. She had always been like this, calm before the storm, but tonight, something felt different. There was an energy in the air, a quiet intensity radiating from her, and you could feel it in your bones.

You knew how much tomorrow meant to her. It wasn’t just another game—it was the game. The culmination of weeks, months, years of hard work, sacrifice, and dedication. But right now, in this moment, she was just Alexia—your Alexia.

She sighed softly, and the sound pulled you from your thoughts. You watched as her shoulders rose and fell, her chest expanding with a deep breath. Her eyes were far away, somewhere beyond the city skyline, lost in the world of her own dreams, fears, and hopes.

"You're quiet tonight," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the peace of the room.

Alexia turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at you over her shoulder. A small, soft smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and for a moment, you swore the room grew warmer.

"I’m just thinking," she replied, her voice low, tinged with a hint of nervousness. It was rare for her to be this vulnerable, to let her guard down, but you knew her too well. She was always strong, always poised, but right now, you could see the weight of tomorrow in her eyes.

You slid off the bed, your feet padding softly against the cool floor as you walked over to her. Gently, you wrapped your arms around her from behind, resting your chin on her shoulder. She leaned back into you, exhaling a shaky breath as your warmth enveloped her.

"It’s going to be perfect," you whispered against her skin, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck. "You’re going to be perfect."

She didn’t respond right away, but you felt the way her body relaxed into yours, the way the tension seemed to melt from her muscles. Her hand reached up to rest on your arm, her thumb brushing gently over your skin. The silence between you was comforting, filled with unspoken words, with love and understanding.

"I just—" she started, her voice catching in her throat. She paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "I don’t want to let anyone down. My team, my family, you…"

You tightened your hold on her, pressing your cheek against hers. "You could never let anyone down, Alexia. Least of all me. I believe in you, more than you’ll ever know."

She turned in your arms, facing you now, her eyes searching yours. There was a flicker of vulnerability there, a softness that was reserved only for you. The world saw the strong, fearless leader, but you saw the woman behind it all. The woman who gave everything she had, who loved fiercely, and who sometimes needed a reminder that she was enough.

You reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, your fingers lingering on her cheek. "You’ve worked so hard for this moment. Tomorrow, you’ll step onto that pitch and show the world who you are. But tonight… tonight, you’re here with me. And that’s all that matters."

Her eyes softened, filling with something deeper, something you couldn’t quite put into words but felt in every fiber of your being. She leaned in, her forehead resting against yours as she closed her eyes.

"How did I get so lucky?" she whispered, her breath ghosting over your lips.

You smiled, your heart swelling in your chest. "I think I’m the lucky one."

For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, the quiet hum of the night surrounding you like a blanket. You kissed her softly, slow and tender, a promise that no matter what tomorrow held, this—you—was forever.

When you pulled back, Alexia’s eyes were shining, filled with a renewed sense of calm. "Stay with me tonight?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with something raw and real.

"Always," you replied, taking her hand and leading her back to the bed.

As you settled in together, her head resting on your chest, your fingers absentmindedly playing with her hair, you felt her body relax completely, the last remnants of her tension fading away. She was ready for tomorrow, ready for whatever the world had to throw at her, because she wasn’t facing it alone.

And as you lay there, holding her close, you knew that no matter what happened, you’d always be by her side.

-

Note: found this in my drafts. Wanted to give you all a little something. My mental health has been low lately, which makes it hard to write. I can be so self critical. I can't promise if there comes another piece before November. I'll try my best.

[kaiser1ns]

gamer bf!nagi seishiro who gave you his minecraft server data so you can play together when he is too lazy to play tactical gunplay games

gamer bf!nagi seishiro lets you be the housewife, decorating and building the house however you like, while he is away mining or fighting with mobs, but he always brings you more flowers when he comes back

gamer bf!nagi seishiro who laughs at you being scared by the mobs when nighttime comes as both of you are not in the base but he will always protect you from danger (he will teleport, too lazy to fight)

gamer bf!nagi seishiro who suggests you to try games like valorant, league of legends or overwatch, and you, of course, pick the most difficult characters to play with because they were just so fine, sigh now he sends you tutorials and guides for the rotations and team comps

gamer bf!nagi seishiro who buys you the pretty battlepass (with the money reo gave him) with the cherry blossom theme so you can be "a baddie with a pink gun", your words not his

gamer bf!nagi seishiro just loves watching you struggle in games like genshin impact or honkai star rail for losing another 50/50 and having to grind for gems when everything is on 100% exploration and there are no available questa to do

do not be sad gamer bf!nagi seishiro has it under control and the next morning when you log into your account you will be greeted with maxed constellation and weapon refinement of the character you wanted, so what better way to thank him if not with endless kisses and cuddles?

gamer bf!nagi seishiro sometimes streams on his twitch account and let's say his fans went crazy in the chat section when you showed up to give him food, as the interest was no longer focused on the game, but on you

gamer bf!nagi seishiro who gets slightly jealous and annoyed when reading the comments "is your gf single?", "can i be her wife pls", "i though i was in heaven when this angel appeared" , they aren't going to be in heaven when nagi finds the ip address

gamer bf!nagi seishiro who just watches you laugh at the comments, nothing new at all, your relationship is no secret to the public, "i am sorry guys, but i am planning to become mrs. nagi" and the way he just freezes upon hearing this as you kiss him on the cheek and leave the room, he won't be surprised if tomorrow this part of the stream is on tiktok or any other social media

cuddling in bed before going to sleep with gamer bf!nagi seishiro as he plays geometry dash on his phone and if he dies it's your turn to try to pass the level and you do succeed, handing the phone to him for the next challenge

gamer bf!nagi seishiro didn't notice you had fallen asleep on his chest while he got to the next level, as he hums before turning off his phone he took a picture of the two of you, of course, it wouldn't be a good night without a good night kiss, as he softly kisses your temple, cheek and finally leaving a quick peck on your lips, murmuring something among the lines i love you; thank you; sleep well, princess

gamer bf!nagi seishiro who loves you so much that he will make sure you are going to be mrs. nagi soon enough

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

[joequiinn]

The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 12

[chap eleven] | [all chapters here] | [chap thirteen]

Story Summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, slooow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, dysfunctional family dynamics, idiots-to-lovers

a/n: We're back people!!! This chapter has some big ol' drama that I wasn't expecting to write, but boy do I love every moment of it. This is also a little heavy on the ~*~ice princess family lore~*~, so... sorrynotsorry, I guess? This stemmed from my friend and I bemoaning people being mad at ice princess, and then the idea spiralled from there. Can't wait to see what y'all think!

wc: 8.0k

Chapter Twelve

Waking up to the sunlight streaming in through a window, you grunted in annoyance at its offending rays - you always loathed waking up with the sun, preferring all curtains to be drawn while you slept. Your ears began to instantly ring with a headache, and you burrowed deeper into the blankets, curling into a tight ball and twisting your face into a childish furrow.

God, you felt awful. Not even conscious for a full minute, and you already felt like complete shit; this hangover was instantly relentless, drumming in your skull and causing intense pressure behind your eyes. You were so not looking forward to the rest of the day - just your luck, you’d be battling this hangover well into the evening, hell, maybe even into tomorrow.

You realized amidst your suffering that you weren’t lying in your comfortable bed, the surface beneath you too rigid and bumpy, the blankets too scratchy, the pillow too flat. Considering that you were out at a party all night, you weren’t at all surprised that you ended up asleep elsewhere, so you didn’t bother opening your eyes to gauge your surroundings. No, your only concern right now was getting at least a few more hours of shut eye, but the aching of your body and the pressure in your skull was sure to deprive you of that small joy.

With incoherent grumbles and sighs, you tried to get comfortable again, but everything was working against you - the material of your clothes was suddenly unbearable, the makeshift bed you were in was rock hard, the sunlight was too bright despite the blankets pulled over your head. This was going to be absolutely unbearable. You knew better than to drink that much, and yet you did it anyway, like you always seemed to.

Hell, you couldn’t even remember anything past your impromptu walk with Eddie. You vaguely recalled dragging him to his feet and insisting that you needed to work off some of your energy and clear your head, and apparently drunk-you decided a hike around the lake was the best way to manage that. You could remember snippets of the walk - you were sure you spoke about your parents, that at some point you two sat alone by the bonfire. But everything from that point on was completely lost to you - you’d have to ask Eddie to fill in the blanks, unless he was also so drunk that he forgot what happened.

As you thought about your partner-in-crime, your expression furrowed thoughtfully, so with an exhausted sigh, you stuck your head out of the blankets just enough to open your eyes and peer around. For a few long moments, your vision was just a blur, the glare of the sunlight proving to be anything but helpful; once your eyes had finally adjusted, you were staring at a wall - more specifically, the interior of Eddie’s van.

You two slept in the van? Shit, that explained why your body was so achy, you had barely any cushion between you and the rough metal floor. With another histrionic sigh, you attempted to roll onto your back, but your shoulder almost immediately met Eddie’s solid body, preventing you from moving. So, instead, you turned your head to look at him, the two of you practically nose-to-nose. Despite yourself, your cheeks grew a touch warm; you weren’t quite spooning, but you may as well have been considering how close you were, how Eddie’s legs curled up a little behind yours.

Given your proximity, it was challenging to even get a good look at Eddie’s face, but you nonetheless studied him for a brief couple of moments - his curls were in his face again, tempting you to push them back, but his expression seemed restful. As you stared at him, the assault of your hangover faded away for a split second, but it just as quickly came back, the drumming in your skull growing more aggressive. Your face twisted again as you turned forward, trying to settle back down under the blankets as your brain rattled. As you curled the sheets around you, you accidentally bumped Eddie with both your shoulder and your rear, your heel booting him in the shin, but he didn’t stir even slightly at any of the disturbances. So, you relaxed with a deep sigh, allowing yourself to rest back against him.

Eddie’s steady breathing against your ear was surprisingly perfect white noise, your eyes fluttering shut as your body slowly relaxed. Despite the headache and the ringing ears, you managed to fall asleep again in a huddle of blankets and limbs beside him.

The rest felt short-lived, however, with Eddie eventually jolting awake, as if he’d been falling in a dream. The sudden motion, of course, awoke you instantly, and with a startled look you turned towards Eddie, your head spinning wildly from the quick motion; you squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your hands to your head as you waited for your brain to settle back down. Once you opened your eyes again, you met Eddie’s confused gaze; your close proximity caused his eyes to cross briefly as he focused on you, and you watched as the cogs slowly turned in his head. Despite how deeply he’d been sleeping, he still looked exhausted.

“You okay?” You asked hoarsely, cringing at the sound of your own quiet voice. Eddie still seemed confused for a moment, but he nodded slowly, looking around the van with a furrow that suggested his ears were ringing just as badly as yours.

Eddie slumped back onto his makeshift pillow with a moan, closing his eyes as his breathing mellowed out. You lazily leaned your head against his shoulder, your slow inhales and exhales beginning to synchronize with his as you stared up at the ceiling. You could feel his body tense a little, so you shuffled away a few inches - you were never a touchy person to begin with, so that small act of leaning against him was strange even to you.

For a few long minutes, you both lied there in silence, neither of you quite ready to act human considering your hangovers. You eventually looked at Eddie again, watching his expression - he’d go from calm to afflicted, from disoriented to content. He most definitely wasn’t doing good right now, and he was probably trying to recall the missing parts of the evening as well.

You inhaled deeply as Eddie finally turned his head to look at you again, his expression contemplative as he studied you. The corner of your mouth pulled up in a lazy smirk, causing Eddie to stare thoughtfully at your lips long enough that it made you squirm. You bit the inside of your cheek, growing edgy under the acuteness of Eddie’s eyes; there was something about his stare that was a little too intense for your liking, so you looked away again to calm yourself.

“Hungover?” Your voice croaked again, but you felt the need to say something - Eddie being quiet was uncommon, and in this moment it made you a little anxious. Eddie simply hummed in confirmation, the sound gravelly much like his morning voice. You took a breath, feeling mild annoyance although you knew it was unwarranted, “Me too.”

Eddie’s gaze still burnt into you, and it was beginning to grow irritating - again, you shouldn’t have let his silence bother you, but there was something about it that you didn’t like. Or maybe you were just feeling bitchy because you were hungover. So, with a tired frown, you looked back at Eddie, giving him something of an irked look. He seemed to realize it was in reaction to his silence, so his expression softened as he took a moment to collect himself.

“Sorry…” He grumbled in a small tone.

You offered a grin, unable to stay annoyed with Eddie considering that you both felt like total crap right now. But nonetheless there was a tension between you two that you couldn’t quite place, so you attempted to tease, “You get grouchy after a night of drinking?”

Eddie smiled back, although the look didn’t quite reach his eyes, which flicked back down to your lips, “I think I drank my weight in booze.”

Your smile grew a little wider. You pressed the palms of your hands onto your forehead as if that would alleviate some of the hangover pains you were feeling, closing your eyes again, “Then I must’ve had double mine.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh, and you two lied there in silence for a few long beats.

“Why are we in the van?” You asked while opening your eyes, though you kept your hands hovering over them as if to block out the sun. A surprised confusion crossed Eddie’s face, a reaction that felt a little bigger than necessary considering your seemingly harmless question.

He licked his chapped lips, blinking rapidly as he tried to mask his befuddlement, “You don’t… remember last night?”

There was hesitation in the way he asked the question, and your brow knotted as you studied his face for a few moments. You didn’t always drink so much that it led to memory loss, but when it did, you were generally left in utter confusion, especially once you were told all the ridiculous things you may or may not have done while intoxicated.

“Last thing I remember was… walking? We went on a walk or something, right?” Eddie nodded, the despondent look in his eyes nearly distracting. As you considered it, worry washed over you, and you felt embarrassed without knowing the reason why, “Oh god, don’t tell me I did something stupid. Your face is saying I did something stupid.”

At that comment, Eddie’s cheeks grew pink, and the quick shake of his head wasn’t particularly convincing even as he answered, “Nothing stupid.” You narrowed your eyes a little, so he nervously elaborated, “We talked a lot. Probably about stuff you wouldn’t have said sober.”

You hissed under your breath, knowing that you could be a handful when you drank. You looked up at Eddie through your lashes, tempted to ask for him to explain what exactly you talked about, but at the same time you weren’t sure if you actually wanted to hear. At least not yet. The knowing look in Eddie’s eyes suggested that he remembered nearly everything about last night, but wasn’t about to share unless asked. So, of course, you assumed the worst of yourself, trying to go down the list of all the wild things you’ve done in the past during a night of drinking - did you repeat any of those habits, or did you do something worse?

With a sigh, you tugged the blanket back up over your head, as if hiding would relieve you of the shame you may have caused yourself last night. You heard Eddie laugh to himself at the action, and although he couldn’t see your face you glared in his general direction.

“You really don’t remember anything?” Eddie asked as if he were seeking a specific response, clearly aware of something you weren’t; hell, there was almost something downcast about the question. You slowly pulled the blanket down far enough to expose your eyes, looking at Eddie in question.

“Why’d you ask it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re not telling me something important.” You narrowed your eyes in scrutiny, trying to gauge Eddie’s reaction to your words. He was doing his best to play it cool, something that could’ve fooled you only a couple of weeks ago. But you’d learned enough about Eddie at this point, and when he scratched the back of his neck it confirmed that he was feeling a little edgy right now - so, that definitely was a nervous habit of his.

With a set jaw, Eddie gave you a convincing look, “Nothing to do with you.”

Your brows went up as if to ask “really” and Eddie matched the expression, an insistence in his gaze, evidently wanting you to drop the subject. As if to put you at ease, he smirked a little, and although you may not have entirely believed him, you also didn’t want to think that Eddie would lie to you about it. So, you accepted his answer, sighing tiredly as you disappeared under the blankets again; your body felt so damn heavy, and your head was spinning again.

“God, I wish I could lie here all fucking day.” You grumbled, your voice muffled slightly by the layers on top of you. You just knew that the moment you tried to sit up or move, you’d feel queasy and the drums in your head would become unbearably aggressive. Maybe you could convince Eddie to just stay here in the damn van, maybe you two could just sleep off your hangovers; you’d both probably be better for it.

Eddie shuffled around next to you; it seemed like he was also getting comfortable again, but you couldn’t be quite sure. He pulled at the blankets until he was under them with you, lying on his side and tenting the sheets with his hand so that he could continue looking at you. The lazy, tired smile on his face made you feel warm, and you nearly laughed at how silly and intimate this felt - the two of you hiding out under the sheets as if that would keep the world from ever disturbing you again. You rolled onto your side to face him, studying him as he studied you, his dark eyes continuing to linger on your lips.

“We can lie here all fucking day.” Eddie repeated your words reassuringly, causing you to grin back as your body relaxed.

“Then we’re going to - I feel like shit.” You answered while snuggling into your pillow, closing your eyes while attempting to get comfortable.

“You and me both, princess.” Eddie muttered back, as if he, too, was trying to mellow out enough to fall asleep again.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Considering that you had no idea when you woke up the first time, it was absolutely disorienting to wake up again around mid-afternoon. You’d managed to sleep most of the day away, something you’d almost never done before. Both you and Eddie were begrudging the fact that you had to return to reality, that you had to act human again and get yourselves home. You tried not to think about the lecture you’d get from your parents or how your head was still pounding or how you somehow had to be functional enough to go back to school tomorrow. All of these things were easy to ignore as you two lied there in the back of the van for a little while longer; it wasn’t until Eddie finally backed out of Rick’s driveway and began the trek back to your place that the dread began to set in.

Despite fearing you’d puke all over yourself now that you were in motion, you managed to keep it down, although Eddie had to pull over for you once when the nausea got particularly nasty. As you took deep breaths to compose yourself, you’d wished that the two of you had the forethought to grab some water and aspirin from Rick’s before leaving. As if reading your mind, Eddie pulled into a gas station a few minutes later and quickly ran in to grab bottled water, which you both promptly chugged down.

The drive was otherwise passed in relative silence - you were both fighting your headaches, so that was reason enough to stay quiet, but there was also something you observed in Eddie’s energy that seemed disinterested in conversation. You certainly weren’t going to push it, at least not today, but there was an uncharacteristic standoffishness about him that you couldn’t ignore, that got you wondering what was going on in his head. You kept staring at him, trying to recall anything about last night that could have put him in a mood, but your mind was drawing a complete, frustrating blank.

As Eddie drove through your neighborhood, a wave of disappointment washed over you - you really weren’t in the mood to face your parents, already knowing it would be bad. When Eddie picked you up last night, you practically sprinted out the door, avoiding the both of them out of fear that they wouldn’t let you go to this party. At the time, you didn’t care that you’d eventually be confronted with questions on your whereabouts, but now that it was nearly upon you, you were absolutely dreading it, cursing your past-self for putting you in this position.

So, when Eddie pulled in front of your driveway and you saw your uncle’s car there, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach, the ringing in your ears escalating to an unbearable tone. Tom’s car meant that whatever was about to happen was far worse than you were expecting. He never came around the house on Sundays, those were his days for golfing or fishing or some equally as dumb “man” hobby; if he was here, then it meant your mom must have called him, probably in a melodramatic panic about your running off last night.

As you stared at the vehicle, your dread mounting as you began to feel queasy again, Eddie spared you a confused look, identifying your worry almost immediately. He gave your shoulder a light nudge to draw your attention back, and head-on you looked even more trepidatious than he originally thought.

“I think I’m about to be in deep shit.” You said plainly, trying to mask your hesitation. Eddie’s face twisted with confusion, obviously not aware of what you were referring to, but being nonetheless concerned for you.

“Want me to just drive off?” Eddie joked in a measly effort to put you at ease. Unfortunately, it didn’t work in the slightest, no matter how badly you wanted it to. Your brows rose in warning.

“That’s my uncle’s car.” His face dropped into a similarly worried expression, looking quickly between you and the house.

“Shit.” He didn’t need you to explain any further - having encountered your uncle while the man was on-duty, Eddie was more than aware of the kind of imposing jackass he could be.

And that didn’t even take into account how much you personally detested Tom - you loathed him for the way he talked down to you, the way he pretended to tease you when in reality he was just being cruel. Since your fourteenth or maybe fifteenth birthday, you’d made every effort to ignore him or make excuses whenever he was around; he was absolutely unbearable. How your mother could stand growing up with him, you’d never know, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

As you watched Eddie - who continued to stare at the house in consideration - he suddenly hissed and shrank down in his seat, clearly being spotted by someone. You whipped your gaze back towards your house, spotting your uncle Tom in the front window with his arms crossed, clearly watching the two of you with a critical eye. You, too, couldn’t help but shrink in your seat a little, although you knew it wouldn’t do you any good.

“If I’m not at school tomorrow, assume I’m dead.” You cracked without even a hint of humor in your voice, sharing a fearful look with Eddie. You began to adjust your belongings in your arms, readying to open the door, but Eddie’s arm shot across your front to stop you, his hand resting gently atop your collarbone.

“Are you going to be okay?” You were nearly dumbfounded by the level of concern in his voice, as if somehow he knew all the unsaid hatred and fear you had of your uncle. For a few long moments, you and Eddie simply stared at each other, and you gave him an almost sad look.

“I have to be.” You responded simply, putting your hand on his arm and lowering it away from you, “Get going, Eddie, I don’t want him dragging you into this.”

“I’m supposed to just leave you to the vultures?” He was about to say something more, but his eyes flicked past you and out the window, his skin paling a little in alarm. Without looking back, your heart started pounding rapidly - you knew for a fact Eddie was looking at Tom right now.

Before you could turn to look, the passenger door was yanked open, taking you by surprise as a meaty hand grabbed your elbow. You let out an affronted sound as you steadied yourself so you wouldn’t fall right on your ass, Eddie practically leaping across the seat to assist you.“Get the hell outta here, kid.” Tom’s aggressive tone addressed Eddie as if he were scrum, while you were all too easily pulled from the vehicle. You let out a sound of frustration, yanking yourself from his hold and shaking your arm of the slight pain he caused you. You whipped around to glare at Tom, pressing back against the side of the passenger seat to keep as much distance between you two as possible.

“You can’t just drag me out of a fucking car!” You nearly surprised yourself with your fiery tone, though you seemed to always resort to aggression these days, not nearly as level headed as you once were. Tom, too, gave you a provoked look that made you shrink just a little.

“Do you know how worried your parents were!?” He retorted, his fists tightly clenched at his sides, “Another hour and we were gonna report you as a missing person to the police!” His eyes flicked back towards Eddie, making you wish you could stand tall between them like a human shield, “And you. The hell are you doing hanging around with my niece? What, being a little punk at the station isn’t enough for you?”

You spun around to give Eddie a warning look, hoping that maybe he’d speed out of here before things inevitably got ugly between you and your family, “Eddie, get out of here, please.”

He’d been staring boldly at your uncle, doing his best to hide his alarm and unease. At your insistent request, he met your eyes with a seriousness that took you by surprise, “Like hell I’m gonna leave.”

Your heart skipped anxiously, your gaze almost pleading with Eddie - this wasn’t his battle to fight, this wasn’t his problem to fix. You just wanted him to go, to pretend he wasn’t seeing the skeletons in your family closet; for a second, you felt shame that he was seeing this part of your life that you so carefully kept to yourself.

“Get in the house.” Tom spoke between his teeth, and you couldn’t help the scoff in your throat as you looked back up at him.

“You don’t have any say in what I do.” Beyond his shoulder, you could see your parents on the front step, your father with one foot forward as if prepared to approach you any minute now. Your mother stood back, biting her nails on one hand while looking around nervously, as if fearful that neighbors may be watching, “Look, I’m home, I’m fine, so will you get over it?”

“That attitude isn’t going to fly with me.” Tom’s voice was laced with venom as he crossed his arms as if to become even more imposing, “Do you know how many stupid girls go missing all because they don’t tell their families where they’re going?”

You rolled your eyes, your gaze darting between Tom and your father, who was finally walking towards you.

“I’m not a stupid girl, and I wasn’t gonna go missing.” You said insistently; at that same moment, you heard Eddie’s door open and slam shut, causing you to panic yet again. You shoved past your uncle as you saw Eddie rounding the van in your peripheral vision. You quickly put yourself between him and your family, your back to them as you put your hands up to Eddie’s shoulders, “Please don’t…”

You weren’t sure what you thought Eddie was going to do, but it nonetheless had you worried. Your family was too temperamental, too cruel, and you didn’t want him to bear the brunt of it. He didn’t need to do any of this, didn’t need to help you, and his insistence on staying with you was causing far too much confusion in your head right now.

The worried look in his eyes were nearly staggering as he looked down at you, “I can’t just let you take this--”

“All this fuss for him?” Your father’s accusatory voice forced you to turn around again, meeting his harsh glare. With all this chaos going on, you were getting fucking dizzy. Your father made a disappointed sound, shaking his head, “I don’t believe this… Are you just doing this to upset us? You run around without telling us where you are, you skip school, you talk back - all because of some drug dealing satanic punk?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, an exasperated, pissed off sound as you threw back your head at the ridiculous generalization of the man standing behind you, “Eddie’s the most harmless person I’ve ever met. You should be more worried about him than Eddie.”

Your eyes shot towards Tom, your brows practically pointing at him with accusation. The look on his face was condescending in response, and you crossed your arms in frustration as you glared at your father again.

“Don’t be so naive.” Your uncle said cruelly, but you didn’t dare look at him again, “You’ve already upset your parents enough, but you just keep pushing. You wouldn’t be nearly so lucky if you were my kid.”

Your father shared a glance with Tom beforing looking back at you, his eyes quickly zeroing in on Eddie instead. He took an assertive step forward while pointing his finger harshly at Eddie; you took a step back, bumping into Eddie, who put his hands on the back of your arms to steady you.

“What could you and my daughter possibly have in common? What is it about you that has her so possessed that she’s insistent on acting like this?”

“Will you just leave him alone!” You interjected before Eddie could answer, again wishing that he wasn’t involved in this. Your father’s dark eyes returned to yours, “Have any of you considered he’s not at fault? Maybe I’m tired of how boring my life is and he makes it more fun than it’s been in years?”

“‘Fun.’” Your father repeated with a mocking huff.

“You couldn’t have chosen someone ‘fun’ who isn’t a degenerate?” Tom chimed in snidefully.

“As if anyone else in this town even comes close.” You reply harshly, your eyes cruel and intense, “None of you can scare me into listening to you, you know.”

You stare smartly at your uncle, making it clear his presence wasn’t appreciated; he simply stared back challengingly, a mean smirk pulling at his lips.

He leveled Eddie with a condescending look, “Let’s hope you don’t get pulled over next time I’m on duty, Munson.”

“Don’t fucking bother him.” You whined in exasperation, your head throbbing from the migraine that had rapidly grown during the course of this fight. You clenched your eyes shut as if to block it out, but that only seemed to make you feel worse.

Your mother’s voice surprised you, having not realized that she came to join you at the end of the driveway; her skittish body had been hidden by your father and uncle, “Can we all please calm down and just talk? It doesn’t have to get ugly like this.”

Her gaze looked between you and Eddie with worry; when her gaze lingered on him, she nearly looked apologetic, as if she, too, was embarrassed by him seeing the family like this.

“There’s nothing more to talk about.” You responded, but your voice was weaker, the hangover finally catching up with you. It felt like your head was spinning as you tried to just focus on your mother, your hands grasping at air as if to center yourself. You felt Eddie’s hands tighten on your arms a little, as if he could tell how you were feeling.

“Oh, this conversation is far from over.” Your father said coldly, staring at Eddie with all the disappointment he could muster, “No daughter of mine is going to keep hanging around a kid like you, so get the hell out of here before things get worse.”

The threat caused your temper to flare, and before you could stop yourself you took a step towards your father and gave him a rough shove, “What is your problem!?”

He stumbled, but steady himself with ease, the dangerous glare in his eyes nearly frightening you. Tom put an arm out to catch your father should he need to, taking a dangerous step towards you. Again, your head spun, this time accompanied by nausea that forced you to gasp for air. You pressed a hand to your forehead as if that would somehow help, doubling over with your other hand on your knee.

“Oh, god, honey.” Your mother’s voice leapt with concern as Eddie put a hand to the small of your back while the other carefully gripped your arm. You could hear voices overlapping as you tried to breathe, but it became impossible to focus as your stomach turned on you, only about to make out Eddie’s stressed voice demanding that everyone stop.

You heaved up mostly liquid and bile, the contents of your stomach splashing onto Tom’s shoes and the pavement. You struggled to breathe as snot and tears started to stream down your face, pathetic little sounds leaving your mouth between spurts of puke as your back arched like a cat. You could feel Eddie’s hand on your arm keeping you steady, shouting something at your family that you weren’t aware enough to hear, although you thought you’d heard something along the lines of “back the fuck up.” You watched as your uncle leapt back, feet and ankles filthy, his voice also shouting something unintelligible.

When you finally had a chance to breathe, you looked around at your family from your hunched position, your gaze venomous even as saliva dribbled down your chin. The feeling of Eddie’s hands kept you secured as you slowly came back to yourself, easing back up to full height with shaking breaths.

“Get me outta here, Eddie.” Your defeated tone was in stark contrast to the dark glare you shot each member of your family. You started to look up at Eddie, but quickly turned away, feeling too disgusting right now to look him in the eye. Without hesitation, he guided you back to the passenger door, making sure he was between you and your family, who actually appeared to be giving you space for the first time in this entire argument.

Once you were back in your seat and Eddie slammed the door, you watched him round over to his side, keeping his complete attention on your angry family as if he were worried they might jump in front of the van. Just in case, you reached out and locked your door, taking in the looks on everyone’s faces through the strands of hair that had fallen in your face - your father looked stunned, your mother hurt, and your uncle angry as he tried to shake the puke from his shoes.

As Eddie sped off, you wiped your chin with the back of your hand, as revolting as it felt to do. You stared at the dashboard, becoming lost in thought as your head spun, your vision blurring as you zoned out. You ran your fingers under your eyes, trying to catch any stray tears that may still be lingering there, sniffling smally in a measly attempt to regain your composure.

From the corner of your eye, you could tell Eddie kept looking over at you every time he came to a stop sign or got caught at a red light. But you refused to meet his gaze, refused to let him see just how fucking pathetic you felt right now. No one saw the ugliness of your family - none of your old friends, none of your exes. No, you all kept it a secret, pretended to be a good little cookie-cutter family when others were around, so for Eddie to be the one to actually see through the cracks dared to make you feel sick all over again.

“I’m sorry…” You muttered quietly, eyes staring ahead of you without actually seeing. Eddie sighed deeply, but you continued to keep your gaze off of him.

“You don’t have to apologize for a damn thing.” He answered, his voice equally as quiet, although stronger than yours. You were tempted to look at him, but you settled for just watching him from the corner of your eye, letting your hair act as a shield between you.

You pressed your lips tightly together, struggling to find your words, “That was fucking embarrassing; you didn’t need to see that.”

A long stretch of silence passed between you two, long enough that you finally dared to turn your attention to Eddie. His jaw was clenched and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his eyes looking even darker than they already were.

He couldn’t possibly be so worked up for you, could he? The thought was unfathomable, and you instantly felt undeserving of it. You never let people close enough to worry about you like this, and you loathed the idea that Eddie was pitying you, feeling sorry for you.

Just as he turned his head to look at you, you whipped your gaze forward again nervously, the back of your neck warm.

“Is that the shit you deal with?” He asked, voice both angry and sad. When you didn’t respond, he added, “There’s nothing for you to be embarrassed about.”

You could tell there was so much more that Eddie would have liked to say - the way he kept working his jaw, kept opening his mouth only to snap it shut again. His mind must have been going a thousand miles per hour, and yet he couldn’t seem to say a single thing. Much like you, although you felt more as if your brain had turned on you, as if you were so worked up and frightened of being emotional that everything within you simply turned off.

Although you hadn’t given Eddie a destination to drive to, you were nonetheless a little surprised that you ended up back at his place. You simply stared at the trailer as Eddie climbed out of the van, coming back around to your side and opening the door for you; it took you another few moments before you slid out of the seat, fussing to keep your skirt in place. God, you couldn’t wait to take off this damn outfit; it was cute yesterday, when you were excited to go to a party, but today it was simply annoying and burdensome.

Eddie led you inside, his hands hovering just a couple inches from you as if he were worried you were some fragile porcelain doll. A part of you hated it, but a larger part of you was still shocked at just how kind he was being towards you, even after seeing how ugly your homelife was.

There was so much you wanted to say, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, allowing Eddie to sit the pair of you down on the edge of his mattress. He was being far too patient with you, just waiting for you to lead whatever discussion may or may not happen next. Again, you refrained from meeting his eyes, your gaze darting mindlessly around his bedroom.

After a long, tense stretch, you finally asked in a small voice, “Can I use the shower?” Eddie nodded, standing quickly as if he intended to help you to the bathroom, but you held your hands up a little in a tired surrender, “I’m okay.”

Even without looking at him, you knew he was watching you with concern. But he sighed in acceptance, letting you walk past him towards the door, “I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

You couldn’t help the very slight smile that tugged at your lips; despite how awful you felt, you found it amusing to even try to picture yourself wearing whatever silly clothes Eddie brought you. As you closed yourself off in the bathroom, you wondered if he had the same thought.

You spent what was probably an ungodly amount of time in the shower, letting the steam and the heat release everything that you’ve kept pent up from the moment you left your parents in the driveway. You tried to breathe deeply, tried to keep yourself composed, but within the safe confines of the shower, all your emotions began to spill over. Biting down on your thumb to keep your sobs in, you leaned against the wall to stay upright, your body silently wracking as salty tears mixed with the hot water.

Fuck, you couldn’t believe this. How the hell were you going to look Eddie in the eye, knowing that he’d seen the way your family behaved? He probably thought you were all so damn pathetic, so damn dysfunctional. It felt like he was in on a dirty little secret, like it would be the elephant in the room that was impossible to ignore. You were so ashamed of your family as you slowly lowered yourself to the floor, letting the water beat against your back as you tried once more to breathe slowly, steadily. For a second, you thought you may puke again, but your stomach was too empty for anything to come up.

Was it always this bad? You’d be so used to the coldness and the negativity, that you weren’t sure if it had gotten worse or if you were simply becoming more aware of it. If this is how bad it got after only a month, you were nervous to see how much worse it may possibly get as your senior year continued.

Eventually, you dragged yourself out of the shower, your limbs feeling heavy as you grabbed a towel. Your brow knotted then rose in surprise when you saw a small stack of clothes sitting atop the bathroom counter - when the hell did Eddie sneak those in here, and when he did, could he hear you trying not to cry too loud? Your neck grew hot at the thought that he heard your muffled sobs.

Once you were clad in Eddie’s old sweater and pajama pants, you appreciated how comfortable they were, tugging the sleeves down over your hands as if you were a small child. You lingered in the bathroom for a long while, watching as the foggy mirror slowly became clear again, frowning at your frail-looking reflection; you felt a wash of shame, thinking about how unpresentable you must’ve looked all day.

Taking a deep breath, you straightened your shoulders and raised your chin high, trying to shake off how feeble you looked. Brushing your wet hair back from your face, you sighed with determination, finally opening the bathroom door.

You ducked into Eddie’s room without even looking in the direction of the living room - you weren’t sure whether or not Wayne was home, but you weren’t quite ready to face other people yet if he was. Eddie must’ve been out there, because his room was empty; you slumped down onto his bed, pulling your knees up under your chin as you leaned back against the wall. Your ears perked at the sound of Eddie’s footsteps approaching the room, and you sat up a little as he stepped through the door, water in hand and a more relaxed look on his face.

You gave him a weak smile, finally able to meet his eyes as he sat next to you. Wordlessly, he offered you the glass of water, opening up his other hand to reveal a couple of painkillers. You accepted them with an appreciative look, taking a long chug from the glass before setting it aside. Your fingers drummed rhythmless atop your knees as you and Eddie stared at one another.

“You okay?” He finally asked, and your face fell a little. You shrugged as if you were unbothered, almost hoping that Eddie would simply accept that response. But he narrowed his eyes at you instead, leaning forward just a little, “You don’t have to lie to me.”

You cocked your head as you studied his features, keeping a false little grin on your lips as you answered quietly, “I’ll be fine.” Eddie hummed, looking away from you for a moment as he worked his jaw, “Are you?”

He gave you a genuine smirk, rolling his eyes fondly, “Aw, you do care.”

Your gaze lit up as your grin spread a little wider, thankful for Eddie’s ability to lighten the mood, to make you smile when you needed it. His eyes twinkled a little at your reaction, although the bouncing of his knee suggested that he was still on edge.

Eddie took a deep breath, looking you up and down thoughtfully, “I know you’re not gonna bear your soul or anything, but… you can talk to me, if you need. I’m a good listener when I want to be.”

You continued to smile keenly, so damn appreciative of him right now. You rested your chin on your knees again, taking him in, “You’re the best fake boyfriend a girl could ask for.”

“Yeah?” He looked as if he were about to laugh, but also as if the statement gave him pause, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

A doubtful look crossed your face as you rolled your eyes and teased, “Liar.”

Eddie turned toward you, crossing his legs on the bed so that his knees rested against your ankles; you glanced down at them for a moment before meeting his gaze again. His expression was furrowed with seriousness, “You know, no one’s come to my defense the way you did back there; you’re pretty ballsy, getting between me and a cop, even if he is your uncle.”

He smiled again in that easy way of his, which effectively kept you at ease. You nudged him lightly with the tip of your toes, eying him through your lashes, “Don’t make it sound so heroic…”

Eddie stared at you long enough that you began to nibble on the inside of your lips, his eyes making you timid. You weren’t sure if he was simply studying you, if he was considering something to say, or if he was waiting for you to speak again. You tried to look unaffected, tried to look as if you’d already moved on from the fight with your family, but you knew that Eddie could see right through all that falseness. These days, he knew you a little too well, but in a way you were grateful for (most of the time) - no one else could see through you quite the way he did.

With a slouch of his shoulders, Eddie caved, shaking his head at you, “Alright, princess, you’re no hero.”

His tone was intentionally unconvincing, daring you to respond. Now, you watched him fidget under your gaze, just as he’d done to you. Sincerity didn’t come easy to you, and you certainly weren’t going to pour your heart out, but you needed to make some effort. For your own sake, you needed Eddie to know that he was appreciated today - you told him to go, but instead he stayed, and that said a lot about his character. The thought of even trying to speak with total honesty made your heart drum nervously.

You opened your mouth, but hesitated for a moment, causing him to raise a curious brow. So, you licked your lips and looked down briefly, saying simply, “Thank you, Eddie.”

He didn’t need you to elaborate, didn’t need you to go down the laundry list of things that you were referring to - the way he held your gaze and nodded back spoke volumes. The weighty look on his face made it clear that he knew you were thanking him for more things than you knew how to list.

Eddie gave an untroubled shrug before relaxing his shoulders, again knowing just the right balance of easiness and seriousness to keep you comfortable, his eyes shining playfully, “Ah, don’t make me sound like a hero, either.”

He reached out and set his hand on one of your knees. his fingers applying slight pressure, although the look on his face suggested it was an impulsive move, something he didn’t intend to do. You both looked between his hand and one another’s faces before he pulled back and stood, turning his back to you for a moment as he looked around his room while rubbing the back of his neck. When he met your eyes again, he grinned easily, nodding his head towards the bedroom door.

“You need anything? We haven’t eaten all day.” You smiled tranquilly, although the nervous energy surrounding Eddie is what really had your attention. To appease him, you gave a small nod, tugging at the sleeves of your sweater while relaxing back against the wall, looking him up and down slowly as if worried you would forget him once he left the room.

“Yeah, let’s eat.” Food was the last thing on your mind right now, but Eddie seemed nearly desperate to make sure you were alright, so you could appease him in this. He gave you one more charming smile as he was about to leave the room, but he came to a pause in the doorway. You watched him expectantly, assuming he had something else to say, but just as quickly as he had stopped he disappeared.

Your stare lingered on the spot he was just in, your face relaxing into a content look. You absentmindedly began to fiddle with your sleeves, your eyes lazily traveling around Eddie’s room, stopping to study band posters or clutter lying around.

You couldn’t help but feel at ease, even as your mind continued reeling over the confrontation with your parents. The whole fiasco was an easier pill to swallow thanks to Eddie and his ability to make you smile or laugh at even the most inopportune moments. And you did just that, grinning affectionately to yourself as your cheeks flushed; a warmth washed over you as you oh-so easily pictured Eddie in your head.

But suddenly that gave you pause, your expression faltering in realization that you were acting giddy over Eddie. You stared blankly at the wall across from you as your heart skipped and your chest felt heavy, exhaling slowly as you grasped what exactly was going through your head at that moment.

You felt foolish and panicked, although that seemed like a completely stupid reaction; you tried to shake yourself of the ridiculous sensation, but your heart just kept drumming rapidly. With a knotted brow, you had to wonder if this had been slowly building and if you’d just been ignoring it. Or were you too dumb to have noticed it before - the easy way you and Eddie could coexist, the shared smiles and glances and laughter, the occasional jolt when you’d bump shoulders or hold hands.

When did all of those little things start to stir something in you? Why did you suddenly have goosebumps breaking out across your arms and legs? You realized your jaw was slack, so you tightly pressed your lips together and shook your head; you ran your hands up and down your legs then along your arms, as if the goosebumps were from being cold and not from the damn epiphany you just had.

You were being ridiculous getting yourself all worked up unnecessarily. But there was no shaking your realization, no ignoring the thought now bombarding your brain. You swallowed your nerves to the best of your ability, shooting a glance towards the door as if fearful you’d be caught doing something wrong. Your foot began to bounce, in need of some way to release this stupid anxiety you were feeling.

But there was no shaking it, no ignoring it, no releasing it. And for whatever reason, that filled you with complete and utter apprehension.

Fuck… You liked Eddie.

.

.

additional a/n: Let the idiots-to-lovers shenanigans commence :)))

@3rd-conchord @a-queen-blr @adelalaaa @adversary713 @avalon-wolf

@cosmicdanielle @costellation-hunter @daisy-munson @daisyridleyss @damon-loves-pie

@damp4eddie @delilaaahhh @eddiernunson @em0220 @frogtape

@fromasgardandback @fckyeahlames @graciehams @kellsck @kthomps914

@littlexdeaths @lotrefcp @love-anonymous-writer @marrowfrog00 @maskofmirrors

@mewchiili @miaajaade @miss-celestial-being @mmmunson @moonisu

@munsonssweets @no-bueno-writer @nxrdamp @rach5ive @rcailleachcola

@sav12321 @seatbacksandtraytables @sheneedsrocknroll92 @sokkasimp101 @steeldaisies

@stormgrl19 @welcometohellsock

[deadsetobsessions]

Pt. 3

Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.

——

Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.

He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming they’d had to do.

A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.

At least this time, the conception was consensual.

Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruce’s sanity.

How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?

It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Ra’s al Ghul tortured his… Bruce’s… daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruce’s denial of being his heir.

His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.

He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this… his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painful…

How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.

The screens turned black, and Oracle’s call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.

“Oracle. I hadn’t finished looking at the cases.”

“Go to sleep, Bruce.”

“No, there is still work to be-” his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.

“Your daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.”

Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags weren’t that bad.

Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.

…Nevermind.

He sighed. “…Thank you, Barbara.”

“Anytime, Bruce. I’m always here to kick your ass into gear.”

Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.

“I see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.”

“Ah, yes, she… did.” Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfred’s up because of him, it’ll wear down harsher on the older man’s health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. “Sorry, Alfred. I’ll head up to bed soon.”

“See to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.”

Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.

Alfred paused and turned around once more. “If I may offer you some advice?”

“Please. Always.”

Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. “You have done well with Young Master Damian.”

“Most of that was Dick,” Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasn’t a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Perhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had… gone.”

“I’ll never make that period of time up to Tim.” Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-

“That is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,” Alfred returned. He added a belated “Master Bruce,” and it sounded like ‘you utter buffoon.’

“But…”

“You must take the first step, Master Bruce.”

“What if she hates me? What if I’m not ready- what if I can’t help her?”

“You will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.”

“… You’re right.” Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesn’t wait. He, of all people, knew that.

“You will find that I am hardly ever wrong.” Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gotham’s smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Bruce grouched.

——

Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.

She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her mother’s shirt. Another tendency that Ra’s had thought he’d beaten out of her.

“Be careful,” the reincarnation whispered.

“You as well, my beloved daughter.”

‘You do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.’

Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnation’s curled hair behind her ear. “No, I do not believe that you do. But that is… my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.”

The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.

——

A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. She’d declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.

She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And… Bruce Wayne. On one hand, she’s kept them safe. On the other, she’d sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.

“Hmmm.” She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.

The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. It’s a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.

She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. They’re anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t the heat of rage.

She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.

“Damian,” she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.” He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.

(yā waṭawāṭī alṣṣḡīr is the phonetic spelling.) ("وطواطي الصغير" is the actual spelling. I think.)

“I have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,” she whispered. The familiar endearment, “my little bat,” rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug… like the hug she was currently giving him.

(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)

“I still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.”

She pulled back. ‘Damian, you were five.’

“I have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.” Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.

‘No, you were smarter.’

And to her, he was. It’s not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasn’t the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Ra’s wouldn’t dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Ra’s issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.

“Unlikely,” Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brother’s ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.”

Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was… mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.

On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadn’t mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brother’s face. It was rare in the league and Gotham’s gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.

“And this is… Bruce Wayne. Our father.”

She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her… father’s.

She offered him a short nod.

——

“My word,” Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his charge’s (his son’s) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.

The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.

But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spy’s attention.

No.

It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.

It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghul’s features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.

Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruce’s favorite movie.

It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.

From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.

Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.

Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-”

She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadn’t spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.

“al Ghul.” Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. “You may call her al-Ghul.”

‘Or nothing at all,’ Damian’s sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.

Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shan’t do it at the expense of his charge.

“Miss al Ghul,” he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Ra’s al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghul’s expectation that her wishes would go ignored.

Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.

“Please head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,” Alfred continued like he didn’t think of violent second deaths for Ra’s al Ghul. “Perhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.”

Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghul’s otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.

“I will bring your bags up to your room.”

She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.

‘Be careful. There are dangerous things in there.’

“I assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,” Alfred said.

“Pennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.”

Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghul’s privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damian’s implicit trust.

Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damian’s shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.

Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)

“The daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.”

Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.

Well, it’s time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.

Hm. He’ll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he won’t.

——

She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.

“This is the first parlor. It is for guests of the… regular persuasion.”

Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.

“Ah, the silverware was selected by Alfred.” Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.

She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.

(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him… and found him lacking.)

‘It is… adequate.’ She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.

“It’s fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.”

Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.

No, he couldn’t. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.

‘I like it, even if it is smaller.’

“….you do?”

‘You are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.’ She repeated.

Damian latched onto her sleeve. “I- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-”

She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damian’s words cut off.

“If… you want them as brothers. It would be… helpful, to integrate.”

She waited.

“But… I am the first. Your blood. And-”

‘I will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.’ She allowed a small smile to show. ‘But that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.’

Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.

“Well… as long as you’re aware.” He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.

——

She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.

‘I made it two weeks ago,’ he’d told her, fingers curled into her palm.

It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.

Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.

She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.

——

“Here is your room, ukhti.” Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.

‘You’ve gotten better.’ She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.

“Clearly not good enough.” Damian huffed. “But I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?”

His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.

An implicit challenge.

“No cutting your fingers off, please.” Father interceded.

“Begone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.”

Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sister’s sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.

——

Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.

Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.

Alfred made a note to study some more magic.

“Miss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.” Alfred paused. “Might I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to… take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?”

“Of course, Pennyworth. Apologies.”

“I’ll try to make sure they won’t overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.” Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.

Alfred made another note.

‘You made this for me?’ She asked, switching to standard.

Damian grumbled. “Do not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variations…”

‘I am sure it will be good.’ She took the plate from Alfred’s hand and uncovered it.

They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.

Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomas’ dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.

‘Bstilla!’ She turned to Damian. ‘My favorite! You made this?’

“I know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!”

Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.

“Ukhti! Don’t- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-”

She held up her hand. ‘It’s good. I know what it is missing.’

She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.

She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of b’stilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.

His expression lightened. “This is it. What is it? You know of the chefs’ methods?”

She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. ‘You’ve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.’

Alfred stiffened.

“It’s what?!” Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.

‘It is fine. He has been immune since he was three.’

Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned b’stilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.

“That is- you- you’re the one who made my meals?” Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. “But- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?”

She nodded.

“Why would you- why did you not tell me?”

‘You knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.’

Alfred itched for his gun.

“You are not a commodity,” Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.

‘… I am aware. But… thank you.’

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.

“I believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?”

“Yes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.”

‘I have never tried it before.’

“You will love it. Pennyworth’s cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.”

Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.

——

Y’all I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.

Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me

——

Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?

Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait… THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP

——

Also, I think B’stilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a… bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on b’stilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.

[hopefulidiocy]

Your Aemond

Prince!Aemond x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fingering, rubbing, choking, praise kink, gagging, p in v.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT‼️ 18+ ONLY‼️

Context; you’re stressed and Aemond is SOFT for you, he loves you more than anything so he helps you relax.

~

You came into your chambers, slumping down on your king sized bed, your face hiding in the silk sheets as you tried to suppress your screaming. Everything had annoyed you today from something as simple as a spelling mistake to a full blown argument with Otto Hightower. You had enough, you couldn’t handle it for any longer with boiling over and exploding. Tears streamed down your face, painting your sheets as you basically wailed into the fabric, beating the soft mattress with your small fist. A low whistle came from behind you, causing you to snap around with blurry eyes. Your betrothed, Prince Aemond stood behind you, taking off his leather gloves and throwing them on the night stand. His face a mixture of stoicism and curiosity.

“Bad day?” The comedic timing was something else and it instantly had you smiling, your tears still running but at least you had some positivity in the day. He was smirking at your smile, his reached forward, gripping your chin in between his thumb and index finger. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Otto.” You embarrassingly started crying again, his grip tightened, telling you telepathically to keep going. “He’s giving me all these jobs that I can’t handle by myself, since Dayna left, they are yet to find another maid for the children and now it’s down to me to help them. I know I’m just a mere girl and I have no authority here besides being your betrothed but it’s way too much, I don’t know what to do or say to anyone anymore.” His thumb stroked the tears away, his eye full of comfort. You sighed into his hand as he stopped wiping the tears and cupped your left cheek.

“Thank you for telling me.” He whispered, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. “I’ll talk with him tomorrow but for now, I want to help you out.” His left arm slid under your legs and his right around your middle, you were suspended in the air and you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your head on his shoulder. He settled you down between his legs on the bed, his back up against the headboard, your back resting in his chest and your head comfortable on his shoulder. “Relax for me, princess.” Slowly, he hitched your skirts around your waist, his hand roaming around your inner thighs and traced small circles on your soft skin. You sighed just from the relaxation, your eyes closed as his hard fingers slowly made their way towards your heat. Just the mere touch of your betrothed made you weak at the knees, the way his hands moved like he was playing an instrument every time he touched you; sexual or not. He treated you like a prized possession and you were the only person who could make him so soft. His hands switched out your underclothes to reveal your glistening pussy, the one that made him treat you like a toy one night and his goddess the next. His long fingers teased around your folds, his breathing deep as he pressed his lips towards your temple; he got just as much pleasure from seeing you moan and squirm under his touch than from you bobbing your head up and down between his thighs.

“Baby, relax for me.” He whispered so softly it was hardly audible. You relaxed, your shoulders softening as you melted your body into his; once you relaxed, his middle finger played with your precious clit. You let out a breathy moan, your eyes heavy as his hand perfectly treated your pussy.

“Aemond.” You whispered, breathy and a slight whine. He kissed your temple.

“You should be proud of yourself for what you’ve been doing, my love. You are so good. So precious.” His hand sped up. “Let me treat you, let me show how well you’re doing.” Your juices wet the tips of his fingers as he works you, your back arched upwards and moaned as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You contracted as he slid in two fingers, curling them and rubbing them against your g spot, your legs tensed slightly as he stroked your g spot; not letting you have a moment to breathe as his other hand came around your waist and pressed down on your abdomen making you moan loudly at the increased intense feeling.

“God, Aemond… it feels so fucking good.” You whined, turning your head and attaching your lips to his neck. Using your teeth, you managed a small hickey and he grunted with the slight pain you gave him but it definitely got him harder.

“You’re doing so well, baby.” He felt your squeeze around his fingers as your legs kicked out with quick, intense energy that rippled from your core and ignited your body with thousands of little lights. Your eyes glazed over, a small tear leaking out the side of your eye as you shake in his arms. He smiled against your head.

“Let it go baby girl. Let it go. Show me. Show me how good I can work that beautiful pussy.” He purred, pressing harder on your abdomen whilst his fingers work faster. Your entire body trembled as your orgasm washed over you, making you a dazed mess in his strong arms. He pulled his fingers from you, beckoning your mouth open as he stuck them down your throat. Your head thrown back, his eye looking rougher, as he forces his fingers to tickle your gag reflex. “You taste good, don’t you?” He asked, but your mouth was too full so you didn’t reply, just looked at him with welled up eyes. He slapped you harshly. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” You sounded muffled and a bit like you had a lost voice as his fingers were still in your throat. He pulled them out when he was satisfied. Harshly, he grabbed your throat and pushing you face down on the bed, once you had your ass in the air, he removed his breeches and smacked your ass as hard as can be, you yelled out. You heard his cock spring out of his breeches, slapping his belly button as he pulled it down and pumped it whilst looking at your perfect ass waiting for him. He loved the sight of you, trembling with your legs wide open for him. He knew you had to accommodate for his length and thickness, so he slowly stretched out your pussy with his cock. You groaned as your pussy ached, filling up with his perfect cock, the only one for you and the only one that could make you feel so lewd. He stilled, feeling your walls make room for him.

“Fuck yourself on my cock. You’ve earned it.” He said, his voice dripping with seduction. You loved it when he let you fuck yourself because you could go at any pace but usually he just grabs your hips and fucks you at an inhumane pace. Slowly, you picked up your upper body on your elbows, your hair falling over your face as you rocked back, letting his tip massage your g spot; no matter how fucked you were, you would always welcome this feeling. You rocked forward, your legs doing most of the work as you groaned out in bliss; his cock treating you so well. You started bouncing on his length harder and faster, working yourself towards your end. He watched as your tight pussy clung to his cock and the way it looked got him even harder as the noises of sex filled the room. He loved this image, the one of you fucking yourself with his hard cock. He relished in the feeling of your heat, the way you squeezed around him and suddenly he felt he couldn’t hold on any longer so he grabbed your hips; stopping you in your tracks, a little mess beneath him. You groaned from the lack of power over this as his fingers bruised your hips, you were being rocked hard against him, your ass hitting his abdomen as he fucked you with little to no mercy. He grunted each time your bodies slapped together, you whined with satisfaction as you saw stars come into your vision, your head full of nothing but sex and stars as you ready yourself for a big orgasm. You started trembling again, the biggest sign that you were going to have an overwhelming climax, and you gripped the sheets you were hitting your fist with earlier as you released your juices onto him, gushing everything as he slowed down his pace. You moaned loudly as he released himself inside of you, painting a masterpiece in his favourite place. He pulled out, you ached at the cold and the lack of his cock. He swiftly picked you up, your legs hanging over his arms and your arms wrapped around his neck as he kissed your head, taking you to the bathroom.

“Well done, baby.” He stroked your hair as he filled the tub with warm water, he caressed your cheek as he cupped the water over your bruised thighs. You sank in the heat, letting yourself relax; ignoring the aching between your legs. Grateful for the stress relief and for him. Your Aemond.

[cuubism]

part two of 'two times hob ran into dream outside their regular meetings and one time dream called on him intentionally'

WWI era, discussions of war, and past loss of children

--

Hob is in a somber mood. Funerals will do that. Hob may never be taken by death himself, but that does not mean he is not touched by it—if anything, death sometimes seems to sting harder for knowing he is fortunate enough to avoid it.

Especially the death of a young person.

He steps out of the church, steps slower and quieter than normal. The heavy church air slips off him like a cloak dropped to the floor, the scent of incense gives way to motor oil, to horses, to nearby bakeries’ yeast and flour. The father of the young man killed—a work associate of Hob’s—hurries off with his wife to a waiting car, hat held low to avoid the show of tears. Hob doesn’t follow, but he’ll drop by later or some time tomorrow, see how they’re doing. Commiserate.

There wasn’t even a body to bury, the boy blown to pieces over in France. Hob can’t imagine it.

He’s making his quiet way down the bustling London street, hands in his pockets, trying to pay attention to everything around him to avoid remembering, when a man strides briskly out of a passing doorway and nearly collides with him.

Hob catches him by the arm to steady him. “Easy there, mate.”

The man whirls to look at him, and Hob finds himself staring into the face of his stranger. He startles back, dropping his arm. 

He’s spent the last two-and-a-half decades wondering if he’d ever see the stranger again, after the way things had fallen apart at their last meeting. Hob doesn’t know if he’s still angry with him, still hurt, if he intended to show up at their next meeting or not—but Hob can’t be unhappy to see him now. He’s never unhappy to see him. And he’d gladly take another look, any look, over never seeing him again. 

“Hob Gadling,” says his stranger, seeming taken aback. But he doesn’t immediately sneer down at Hob or storm off, so Hob will take that as a win. 

“Stranger,” Hob greets. Normally, he can’t resist a smile upon seeing him, but it’s hard to muster one today. Whether because of their fight, or the somber circumstances of Hob’s presence here, is hard to say. “Fate seems to keep throwing us together.”

His stranger frowns, looking up and down at Hob’s all-black attire, his no doubt drawn expression. It is, admittedly, out of character for him—more the stranger’s style than Hob’s own. “You appear troubled.”

Hob grimaces. “Funeral,” he explains. “Young boy killed at the front.”

“Ah.” His stranger’s face tightens. “Yes, there have been many deaths of late.”

Hob finally takes note of where he’d been coming from—the entrance to a hospital. He gestures to the doorway. “You alright?”

“Merely accompanying my sister in her work,” explains his stranger. “She is skillful and resilient, but these times have been trying.”

“She a nurse?” Hob asks. It seems too mundane a profession; any sister of his stranger must share some of his supernatural powers, whatever those are. But perhaps her talents lie in healing? It would explain the hospital.

His stranger’s lips tip up in a wry smile. “Something of the sort.”

Silence stretches between them for a moment. Hob summons his courage, buoying himself on the fact that his stranger hasn’t run off. “If it’s not too presumptuous, could I ask you to join me for tea? I… think I might have some apologizing to do.”

It’s hardly the day for this, but like hell is Hob going to waste the chance.

His stranger deliberates, his light eyes catching the weak London sun as they search Hob’s for… something. 

Then he says, “Very well.

--

The café is light and airy in jarring contrast to the serious mood hanging over London these past many months. Hob has hope, he knows the wartime will pass eventually—hopefully without the utter destruction of all combatants—but sometimes it feels that each war is only worse than the last. More horrific, more vicious—and the steady stream of news in the papers, reminding them all every day, hardly helps. Hob remembers a time when any news beyond the most local of happenings was sparse. He never thought he might think that was better.

They get tea while, hundreds of miles away, countless young boys die in trenches far from home.

Hob kind of wishes he had something stronger than tea.

“You are troubled,” says his stranger, again, the tiniest line creasing his brow. Is he worried about Hob? That would be funny considering how he behaved when Hob merely tried to say they were friends. 

The thought sparks something hopeful inside him, though. Lord knows Hob spends enough time worrying about his stranger, ridiculous though it feels to do so. He worries about him being alone. He worries about him feeling the loneliness Hob himself is sometimes struck by, stuck in time as he is while others age and die. Only it must be magnified a hundredfold for his stranger—Hob, at least, is still human. His stranger is other. Who does he have to keep him company across the centuries?

It's sort of a nice thought, to get a bit of that worry in return.

Hob raises his hands in surrender. “Fear not, dear stranger. I haven’t been disabused of my love of life. It’s just a sad day, is all. We all have them. Reminds us to be grateful for the life we do have, eh?”

His stranger relaxes, slightly, into his chair. “Not all share your outlook.” 

Hob sighs. “Eh, can’t blame ‘em really. It’s not exactly been the best year. People are losing kids, lovers… and for what, more pointless squabbling? Not everyone has several centuries of life experience to put things into perspective, either.”

“I recall you saying to me that you did not think you had changed,” says his stranger, consideration in his tone, and wow, he’s really going to bring that up, huh? Even remembering what Hob had said right after? “But I do believe you’ve become quite wise.”

Hob can’t help but preen internally at the compliment, but he grimaces and says, “Yeah, about that, I’m not so sure it was wisdom on display last time we spoke. I’m sorry for, well, how I approached that.”

“But not for your words?” questions his stranger, seeming more curious than angry. 

Hob’s never been able to lie to him, nor would he want to—his stranger is the only person he knows he doesn’t have to lie to to stay safe. “I don’t believe I spoke falsely, no. But nor was it right of me to— to put you on the spot. To put words in your mouth. For that, I am sorry.”

His stranger studies him. He looks very handsome today, his suit simple and dark but perfectly cut as always, hair a bit longer than last they’d met and ruffled up by his hat. The appreciation is not quite at the forefront of Hob’s mind as it might usually be, given everything going on, but he never fails to notice. Not that noticing will lead to anything—well, not for another two thousand years, at a minimum, given how they’ve gotten along so far.

At last, his stranger says, “I forgive you.”

Hob lets out a long breath, carefully held for years. Now are you going to apologize for storming off instead of talking things out? he thinks drily, but of course he won’t. Hob has long accepted the fact that he cannot expect normal human behavior from his stranger—his friend, he will be so bold as to say in the safety of his own head—who is so very inhuman.

“This funeral,” his stranger continues, changing the topic before Hob can decide whether he wants to continue or close that conversation. His eyes narrow on Hob, considering and… sympathetic? “It has reminded you of your son.” 

Hob leans back in his chair, breath catching raggedly in his chest. He’s been trying so hard not to think it, but of course the thoughts have been there, anyway. 

“You see everything, don’t you?” he observes, and his stranger merely inclines his head. “Even if you don’t speak it. Yes. You’re right. I think of Robyn whenever I see a young man die. I think of him when I see a father standing over the casket of his son who was lost to senseless, stupid violence, yes.”

“It is not a loss… that one gets over,” says his stranger, haltingly. Hob thinks that for all his friend is oblivious about normal human life most of the time, sometimes, sometimes, he understands it better than anyone else. It’s like he draws from a deep well of feeling greater than his body.

Or.

Wait.

The weariness of his shoulders as he says that. The look in his eyes, that banked, ancient loss that ages a man fifty years in a day.

Hob recognizes that look from his own mirror.

“You—” he starts, then forcibly stops himself. Instead he tries to convey, the way his stranger does, through looks, through implication and feelings shared outside of words. Speaking from experience, my dear, sad stranger?

His subtlety is rewarded by the barest tilt of his stranger’s head, the brush of his lashes over his cheeks as he looks down. And, well.

God.

“It’s not,” Hob says. “No.”

His stranger taps the side of his teacup with a slim finger. Thinking. “You are resilient, Hob,” he says at last, “to continue on so boldly after such a thing.” 

“I was brought low by it,” Hob admits, “but loss also puts things into perspective. At one point, I had lost everything—everything, but my own life. Why would I give that last thing up? That, and the opportunity for better, which is ever present.”

“I repeat that you are uniquely resilient,” says his stranger. “I am glad of it.” 

Hob smiles, then, despite the cold loss of the day. “You always ask me if I would give up my immortality. There was only one time when I thought of it.” 

His stranger looks at him sharply, tension creeping into his shoulders, but Hob continues, in the same, soft tone—

“Not because I had grown tired of my own life. No, it was when Robyn was born. I held him and I thought that I would give it to him if I could, to spare him the touch of death, to let him see the long beauty of life that I had seen. Then, again, after he died, I thought, if I had given it to him, I would have saved him. Would that it were possible.” He still thinks it, sometimes, on certain days. “It is what fathers do for their sons, is it not?”

“Some, perhaps,” murmurs his stranger, watching him fixedly. “You did not ask, upon our meeting in 1589.”

Hob rubs at the back of his neck. “Is it a request you would have granted if I had?”

“That is not my request to grant,” says his stranger. Not quite regretfully, but not happily, either. A neutrality born of conflicting feelings rather than indifference.

Whose, then? Hob wonders. So you truly are not the devil, then? You are not Death?

“I do not know if it will help you to know,” continues his stranger, “but I will say that I do not believe it would have been granted. Not for lack of sympathy, however. Not at all.”

Hob offers him a pained smile. “Who am I to understand matters of life and death?” he says. “I wouldn’t claim to. Thank you, though. It is a kindness, I think, to know that it was not in my power to save, or to fail him in that way.”

His stranger nods. 

“I suppose when I think about it,” Hob continues, “immortality that could be so easily passed around may invite more danger than protection.” 

“Indeed. Humans do love to pursue it, for all that it is a foolhardy pursuit.” He tilts his head and looks at Hob slyly. “For most, anyway.”

“You just have to be stupid enough to do it,” Hob says, and his stranger hums with amusement. “And have a chance meeting in a tavern, hm?”

“Chance, yes,” says his stranger. “Speaking of. I’m afraid I must depart. I have elsewhere I must be today.”

“I won’t keep you,” Hob says, though with disappointment. He reminds himself that he was never meant to have this time with his stranger anyway, it’s a gift— a chance.

His stranger’s lips twist, just slightly, as if he himself is not so happy to leave either— and that itself is a gift, too.

“But I would see you in ’89, if you still meant to come,” Hob adds.

“I believe I did,” says his stranger, meeting Hob’s gaze. And what a better parting than their last. “I will meet you then.”

--

As Hob lets him go at the door to the café, his stranger hesitates on the threshold. “I am… glad that I ran into you today, Hob,” he says, the words foreign in how personable they are. The closest, perhaps, that Hob’s stranger has come to speaking to him like a friend. “It is good not to let another seven decades elapse on such terms as we last left them.”

Hob tucks his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels, the warmth he feels at such a small, but meaningful thing breaking out on his face despite his best attempts at moderation. “I feel the same, stranger.”

His stranger hesitates again, deliberating on something. Then he says, “Dream.”

Dream of… what? Hob thinks, perplexed, and his stranger keeps looking at him with that bottomless expression of his. 

Then the order of the conversation hits. “Wait— is that your name?”

His friend—Dream—nods once. “Friends should know how to call each other.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Or so I have heard.”

“Well met, then,” Hob says, holding out his hand to shake, a proper grin on his face now, no moderation about it, “Dream.”

Dream takes his hand, squeezes it with that same tiny, almost shy smile on his face; they have never properly touched before, and oh, Hob is grateful for this moment.

“Until we meet next,” Dream says. And between one blink and the next, he’s gone.

[wolfbitkki]

If you're still taking requests, may I request sub!txt any of the members because I love all of them, one member riding my strap and another on my face. ❤️

Hi anon! Thank you for the request, I’m very glad! I hope you don’t be bothered that I made the two imagines separately. I’ll post this one first, and when possible, I’ll post the other part. Hope you like it tho!

Also, English is not my first language, so I’m very sorry for any mistake.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Sub!Soobin x Afab!reader

use of strap, implied punishment, bit of noona kink

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Take it, baby”.

Some would call you cruel, but you knew that you had to do that. Soobin thought that every single misbehave could be taken aside every time he’d flutter his long lashes, his bunny like smile would make you step back with the decision of putting him back into his place. To be fair, most of the days it worked.

But not today.

He was just too ingenue to worry about later when he was focused into palming your crotch under the table at the dinner his dad invited you two; the worst is that his sister noticed that something was going on since you couldn’t stop blushing and side eyeing him.

Now in his old bedroom, after a way too long (for him) scolding, and after making him gag in your strap as silent as he could, you put him to work; he was riding your strap with no help at all, just having you holding his wrists firmly with one hand in front of his body and, with the other hand, tugging his hair with everything but gentleness, giving you free way to his neck, sucking and licking and biting, purposely marking him.

“No-noona, please! Help me cum please!” poor thing was trying to quiet down his sobbing, on verge of cumming, but it was still not enough since his legs are now trembling and giving up, making him stop to rest a bit, frustrated for interrupting his own pleasure.

“They will hear you, Soobin” you remind him “I suggest you shut up and take it like the bitch you proved to be earlier”. You squeezed his wrists more when he tried to bring it to his forgotten dripping cock.

“I’m too tired, I can-cant take it anymore, please!” as he wasn’t done with his whining, tears streamed down his pink cheeks.

“Color?” You and Soobin used the traffic lights system for each other security and wellbeing, a deal you two settled to know and recognize boundaries after a very extended talk.

After thinking for a bit, biting his lip all the time, the younger looked up at you again with glossy eyes.

“Green” he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you sure? We can stop here” only for him to respond “No! I…I want it”.

With a smirk, the hand that was in his hair is now on his sensible dick, giving a few slow strokes, and with the hand that was in his hair, you gave him two taps in his thigh “that’s the only help you’ll get from me. Now, you can continue”.

The new stimulation helped a lot, to be honest. Riding back and forth with revigorated strength, Soobin was finally able to cum hard against your belly, chest and even his own chest, covering his moans and whines in your shoulder, biting forcefully, making you sigh and your breath hitches.

You take your strap out of him, hearing his muffled whines. Still with his trembling body above you, you managed to take of your strap and throw it on the empty laundry basket in the corner of the room to be cleaned later.

Laying on the bed with him above you, you kissed him all over the face. “You did well baby, take it so well for me. Now, I need to give you a bath, don’t I?

“No. Tomorrow.”

“Soobin, you need a bath, love”

“Tomorrow”

Hearing his tired voice, you gave up eventually with a sigh.

“You won this time. Good night, love.” With a little and exhausted smile, Soobin was already fast asleep just as you.

[riizegasm]

We Love, We Lose || H.SH and P.WB

❀ pairing: Park Wonbin x fem!oc x Hong Seunghan

❀ genre: apocalypse!au, angst, slice of life, minor fluff

❀ word count: ~7.9k

❀ warnings: explicit language, suggestive scenes, minor character death, difficult conversations around grief, mild gore (description of major injury), poly!hanibani

❀ summary: In the new world, the group dwindles bit by bit. However, in the midst of chaos, loss, and grief, it's hard not to be selfish. Desire always seems selfish when death lurks around every corner.

❀ A/N: Although this is far from my first work on tumblr (find my old works @golchaworld), welcome to the first work on my new blog! I've been sitting on this piece since about December, so it is truly my baby. As always, likes, reblogs, and replies are always welcome. I hope you enjoy!

Part 2 || masterlist

Jaeri didn’t get the funeral she deserved. She didn’t die the death she deserved. She didn’t live the life she deserved. All eight of them were very aware of the fact that they would meet the same fate. None of them would get to live the lives they deserved to live, and all of them would die deaths that didn’t matter. It was a simple fact of their circumstance. 

Joohyun watches as Sungchan falls to his knees next to the raised mound of dirt. Eunseok had been kind enough to find a few white flowers to rest on top of it until the grass grew back. Joohyun wonders if the water from Sungchan’s tears and the decomposition of Jaeri’s body would be enough to nourish the soil, or if the patch will forever be barren.

Shotaro has his hand on Sungchan’s shoulder, holding him steady as his body shakes with sobs. Joohyun can hear Anton’s soft sniffles from somewhere behind her, always easily upset. She imagines that all of them should be crying the way he is. There should be streams of tears and strangled sobs and harsh sniffles, but Joohyun just can’t find it in her to shed another tear.

Eunseok is the first to walk away, stoic as always. The group slowly scatters after that, until only Sungchan and Shotaro are left behind. Sungchan because he loves Jaeri; Shotaro because he loves Sungchan.

Joohyun finds herself following a familiar path out into the orchard, surrounded by trees and low-hanging fruit. She already knows that Seunghan will want to come by tomorrow to pick the apples. He had always described it as the perfect date. Joohyun would have agreed three years ago, before everything happened. Now, though, she thinks that any date is pointless.

They were here to survive, and that’s it.

She finds a familiar figure seated atop one of the tree stumps that they had cut during the summer. Wonbin’s broad shoulders have shrunk, sitting crouched over himself. A crisp breeze ruffles his inky black locks, leaving his hair akin to a bird's nest. He looks up when leaves crunch particularly loudly under the weight of Joohyun’s steps. His eyes are red-rimmed and glossy, seemingly holding onto tears that well up but never fall down the man’s face. Joohyun knows the feeling.

“I’m not sure Sungchan will ever get over this,” Joohyun says softly, joining the boy on the log.

The stump is barely big enough for the both of them, and Joohyun finds herself pressing into Wonbin’s side. The boy slings an arm around her waist, a familiar weight against her light flannel. When he breathes, Joohyun can feel the expansion and collapse of his chest. She finds it all too easy to join his rhythm.

“He will,” Wonbin sighs out. “We all will. It’s just going to take some time.”

Joohyun feels wetness in the gentle kiss that Wonbin plants on her forehead. The action releases a knot in her stomach, and suddenly, the woman is tearing up again. She remembers when Wonbin placed his lips in the exact same spot as they stood over their first body, blood pouring out from the bullet hole that Joohyun had placed in its forehead. 

“He just loved her so much. Is that what happens to those we love?” Her voice cracks.

Wonbin shushes her, tucking her smaller frame into his chest. “We can’t help who we love. That may be all we have left in this world.”

“Even if it just dies like everything else?”

The chest beneath her head expands, then deflates in a shaky exhale. Joohyun looks up, fully expecting the tear tracks that have started to stain Wonbin’s face. His wide eyes reflect the light sunlight around them, holding the tiniest bit of warmth.

“Yes, baby. Even if it dies.”

.           .          .

Shotaro is the one who wakes Joohyun up, gently shaking her shoulder as he whispers her name. It’s more than enough to rouse the girl, who has become quite the light sleeper. She sits up in a panic, breathing deeply and scanning the room. When her eyes focus on Shotaro, she exhales. The man has a sad smile on his face, smoothing his hand down the expanse of her arm.

“You’re okay, Joo,” He soothes. “Seunghan just asked me to wake you up. I think he wants your help picking the apples.”

Joohyun nods, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, of course. Let him know I’m coming.”

The woman stays put well after Shotaro leaves the room, attempting to regulate her breathing. Her eyes flick over to the empty bed on the opposite side of the room, perfectly made up and smeared with a bit of residual blood. Joohyun sighs, finally pulling herself from her own bed and crossing the room. She lightly thumbs against the most visible bloodstain at the head of the bed. When she feels her stomach lurch, the remnants of last night’s dinner threatening to make an appearance, she quickly turns away to start getting ready.

It’s minutes later that she meets Seunghan in the kitchen, who is chatting away with Anton. Their youngest is puffy and red, the remnants of his tears still drying on his face. Seunghan, contrastingly, looks well rested, the only signs of distress being the wrinkle that has formed around his mouth and his chapped lower lip, bitten raw.

“Good morning, princess,” Seunghan coos from across the room.

Joohyun turns to Anton in lieu of an answer. “How are you feeling, ‘ton?”

The boy just shrugs at the question, letting out a heavy exhale. They have all gotten quite good at reading between the lines, knowing that their faces tell each other much more than words ever could. Just from looking at the younger boy, Joohyun knows how hard he’s taking the loss. It’s more than just sadness; it’s guilt.

At the lack of response, Joohyun crosses the room, gathering Anton into a tight hug. The boy returns it forcefully, underestimating his strength as always. Joohyun coughs a bit from the pressure at her ribs. When they pull away, Seunghan has an eyebrow cocked at the pair, clearly concerned.

“Are you alright?”

Joohyun simply waves the man off. “I’m fine.”

“Sorry,” Anton has a sheepish smile spread across his full lips. “I didn’t mean to squeeze you like that.”

“It’s okay, ‘ton, really. I’ll be a stress ball for you whenever you need it.”

The comment seems to pull a genuine chuckle from the boy, a smile taking over his face easily. Pride blooms in Joohyun’s chest, happy to finally see some positive emotion from the younger boy. She sighs in relief. 

“Do you wanna come with me and Seunghan to pick the apples? They’re looking really good.”

Joohyun ignores the tense look that Seunghan shoots her from his position at her side. She instead chooses to focus solely on Anton, whose gaze flickers back and forth between the two. Although Joohyun has no idea what Seunghan looks like right now, she imagines he’s cursing her with his eyes. 

“No thanks,” Anton mumbles in that muted way of his. “I actually wanted to spend some time with Sungchan. I wanted to make sure he’s okay.”

A slow smile blooms on Seunghan’s face. “You’re such a good kid, Chanyoung. Let us know if you or Sungchan need anything, okay?”

The minute that Anton promises to do so, Seunghan grabs Joohyun by the hand and practically pulls her through the back door of the farmhouse. He doesn’t let go through their journey down the porch steps, through the farm beds, and around the lake, until they are surrounded by apple trees laden with fruit. He produces two canvas bags from his pocket, holding one out for Joohyun to take. The minute she does, the man reaches over to peck her on the cheek. 

“Our first solo date,” Seunghan muses, “apple picking—how romantic.”

Joohyun just scoffs, reaching for the nearest ripe apple and snapping its delicate stem. “You’re the only one who’s considering it a date.”

Seunghan scoffs, beginning to pick his own apples. “You told me back in school that this was a really cute date idea. You said that you would die if someone took you apple picking. I’m surprised Wonbin never did.”

“That was years ago.” Joohyun feels heat rise to her cheeks, attempting to bury her face deeper into the collar of her flannel. “You never asked me out then. It definitely doesn’t count now.”

Seunghan turns to face the woman, apple in hand. He’s quick to place it into his bag as he approaches her, a cocky smirk poised on his face. Joohyun is disgusted by how much she wants to kiss him. She knows that she is the only thing stopping herself. 

“Princess, you and I both know that I have been in love with you for at least five years. I have asked you out at least twice. Both times, you claimed that it wasn’t the time for romance.”

Joohyun rolls her eyes. “You didn’t ask me out before everything went to shit, and that’s what matters.”

The tip of Seunghan’s nose is pink, matching the tips of his ears. Joohyuk wonders if it’s from embarrassment or the autumnal breeze that has winded its way through the trees. Based on the thin fabric of Seunghan’s worn sweatshirt, she assumes it’s the latter. 

“I think it matters even more now,” Seunghan whispers, winding a muscled arm around the woman’s waist. 

When he pulls her closer, Joohyun goes easily, lost in the fondness in his gaze. There’s a peek of sunlight through the trees, illuminating just one of Seunghan’s eyes. The glow extends across his face like a broad gash, ending right before his jawline. Joohyun reaches a hand up to trace along its edge, dropping her bag of apples in the process. 

“You know we shouldn’t be doing this,” Joohyun chides, hyper aware of the way Seunghan eyes the movement of her lips. 

“Not without Wonbin, you mean?”

Joohyun shakes her head. “At all.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Joohyun knows she doesn’t. She knows that she wants nothing more than to be showered in Seunghan’s constant affection. She craves his fingertips gently tracing the dip of her hips, his lips leaving brands along the column of her neck, the sturdiness of his thighs underneath her weight. She knows that she desires way too much, but is helpless to stop herself. 

Seunghan waits for Joohyun to move first, gently craning her neck up to meet his lips. Her movements are timid, restrained, as if trying to mask her desire. Seunghan lets her keep up her facade, gently connecting their lips and following her lead. When they part, Joohyun’s eyes remain shut. They’re close enough that Seunghan can count her eyelashes, admiring the way they cast gentle shadows on her cheekbones. 

Joohyun forces herself to open her eyes, slowly letting the early morning sunlight infiltrate her gaze. Seunghan still has that beam of light across his face, lips twisted into a soft smile. She feels a gentle warmth rise in her abdomen that travels all the way to the rosy apples of her cheeks. At her blush, Seunghan’s smile only grows. He leans forward to place a kiss on her forehead, identical to where Wonbin kissed her the day prior. Joohyun wonders if there is a permanent mark on her forehead that leads the two men to kiss her in the same place. She wonders if they read her like a map and X marks the spot. 

“Come on, princess. Let’s go pick the rest of the apples and then make something delicious with them.”

.         .         .

Sohee is leaning his head against Wonbin’s shoulder when Joohyun finds them, the two of them hunched over an old map spread out on the living room floor. They speak softly, as if trying not to disturb the rest of the life in the house. It’s useless, Joohyun thinks. They would all be able to hear each other a mile away.

Joohyun clears her throat, making her way over to sit across from the two. She is only able to meet Sohee’s gaze, eyes shrunken around a smile. He doesn’t move from his position next to Wonbin, instead nuzzling further into his side. Joohyun blinks rapidly to negate the green that begins to cloud her vision.

“What are you guys doing?”

Sohee lights up at the question. “We’re looking for new sources! Wonbin was just saying that it’s time for us to go out and get some more supplies. But obviously we can’t go back to where Jaeri and Sungchan went, so…”

Sohee’s voice trails off sadly, leaving the room with a tense air. For the first time, Joohyun finds herself looking over to Wonbin. She isn’t surprised to see that he had already been looking at her.

“We need more medical supplies,” Wonbin begins. “We used just about everything we had on Jaeri. We could also use some more canned goods and food products before winter sets in.”

“That won’t be for at least another two months!” It’s not like Joohyun actually knows, since calendars became useless during the first few wars. 

“Eunseok thinks the last harvest for the crops will be in a few weeks. We need to be prepared before then.”

It’s at times like this that Joohyun hates the way Wonbin speaks. He’s blunt and factual, not caring to let any amount of emotion cloud his words. The two of them are too similar in that regard, always presenting their thoughts in an unintentionally harsh manner. She frequently wondered if the similarity would break them up, forcing them into brutal fights that would end their relationship. At least everything changed before it had the chance to.

“I think it’s too dangerous to send anyone back out there after what just happened to Jaeri,” Joohyun protests, a hot feeling blooming in her chest. “We can’t just let someone go.”

Wonbin sighs. “It’s not like we’d be going to the same place that they went. That’s why we’re looking at new possible sources. So when we go, we won’t run into that same issue.”

“We?”

Wonbin’s eyes widen, sensing his mistake. Joohyun’s arms are crossed in front of her chest, lips pulled into a thin line as she stares back at the man across from her. At the change in demeanor, Wonbin finally pulls away from Sohee, shooting the boy a kind smile.

“Can you give us a minute?”

Sohee just nods, instantly scurrying out of the room. Wonbin’s gaze follows the boy as he exits, only turning back to the woman in front of him when he is sure that they’re alone. Joohyun’s right eyebrow twitches repeatedly, a sign of just how stressed she is by the news. The woman’s stony expression reminds Wonbin of everything they craved to leave behind when they came to the farmhouse. The angry twist to her lips is all too reminiscent of her reaction to a threat. Wonbin craves to soothe it with his kiss.

“Baby,” Wonbin coos. “I can't ask Sungchan to go back out there after what happened.”

“So you plan to go instead.” Another eyebrow twitch.

“I wouldn’t go alone.”

“Then with who?”

Wonbin sighs. “Probably Seunghan.”

In the blink of an eye, Joohyun is on her feet, crossing the small space in search of an exit. Wonbin scrambles after her, barely catching her arm before she can move into the kitchen. Her long, dark locks slap him in the face as she turns around, venom in her eyes. Wonbin would be scared if he hadn’t been in this exact position so many times before.

“Let go of me,” she seethes.

Wonbin does as told, but steps closer into her space, knowing that another escape attempt is likely. Joohyun has always been flighty when it comes to standing her ground. She chooses not to fight unless she has to, preferring to run away from the situation and never look back. Somehow, Wonbin has prevented her from escaping. 

“Can you just listen to me before you storm off like you always do?”

Hurt clouds Joohyun’s expression before she steels it again. The scar on her right cheek aches with the effort of remaining emotionless. It’s throbbing, hot and angry. Joohyun feels a phantom pain of the knife sliding across her skin, deep enough to reveal the cheek fat below. It still stings. She wants nothing more than for Wonbin to kiss the pain away.

“There isn’t shit you can say that would make this better.”

Wonbin rolls his eyes. “Somebody needs to go. Sungchan obviously can’t, not right now. So Seunghan volunteered and I couldn’t let him go by himself. I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to him. You wouldn’t forgive me if something happened to him.”

“And what if something happens to both of you? What then?”

When Wonbin reaches for Joohyun’s hands again, she relents with only minimal resistance. The man gathers her hands in his, pulling her impossibly closer. Like this, Wonbin can see the minute rhythm in the twitch of her eyebrow, the throbbing of her scar, the wetness pooling in her eyes. Not a single tear falls.

“Nothing’s going to happen to us,” Wonbin soothes. “We’re going to be fine, baby.”

Joohyun lets out a shaky exhale, eyes squeezing shut as she breathes. She is reminded once again why she was never able to really break up with Wonbin in the past. He was too good at tearing down her walls, too good at minimizing all of her worries, too good at soothing her and talking her down. Of course, in the harshness of the end of the world, she embraced his comfort and level-headedness. But it’s different now. She won’t let him talk her down again.

“That’s what Sungchan told Jaeri, and look at what happened to them.”

.         .         .

The temperature drops as the sun falls lower and lower in the sky. The once pleasant breeze has taken on a nose-nipping chill, making Joohyun shiver despite the thick blanket wrapped around her. The rocking chair creaks as it sways forward and backwards. It’s a gentle rhythm that could lull her to sleep, but the body in the chair adjacent to her makes sure that doesn’t happen. 

“How is it to sleep in your room?” Eunseok asks softly, chair swaying in a rhythm similar to Joohyun’s own. 

“It’s fine.”

Sleep has never been the best for Joohyun. Once the wars broke out, she was kept up all night from anxiety. When everything collapsed, and she found herself fleeing, she always offered to keep watch while others slept at night. She would stay awake for days on end until Wonbin noticed and made it his personal mission to get her to sleep. It was mostly unsuccessful until they got to the farmhouse. It was the first real bed Joohyun had slept in in months, so she slept for twelve hours straight that first night. 

Of course, having Jaeri sleeping peacefully across from her always helped. When Joohyun woke up with a scream, sweating from the effort of escaping her night demons, Jaeri would crawl into her bed and soothe her. She would keep her in an embrace and sing softly until Joohyun fell back asleep. 

Now it takes a good five minutes for someone to make it to Joohyun when she wakes up screaming.

“Are you sure it’s fine?” Eunseok prods. “I can see those bags underneath your eyes.”

Joohyun scoffs. “We all have dark circles.”

Eunseok hums, considering the fact. “That’s true. But you’re the only one out here with me while everyone else is upstairs sleeping.”

“They’re not sleeping. Or at least Seunghan and Wonbin aren’t.”

Eunseok outright laughs at this, leaning back fully in his chair. The sound is deep and familiar, planting a seed of a smile on Joohyun’s face. 

“Declined their invitation to join?”

Joohyun rolls her eyes, ignoring the way Eunseok continues to laugh. “I really just can’t deal with them right now.”

“Well, not to be crass, but,” Eunseok shrugs. “Nothing will put you to sleep better than a good orgasm.”

Now it’s Joohyun’s turn to laugh, rocking chair creaking as she leans forward. “You’re right, I guess.”

The pair settle into silence, another gust of chilly wind rustling the chimes near the door. Joohyun peers out into the expanse of darkness that surrounds them, wondering if there’s something unseen that’s looking back at them. In reality, she knows that it’s just patches of crops until you reach the lake, and then the orchard just beyond that. But something in her wonders if there’s something stalking in the small cornfield, eyes tracking her every move.

“You know,” Joohyun says softly, voice barely audible over the squeak of the chairs. “There’s still some blood on Jaeri’s bed.”

“Does that freak you out?” Eunseok takes a swig from his metal canteen.

“No,” Joohyun replies truthfully. “I just wonder how her last moments were. She was bleeding out on the bed while I was screaming in my sleep. It couldn’t have been the most peaceful way to go.”

Joohyun remembers being woken up by Sungchan, who had come to check on Jaeri in the middle of the night. Joohyun thrashed and screamed, eventually elbowing Sungchan in the nose while he tried to calm her down. When she finally settled, they both looked over to Jaeri’s bed. She was already dead.

“It’s not your fault,” Eunseok muses. “We’re all going to die an uncomfortable, untimely death whether we want to admit it or not. Jaeri just met her fate before the rest of us.”

“Because of me.”

Eunseok makes a noise in protest. “Because some scumbag shot her in the leg with a rusty bullet. That’s not on any of us.”

As much as Joohyun knows it’s the truth, she can’t help the feelings of guilt that brew in her stomach like a potion. She had a feeling that something bad was going to happen. She was supposed to stop them. But she didn’t, too convinced that Jaeri would be safe in Sungchan’s care.

His yells for help still echo in her mind late at night. She remembers seeing them approach the farm in the darkness, Jaeri laying limp and bleeding in Sungchan’s arms. She remembers how they placed her on the kitchen counter and tried to fish out the bullet with a butter knife. She remembers the greenish-yellow pus that began to leak from the wound in the coming days. She remembers the screams that could be heard from miles away as they tried to amputate her leg with a butcher’s knife. She remembers the blood that Jaeri began to cough up, so frequent that she was unable to speak.

Sungchan still placed a final kiss on her lips, cold and stained with her own blood.

“Do you think that she and Sungchan got too careless because they were in love?”

Eunseok shakes his head almost instantly, and Joohyun wonders how he doesn’t get dizzy with the motion combined with the rocking of his chair. She knows that Eunseok finds it hard to think sometimes, head permanently hazy from the impact of the concrete. Joohyun remembers when they found him in the rubble, clearly concussed and barely able to speak. She is awed sometimes by how eloquent he still manages to be. 

“As much as love is reckless, it is equally as cautious. They both had more to lose.”

“But they lost it anyway.”

“They did,” Eunseok clears his throat. “They lost it anyways.”

.         .         .

Shotaro calls a house meeting the next morning. Everyone is slow to gather in the living room, taking seats upon old, worn furniture. Joohyun wonders how old everything was before everything happened. Now, it’s too hard to put a date on things, especially since the entire world has been covered with a fine layer of dust. 

Sungchan is the last to join the group, long limbs moving lethargically as he crosses the room. Joohyun winces at the dark purples and reds sitting underneath his eyes, almost like bruises. His hair is untamed, splayed messily across his head. There’s a paleness to his skin that screams dehydration, along with a smattering of pimples forming along his cheek. He even looks thinner than usual, settling onto a chair in the corner without so much as a sound. 

“So I know that these next few months are going to be shitty,” Shotaro starts. “But we’ve gotta plan so that we can make it through.”

Shotaro’s gaze flickers back and forth between Sungchan and the rest of the group, hoping to remedy any tension with his eyes alone. If there is any resistance, he doesn’t pick up on it, choosing instead to continue with his ment. 

“Eunseok says that the last harvest should be in about four weeks, meaning that we will have fresh crops for another two months or so. We still need to go out for canned goods and medical supplies. Both are crucial to us making it through this winter. Thankfully, Wonbin and Seunghan volunteered to make the run for us.”

Anton perks up from his spot near Sohee, visibly confused. “Why would we send two more people for supplies after what just happened?”

“Because we need to survive,” Eunseok chimes in. “We can’t do that without food and supplies.”

Shotaro nods softly. “Exactly, so it’s better that we do all of this now so that we’re not scrambling right before the first snow hits.”

“I think that’s a stupid fucking idea,” Joohyun seethes. “It’s like we’re just sending people out to die.”

As Joohyun surveys the room, it becomes more and more apparent that she’s fighting a losing battle. The only one who seems to be considering her point is Anton, who has always erred on the cautious side. Most of the group, however, still sits silently in their various positions around the room, eyes trained on the stained carpet beneath their feet. 

“We’re not going to die,” Wonbin mutters. 

“You don’t know that.”

They’re the first words that Sungchan has uttered in days. His voice is rough from lack of use, syllables slightly slurred as if they were thick in his mouth. The man clears his throat, but clearly makes no move to speak again. In the silence, Shotaro speaks up. 

“They are not going to die,” he presses. “We’re not going to lose anyone else. Not to something like that.”

Sohee cocks his head curiously. “You said that last time.”

They could make a list of all of the people that they’ve lost since they first moved as a group about two years ago. For each one, Shotaro gave a similar speech, saying it wouldn’t happen again and that would be the last one. It never was of course. Before they found the farm, they found themselves burying a new person just about once a month, death appearing cyclically like a menstrual bleed. 

Shotaro simply sighs at the reminder, pinching his nose bridge between his index finger and thumb. His obvious frustration is somewhat funny to see, reminding Joohyun of when they would spend hours in the multimedia lab, being scolded over the tiniest mistakes in the yearbook. It’s odd to see the same exasperation in such a different setting. 

“Listen, I know we’re all scared after what happened to Jaeri, but it’s not going to happen again. Seunghan and Wonbin are going to be extremely careful and come back to us safe and sound, okay? We’re not going to lose anyone else.”

Although Shotaro’s comment seems to appease some of the younger members of their group, Joohyun can’t help but feel a little unnerved by his stance. She would have to send the two people she loved most out into the world, not knowing if they will ever make it back in one piece. She swallows, dread settling in the pit of her stomach like an anchor. 

Everyone seems to take that as a dismissal, slowly starting to scatter. Sungchan remains rooted in his spot, eyes downturned. He picks aimlessly at a loose thread in his sweatpants, not caring that destroying their clothes isn’t a luxury they have. Joohyun watches as Shotaro leans into Sungchan’s space, whispering something into the younger man’s ear. Sungchan doesn’t look up, just nodding his head a few times before leaving. 

As Joohyun watches the interaction, a hand begins to comb through the length of her hair. She doesn’t need to look to know exactly whom the hand belongs to. Only Seunghan would attempt to comfort her in a time like this, the others all too used to Joohyun running away from their touch. 

“You okay?” Seunghan asks softly. 

Joohyun is sick of everyone asking her that. 

“You know we’re just worried about you, princess” Seunghan states, as if able to read her mind. “We just want you to be okay.”

Joohyun finally turns to face the man. “If you wanted me to be okay, you wouldn’t go.”

Seunghan sighs, rounding the couch to settle beside the woman. He gathers her hands in her lap, rubbing over her pulse point with his thumb. He looks tired, mouth twisted in a grimace that pains Joohyun to see. 

“We’re going so that everyone can be okay.”

The couch dips on Joohyun’s other side, the furniture groaning with the added weight. A hand reaches across her lap to join the pile of hands in Seunghan’s, the familiar callouses a soothing addition.

“We have to be there for everyone, baby.” Wonbin’s voice is barely a whisper. “I know you’re worried, but you have to trust us. We’re going to be fine. We’re not going to end up like Jaeri.”

Joohyun’s tongue has suddenly grown to weigh one hundred pounds. She struggles to swallow down the sob that’s clawing its way up her throat. Seunghan squeezes her hand slightly, and it’s enough pressure to force the first few tears out of her eyes.

“I just don’t like this,” Joohyun admits. “None of us know what’s out there anymore.”

Wonbin presses a kiss to the side of Joohyun’s hair while Seunghan continues to stroke their hands. Something about the affection makes Joohyun feel like crawling out of her skin and running for the hills. If she could see through her tears, she imagines she would. She would tear her body apart to escape their affection if she could. But she stays, remaining frozen in place as the boys attempt to love her.

“We don’t,” Seunghan agrees. “But that can’t stop us from providing for you all.”

Back in school, Seunghan was always the provider. He would come to yearbook committee meetings with his arms stacked with sweet treats and individualized coffee orders. When someone had a particularly hard day, he would bring a smattering of their favorite foods, showering them in whatever he could to make them feel better. If it didn’t work, he would gather their hands in his and let them vent. Joohyun wonders how many times she had done this before, in a much different context.

Being smothered by Wonbin’s kisses was something that Joohyun was much more used to. When words were too harsh for either of them, they worked it out through heavy touches and steamy kisses. Even when they involved Seunghan, who was always words over actions, the couple had a hard time giving up their ways.

“Just promise me,” Joohyun manages out, breath stuttering in her chest. “Promise me that you guys will get out of there the minute you sense any danger. Don’t try and do any noble shit and stick it out.”

Seunghan chuckles, squeezing the intertwined hands once, twice, three times before he lets go. “Trust me, our priority will be to get in and out as quickly and as safely as possible so that we can come home to our princess.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Joohyun emphasizes.

Wonbin presses another kiss to her hairline. “We know you will be.”

.         .         .

Even though the two are set to head out at sunrise, Joohyun can’t help but let them spend hours pressing her into the mattress the night before. As they seal marks into her skin and love her body gently, her vision begins to blur. She’s unable to see past the sea welling up in her eyes, ebbing and flowing until it streams down her face in clear rivulets.

Her waterworks seem to trigger the same in her lovers, and soon all of their kisses take on a certain salty tinge. For a moment, Joohyun fears they will drown in their love. It would be a silent death, much like Jaeri’s. Unlike Jaeri’s, however, this would be a death that Joohyun would be more than happy to fall victim to.

When the three tire, Joohyun finds herself sandwiched between two warm bodies, both in a deep slumber. The syncopation of their heartbeats is enough to keep Joohyun awake and on edge, counting each arrhythmic beat. It reminds her of the sound of footsteps when someone trips. They constantly try to right themselves, but are stuck in an endless fumbling of limbs that hit the ground at odd times.

Joohyun’s eyes remain trained on the ceiling until a hint of light creeps up on the horizon. As the light begins to paint their room in a blue-ish hue, she turns to wake up the men on either side of her, suddenly shy when she takes in their nakedness. She watches as their figures bumble about in the low light, appreciating the stretch of their limbs and the strength in their cores. She reminds herself that she needs to drink it in, since this may be the last time she ever gets to experience it.

No one else is awake to send them off. Just Joohyun stands on the back porch of the farmhouse, barefoot and wrapped up in a blanket that smells strongly of Seunghan. She watches as the two boys check each other, making sure they have all the weapons and supplies they will need for the day ahead. When both deem themselves ready, they turn back to the woman before them.

“We‘ll see you tonight, princess,” Seunghan says with a forced grin.

He seems to hesitate for a moment before reaching out and pulling Joohyun into his chest. His arms are snug around her midsection, almost crushing her if it weren’t for the woman’s sturdy build. The pair part only a minuscule number of inches before Seunghan swoops down to press a kiss to her lips. 

This could be the last, Joohyun reminds herself. Don’t enjoy it too much.

Wonbin’s eyes are wide and glassy when Seunghan and Joohyun part, arms twitching at his side. When he hugs Joohyun, it’s much softer, almost timid. He kisses her forehead before leaning down into a proper kiss. He’s never been the best with words, so he uses his mouth in other ways instead.

He doesn’t look at Joohyun when they part, only whispering a small ‘see you later’ before barreling down the steps of the porch. Seunghan follows him closely, looking over his shoulder just once to blow a kiss to the woman left behind. 

Joohyun watches as their figures disappear past the orchard before bursting into tears, evaporating like the morning dew as the sun comes over the horizon.

.         .         .

“They should be back by now,” Anton mumbles. He has yet to stop pacing on the porch, arms crossed firmly over his chest.

Eunseok, just watches from his position on the rocking chair, swinging back and forth in a distinct rhythm. “They’ll be back soon.”

“You said that an hour ago,” Joohyun spits, fingers fumbling with the chain hanging from her neck. “Shut up if you’re not going to say anything that’s true.”

“Joo,” Shotaro scolds.

The woman just huffs at the mention of her name, not taking the scolding to heart. The others don’t understand. They don’t get how it feels to be stuck in Joohyun’s place. She was tricked into love just for it to possibly be taken right away from her.

She wonders if she ever really had a choice in the matter. She wonders if Sungchan did, or if he was tricked just like she was. When she thinks about the way Jaeri smiled, or the soft coo of her voice, it seems like a no brainer. Everyone was a little bit in love with her. Sungchan just fell harder than others.

For a moment there’s silence, the only disturbance being the soft thump of Anton’s feet against the wooden planks of the porch. There’s a soft breeze that ruffles leaves, tall corn stalks swaying in the darkness. If Wonbin were here, he would be playing the guitar, strumming a soft melody that would have Sohee trying to harmonize with the sounds of nature. 

But there’s no melody here, just a faint crunch of leaves. Then, another crunch. The crunches grow more frequent, each one louder until they are interrupted by a groan. Joohyun is down the stairs and halfway through the corn stalks before anyone can stop her.

Their yells for her to return are nothing over the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears. It’s hard to tell her own footsteps apart from the ones approaching her, her own scrambling loud as she pushes through rows of crops. She can’t see through the darkness that surrounds her now that she is away from the house.

Joohyun doesn’t realize she has run into something until she is knocked firmly on the ground, winded from the force of the fall. Wide eyes peer down at her, a hint of white in the darkness.

“Baby,” Wonbin says. “Are you okay?”

“You’re back,” she breathes out scrambling to her feet.

She can just make out Seunghan next to Wonbin, the man leaning almost all of his weight on the older. He lets out a soft groan as he shifts his weight, seemingly unable to put any pressure on his left side.

“Are you okay?” Joohyun’s voice wobbles as she takes in the pained expression on Seunghan’s face, illuminated by the tiniest bit of moonlight.

“I’m fine, princess,” Seunghan rasps with an attempted smile. “Why don’t we just get back to the house. I’m sure the others are worried about you.”

Joohyun nods in agreement, instantly moving to support Seunghan’s other side. Although it’s only a few yards back to the house, it feels like miles as the three hobble along. It’s clear that both men are tired, Seunghan’s head hanging low between his shoulders. Wonbin grunts with just about every step, muscles straining with the additional weight.

Once the trio emerges from the cornfield, they are greeted by a cacophony of relieved cries. Eunseok and .Shotaro are quick to rush over, relieving Joohyun and Wonbin from their positions supporting the obviously injured boy. The minute the weight has been lifted from Wonbin, he falls to his knees, panting heavily.

“Fuck,” he pants. “We made it.”

Joohyun finds herself running her fingers through the man’s dark locks, pushing sweaty strands away from his face. She releases a shaky exhale, pressing her thumb into the soft skin behind her lover’s ear. Her stomach lurches as she looks at him, heart pounding wildly in her chest.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside,” she whispers, resisting the urge to plant a kiss on his hairline just like she knows he would if the roles were reversed.

When the pair enter the house, they are greeted with the sight of Seunghan laid atop of the kitchen counter. For a moment, Joohyun thinks she’ll be sick. But she takes in the lack of blood and the fact that Seunghan is talking animatedly with Sohee and the nausea settles. 

She sidles up to the boy on the counter, instantly smoothing a hand down his arm. She glances down at his body, not noting anything out of the ordinary. It is only when Seunghan stutters out a gruff curse that Joohyun realizes that the injury is deeper than expected.

Shotaro gawks at the sight of Seunghan’s ankle after he wrangles off the younger’s hunting boots. The joint is smattered with a nasty collage of purples and blues, the injury pulsing as it rests in Shotaro’s hands. His ankle is about the size of a football, and Joohyun feels nausea bubble up in her core once more.

“What happened out there?” Shotaro asks, ignoring Seunghan’s hisses of pain as he pokes and prods at the wound.

Wonbin sighs as he drops his backpack in the ground with a soft thud. “It was honestly fine. Everything was going well and we got all the necessary supplies. But we heard people coming and started running and that one fucked up his ankle when we were hopping a fence.”

“So you did this to yourself?” Eunseok snorts.

Seunghan just rolls his eyes, not dignifying the room with a proper response. Shotaro smiles down at the man on the table, moving away slightly to grab an ace bandage from a drawer across the kitchen. Joohyun finds herself letting Seunghan squeeze her hand as Shotaro wraps the injury.

“Is it broken?” Seunghan asks.

“You know I’m not a doctor,” Shotaro quips back. “But it looks like it. I don’t think you’re gonna be back on your feet for a while.”

Seunghan lets out a groan that isn’t in pain for once. He turns watery eyes towards Joohyun, squeezing her hand for dramatic effect. The force of his stare makes the woman avert her eyes, but Seunghan squeezes her hand until she returns eye contact again.

“I’m sorry we won’t be able to go apple picking for a while, princess. I’ll find a way to make it up to you, I promise.”

If she didn’t know any better, she would think the gag from across the room came out of her own mouth.

.      .     .

Joohyun ascends the stairs slowly, prolonging her journey to Sungchan’s door as much as possible. She felt her heart begin to pound the minute she was tasked to retrieve Sungchan for dinner. She desires nothing more than to not have to face the broken man upstairs. More than anything, she wants to avoid the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that she has every time she is around him.

Sungchan opens his doors after a few knocks and a long pause, eyes sunken and red-rimmed. His lack of a shirt highlights the protrusions of his ribs, visible under the paleness of his skin. He sniffles instead of a greeting and Joohyun curses the sinking feeling as it begins to make an appearance.

“Eunseok asked me to come get you since dinner is ready. I think he made soup or something.”

Sungchan sighs. “I’m not hungry.”

Before the door can slam in her face, Joohyun sticks a foot in the doorway, cursing loudly when it’s inevitably crushed. Sungchan is quick to open the door back up, looking down at the intrusion.

“Eunseok said not to let you say that,” Joohyun blurts. “He said you have to come down, even if you don’t eat anything. It’s important, apparently.”

Sungchan lets out another sigh, rolling his swollen eyes. “Fine. I’ll be down in five.”

It’s more like ten minutes, but Joohyun counts it as a win when she sees his slight figure enter the kitchen. It’s Anton who actually seems the most excited to see the older man, immediately bounding over to him and smiling widely in his face. She’s sure that he’s saying something about being excited that Sungchan is joining them, but she can’t bear to listen with the warmth crawling up her throat.

Dinner itself is mainly silent, the group deciding to eat scattered across the porch. Seunghan is inconveniently using both rocking chairs, his injury propped up on the smaller one. The wind that blows has a hint of a chill, more so than last week. If Joohyun squints, she can see some apples dropping from the trees on the other side of the lake.

“Guys,” Sohee asks softly, his normally bright expression pensive. “We’re going to be okay, right?”

It’s Sungchan who responds, speaking from his perch on the railing. “I don’t know.”

“None of us do,” Wonbin agrees.

“But,” Shotaro interjects, ever the positive one. “We’ve made it this far. Even though we don’t know what’s gonna happen, we’ll get through it, whatever it is.”

Sungchan snorts, hopping down from the railing. Without a word, he leaves everyone on the porch, letting the back door slam behind him. There is a soft clang of the bowl hitting the sink and then silence, only interrupted by a gust of wind. Across from them, the corn stalks sway, moving in a rhythm much like Seunghan’s rocking chair. Back and forth, back and forth.

.         .         .

Seunghan is walking with only a slight limp by what they estimate to be Thanksgiving. He seems eager to be back on his feet, hobbling back and forth through the kitchen as he tries to help Sohee and Eunseok whip up dinner. Every time he moves too fast, or makes a sharp change of direction, Joohyun finds herself biting back a gasp. She grips the edge of her seat, constantly ready to take action if the man reinjures himself.

“Calm down, Joo,” Sohee giggles. “You look like you’re about to have a stroke.”

A smile instantly breaks out on Seunghan’s face at the comment, rounding the kitchen island so he can wrap an arm around his lover’s shoulders. “Aw, is my princess worried about me?”

Joohyun’s fingers itch with the urge to punch him in the ribs. “Shut up.”

Seunghan leans forward to steal a quick kiss before parting to help the others cook once again. Joohyun hides her face as a rosy blush crawls up to the apples of her cheeks, trying to tame the zoo that has erupted in her core. 

She’s brought back to the very first time that Seunghan had kissed her. It had been after a particularly nasty fight with Wonbin, where Joohyun wanted nothing more than to make him hurt as much as he had hurt her. What better way to do so than kissing his best friend and teammate?

She remembers how all of her blood rushed to her face, lighting her up like a stoplight. There was a pulsing in her stomach that wouldn’t stop, eventually giving way to molten hot desire as the two continued to kiss. As they progressed even further, Seunghan left bruises all over the expanse of her throat and chest, leaving white hot pain in his wake. She remembers pressing down on the bruises the next morning, marveling at how the placements were extremely similar to where Wonbin liked to mark her up.

She remembers how the bruises were still there when she and Wonbin made up. She remembers how he kissed over the bruises, darkening them with firm bites. When he whispered into her skin and asked her who left them, she was left to only answer truthfully. At the mention of his best friend’s name, Wonbin just pulled away, smiled, then kissed her harder.

Joohyun continues to trace Seunghan’s figure with her gaze, extra mindful of his unsteady gait. She’s stifling a chuckle as Seunghan flicks pumpkin seeds at Sohee when Shotaro comes rushing in the room. His face is flushed and hair tousled, clearly flustered.

“Guys,” he pants. “Someone’s here.”

.FIN.

Part 2

[heretoobsessstuff]

So I had a burst of inspiration at 2 am last night and whipped this out in 2 hours!! Here’s a little Drabble:

Summary:

“Hey, look at me. You alright?” Gale pressed, moving closer, standing between his legs and cupping his face in his hands. He went to nod, but the gesture turned into a shake. When he opened his eyes, he found Gale gazing at him with shiny, concerned eyes.

“No,” he finally managed, hot tears streaming down his cheeks despite his efforts to hold them back.

Or Post-war, Gale has been sent to another base in another city for a few months and John is not dealing well with his absence. It all comes to a head when one of John’s trainees almost crashes.

You can read it on ao3 here:

John was pissed. God why the fuck had he done that for? He couldn't shake the image of that near crash; it felt like a ghost haunting him, dredging up memories he'd fought too damn hard to keep within. Triggering a sense of fear he hadn't felt this vividly since the war. The chaos of training had been too much, inevitably pushing him to the edge; before he knew it, he was confronting the director, words cold and sharp, which had earned him a clear-cut punch to the jaw. The new recruits were struggling, and it felt like he was the only one who cared enough to say something. But he had definitely taken things too far, and now he was nursing a bruised ego as well.

“I think you should go home,” Demarco said grimly when they got back to the offices. John shook his head. He needed a mirror to inspect the damage that was done. Maybe a smoke too, perhaps with a glass of scotch.

“What makes you think I can’t handle a few punches?” John spat. Even though he was going for sarcasm, he sounded miserable. Benny looked at him like he was looking at a wounded horse who’s about to be put out of his misery, pity written all over his face.

“Don’t look at me like that” John glared at Benny, walking over to his desk to get a smoke.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Benny said, shaking his head.

“You are” John bit back, taking a whiff of the smoke.

“And how is it that I’m looking at you?”

“With pity” He said, a bit louder than he intended to. A few officers turned their heads to look at

him. He closed his eyes, exhaling audibly. When he opened them he saw Benny walking over to him, eyes narrowed in frustration and sadness.

“There we go again” John sighed, leaning against the desk.

“I don’t want your damn-“

“Quit being an asshole” Benny said, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. His hand lingered there. He grabbed his cigarette and took a whiff , blowing it on John’s face.

“You took some punches today. I know you can take it. But damn it! you don’t have to act like you’re made of Steele. Go home, take a shower, get something to eat, other than scotch. Get some sleep and come back tomorrow” He said. Tapping him on the shoulder. John went to protest but Benny beat him to it.

“Listen. Tonight was fucking rough, I get it. Just go home, get some rest, maybe get laid. I don’t know man blow off the steam and we’ll deal with everything tomorrow okay?”

John wanted to protest. Wanted to yell at Benny that he safety net was gone because Gale wasn’t here and he couldn’t get fucking laid or blow off steam. Instead all that came out was a choked sound, something between a laugh and a sigh. It was miserable and embarrassing. Benny was looking at him with soft eyes and John hated it. He needed to get the hell out of there.

“Okay” John got out. Clearing his throat. He needed to leave before he embarrassed himself more.

“Finally! He agrees to something” Benny declared to the whole room, earning a few huffs of laughter.

John grabbed his coat from the chair and picked his keys. Benny was still looking at him with that weird look that John couldn’t read. Concern? Tinted with a hint of -mirth? A small smile was starting to form on his lips and John shook his head in disbelief. What the hell was he on?

“What the hell are you smiling about? This happy to get rid of me?” John shot but his tone lacked the bite and was more amused than annoyed. Benny shrugged.

“Maybe. ? Just- Go home, Bucky” He said. Winking at him and leaving before John could say anything.

Benny was ridiculous. If his knuckles didn’t hurt so much he would’ve punched him in the face.

~ ~ ~

The drive home was a blur, the adrenaline from the day seeping out of him, leaving him drained. He barely registered the moment he pulled into his driveway.

Home. He let out a bitter laugh. Benny had been insistent that he go home, but what did home mean for John anymore? A cold bed with dirty sheets he hadn’t changed in months? An empty fridge with two cans of expired tomato sauce and a few beers? A constant reminder of Gale not being there? The creeping realization that he was becoming a borderline alcoholic? That he was losing it more and more day by day?

He unlocked the door and stepped inside, immediately noticing the kitchen light on. A dim glow from the living room illuminated the space, too. He hadn’t turned on that light in ages. He closed the door gingerly, tiptoeing toward the kitchen, heart racing. Months of being a prisoner of war in nazi Germany had made him a little paranoid and he couldn’t go anywhere without his little hand gun these days. He pulled it out just in case.

“Who’s there?” he called, trying to sound firm, though his voice betrayed a slight tremor.

“It’s me, John,” came a voice from the back. He jumped, spinning around so fast he nearly got whiplash. Was he hallucinating? Had he really lost it this time?

“God, you and your soldier senses. Can’t even surprise you anymore,” Gale said, smiling just a little. He was standing there, hair messy and falling into his forehead, faint dark shadows under his eyes like he was tired, probably because he had driven over 10 hours to get there. Still, he was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen. He gulped, feeling suddenly parched.

“What are you doing here?” was all he could manage to say, caught between disbelief and relief. He had dreamed of this moment so many times, to have Gale within arm’s reach, to be able to hold him close whenever he wanted to. To look into his eyes when he spoke and not stare at the wall in front of the phone table. But now that he was actually here, he was speechless, feet rooted to place.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Gale smiled warmly, stepping closer as he eyed the gun.

“Are you still debating whether you should shoot me or not?” he teased, his grin disarming him. He holstered his gun, heart racing in a different way now.

“When did you get here?” A lump was forming in his throat, ridiculous as it felt.

“Just about an hour ago. I told Benny I was coming, and he promised to send you home as soon as possible.” So that’s why Benny had been looking at him like a fool. John bit his lip, attempting a smile. This was overwhelming; his mind was racing, a dull throb beginning in his temples.

Sensing his nerves, Gale frowned, moving closer and grabbing his hand gently, voice soft as he spoke. “I’m sorry I scared you, darling. I just wanted to surprise you.” Concern flickered in his eyes when John said nothing, his thumb drawing small soothing circles on his knuckle. Hearing the sound of Gale’s voice in person and not over a rickety phone, deep and warm and familiar, made his knees feel weak. Exhaustion washed over him.

“No, it’s alright. I’m just... wow. I can’t believe you’re here.” The lump in his throat grew heavier. He needed to sit down.

“I... I just need to sit,” he said, a hint of desperation creeping in. He took two steps to the kitchen chair and sank down with a heavy thump. Gale watched him closely, his expression shifting from worried to shocked when he saw the beginnings of the bruises blooming on his face.

“God, John what the hell happened? Are you okay?” he asked, his hand reaching up to trace where he’d been punched. The gentle touch felt almost too cautious, as if he was afraid of breaking him. John nodded, closing his eyes against the burning behind his eyelids, as Gale inspected his face, the tightness in his throat was suffocating.

“Hey, look at me. You alright?” Gale pressed, moving closer, standing between his legs and cupping his face in his hands. John went to nod, but the gesture turned into a shake instead. When he opened his eyes, he found Gale gazing at him with shiny, concerned eyes.

“No,” he finally managed, hot tears rolling down his cheeks before he could do anything to stop them.

“I’m not,” he choked out, the words more a whimper than a statement. Gale moved quickly, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into a hug. John buried his face in his blouse, breathing in the familiar scent of his aftershave, he couldn’t help the quiet sobs that escaped him as he was wrapped up in Gale. His body finally letting go of all the tension he’d kept in the past few months.

“Shhh, I got you. What’s got you this worked up, darling?” Gale whispered, holding him tighter, running his fingers through his hair, which was likely gross and sweaty. John wrapped his arms around his waist, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Missed you” He croaked, voice muffled against Gale’s sternum. Gale held him against his chest, kissing the top of his head.

“I’m here now. You’re alright.” He murmured, and John nodded against him, feeling the crushing weight of these past months begin to lift just a little. Gale was here, and maybe—just maybe—he would be okay.

[coldshrugs]

talk me down

pairing: io laithe/estinien varlineau word count: 1.8k note: this is a modern au in which io and estinien are roommates but io has been offered an orchestra chair in a city across the country; she accepts it. estinien is grumpy about it. some cursing and alcohol mentions.

There’s nothing between them—not like that anyway—so why is he bothered?

Io would be stupid not to take this opportunity. Estinien told her that much. He insisted. And when it became real, well… it was easier to be excited about an application than the acceptance.

Now it's easier to hide.

Estinien shifts his weight and the fire escape creaks, another notch in his confidence that this place is actually suitable for inhabitants. The rent is cheap and the neighbors mind their business. That's always been good enough, because Io made it home.

The sounds of her going-away party stream from the window he crawled through. He tries not to think about each second bringing tomorrow that much closer. Focuses instead on the cars a few stories below, the wail of a siren in the distance, the glittering lights and warm breeze and none of it works.

Two years in this apartment together, a few years of therapy and studying and feeling each other out before that. “Friends” doesn’t feel like the right word, but it's the word he's got. The word they use.

Tomorrow he will take her to the airport and watch her fly east, and that will be that.

“Hey,” she says, more question than greeting. Io is already halfway through the window by the time Estinien turns around. “I thought you’d be out here. Everything okay?”

Last he saw her, she and their friends were getting a little rowdy during a drinking game, making the kind of memories he isn’t ready to accept as only memories. Each time she laughs, it’s a reminder this is finite. This isn’t how his life will be next week, or six months from now, and will they even be in contact next year? Just… fuck. So he came out to the fire escape (where it’s easier to hear her if he can’t see her), a reasonable behavior any of the people inside would expect from him.

Except for Io, who knew a going-away party was not his idea from the moment she walked through the door. And she knows he’s not out here just for a smoke.

Her hair has frizzed a bit with the sheer amount of body heat in their apartment. She wears an alcohol blush and a smile that says I can leave you alone if you want. But that’s the last thing he wants so he digs deep, past his natural inclination to run away.

“Just needed some air.” He lights a cigarette and leans against the rusted metal railing. An invitation if she wants it. “You know how it is. How I am.”

Io nods, and the sobering breath she takes, the mental armor she slips on to be around him right now... it kills him. He thought he was doing a decent job of keeping his sulking to himself. Her eyes flick to his, then out at the restless city as she says, “If there’s one thing I know, it’s you.”

But she decides to ignore the eggshells for now and pulls up next to him at the railing, their backs to the noisy street below and the bright lights beyond. Shoulder pressed tight to shoulder, and there's nothing between them.

They face the worn, brown-brick building. Their home. Tucked into the corner of the fire escape, Estinien catches only blurred glimpses of the party inside, but someone (Thancred) has found his guitar and a chorus of off-key voices squeeze out of the partially open window to join them in this already public hideout.

Io hums along for a line or two, then nudges him gently. “You like this song.”

“Alberic likes this song,” he corrects.

“And you like what he likes. Albie may not be your dad, but your taste in music? Something genetic about that.”

A tiny part of him wishes she would stop. That she wouldn’t put her blowout evening on pause just to stand in the dark with him. That she’d do him the service of pretending she doesn’t know his life inside and out.

But the bigger part of him is selfish.

He nudges back. “Yeah, well, you try being impressionable and depressed at fourteen, getting dragged to Blue October and Hinder shows every month. Not my fault it stuck.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Io shrugs. “It’s not just Albie, either. I like how you pick up things from people you love.”

What does he say to that?

His responses snag on "I like how you," trying to twist it into something... Something. So he takes a long drag from his cigarette and says nothing. As they stand there, listening to their friends (badly) sing this song, leaning on each other a little heavier than before, he wonders what she thinks he’s picked up from her.

The song ends in a round of cheers and whoops that cut through this little calm. Estinien shakes his head. Maybe they should go back in. He might be more fun after a couple of shots.

Next to him, Io laughs. The sound is small and out of focus, her real laugh. It’d be lost in the noise inside, so he commits to a few more minutes on this metal deathtrap.

“What?” He passes her the cigarette and she takes it without looking.

He looks though, watching the way their fingers graze, barely, handling something small and smoldering so delicately. Watches her follow some movement from inside, her smile creeping from lips to eyes until the skin on her nose wrinkles. A strand of dark hair blows across her cheek. She raises the cigarette to her mouth, pulls in a slow breath, and his smoke rolls between her lips and into the night.

She passes it back to him, still looking inside.

“Urianger just cleared the table for a tarot reading, but Tataru picked up his spread like he dealt her a hand of poker.” She mimics holding the cards, laughing again. Looks like her buzz is back, and maybe he’s catching it too. “He looks crushed. Ugh, I'll miss this. How am I supposed to do this without you guys?”

Estinien chuckles. He takes a final draw and stubs out the finished cigarette. “They'll be lost without you and you know it. You won't be left out of anything, whether you like it or not.”

“What about you?” She turns to him, breaking the line of warmth at their sides. Replacing it with a teasing smile. “Can't wait for me to go so you can finally have some peace and quiet?”

He looks through the grates under their feet, thinking about this apartment—this city—without Io: Never finding his clothes in her laundry, no surprise takeouts when he’s home late from work, not getting absorbed into her fucking obscure dramedy binge-watches. Her quiet hope, the music she radiates even in silence. The thing that’s taking her away.

How did she come to occupy so much space in his life, burning through him, like smoke in his lungs? Their friends won't be the only ones lost without her.

“That’s not true.” His lop-sided grin feels out of place in this sea of sudden nerves. Honesty has never been a difficult thing before tonight. “I’m gonna miss you like hell. I just—” he looks at her, and now he’s the one being watched. She holds him in those big, dark eyes, and maybe there is something between them. Maybe it’s always been there, dormant, or intrinsic and now he's forced to see it for what it is. “I just worry you leaving means we won’t… be like this anymore. That you won’t miss me like I’ll miss you.”

“Estinien—”

“Io—”

“Hey,” she says. Comfort, not a greeting. She surges forward, arms around his neck and waves of puffy blue hair in his face. He feels her cheek on his neck. Her breath, warmer than the night.

The railing is a  sharp pressure against his back as he wraps his arms around her, squeezing her closer. The wind moves their hair and clothes, but they stay, swaying when one repositions an arm or chin. The lights and sounds fade to nothing. There’s only this.

Estinien isn’t ready to let go when Io loosens her grip and pulls back. He hasn’t fully etched the feel of holding her this close into his memory—then there's another feeling. Io presses a kiss to his cheek, so soft he isn’t sure it’s real. She turns her eyes on him again, and his are wide with surprise.

“Estinien." Her voice is low. It shakes. "All I can think about is how I miss you already.”

She lingers, too close to the corner of his lips, arms loose around his neck. Her full weight leans against him, trusting him to hold them both upright. What the fuck is happening? He hasn’t processed her breath rushing over his mouth or her half-closed eyes when she pointedly brushes her nose against his.

He doesn’t know when he started wanting this, but good god, he does. Whether she is in the next room or two thousand miles away isn’t going to change that.

He nods. Their faces glance. There is something comforting in the way even that new touch feels natural. They hover in the almost of it all, and Estinien wonders for the first and final time what Io’s lips will feel like against his, how she tastes.

They meet, then they sink. He follows her lead, the gentle press and the beginning of a hungry rhythm. Her hand drifting from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, and he shivers at the thought of her sliding it into his hair, fingers tangled and tugging—

Glass breaks, and so does their kiss.

“Shit!” Cid’s unmistakable voice is thick and slurred.

Io bolts toward the window. “What on earth did they do?”

“Hey,” Estinien says softly. She turns back to him and when they're eye to eye, he knows she finds his meaning without the need to spell it out. She’s confused like he is, and sheepish delight brightens her expression as she waits for him. “Are we okay?”

“We’re always okay.” She climbs back into the apartment and pokes through the window again. “Now please come back inside. I don’t want to be at the party you planned if you’re not there.”

She air quotes you and planned. Estinien laughs through his nose, but even this pulls him toward her.

“Fine. Move so I can get through.”

They rejoin their friends. Tomorrow still fucking sucks. The difference is now Estinien thinks about how his life will be next week, or six months from now, and how many times he will have kissed Io by next year.

[quillofspirit]

Chapter 2 - Réod

Tropes Slight cowboy AU (some elements only), platonic relationship. tw loss, grief, some injuries mentionned Word count; 3,100

Read on Ao3 here

Chapter 1 here

Chapter 2 – Réod

The fire crackled between well placed rocks and kept Aragorn warm despite the chill night air. He looked at the sleeping woman across the fire pit.

There was something familiar in her story, from the little he knew, and also quite perplexing. He struggled to understand how a woman so naturally at ease with horses and with a name like hers would feel anything else than relief knowing she was heading back to her homeland. She worked hard for her skills, that much was clear by the defined muscles and the confidence of her movement, which could only be the result of practice, lots of it. But parts of it seemed to come to her naturally, like instinct forces the foal to run, or the wolf to hunt.

His travels allowed him to meet many people, royals and subjects alike, those bound to the law of the land and those to their ancestors. His time as a ranger meant he also felled many orcs, goblins and other foul smelling creature, and he found they too had habits and ways of seeing the world that felt central to their identity. It linked them with their land and their people.

He knew within meeting another where they came from, there was always something to give away their origin, whether they meant to keep it from his ranger's ears and his keen eyes or not. She did not appear to be hiding her ancestry, and he felt confident that she would not do so intentionally. Unless she did not know it herself.

She was curled up by the fire, head resting on her arm. She'd be sore tomorrow, he knew from experience, but she was deep asleep before he could voice any concern. Though from what she'd admitted earlier, she didn't need it. Leaving everything you knew demands strength and courage.

If he looked long enough, he thought he could still see traces of their first meeting in the way her eyebrow furrowed at the slightest sound. He struggled to explain the shock of seeing a woman arguing with a horse in the forest. It should not have surprised him, he grew up with people and spent time with others who had a deep connection to their horses. Unexpected, that was the word. It had been unexpected.

Sparks flew up to the night sky, blending into the glittering stars, and Aragorn let his eyes drift to the horse snoozing behind the woman. It looked asleep, its bottom lip hanging loosely and quivering occasionally, but he knew better.

"You have looked after her well Réod," he spoke lowly in Elvish.

The horse's ears twitched and he shifted his balance.

"One might think you are returning a favour."

His eyes opened and looked at him, with a twinkle that wasn't from the fire or the stars, but something much more akin to wisdom.

A log cracked loudly in the fire and the woman shifted in her sleep. At the sound, Réod stepped closer to her and put his nose to her cheek. Her brow relaxed at the warm and familiar touch, and she sighed, pulling the cloak closer to her chin.

He hadn't responded to her offer yet, and if he had any doubts about her honesty before, the obvious care from the horse solidified his belief. One could always trust a horse's instinct. And, he knew he would not outrun Réod.

Éostré woke with a sore neck. She couldn't be surprised when her sleeping accommodation consisted of her cloak and some loose dirt. Still, she sat up gingerly and found the annoyance stubbornly holding on to her mind vanquished by the beauty of her surroundings. The sun streamed between tall trees where birds chirped and trilled in the early morning, the small creek twinkling in the shy sun light. Except for the occasional gallop between pasture, she rarely had the occasion to appreciate a sunrise. She breathed the moment in deeply, finding the chill air – still untouched by the sun – invigorating.

A soft splash broke through the singing of the birds, and she smiled fondly at Réod making his way into the shallow water, amused by the sound and the sparkle of the drops. The horse snickered when water hit his nose, and he paused briefly before pawing at the stream with vigour. While she laughed, Éostré wondered if the will of the horse could win out over the relentless water, and was all the more warmed at the thought of that horse by her side again.

She got up from her sleeping spot with minimal grimaces and whines, though not without effort, and looked for the Ranger, disappointment snipping at her optimism when she didn't find him. In truth, though he had not verbally accepted her offer, she hoped he might travel with her at least part of the way. It would make for an easier time, and she did really want the company.

She was reassured when her eyes fell on his cloak laid by the fire, and wondered if he had slept at all. When rough whiskers tickled her, she turned to see Réod had abandoned the battle of wits to nuzzle at her arm. Regardless of the Ranger's decision, she had a loyal and trustworthy companion by her side.

"I'm glad you slept well," said Aragorn as he appeared from the forest, "we should break fast and travel while the sun shines."

Réod startled at the sound of his voice, displeased by his interruption as it moved Éostré's attention to the Ranger. The woman chuckled at the horse's spark of jealousy and offered a few scratches, which he accepted, happy to compromise.

She had heard whispers, some of it in revered tones, about the skills of rangers, those that seemed to be invisible unless they wanted to be seen. It was the first time the thought brought her some comfort, as she did not tend to be unnoticed, and neither did Réod. She kept hope that their journey would be unimpeded, but knew in her gut it might not be so.

It did not take long for them to find a comfortable pace, with Réod firmly by her side and Aragorn leading. By the time the sun shone above their heads, they had made good progress and Aragorn fallen back in step with Éostré.

"How did you come to form such a formidable friendship with another's horse?" His voice carried without much effort, and she wondered how well he would sound in a great hall. She smiled as she answered.

"I raised Réod from a foal. His dam passed not long after his birth, and I couldn't stand by and let him follow her. He was so fragile still, but he had a desire to live," she looked at the horse trotting ahead as she talked. "By the time I finished training him, some of the Lords had heard of him and were ready to purchase him from me."

The breath she let out then told him how much that choice had cost her. She watched the horse fondly as he quickly grazed on enticing leaves. Her reticence to have Réod accompany her made sense now, not many would believe the horse had followed her despite her protests. She would be treated a thief by the Lords and an arsonist by the innkeeper. She could start a new life in Rohan, where her talents would be highly regarded. 'She might be surprised how at home she feels' Aragorn thought to himself.

"My family didn't have much, and that's how I could contribute. Both my parents passed two years later, and I started to work at the inn. When I saw Réod again, I knew I had to stay."

"In spite of the owner?" Aragorn asked, though he thought he knew the answer.

"I would fight the earth, the sky and all the magic in this world for that horse, and I won't be the one to abandon him again." she said.

Aragorn smiled, thinking of his own dear mother. Éostré continued

"His new owner liked to stay nearby, and Réod always had a place in my – the stable."

Her smile lost a bit of shine, and she almost hid it well.

"I suppose it is mine no longer," she shrugged. "It never was, but people called it so and I spent years caring for the place and the horses. I have the scars to prove it."

She added, and there was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she showed her hands and forearms. Aragorn was surprised by the amount, her sun-tanned skin peppered with scars, big and small.

"This one I got from a bad splinter. This one from a troubled horse before we found out he was unwell."

"So, I just felt like it was mine. I might have grown old and happy there."

She reached for her back and stroked a hand over her shoulder absentmindedly.

Behind them, Réod halted and blew air, almost at the same moment Aragorn stopped and put a hand on the hilt of his sword. The horse snorted and looked at the forest uneasily while Éostré grabbed the hilt and nimbly swung herself on the saddle.

From the shadows, three rugged men appeared. They sneered at the group and strode towards them with every confidence they would walk away with a good horde. Two other had used the distraction to block retreat, and Aragorn turned to them while Réod and Éostré faced the front.

"Aye boys, what do you suppose the lady has for us?"

It was a mean looking one in the front, with an ugly smirk curving his lips. Before Aragorn could answer, Éostré was advancing with Réod.

"This lady has only the edge of her sword and the might of her steed to offer those who would impede her travels."

She continued through the men's shock.

"I would advise you consider your options, Sirs and let us pass."

The man who had spoken looked at Éostré, his smirk widening like he was already enjoying how he could break through the facade. The woman stood tall in her saddle, and she looked him straight in the eye, but the sun shone brightly behind her head, her hair the colour of autumn leaves as the light passed through each strand, and he struggled to hold her glare. The bandit told himself he needed to keep and eye on that damn horse instead, and he faked a laugh, pointing his sword at the horse.

"Now, now, we've asked gently! Thought you nobles were s'posed to be courteous."

Today was the day their instincts failed them, but turning back now was admitting defeat to a woman and her horse, and that he couldn't stomach. She pushed Réod closer, and he was forced to look down as the sun burned his eyes.

"The lady's been generous enough to let you keep your tongue, to expect more speaks only of your greed." she spoke with confidence and grabbed the rope at her hip.

Réod was growing impatient, his ears pinned back and unable to stand still, and Aragorn didn't know how long Éostré would hold him back. The two men at the back of the group were stealing looks at each other, slowly edging back into the woods.

When Aragorn spoke, the men startled. They'd quite forgotten him.

"I wouldn't test the lady or the horse, they're quite unforgiving."

"Ah, so the guard dog talks, she must be paying you handsomely."

Éostré did not take kindly to his tone and calmly adjusted the rope in her hands. The man seemed amused by the gesture.

"He's not known for his patience," Aragorn replied.

"Neither am I." Éostré added.

In one swift movement, she'd circled the looped rope above her head and sent it towards the three. Seeing the rope come, the bandit grabbed his sword with both hands and moved to block it. Instead, it slipped down the blade and settled around his wrists. At the same moment, Éostré wrapped her end on the hilt of the saddle and Réod took quick steps back, squeezing the bandit's wrists and sending his sword clattering to the ground. In less than a breath, the man was disarmed and caught.

"Are you happy with your little trick, lady?" He spit at her.

Éostré laughed at him and pulled a little on the rope to remind him of his position.

"Well, you are now alone and unarmed."

Seeing their leader vulnerable convinced his friends to flee back into the trees. His eyes betrayed his fury, but he stayed silent now.

"Go find them before they decide you're not worth saving." She said.

A flick of her wrist loosened the rope enough that it slipped off, and the man massaged his red skin, hesitating. Éostré interrupted his planning.

"Leave the sword, you won't need it."

Réod pawed the ground aggressively as the bandit ran back into the woods, disappearing between trunks and bushes

.

With the men fully chased off, Éostré stroked Réod's wide neck.

"One would think you've had practice intimidating ruffians," Aragorn offered as he sheathed his sword.

Éostré chuckled and slid down her saddle.

"I am in the habit of dealing with animals over 40 stones trying to trample me, I am not, however, in the habit of being intimidated by an overpowered babble of boys better suited as jesters."

Aragorn hid his laugh in a cough and pet Réod's head, whispering words of comfort. She didn't understand it, or know what language it was, but it had a sweet melody, she noted. If she had been more familiar with the elven-tongue, she would know he was expressing fond concerns about escorting a woman with her temperament, but the horse knew it to be good-matured teasing and agreed.

As they walked, the forest slowly gave way to valleys decorated by bushes blooming little yellow flowers. Around them, the sparse trees grew fewer, leaving only the yellow grassy hills. Instead of trees, thick lupine flowers grew in bushels, like spears of vivid yellow lining the road.

Réod kept grabbing handfuls of them any time he could, trying to hide it from the two walking behind. Éostré smiled fondly at him everytime, but her gaze seemed far away. Aragorn was content with only the breeze to occupy the silence, he didn't feel it was his place to prod. She, however, could bear the heaviness of silence no longer, and though her stare remained far, she addressed him.

"I have grown fond of the purple and pink kind, but I had never seen so many yellow lupines. Réod seems to think they taste wonderful."

He smiled at that.

"Horses tend to like the white ones most, but I prefer the seeds of the blue one."

The woman almost missed her next step, so concerned with the words she heard.

"You – you eat them?"

"Once prepared, they make for a sweet nut-like pea."

"How long was it before you started sharing your horses' preferences?"

Aragorn shook his head and watched Réod take a mouthful of the sweet flowers, ripping it up to the roots with his enthusiasm. The horse was surprised by the unexpected appearance and nickered before attempting to jump away from the roots flying around his head threateningly.

Éostré and Aragorn laughed as they watched Réod gallop away from the terrible danger suddenly emerging.

Over the next few days of travel, Éostré often found Aragorn looking after Réod. His affection did not go unnoticed by the horse, who had grown into the habit of using the man's broad back as a scratching post, and to the woman's surprise, he let him.

One morning, he woke and found the spot where Éostré had curled up to sleep empty. Not one to give in to fear, he called for her, receiving nothing but the waking snort of Réod, who looked startled not to see her.

Aragorn found footsteps in the soft dirt just as Réod picked up the same direction. The Ranger grabbed his sword out of habit, he doubted something might have happened without him or the horse hearing it.

A short but brisk walk had them climbing a small hill, upon which sat Éostré. She was on her knees, arms tightly wound around herself and tears falling freely down her cheeks. Empathy grabbed hold of his heart, and Aragorn sat beside her in the grass, Réod on the other side.

She did not acknowledge either of them, sighing shakily and wiping her cheeks with her sleeves, drawing calming breaths before she broke the silence, her voice scratchy. It betrayed how long she'd been sitting here, alone with her thoughts.

"I had a vivid dream that brought memories forth. I did not want to wake you before the sun did."

She looked at him and forced a smile on her lips.

"I saw a few rabbits around, I bet we could catch one for breakfast."

Aragorn mulled over her words, and his answer had her smile faltering.

"Do not let your burdens weight on you alone when you are not, Éostré."

She turned back to the horizon and took in another shaky breath. Then, she closed her eyes and a big tear rolled down her face.

"When I was little, my neighbour fell from his roof one day and I was the only one around. His arm and two ribs were broken from the fall, and his wrist was in bad shape. I was too young to know how to help, even though I wanted to."

She kept her eyes closed as she spoke.

"I got on one of his horses and fetched help. She was the biggest mare I've ever seen, with a beautiful grey coat and intelligent eyes. I learned to ride on her, my neighbour insisted since my family didn't have one of our own."

"One morning, years later, the mare came to me as I walked to his house. She seemed calm, and intent on appreciating the warm summer sun. She gave her last breath that day, laid on soft green grass and belly full."

She was no longer sobbing, but small tears fell down her cheeks as she talked. The sun was barely over the hills, shy fingers stroking the tops of bushes and making the drops on her face glitter.

"Today marks the 5 year anniversary, and I am no closer to feeling at home than I ever felt caring for that mare."

Wiping her cheeks, she looked to the sky and stroked Réod's shiny coat, mind far from where they sat. They stayed watching the sunrise until it was well over the hills and Éostré's stomach grumbled its discontentment.

She chuckled despite herself and turned to Aragorn.

"Who'd you think can catch breakfast faster?"

I love Réod more everytime

[emhasthoughts]

Trick or Treat

Summary: Eric and Fiona were dead set on dressing up the cats.

A/N: "I'm not gonna write another bonus, I'm not gonna write another bonus, I'm not gonna - Fuck it" I had to write this bc I got the idea in my brain during a stream and it wouldn't let go until I wrote it

Thanks @dcartcorner , the two chatters in stream and my friend who helped me decide on some of the costumes.

Inspiration for Daisy's costume

Not beta read, just me, lil document and thoughts about cats

Pt 1, Simon, Peter, Elias and Mike / Pt 2, Michael and Helen Distortion, Agnes / Pt 3, Annabelle, Jude, Oliver / Pt 4, Maxwell, Manuela, John, Jane / Bonus, a visit to the vet

Gertrude blamed Eric Delano for the situation she was in. Well, Eric and Fiona Law. She could hear the two talk on the 30th that Gertrude felt was not work related. Her suspicion was confirmed as Eric knocked on the door to her office, leaning against the doorframe as he waited for her to look up. 

“Yes Eric?” 

“So… Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Because it’s Halloween. Going out for drinks with, oh, what was his name? Jurgen Lighter?” 

“Leitner.” Gertrude sighed. “And no. I’m going to be home. Halloween is just a time of year to give children excuses to eat a lot of candy.” 

“Riiight-” Eric drummed his fingers against the door frame. “You got cats though, right?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to dress them up?”

“Now why would I do that?”

Because Eric and Fiona were dead set on dressing up the cats. So after work they forced Gertrude to the local pet shop in order to find enough costumes for the cats. It was quite hard figuring everything out. Spending hours there looking at photos of the cats to find the right match. 

“We’ll go home to yours directly after work then?” Fiona clarified with Gertrude before they went their separate ways. Gertrude only answered with a nod and mumble about how tomorrow would not be a great day.

31st started just fine. The day went on as usual, though her assistants were more talkative than normal. Eventually it was time to leave and the four stood ready as Gertrude exited her office. She sighed. Clearly no one had forgotten. 

Some of the cats were very easy to get into their costumes. Oliver, Maxwell and Manuela got dressed as bats with wings, matching their already black fur. Oliver let it happen while the other two put on a bit more of a fight. Eric had a bit worse of a luck than Emma as he decided on the twins, both wearing a very colourful snake costume that Michael had first fought to not have to wear, Gerry however had been more peaceful, glaring at Eric as he got a onesie full of different types of eyes on it. 

Poor Sarah had decided to take on Mike, which had gone as well as one might expect from him as Sarah tried to get him into a cloud costume. She had then taken three of the more peaceful cats. Simon, dressed as a bee and Peter who had accepted his fate to be dressed as a jester. She had even managed to catch Elias to put him in an owl costume. 

Gertrude decided to make it as easy as possible by taking the cats that seemed the most interested in the costumes. Tim dressed in a cape similar to how a vampire costume would be, Martin who got a cow costume, Sasha who got a small knitted sweater and quickly made glasses to fit a cat, Jon who joined - or was bullied by Tim - was put in a moth costume. Agnes came up to her for her costume, looking like a fire with a crown on top of her head.

Fiona got Daisy into a dog costume, Melanie got on a lion's mane and Basira who got put in a box painted like a police car, though not without some chasing, scratching and something that fell from a table.  Emma stuck to the theme of the matching outfits as she managed to get Jane into a worm costume, John into a fly costume and Annabelle into a spider costume. Eric changed out Georgie’s collar to one that said ‘The Admiral’. Jared got a onesie similar to Gerry’s though this one had a pattern of bones. Fiona had to take Jude and Nikola. Jude dressed up as a flame while Nikola looked like a toy soldier.

After a bunch of photos and attempts at getting Gertrude out with them, Emma, Fiona, Sarah and Eric decided to leave. Planning to go to some bar they liked. Leaving Gertrude alone with cats in stupid costumes and having to answer the door as people dressed up came by. Which was a bit of a pain as cats wanted to get out or the people showing up saw the dressed up cats. Gertrude was not very happy to get the cats OUT of the costumes again.