#he was on screen for less than 6 seconds. how ..

[electricgg]

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 2: I Am Not My Body, Not My Mind Or My Brain

Masterlist Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 (Here!) / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 /

Trigger Warnings: Body Dysphoria, Medical Procedures

Heating food is a simple task. Humans have evolved enough through the decades to have invented this precious device called a microwave so that food could heat up faster for consumption. Sure, various studies confirmed that too much radiation on food is not suitable for your health, but people still smoked car batteries while claiming it was good for their anxiety.

Still, Timothy Drake managed to burn his dinner even if Alfred left instructions to leave it for one minute and twenty seconds. 

He could feel the smugness coming from Damian’s spot at the kitchen island, chomping on his food with the refinement of a prince while staring at how Tim scraped his burnt food from the plate into the trash can.

Coffee will do for now. He will not have a meltdown over that diabolical microwave that seems only to burn his food without fail.

“Losing against a machine is beneath you, Drake,” the boy said while glaring at the coffee machine with disgust.

“I'll take it as a divine sign to wait until Alfred comes home. Or I will throw the damn thing out the window.”

Damian scowled. 

‘Leave it to Drake to embarrass the family.’

‘At least it’s on the privacy of the manor. Not like the real embarrassment of the family.’ A cold voice whispered in the back of his mind, making the food in his mouth taste bitter.

It wouldn’t be the first time that she pulled a stunt like that to gather some attention from their father. Damian always kept track of her embarrassing actions (it satisfied him to know that no one could sink lower than the person he supposedly shares blood with), but it would be the first time the police had to be involved. Not even Todd had managed to do that, if we are talking about civilian aspects. 

In his opinion, she needed to stop trying so hard and learn that she would never be on the same level as the rest of them. Too soft. Too weak. Too much of everything and too little of anything. 

There was no way they could be related. Damian refused to be associated with someone who was beneath his intellect, and much less call them his sister. He demanded his father for a blood test after he had lived in the manor for about six months. His father only sighed deeply and denied his request. 

Tt, curse his father’s sensible need to help charity cases.

The chattering from the television transmitted from the room next to the kitchen interrupted his train of thought, chair scraping as he stood up and began washing his dishes.

The main living room of the manor was spacious, a tall ceiling complementing the old-fashioned structure of the dark wallpapered walls and big door windows leading to the backyard field. An L-form black leather couch with a couple of decorative pillows and fluffy blankets folded in the corner was occupied by none other than Cass, who was very focused on the bright screen.

It didn’t take long for Tim to stagger towards the love seat with his cup of steaming black coffee, very proudly showing the ‘#1 Coffee Addict’ engraving on the porcelain. It was a gag gift from Bart, but it was the biggest one he had, so he used it religiously.

Damian stood behind the couch, arms crossed, as the news went on about the recent controversial theme that has been invading every type of communication media. Under any other circumstances, he would have gone down the cave for his late-night training due to not being on patrol. 

But when the item that’s being talked about has been putting even the Justice League on tense negotiations, he’s a bit more inclined to put up with the fake neutral accent from the news reporter just to be more informed.

Mutants.

A bomb that the world is waiting for to blow up.

They’re not old news, but they have been gathering attention in the last few years. Especially in the past three years. 

Mutants have always been a touchy subject. Most of the public confuses them with metahumans due to their similarities, but they couldn’t be any more different. Metas are a recent development compared to mutants. Mutants were born with their ‘gifts’, from physical to mental, while Metas are a result of experimentation or a freak accident that triggered their meta gene. While they share the fact that their powers/mutations manifest under stressful or traumatic situations, mutants have a broad spectrum of possibilities on how their mutation shows up.

Multiple studies have come up with the theory that puberty might be the trigger due to the imbalance of hormones and the unstable emotions that teenagers go through at that age, but it hasn’t been fully backed up because of the high rate of cases of mutations showing up at birth. Too many factors and possibilities exist on how to identify mutants to settle on just one theory.

Which brings the public’s opinion on mutants. 

…People fear. A lot. It’s the basis of survival, the main reason why humans have lived and evolved for centuries. When facing something that qualifies as a threat to themselves, they will respond between their fight or flight instincts. As an evolving species, this has gone from physical needs to a more intellectual field.

Which leads to the public having very violent and strong opinions when it comes to mutants.

So, yeah. A very touchy subject.

“-that brings us to the big question: are mutants able to be controlled, or are we at the mercy of them?” a reporter with way too much blush even for the camera questioned, making Tim snort quietly behind his cup of coffee.

“That’s stupid.”

Damian couldn’t help but agree. And if Cass’s little shuffle was any sign, so did she. It was a very stupid statement.

Can a child with a gun be controlled, or are we at the mercy of them? The news was truly desperate for some pretty faces to get views on their programming.

“With that question in mind, let’s welcome our visitor of the night!” Interrupted a cheery male voice as the screen switched to the other side of the news set. It showed the interview chairs, soft blue chairs occupied by the interviewing reporters on the right side of the screen. On the left side sat the news’ visitor.

He was in a wheelchair, seemingly made of a sturdy material with a thick X formed on the wheels. Blad, thin eyebrows, and a gentle, pleasant expression. Dressed in a brown suit with a dark blue tie. It gave him a very open air, but with a touch of professionalism. He gave a very teacher-like aura. Trustworthy, intelligent, and secure. 

“It is our greatest pleasure to present such an important figure to our interview. We present to you Prof. Charles Francis Xavier. An expert and leading figure in the genetics field, as well as many other scientific fields. It is a great honor to have you here!”

The man chuckled gently at the introduction, dismissively waving his hand over the very flaunting words of the reporter.

“Please, Professor Xavier will suffice. No need for full names here.” His tone was polite and kind, making the atmosphere more soothing after a very bootlicking introduction.

At this point, Damian’s interest was lost. He didn’t need to hear about stuff he already knew about due to all the data and information Drake had engraved into the family’s brain, thanks to Prof. Xavier’s papers on genetics. He could feel Drake’s upcoming debrief on the whole interview during the next meeting, taking notice of how he straightened his back and laser-focused on the TV screen.

As Damian walked away from the living room, the professor’s voice echoed down the halls.

“I’m sure that most people sitting at home are concerned about mutants, but I am here to reassure you that there’s no reason to be so. First, let me explain what the X-Gene is and clarify some assumptions. Shall we?

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

“It worries me, Alfred,” grunted Gordon as he sat down behind his desk. The butler followed the action, sitting on the opposite side with a worried frown on his face.

Gordon was waiting for him at the very entrance of the station, not even letting him go through the ridiculous registration process at the front desk where a very tired secretary sat surrounded by messy papers and four empty cups of coffee at her desk. He didn’t utter a word until they went up the stairs towards his office, dodging sleep-deprived detectives and running cops to do their duties.

“She didn’t seem to even recognize where she was walking or who I was.” Gordon began typing into his computer, sighing once he found the file.

“You mentioned Lady (Y/N) had a head injury,” the butler commented. “How grave is it? Is your doctor competent enough to treat her here?”

The underhanded comment was not missed, but he knew better than to take it personally. Gordon has seen at first hand how Alfred could be a deadly force when it came to the members of the Wayne family. Especially when he prided himself on his medical knowledge.

Even more so when it came to Bruce’s youngest daughter. He remembers very well the day the poor girl’s case came to his desk all those years back.

“Dr. Vidal hasn’t given her report yet, she is still waiting for some blood test results.”

That made Alfred switch his attention.

“I believe I am not familiar with her. What happened to Dr. Ramirez?”

“Old man finally retired two months ago and recommended Vidal for his position.” Gordon snorted.

“She has been here for about two weeks. I was expecting her to quit two days in, but she is quite stubborn. Took hold of the morgue and now only leaves to turn in reports or treat suspects and victims.”

“So nursing background? Perhaps Paramedic training?”

“Worse. Emergency Room back at Gotham General.”

That made Alfred grimace internally. He has way too many horror stories dating back to when Thomas Wayne worked at Gotham’s General Hospital. And ER was hell on Earth, as he recalled the multiple visits due to the young masters’ accidents when they were younger, and he didn’t have the proper resources.

“Try the night shifts. Those were adrenaline-inducing.” A womanly voice caught the older men's attention, making them look back at the office door.

Brown, long hair in a ponytail, and soft brown eyes with a strange glint. Tall and long limbs, her black heels clicking as she walked towards the desk. She wore a white coat, black loose pants, combined with a classy deep emerald green shirt.

But what took Alfred’s attention was her expression as she stared at him directly, even while handing Gordon a cream file with documents.

Her lip’s corner was curled in what could be interpreted as smug. But it didn’t feel like it when her gaze assessed him sharply. When they made eye contact, Alfred felt a freezing sensation at the back of his head and ran all over him.

Like cold nails scraping at his skull, gone the moment she took her eyes off of him.

What an unnerving woman. She fit right in this city without a doubt.

“Test results came back negative, but I wouldn’t discard a bacteria or infection in the following days. Aside from the scraped knees and the head wound, no need for stitches. There were signs of a swollen throat and vocal cords, all from vomiting and choking in the water, but at least the risk of water in her lungs is out of the equation.”  

Gordon nodded, typing the report into his computer. He switched the documents around until he found the one he was looking for.

“And how is she responding? Does she know what happened?”

Dr. Vidal exhaled through her nose, a closed smile indicating there was a lot to unpack there.

“She has motor skills and reacts to questions and answers… but she doesn’t know anything beyond her name and someone named Billy. Claims she has to find him.”

That made Alfred’s stomach twist in a knot. This information wasn’t good at all.

“What exactly ‘she doesn’t know anything’ do you mean by?” the butler snapped in, making Gordon look at him and the doctor pick up the file to hand over to him personally.

“She has basic knowledge and quite a personality. But her mind becomes blank when asked about what her last name is, where she goes to school, what happened before the situation, or where her own house is.”

Gordon hesitates for a few moments, giving Alfred some space before asking in a very slow and careful manner. “Are you implying she has amnesia?”

The Doctor sighed, crossing her arms while sitting on the corner of the cabinet attached to the wall behind the desk and looking between the two men. 

“I believe it’s a bit more than that,” she said in a mindful tone. Alfred felt his heart pounding at his chest, but he didn’t interrupt the woman.

Gordon nodded at her to continue, leaning over to listen to her theory.

“Whatever she hit her head with was with malicious intent. I found a couple of cement residues on her wound, and by the form of the injury, it was thrown at her, or someone took hold of her head and hit her with what I believe could be a brick. Did she fall into the water by accident, or was she pushed in? I don’t know. But I think that someone is out for her, and her mind is blocking it as a trauma response.”

The silence in the office went on for long minutes.

Alfred’s mind ran down with the possibilities. Master Bruce had plenty of enemies, both inside and outside the mask. And it wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to go for one of the children. He even remembered trying to talk his master out of microchipping each one of them while they slept, blaming it on his paranoia taking hold of his common sense.

But what puzzled him was that this was (Y/N). The ‘Embarrassment of The Wayne’.

He hated that title. Loathed it to hell and back.

A girl accidentally falls into a fountain on her very first gala, and the media goes nuts and creates a cruel moniker for a seven-year-old. He curls his fingers tightly around the document file in his hand.

The sobs and calls for her mother still make his nerves boil.

Which leads to why she would be a target.

While it made her feel insecure and the object of many cruel jokes and curious looks, it kept her safe and away from any dirty actions to harm her and Master Bruce.

A cruel price to pay for her safety.

“You mentioned another name.” Gordon’s voice took Alfred’s attention out of his head.

“Billy, wasn’t it?” He repeated the name with a frown. He couldn’t recall anyone with that name.

It took both men off guard at the dark look that came over the doctor, the air turning cold in just a few seconds. But it was gone in the blink of an eye. She cleared her throat and straightened her spine.

“Yeah. It could be someone close to her, maybe even the last person she saw before this happened. There are a lot of possibilities, but her mind latched onto the name like a dog with a bone.” 

He tried to search through all the talks he had had with the young miss in the past few weeks and months.

No one named Billy came up in their conversations. Not a classmate. Not even a friend (She didn’t have any. She always calls them classmates.). All that she does is go to school, practice after school, visit the psych ward, and go back home. That’s it.

Before anyone could say anything else, a knock at the door took their attention. Gordon permitted them to enter. A young officer opened the door, his face filled with hesitation.

“Sir, we have an issue in the showers.”

Gordon mutters under his breath while taking off his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes. “What is it now, Perez?”

“Um, it’s the Wayne girl.”

That got everyone standing up, with Dr. Vidal already running out the door towards the showers at the back of the station. The three men were also going a step after her, with Alfred almost catching up to her.

“What the hell happened?” Gordon questioned the poor, nervous guy.

“She broke all the mirrors, sir…”

“What?!”

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

Forget riding in a police car with the signal on, taking a hot shower after being in nasty water was the top of best feeling in the world. Fight her on that fact.

The weird doctor was pretty nice. It had been odd at first, being alone with her and the nice police grandpa (he was called Gordon. That’s what she heard the cops call him when they got to the station while he guided her through the halls.). The doctor took care of her head first, putting some stinging spray on the gash to clean any nasty stuff that may have gotten on it. While she continued to check on her body for any other wounds, she asked questions.

Way too many questions. Who knew doctors were this chatty?

When Gordon left to heaven knows where, the doctor seemed to finally relax about the number of questions she threw at her and became quiet.

Which made the ambience awkward.

Which made her start to talk and make it less awkward.

It didn’t work.

Thankfully, the doctor (she grew tired of calling her that so she asked for a name. The woman only looked at her for a bit before saying Rio and go back to write on her file. Such a sociable lady.) didn’t tell her to shut it and just let her talk and talk until she ran out of things to say.

Her skin was vibrating under the still-wet clothes, the uncomfortable sensation making her bounce her legs from her seat on the medical cushioned table. Her fingers were wringing at the white paper beneath her, the crinkling sound breaking goosebumps into her skin.

Then, more personal questions started. But this time, Rio was looking directly at her.

From her full name to where she lived. Even the last thing she remembered before waking up in the nasty pool. It was quite an eye-opening experience, and it left her feeling lost.

Do you know your last name? How old are you? Um, odd. She can’t recall.

What day is your birthday? What does your dad do for a living? …That’s very weird. Birthdays were a funny thing. And her dad was- was a- he was? He was fading, he faded.withthem.he’swiththem.heisgonegonegonegon-

What grade are you in? What is your favorite color?...

Who are your siblings? How many do you have? …justone-

Where is your mother? alivealivealivealivealiVEALIVE-

It was a very tiring experience. Her head was pounding, and she had to close her eyes and lie down for a while. Rio got her some water and pills. Said it was for the headache.

They helped very little. Her fingers continued to tremble around the half-empty plastic cup.

Which was why it was the perfect moment to ask if she could use the showers. Rio blinked at her before rolling her eyes and handing her some sweats and a towel she found in the locker room. 

And that’s how she got her very much needed shower.

As soon as she got inside, she beelined towards the benches and put down the new clothes and stripped out of the nasty, ruined uniform. Then she hauled towards the nearest head shower and stood beneath the hot stream for a while.

Rio told her that while the bandage on her head was waterproof, she would have switch it for a new one after she finished. So she didn’t mind wetting her head.

Throughout the whole thing, her hair hadn’t exactly come to her mind. It wasn’t a priority.

Her fingers got stuck in a few knots that would be hard to get rid of without a brush at hand, so she just tried to get out as much of the moldy smell emitting from her with a bar of soap and a small shampoo bottle that Rio got her. It was a bit hard but not impossible, the scent of pomegranate and rosemary soothing and washing away the nasty gunk of her hair.

She hadn’t realized that she was calm enough to close her eyes and enjoy being clean after all of that fiasco.

A new plan had to be made. Not having a single clue of where she was and only her name and Billy’s was not working in her favor. After this, she had no idea where she could go or turn to. She needed guidance, someone to turn to and tell her what-

This is not her hair.

All of her thoughts came to a full stop. She had looked down to take the strands of hair that got tangled on her fingers. Just a simple action. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But the strands were wrong. It wasn’t her hair.

Black, long strands of hair were going between her fingers. They were forming different shapes and lines on her skin, which led to another thought.

This is not her skin. Those are not her fingers.

The water suddenly felt too heavy on her. She switched it off and ran off, almost slipping on the floor until she reached her towel and wrapped it around her.

This is not her hair. This is not her skin. These were not her fingers.

She gripped the towel, her gaze still focused on the hair strands on her hands. A ringing sound started to sound around her ears—a very far-off sound.

This is not her hair. This is not her skin. These are not her fingers.

She lifted the hand closer, looking at the black hairs while a shuddering breath left her lips. The ringing grew closer and louder. Goosebumps broke out on the skin, and her stomach fell down in a very uncomfortable sensation.

This is not her hair. This is not her skin. These are not her fingers.

One strand of hair was rubbed between the fingertips. Tiny water drops dripped down from it, revealing the natural pattern of the hair. Pin straight. The ringing was just by her ear, not registering any other noise. Her chest was heaving rapidly, heart at her throat, and a cold sweat was going down her spine.

Not her hair. Not her skin. Not her fingers.

…What else wasn’t hers?

A mirror. She needed a mirror. Right now.

Her head moved around in circles, the ends of the wet hair wiping against her back and making a sick feeling go through her body. She took a few steps backward, looking for any type of thing that had a reflection on it.

It felt too long. Her hair was never this long. She was sure of it.

‘There! Corner!’ her mind supplied when a glint of light caught her attention by the corner of her eye.

At one moment, she was by the benches, clothes folded or thrown on the floor and forgotten. At the next, she was standing right in front of the mirror, body trembling as she finally made eye contact with her reflection.

Not even the noise of lockers slamming open by a gust of fast wind snapped her out of her trance.

The facial structure was sharp. Cheekbones specifically. A very distinctive mole stood on the left side of her face, just above the start of the cheekbone. Skin looked pale, almost translucent due to the lack of sunlight. She could see the blue lines of the veins underneath her skin thanks to the white lights of the bathroom.

She looked sick. Very sick. Her mouth was suddenly very dry, making her swallow hard and feeling all senses of wrongness in her chest to the ends of her fingertips.

This was wrong. She was all wrong.

She took a few shaky steps closer to the mirror. Close enough to have hands against the cold surface. Fingers trembling, making a tapping motion as her gaze wandered around the reflection. 

Straight black hair, some heavy knots visibly sticking out around it. It reached halfway down her back. Water stopped dripping down the ends since she made her way to the mirror. The bandage gauze was still attached to the side of her head, no signs of blood on sight, but the material looked a bit inflated due to being soaked.

And her eyes… she only saw a glimpse of cold grey before she slammed her lids shut. Scrunching them hardly until the only thing she could see was white spots around the darkness.

The tapping increased. It moved the glass beneath her fingers.

It was all wrong. She wasn’t supposed to look like this. That wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. She is supposed to look like Billy. She doesn’t have black hair. She doesn’t have long hair. She is not this pale. She is not sick.

The mirror trembled under her fingers.

She is not this tall. She is supposed to be shorter. She doesn’t have these awkward limbs.  She looks like-

…Who was she supposed to look like?

Her mind supplies images, but they are all missing something. Like a magazine that has stuff cut out or ripped away. She sees a house, but the people are gone. She sees a front yard, but the neighbors are gone. A Halloween party, but nobody is on the streets. A children's room, but the beds are empty.

The mirror shakes under the pressure.

An empty house office. A dog bowl with no food. A messy kitchen with no kids. A dinner set at the table with nobody to eat it. A garden with gardening tools lying around. A red sky is coming closer and closer.

A framed picture with a family whose faces are scratched out.

She screams as the mirror explodes under her tapping fingers. 

The shards flew around the place, but not a single one touched her. Some landed on other mirrors, the impact making them shatter. 

She jumped back and landed sitting on the floor, head and heart pounding, as officers entered the place with all the commotion. Someone tried to grab at her, but she flinched and scrambled back until she made contact with the cold wall.

Her ears were ringing. Vision blurry. All she could see were blobs moving around, some farther and others closer. The voices were muffled. Her knees were brought up to her chest, hugging them tightly. Waiting for whatever was happening to pass.

Time was weird. Everything moved either too fast or too slow. Was this what a panic attack was, or was this something else entirely? Either way, she hated it. Hopefully, she would never have to go through it again.

It was then that Rio’s face came into view. The first person her mind managed to register.

She didn’t touch her. She was talking, but the ringing was still going on strong. Rio began to talk to the other people around the room. It actually looked like yelling, but it wasn’t at her, so she was not going to say anything about it.

Then a warm touch came to her shoulder.

This time, she didn’t flinch. It was weird. Her body leaned against it before she turned her head to the side to see who it was. And why she felt so safe and calm out of the sudden.

An old man. Dressed sharply, like that butler in the sitcom about a nanny. Gray hair and a concerned expression on his face. A classic mustache that brought some tears to her eyes, along with a warm feeling that spread from deep in her chest.

“(Y/N), can you hear me?” his accented voice registered through the fading ringing.

Before he could say anything else, she dove into his arms, forgetting that she was only covered by a towel. Sobs and tears stained his clothes. But before any apologies could come out, the man wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly as he talked to her soothingly. Caressing her head while she continued to cry.

A whisper went on the back of her mind. It was quick and gone in an instant. But she still heard it.

‘Alfred. Safe. Trust him. Only him. Not the family.’

‘Never the family’

“Alfred,” she whispered out loud. The man, Alfred, sighed in relief at hearing her respond.

“It’s alright. You can rest now, my dear. I’ll take care of it.”

She sighed shakily at his words. Eyes slid close. Not to sleep, just calm down for a bit. There was no way she could sleep with all that had transpired in the past few hours.

But I have someone now. I’m not as alone as I thought.

And that was enough for now.

Author's Note: This chapter was a beast to write. It will probably be the only long chapter for a while. I was even thinking of dividing it in two parts but I decided against it. Next chapter we are finally going to see the dynamic with the Wayne, so excited for it because it will be hilarious. Maximoff is about to enter like a tornado through the manor lol. Let me know what you all think, what theories and your favorite part of this chapter you all liked!! Happy early chapter and sending hugs, GG✨

Tag List:  @bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild

Bonus Memes:

[daylighted]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 !!

𐚁 bull rider ! beau arlen x high school sweetheart ! reader !! home has never been a place but a person, and he's finally ready to go back to you . . . six years too late. ℧ mdni !! sexual content. high school sweethearts to exes to lovers. couple's quarrels. festering tension. angry sex? word count : 14.1k (LMFAO) ☆ minor characters !! kelsey. daisy. delilah gaylestone. rhett gaylestone. moonlight. sunshine. brooks williamson. abigail williamson. ella gaylestone.

FIVE YEARS AGO —

“you really are livin’ proof of the american dream, ain’t you, beau arlen?” 

“why, yes ma’am, i’d say so.” 

you pause the tv on his face, taking in every single detail about beau that had changed in the last 6 years. his facial hair was fuller, hair a little longer and a lot less kempt. his eyes held deeper bags beneath them, but still shone with the glimmering gold-green that swayed you toward him in the first place.

you hit rewind, and then play again.

“mr. arlen! another victory under your belt buckle,” the interviewer says, sounding breathless even though she had not been the one atop a bucking bull, grasping at the horn of a saddle for purchase to keep from tipping off. “i’m sure this feels typical for you, by now.”

three championship belt buckles, four second-place trophies, and so many medals and roses that the mere announcement of beau arlen being next had the stadium littered in petals. 

not that you kept up with him, or anything. 

“the thrill never dies, no matter how many times it’s happened,” beau says, dimples dipping into his cheeks. he lifts the stetson off of his head, runs a sweaty hand through sweatier locks of hair. 

the interviewer’s name fades onto the screen below her too wide grin. kelsey jones wants in your man’s pants, and you aren’t entirely convinced that he didn’t take her home that night. how many fingers had undone that giant championship buckle, while you sat at home, waiting for a man too busy chasing thrills to remember what he left in the montana dust? 

“you really are livin’ proof of the american dream, ain’t you, beau arlen?” 

you turn the tv off.

behind you, daisy arlen clacks her toy blocks together, building a tower taller than she was. her gold-green eyes flick up to meet yours, little mouth parted in wonder, forming babbling sentences that were only ever semi-coherent.

this one sounded devastatingly close to the innocent ramblings of a little girl asking for her father.

you scoop her up, placing her in the crook of your hip that she lived in. "sorry, sweetheart," you say on a sigh, with a final glance toward the blank tv screen, "daddy ain't comin' home."

beau arlen was a friend of a friend of a friend. your best friend was a princess of a girl named delilah, most fondly known as del, who was dating a farmer's son named rhett, who was best friends with beau.

of course you knew all about beau. del couldn't seem to go a day without bringing up rhett, which most of the time had beau's name in her mouth too. you'd never properly met him except the occasional shared class in your small town's smaller high school, but you had a backlog of blackmail on him in the back of your mind.

he went to church every sunday after partying all night saturday with his friends. he snuck into rhett's barn to go for a late ride with his favorite of the gaylestone family's horses, moonlight. he so often stole from the arlen liquor cabinet that half of the vodka was water, and he misplaced which bottles were which all the time.

but meeting him? no, you'd never had the pleasure of it. del spent a lot of her time with rhett, but she never skimped on a girls' night every weekend, where you'd get to hear all of the shenanigans that the montana boys got up to.

it was routine. you got to know all of the little things about one of your town's most notorious rebellious cowboys, and pretended that you didn't know that, in turn, he probably got to hear all about you.

del sat on your bed, navy blue nail polish still wet on her fingers as she idly waved her hand around, humming along to whatever song drifted through the radio on your sidetable. "rhett wants to hang out tonight."

you startle from your spot next to her, a second coat of maroon drying on your own fingernails. "what? no. he knows every saturday is girls' night and," you wave your hand in a mock imitation of hers, "boys' night for him, or whatever."

"i know," she hums, like she wasn't trying to completely skew this routine you guys had built up since you were in junior high. "s'just that brooks is sick, and rhett doesn't like hangin' out one-on-one with beau. says they get all drunk n' sentimental."

you could think of so many worse things they could get up into besides cuddly and pouty, but teenage boys were prone to thinking a molehill was a mountain.

you don't look over at del, not wanting to look her in the eyes as she so casually tries to abandon you for a boy. you know, something that best friends always promise they won't do, before they do it. "so, you're gonna go hang with rhett and arlen?"

her eyes are on you; not glaring, but staring hard enough that it could singe your temple. "no. rhett and arlen wanna come over."

"what?" you sound like a broken record at this point, but seriously, what? "no way."

"you've got that ol' barn!" she argues, conveniently looking away when you fix her with your own stare. "your folks will never find out."

"delilah."

del stumbles on a little giggle, examining the handiwork of her freshly painted nails. dark blue like the sky and the headband she wore to keep the stray curly bangs out of her eyes. "it's just a one time thing," she assures, curling her fingers around your wrist, "don't you wanna meet beaauuu?"

"no." passing him in the halls was plenty, thank you. "no, i do not wanna meet beaauuu."

"beau wants to meet you." you close your eyes as if that alone could erase that sentence from your reality. "rhett said so. that's why i ever even brought this up, y'know? i wouldn't drop this on you if i wasn't desperately tryin' to get my girl coupled up for double dates with me."

the ulterior motives were sickening. you were in pajamas, for crying out loud, and now two of the three hellions of your grade were about to be at your house. not that you cared what rhett thought of you, or really what beau arlen did, but...

del had been your best friend since you two were in diapers. she could have read your expression without seeing it, looking straight through the back of your head. she nods toward your closet. "the white sundress. with those boots of yours." she smiles wide, like she wasn't turning the tides of time completely on their axis in one sentence. "beau likes cowgirls."

your family's barn was a rundown little thing on the edge of your property before it delved into fields. your father kept it up for sentimental value, having built a newer, sturdier one closer to your home. makes the walk shorter for me n' my old bones, he'd said once.

the ladder to the loft was unsteady and rickety, but you could still remember climbing up there when your hands were too small to properly grip the rungs, could remember running back to the house at sunset and your mom plucking pieces of hay out of your hair before supper.

it was oddly intimate, having this many people in a space that was once your favorite place. hell, even del had only been in here a couple of times, and now here she was, and her boyfriend, and... beau arlen.

he had that gleam in his eyes that mothers warned their daughters about, a head of hair that poked out through the brim of the hat he wore. he had a plaid jacket tied around his waist, leaving him in a dirt stained white tanktop and an equally stained pair of faded blue jeans.

rhett was already drunk and incredibly sentimental. he clung to del's arm like a bride walking down the aisle, nuzzling his face into her neck like a cat marking its scent. you didn't even get a chance to wish her good luck before he was attaching himself to her.

which left you and beau. beau, who stood in the corner of the barn, looking elusive and mysterious without even meaning to be. he had a sweaty glass bottle of beer in his fingertips, his other hand tracing idly over the splintering wood.

wanted to meet you, your ass. he'd isolated himself, looking just as awkward as you felt. it really was your fault for believing your best friend wouldn't make up some sort of tall tale to get to spend a full weekend with her boyfriend.

beau turned on a dime, his eyes finding yours, too fast for you to pretend you were not, in fact, staring at the back of his head. half of his mouth lifted in a smile. he doesn't say hi, or address it, just jerked his head in the direction of the wall he'd been looking at.

"there's writin' on it," he said, taking a quick swig from the bottle he held. "'m guessin' you're princess peach."

your face flushed against your will. you'd forgotten all about— "no, actually," you blurted out, as eager to throw del under the bus as she'd been with you, "that's del."

his smile widened for a second, before he turned back to the engravings on the wooden paneling. "so you were princess strawberry."

this was not a good idea. this space was not for anyone else but you and the littler versions of you that still lingered in memory. beau arlen did not do anything to earn seeing these glimpses of you.

"come over here n' stop wallowin'," he laughed, tapping a nail against the writing, "'m not judgin' you or anything, sweetheart. i happen to think it's endearing as all get out."

you really did not want to see his live reactions to the little scraps of your childhood in these walls, but what else were you supposed to do? let beau arlen walk your space on his own and third wheel with rhett and del?

so you walked up to him, the chipping wood barely doing anything to mask the words you and del had scratched into the walls many years ago. "if it makes you feel better," beau drawled, his voice softer now that you were shoulder to shoulder, "i used t'do the same thing when i was a kid."

"pretend to be a strawberry princess?" you asked incredulously, eyebrows shooting up on your forehead.

his laugh was as warm as a shot of whiskey. his teeth were straight and blinding in the moonlight. you'd been so adamant on never properly meeting him that you'd forgotten why you wanted to stay away so badly. boys like him, with smiles like that, were nothing but trouble.

"no, i used to..." he shook his head, glancing back toward his friend and yours on the other side of the barn. del was stuck in a sloppy slow dance with rhett now, and somehow, the stetson on his head was now on hers. you barely restrained the amused smile, and beau didn't even bother to try. "i used to pretend i was a cowboy," he finally said, head tipped down as he stares up shyly through his eyelashes. they were so long. his eyes were so green. good lord. "wrasslin' up all of the angry bulls. takin' care of business as the arlenville sheriff."

"arlenville?" you broke into a little surprised laugh. "no. no way."

beau nodded, his lips curling higher up at the sound of your laugh. this was a terrible idea, leaving you two alone like this, because now you were beginning to think that the double dates with rhett and del didn't sound so appalling. "yes way." beau sat the empty bottle in his hand down on a mottled barrel next to him, using both of his freed hands to throw a pretend lasso. "beau arlen, arlenville's hero, gatherin' up all the wild horses and settin' 'em back loose. cleanin' the streets."

it's so damn ridiculous that you couldn't help but laugh again. beau kept the invisible lasso between his two hands, tossing and tossing until he hooked you. his eyes told you that he was well aware of the fact that he'd already gotten you hooked, lined, and he was just waiting for the sinker.

"are you trying to say i'm wild, beau arlen?" you asked, and you couldn't even help it, really — he did have you lassoed! — when you inched closer by his pretend pulling.

beau's eyes raked up and down your figure, and something shifted in his gaze. another thing you'd heard down the grapevine of your interconnected friend groups was that beau arlen didn't date. he didn't ever really have interest in anyone, just on taking care of the farm he grew up on and causing mayhem every saturday before church with rhett and brooks.

but the look in his eyes said otherwise. those dangerous, golden green eyes. "i'm sayin' i'd sure as hell like to find out."

PRESENT DAY —

the radio filters through the speakers of beau's faded red pickup truck, the cab of it rattling as he presses the gas pedal down more firmly. the window is down, his elbow propped out of it, fingers tapping idly on the door's frame.

he hadn't been back in montana in six years.

he still remembers the day he left. you, standing on the arlen family farmhouse's front porch, waving bye as he backed down the dirt driveway. i'll be back after this competition, baby, he'd promised, the gps on his phone spouting monotone directions through the aux. you couldn't yet afford a plane ticket, so he opted to drive the twenty-two hour trip. a small price for following his dream, wasn't it?

you'd given him a kiss goodbye for good luck. it'd worked. he won the bull riding championship down in dallas's championship rodeo. he stayed an extra day to bask in the victory, following where the party went, enthralled by the way his name sounded in everyone's mouths. beau arlen, bull riding champion. had a hell of a sound to it.

and the following day, when the thrill of the rodeo died down, beau went chasing down another, and another. montana became a blurry memory in the back of his mind. he never forgot you, but you were definitely a reason that he kept away. how could he face you after he broke a promise like that?

but it wasn't easy to maintain a champion status when younger, more wily riders kept popping up left and right. there was a reason that most retired before their mid 30s. beau was getting up there, closing in on his thirtieth that year. it was hard to hang up the hat, harder to not think of it as giving up, but he had to be sensible somehow.

god knew he hadn't used his brain six years ago, when he threw something stable away for a job that gambled on his life, risking it for an adrenaline rush and a belt buckle to add to the collection.

still, beau was only a man. he rolls back into the town he grew up in wearing the most recent of his buckles, the final one he'd won. he may have been giving up the lifestyle and dream he'd chased for so long, but he wasn't going to undermine his accomplishments.

he remembers the path home, even years later, without needing to look it up. his parents had gifted him the family home as a wedding gift, making him promise to put it to good use. give us some grandbabies, his mom had told him, in front of you and the entire rest of his family and your family and all of your friends, with the sweetest smile on her face.

another promise he didn't keep. another one in the back of his mind that haunted him, day in and day out.

your car is parked up by the shed when he pulls in beside it. beau doesn't expect a warm, welcome greeting from you. hell, he's sure he's gonna walk up to the front doorstep and be met with your hand stinging his cheek. he'd deserve it, too.

there were so many memories in this house. you didn't want to go anywhere for your honeymoon, so you both spent it breaking in every piece of furniture, the air in the house so thick that the open windows condensated. rhett and delilah's wedding gift to you was moonlight's foal, sunshine. he'd take you down to the river on his property, tucked away between shady trees, paving trails with sunshine's hooves.

what could he possibly say to fix this?

beau bites the bullet, shoving the driver's door open and stepping out. he grabs his duffel from the bed of the truck and hooks it over his shoulder, his expression set in a grimace as he glances at the house again.

you were watching. he could see the bottoms of the curtains swishing with the sudden jostle. the front door stays closed.

he deserves this. he knows he does. but he'd kill to see you smile. to feel your arms around him as you welcome him home. but that sort of treatment was earned, and he hadn't earned any of it, not when he abandoned you for six years for a short-lived dream.

the porch steps creak under his boots, the wood soft and splintered with age. for a moment, beau just stands there. he can hear you moving around on the other side of the door; the soft sound of music drifts out from the gapped windows, your laughter echoes through the the heavy door he raps on.

three knocks. the doorbell doesn't work. he kept promising to fix it, and then he was gone.

your warm laughs gets closer, the music louder when you pull open the heavy door and meet his gaze through the screen door.

beau watches the realization settle on you. surprise, heartache, and horror, all in quick succession. your lips are parted in some semblance of mortification, and beau can't possibly understand why. anger and upset were what he expected — hell, his jaw was tight and steeled, still expecting the slap to come.

he does not expect the screen door to shove open into his shoulder, and a little toddler in a white sundress and cowgirl boots to barrel into him. "playtime!" she shouts, barely even processing the man attached to the leg she'd caught herself around.

his old cowboy hat falls off of her head and on his feet. he's on autopilot, his brain not catching up to the forefront of his mind yet, as he bends to grab it for her, anything to avoid the look in your eyes.

"t'ank you!" she says, flashing him a toothy grin, a prominent gap in the middle of her little baby teeth. she's off again before he can get another word out, but not before he sees her eyes. pale gold-green and glittery; the eyes of a dreamer.

a month passed, and beau and you ended up dating. rhett called it, getting a twenty dollar payout from brooks when he recovered from the bout of flu he'd gotten. they'd had a running joke that you'd end up being the girl to tie him down. it was just fact and fate; rhett was dating your best friend, delilah, and brooks was dating abigail, the third to your little friend group. who else would pair together with the single of his friend group, but the single of yours?

his parents brought you up every chance they could. it was an endless cycle of, when are you bringing that sweet girl of yours over? and do we ever get to meet your little girlfriend, beau? as if the town wasn't the size of his pinky, and they hadn't watched you grow up as much as they'd watched him.

beau wasn't keeping you from them, not really. he'd meant to bring you over for your first anniversary, but you'd both gotten a little tied up in each other in the high school parking lot. and then he'd meant to on prom, but your parents wanted pictures even though you were already running late, and, well, he loved your parents, so why would he deny that?

now, there was no escaping it. you'd both just graduated, and on a day full of celebrations, beau thought there was no better time than now to show you off to his family.

the entire family. he didn't intend for his parents and grandparents and every person in between to be back at his farmhouse when he'd drove up the driveway, but why else wouldn't they have been there?

"no." your feet are firmly planted on the car's floor, your arms petulantly crossed over your chest. "no, beau, i did not sign up for this."

"hell, neither did i," he grumbled, turning off the engine and spinning in his seat to face you better. the hand he had on your thigh squeezed reassuringly, a sympathetic smile on his lips. "c'mon, maybe it'll be fun."

your eye twitched. beau loved the hell out of that eye twitch. "is this revenge for our first date?" you asked, a look of disbelief in your eyes, mouth trembling with all of the panicked words that threatened to spill out at once. "when my dad bombarded you at the front door?"

beau blinked. "honestly forgot about that."

"bull."

"bull?" he laughed, putting his hands up in a mockery of surrender. "okay. you're right. i didn't magically forget about the time your daddy walked outside to meet me with a rifle—"

you poked him hard in the shoulder. "unloaded."

"—unloaded rifle." beau snatched that hand of yours and kissed each of your knuckles. "but i did not set this all up. my mama's been pesterin' me about bringin' you over, so i thought now was a better time than ever, and—"

"apparently the entire arlen bloodline caught wind."

beau snapped his fingers with his free hand. "bingo." already, he can see the curtain's ruffling with the breeze and movement inside, shadows dancing across the glow of gold through the thin fabric. he was pretty sure that was his uncle howling with laughter, too, so loud he could hear it through the inside of his pickup. "hey, maybe it'll be fun."

you gave him a look that said you did not believe him within an inch of your life.

"we can drink?" he offered next, running down his list of reassurances. they were dwindling.

"all of your alcohol is water." you lurched forward to poke him again, and he caught your finger once again. more reassuring kisses. they were all he had to offer.

beau hmphed. "forgot about that too."

you could sit in his passenger seat and argue until your face turned blue. so he takes the initiative and let go of your fingers, shoving his door open with his shoulder.

he circled around to your side of the pickup, pulling open your door for you, a hand extended for you to take. "c'mon, sweetheart," he murmured, nodding toward his hand for you to take, "y'look too damn pretty to hide away in my truck all night."

you really did, too. a part of beau felt bad for dropping all of this on you so suddenly, but the other part is damn glad that all of his family gets to find out at once about the pretty girl he'd managed to snag.

you stared at him, and beau really expected for you to put up more of a fight. you'd fought him harder over less, like how much butter and salt to put in your popcorn at the movies. but you took his hand with nothing more than a little sigh.

"let's go meet the arlens."

beau's face had never been so red in his life. his family flitted up to the both of you in waves, always with the same routine. congratulations! what a pretty couple you make! marriage? kids? did his mama tell you about the time he played in cow patties thinking it was mud?

he'd never been so glad to have an excuse to drag you away. your family's graduation party wasn't even until tomorrow, but you'd on the spot made up the lie to save you both.

his intentions were pure. they were! he'd planned to sneak you out of the house and take you down into the woods on his family property, to show you the little rushing river deep in the trails, to show you the trees that he'd carved his name into, like you had with your barn.

and then he'd remembered that barn you had.

far enough away from your house to keep the both of you out of sight from your parents, and unofficially deemed as your special place that they never entered without warning.

the story wrote itself. your last act as reckless teenagers before you delved facefirst into adulthood. he'd insisted on being a gentleman, testing the ladder to the loft and making sure it didn't fall. he even held the top steady when you started the climb up. making it back down would be a different story, but you'd get there when you got there.

the stars were so bright from up there, through the open window in the wall. the moon hung high in the sky, the crickets chirping outside, talking to each other through the wind.

you were on his lap before he could even get properly settled on the dilapidated pile of hay, little pieces tickling along his skin as he shifted into it further to let you get comfortable.

he worked your dress's zipper down carefully through the onslaught of kisses. his tongue swiped against your lips, tasting the faint traces of vodka clinging to your mouth. it was definitely watered down, and definitely his fault, but it only made you all that much sweeter to taste.

your fingers trailed down his flannel, working the buttons open with ease as you stumble across them, until the shirt was open and spilling off of him. beau slipped it off of himself, laying it in a beginning pile in the hay next to your jacket.

the kiss broke, and you lifted your head enough for the moonlight to pour in and light your skin aglow. he couldn't look away for a moment, captivated. your teeth held your bottom lip tight between them, looking up at him through the expanse of your eyelashes, and he's gone. he's gone, he's gone, he's gone.

there was no rush to it, no sense of urgency. it was you and the moon to keep him company, and he didn't want to rush through the good things, not when it came to you.

beau slipped one sleeve of your dress off of your shoulder, his fingertips dancing over your collarbone. he followed their kiss with a proper one of his own, mouthing softly at the sensitive skin until he made his way up to your ear.

the words that came out aren't what he expected. he meant to say i love you, to seal it into your skin with his lips, to embed it into your veins and bloodstream. maybe he even would have said it a few times, permanent ink below your ear, on your neck.

instead, beau said, "marry me."

you stumbled on a laugh, your hands flattening on his chest. "what?"

he should have taken it back. "marry me." he didn't. "don't have to be right now. don't have to be next year, or the year after that. but promise you will."

your eyes glimmered in the moonlight. you looked so damn beautiful. he thought proposing would have been all nerves and jitters, that he'd get cold feet at the simple idea of marriage and commitment, but his mind made the decision for him, and he already knew that you were different. nothing felt hard or scary with you.

"beau," you said his name like a breath, "you're kiddin' me."

he shook his head, and now he was laughing, giddy and bright. his arms encircled your waist, tugging you closer to him in his lap. "say yes."

"no." but you were grinning from ear to ear. "you're crazy, arlen."

"say yes," he whispered again, nuzzling his nose against yours as he steals a kiss. "don't you wanna be a crazy arlen along with me?"

you extended the kiss, prolonging it, your palms going up to his face to hold him that close a little while longer, until you're panting breathlessly on his lips. "yes."

beau eyes popped open. he grabbed your hips with his big hands and flips the both of you so that your back was pressed into the hay. "say it again."

"yes," you nearly squealed with laughter, and he wanted to bottle the sound, he wanted to swallow it whole and never forget how happy you were right here, now, beneath him, "i'll marry you, beau arlen."

your happiness was a virus he was destined to catch; tugging a grin onto his already gleeful expression. "welcome to the arlens," he breathed as he leaned forward and stole another kiss, and another. "now we got somethin' to celebrate on our own."

daisy sits at the kitchen table, legs swinging and kicking straight out in front of her. she has a plate full of peeled apple slices and colby jack cheese cubes in front of her, mindlessly babbling as she pops them into her mouth.

she is oblivious to the tension between you and beau at this table. beau, sat at one end of the table; you, propped up against the other, hipbone digging into the sanded wooden edge.

"when did this happen?" beau asks, and there's some sort of accusation in his tone, but you aren't sure if you really hear it or are just at a predisposition to think negatively about every word from his mouth.

you both stare at each other for a while. certainly he doesn't think that you'd broken your vows when he skipped town. certainly he didn't look at your daughter and not see the arlen green eyes in her.

you glance down at the table, disbelief still clouding in a haze in your eyes. "when do you think?"

when your eyes dance back up to his, his smile is tight-lipped and force. "she's six." it's not a question, or something requiring confirmation. he knew. knew, and just didn't believe what was in front of him, almost like you couldn't, either.

"i am!" daisy pipes in through a mouthful of mashed apples. she offers beau her brightest, toothiest smile. she even had the same dimples as him.

beau spares her a glance, then, like he couldn't any longer ignore the pull toward her. hair in low pigtails over her shoulders, already coming loose around the ponytail holders, shorter strands poking awry from underneath the too big cowboy hat she wore too.

it's tense. you're sure he's going to blow up. beau wasn't really the type to lose his cool, but the beau you thought you knew wasn't this man, either. this man was aged six years, and just as capable of leaving you as much as he promised not to.

daisy holds out an apple for him, kicking beneath the table so wildly that the dining chair's legs screech against the hardwood floor.

he takes it, the tightness of his smile never loosening.

there's something he wants to say. beau always got this twitch on the corner of his lip when he was keeping something back, locked tight away behind a carefully placed mask of coolness. you saw that expression a lot - in high school, when rhett started to get clingy, or brooks got mouthy, or at his family's graduation party, when he was reaching his limit with the endless interrogations. each time, you'd slide in and swoop him away before he popped off with something he didn't mean.

there was no saving him this time, because he'd already lost himself.

you glance out toward the open fields in your backyard. a little playground sits in the dead center of the grassy plains, like it popped out of the earth itself. the chains of the swing ding against the metal poles as the wind blows them wild, bringing inside the scent of daisies and sunflowers.

"coffee?" you ask, because when have you ever been able to help yourself when it came to beau arlen? he'd had you hooked and lined from the beginning. it was just a part of you, by now, that need to calm the storm that brewed behind his eyes.

beau glances over toward the machine by the fridge. "machine's broken."

your turn to smile tersely. "was broken. six years ago."

his parents bought you a new one, after daisy was born. the least they could do, they said, considering their son was across the country living a dream that he promised he wouldn't let get in between you two, while you were at home alone raising his little girl.

there is just as much that you want to say as he does. so much anger and cruelty you want to spew at him, just to hurt him like he'd hurt you.

instead, you turn to the coffee machine to start a pot. it can wait. all of the fighting can wait until daisy isn't here. she was already wrapped up too much in the both of your mess, and she didn't deserve to become a weaponized pawn.

the screen door slams into the wall behind it, just hard enough for you to know exactly who it was without turning around. great.

"where's my pretty li'l berry princess?" abigail calls from the doorway, and from the little whiny fusses, you know that del is right behind her. the guys were probably on diaper bag duty, using that as an excuse to linger in the driveway and smoke.

beau inhales sharply. at least he's aware of how much his leaving and returning would stir things. and now he could fester in his guilt a little more, knowing that his friends and yours rallied behind you.

daisy's out of the chair before you even turn around to greet any of them. her excited squeal and sprint have the cowboy hat falling to the ground again.

the porch steps creak under the weight of the guys' heavy steps, and rhett's cough is a telling sign enough of the cigarette he shared with brooks if the smell wasn't. "delly insisted we bring you some of this cherry pie she made last night—"

"it came out so pretty," del interjects, the closest one to the kitchen doorway now that abigail had gotten hung up with your daughter. "i had to!"

"it's real good, girlie," rhett sighs, a soft thud creaking the floorboards as he drops the diaper bag down, "so damn good, i left it in the car so we can just take it right on back home—"

"rhett gaylestone!"

del peeks her head into the kitchen with a sweet smile. there's a baby carrier across her chest, a tiny head peeking out of it beneath her chin. she doesn't even glance in beau's direction; why would she? no one ever expected beau arlen to show his face back in montana.

"sorry about him," she says, wiping her palms on the skirt of her dress, "you know how the montana boys are. unreliable as sin—"

you watch it unfold. the moment that beau straightens his back, and the movement draws del's attention. she visibly startles, her mouth hung open.

it's a trainwreck. neither of them speak, but the tense smile had yet to leave beau's mouth since the realization of daisy clicked in his head.

"what the hell was all that?" rhett asks with a laugh, coming up behind his wife to prop in the doorway behind her, one hand coming around her to rest his hand on her stomach, just beneath the baby carrier. "about us montana boys being unrelia..." of course rhett would know to look where beau was sitting. they used to sit at the kitchen table, on that exact end beau was at, gambling away pocket money in games of poker, straw hanging out of their mouths. "unreliable."

beau clears his throat. "hey, rhett."

rhett scoffs out a sort of laugh, sounding more discomforted than anything. "brooks owes me twenty bucks."

brooks laughs from the other room. still as oblivious as abigail and your daughter to the fact that her daddy was home now, and what that meant. "no fuckin' way," an audible slap from abigail, and a groan to follow, "sorry, kiddos. no flippin' way. don't flip with me this time, i ain't fallin' for it this time. you can't convince me for nothin' that beau arlen's at that table—"

beau sucks in a deep breath through his teeth. he looks ready to bolt, and you're sure, from previous times, that he will.

"you should stop bettin' against me, williamson." his voice is raspier than it typically is. maybe you'd feel more bad for beau if he didn't do this to himself.

you shake your head. you'd kept silent, and calm, and collected for the last two hours of him being in your space, sharing snacks with you guys' daughter. "no, beau," you say, meeting his gaze when he finally turns it toward you, "i don't think he should."

the river cut through the forest, the sound of rushing water echoing around you. little splashes of waves spilled over the edge of it, sloshing against the damp muddy grass lining it. a little farther up the hill leading down to it, you're perched on a red and white plaid picnic blanket.

there was a book in your hands, held open with your left hand, the wedding ring on your finger glittering under the sunlight. these early days of your marriage were the easiest by far. it felt so natural, being in beau's space, your lives woven together like crochet.

beau was in the river, trying to catch frogs. you didn't remember what even led him to want to, just that you were adamant that you weren't joining him. sunshine was tied to a tree a few feet from you, chewing on patches of grass and whinnying.

"baby, you ain't gonna believe this," beau called from the river, the water splashing as he trudges out of its shallow depths.

you glanced up, and then immediately back down. "i don't wanna see whatever frog you've got captive."

beau laughed, something held in his one hand, the other coming up to run through his wet locks of hair clinging to his forehead. "i gave up on the damn frogs," he grumbled, each footstep squelching beneath him, "ain't no fun when you're a grown adult and not an eight year old. damn things are too quick."

you set your book aside, tucking it back safely in the picnic basket. you snatched a strawberry from the wicker, biting off the sweet end off it. "so what on earth are you about to drop in my lap?"

he flung his arm out at you, throwing stray water droplets across you. you knew he would; that's why you protected your book, after all. you were well adapted to the antics of your husband, by now.

"guess."

"i already guessed a frog." you sat up a little straighter, cringing at the dirty water droplets in your dress. "i lost. now you gotta just tell me."

beau dropped down in front of you, legs crossed, water pouring down his bare torso and onto the corner of the blanket he sat on. he opened up his fingers to reveal what was in his hand.

you blinked a couple of times. "a... rock?"

he groaned. "baby. i love you so much." he leaned forward to snatch your hand, yanking you a little closer to him. "so much, you know that. my beautiful, beautiful girl. you gotta open up that mind a little."

you huffed as you ended up kneeling in front of him, your knees sinking into the wet cloth beneath you. you snatched the rock out of his palm, and just faintly on the rock's smooth surface, in faded white paint, was rodeo champion, beau arlen.

"bingo," he snapped his fingers, leaning up a little to duck his head and see your expression. "told you, remember? when we met? used t'carve my name into tree trunks. used to leave it everywhere."

you tilted your head curiously at it, a small smile curving your lips upward. "i thought you were pretendin' to be arlenville sheriff, not rodeo champion beau arlen."

"when the life of justice got borin', i switched it up." he took the rock back from you, something wistful in his expression as he reads the words over himself. "s'what i wanted the most, y'know."

you did know, somehow. beau wore his dreams and his heart so proudly on his sleeve. you'd lived with him long enough to know that, after work, he'd settle onto the couch, kick his legs up, and turn on reruns of the rodeo championships. he could predict who would win, which bulls were more troublesome than the others, and when a cowboy made a bad call on a dime.

beau glanced up to meet your eyes, that same wistful smile on his lips. "what were your dreams like?" he asked, setting the rock down next to him on the picnic blanket. "not the strawberry princess ones, or the silly ones. what did my little sweetheart see herself growin' up into?"

you hummed a little to yourself, shifting a little so that you could splay your legs over his lap. forget not wanting to get dirty or wet. "a nurse, once," you said, scrunching up your face at the memory, "i used to insist on havin' every baby doll in the market, because i wanted to take care of them. make sure they were alright, y'know?"

beau nods, his arm slipping around your back to cradle you properly against his side. "you would look good in the scrubs," he teased, but you knew, like you always did, that it was never with bad intent.

"mmm, maybe," you agreed idly, "but i didn't want to go through all that school. i wanted to just... just launch into somethin'. and so i shifted gears completely. no more baby dolls, but flowers. made up my own little garden patch just outside that old barn down at my folks' place."

beau's fingers traced lines and shapes down the curve of your spine. "that when the strawberry and the peach princesses come into play?"

you slapped him lightly on the arm, chuckling a little to yourself. "stop it. but yes. del and i planted everything we could to see if it would grow, and call it our princess magic if it did."

"a damn flower girl," beau murmured into your neck, planting little kisses on the skin. "it suits you. what changed?"

"nothing changed," you said, tipping your head to press your temple to his. "i still dream about flowers. havin' a big garden in the backyard, havin' a shop downtown."

beau scooped you up, settling you comfortably in his lap, straddling his waist and the wet denim clinging to his legs. "well, what the hell is stoppin' us now, from gettin' you that flower shop of yours downtown?"

there were those eyes again, the ones you always knew meant bad news, back when you were younger and still dancing on the cusp of being in love and running before he could fully swoop in and steal your heart.

your lips curled, teeth worrying at the bottom one. "maybe nothing. maybe everything."

"no. nothin' is." beau leaned in to capture your lips in his, pulling the bottom one loose from your teeth with his own. "we'll get my baby a flower shop. we'll get you a garden in this backyard. hell, we'll fill all the fields with sunflowers and daisies."

your head fell backward in a laugh. "stop it!" but it's half-hearted, because beau always knew how to lasso you into all of his crazy dreams, and he was already beginning to sell you on it without needing to do much convincing at all.

"we'll name all our kids after flowers," he mumbled against your jawline, kissing upwards until he met the corner of your mouth. "daisy. rose. violet. lily."

"what about the boys?"

beau paused, taking a breath before he stole a proper kiss from your lips. "we jus' won't have boys."

you're silent for a long while. beau always made the impossible and the unachievable seem so pretty and within reach. you lifted your hand to touch his cheekbone, swiping gently across the smooth, sunkissed skin, before you let it fall to the ground next to the both of you, grabbing the little rock he'd placed down.

rodeo champion, beau arlen.

"but then who will continue on with your bull ridin' legacy?"

beau's gaze is unbelievably soft when he meets your eyes. his fingers close around yours, bringing them to his lips to place a gentle kiss to each knuckle. "you're worth more than every dream, sweetheart." again, he kisses each knuckle, one by one, lingering on them this time. "i think a flower girl and a cowboy make a mighty fine pairin'."

you'd let beau tuck in daisy. daisy. his baby girl's name was daisy. she looked just like you, all except for the fire in those pretty green eyes she'd inherited from him. she was tiny, and a little spitfire, and it ached so desperately that he didn't get to watch what shaped this little girl. that, in a way, his absence did more for her than his reappearance had.

her room was a scattered mess of baby dolls and plushie horses. on her small dresser, beau had plucked that old hat of his off of her head and popped it there before he'd scooped her up and tucked her into the baby blue blankets on her bed.

"are you staying?" she asks him quietly, her voice a little slurry and sleep addled, tiny fingers curled into the hem of her blanket, holding it up to her chin.

beau brushes those stray, wild hairs off of your forehead, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her temple. "of course i'm stayin'. and miss out on my future rodeo champion growin' up? no way."

daisy's giggles spread a warmth through his veins that he hadn't felt in this house in far too many years. for the first time since he came back, he felt welcomed, though he knew that it was only because she didn't know, not really, who he was. "mommy told me about you."

"what did mommy say?"

under her little elbow was a little white horse plush, near identical to sunshine. his smile is hesitant, but there, as he drops his hand down to pat its head, and then hers.

"mommy said you were a dreamer," daisy says wistfully, her eyes fluttering as she forced them open, "that you chased things and chased things, no matter what it meant. she said you rode off into the sunset."

beau frowns when her eyes fall shut and stay shut, the rise and fall of her little breaths deepening and slowing. there was a time when people said that about him and meant it in a good way. there was a time when his name was spoken with reverence and awe.

that was before he'd moved up from local rodeos to the big time, where he proceeded to take all of his dreams besides that single, blinding one and dump them away.

one more time, he leans down to kiss the top of daisy's forehead, before he pushes off of the edge of her bed and flicks the light off as he leaves. he pulls the door shut behind him, leaving it gapped so that the golden light in the hallway filtered through. he didn't know if she was scared of the dark. beau didn't know much of anything about his daughter.

he did know, though, that someway, he had to make this right with you. you, who was sitting on the couch in the living room, filtering through channels on the tv screen. you glance up at beau when his steps creak on the old floors, before you quickly glance away.

"i'll put on the rodeo for you."

beau grimaces. like hell he'd want to see what the newer, spunkier cowboys were doing after he'd hung up the hat. like hell he'd want to watch it anyways, not right now, not after those showings were part of the reason his head got too big and he stopped thinking rationally.

"put on the simpsons or somethin'," he waves a hand idly in the tv's direction, "not that shit."

"whatever you want, arlen." you press the remote into the arm of the couch, your smile forced and sickly sweet at once. "you'll be the one down here watchin' it."

beau sidesteps as you pass, his face screwing up in irritation he didn't deserve to feel and confusion. "we're not even gonna talk? you're just gonna go to bed?"

"yes, beau," you toss back at him, spinning on your heel to face him. there it is, he wants to think. the anger he'd expected and didn't get, not once, until the sun fell and the guests cleared and their daughter drifted off. "yes. i'm gonna go to bed. because in the morning, i have to drop daisy off at kindergarten. i have to go to the shop and work. not all of us have the luxury of hangin' up a hat and callin' it done."

beau's lips thin. he nods a couple of times, his arms crossing firmly over his chest. "go on, sweetheart. keep 'em comin'. what else have you been stewin' on while i was gone?"

"you're a coward," slips out of your mouth as easily as i love you once did. "you abandoned everything at the first sight of freedom from this town. you didn't even think twice."

beau shakes his head, now, and doesn't stop. "you think i was free out there?" he takes a step closer to you, towering over you. you don't shrink. not even a little. "you think i felt free any of the days i wasn't in the ring? that i didn't feel suffocated by the weight of your hurt, back here?"

"you don't know a thing about hurt, beau. not if it hit you in the face."

"so hit me in the face. show me how it felt."

your palm cracks across his cheek, his jaw slackening with the force of it, skin reddening beneath the pale brown of facial hair. "there it is," he says out loud this time, a hand coming up to rub at the stinging scruff, "my pretty girl's fire."

"i am not," you shove his chest back, pushing his spine into the back of the couch, "your pretty girl."

beau throws his arms up and glances around. "and why the hell not? you got another man around here i don't know about? hidin' under our bed?"

your eyes flare. he's lashing out. he knows that all he's doing is finding all of your wounds and prodding at them until they rebruise, but he can't seem to stop. "so it's true, then."

"what's true, honey?" his eyebrows bounce, shoulders lifting in a shrug. "you'll have to talk to me if you wanna get pissy with me."

the eye twitch. beau missed everything about you while he was gone, but goddamn, that eye twitch. there was a twisted sort of comfort in the fact that only he could ever bring it out of you.

"you fucked kelsey."

"hey, watch the language, alright?" he tsks. "baby girl's upstairs tryna sleep n' all that."

"you fucked kelsey jones from tv, and now you're projectin', tryin' to make up some random man that i cheated on you with—"

beau's expression sharpens. "never once did i cheat on you." something has gone awry, and his control in this battle of words and anger has slipped. somewhere in your anger and your hurt and his guilt and shame, something got validated that shouldn't have been. "you think i cheated on you?"

"don't even lie to me, beau arlen, i'll go grab a goddamn butcher's knife, and—"

"i. never. cheated. on. you." his voice comes out firmer, and more harsh, than he intends. you fall silent. the echoing buzz of it in his ears is louder than any of your fight, so far. "never once was tempted."

your mouth trembles with, he hopes, anger and not tears. if you started to cry, he'd crumble. every bit of his resolve would crash down. "she wanted to fuck you."

"hell, a lot of people wanted to fuck me," he laughs, tries desperately to dampen the fire, but it only seems to stoke it a little higher. "kelsey jones only saw the big belt buckle. if terry gold had won, she'd have been all over him, too."

you don't even move. beau would have thought time was frozen in place if the simpsons wasn't quietly playing behind him on the tv.

"and 'i didn't think twice' about leaving?" he continues when you still don't say a thing. "sweetheart, i thought about you every damn day. no win was a win without you there, seein' your grinnin' face on the sidelines. i kept chasin' and chasin' because i thought i'd feel good if i won enough, or if i won the right championship, but by the time i realized that it never felt like a win because you weren't there, six years had passed."

not an excuse. beau knows he has no excuse at all for not just immediately turning to go back home, so he wasn't even going to bother trying to make one.

"i was going to tell you when you came home," you say, and the familiarity of your quiet voice is like a knife. "i knew you'd win. i told you that day that all of our dreams were coming true."

beau winces. "i know."

"and then you never came home." the knife plants itself in his heart and twists. the anger rises like a flush over your heated face. "you just kept movin' around, and i was left in your house, with all these little reminders of you, and an even littler one inside of me, and you were gone."

what can he do besides take it? he did make that choice. he made it over, and over, because he was a coward, and didn't want to face this exact conversation.

he thinks you might slap him again. but all you do is walk closer, like you really want him to feel the force of the consequences, until you're close enough for him to breathe in that perfume of yours.

"i can't even say i hate you," you manage, even though the words are stifled and choked on, a physical lump in your throat, "even though i want to."

beau's hands raise to cup your face between them, tilting your head up to properly look in your eyes. his always shimmered with wildness, something uncontained and dangerous; yours shimmered now with tears and everything broken between the two of you.

he doesn't mean to kiss you. he leaned down to whisper his apologies into your breath so that hopefully you'd breathe them in and know he meant them. but beau was not very good at doing the right thing, or the thing he intended to do.

you're tense when your lips meet. you taste like cherry chapstick, or maybe it was the two bites of delilah's cherry pie you'd had. he almost pulls away, has the apology lined up on his lips along with all of the others, but then you grab his face and force him closer.

your grip is harsh. nails bite into beau's skin as he follows your lead, his hands sliding under your thighs and hoisting you up into his arms, helping you to wrap them tightly around his waist. there's a lot of blind stumbling, but he makes it down the hall to your room.

your room, his room, both — what did it matter anymore?

it's even more haphazard as he collapses down on the edge of it, more focused on keeping you planted in his lap than he is on where he's landing. the room is still decorated the same, in the little glimpses he catches between breaths. the pictures in the frames on the dresser, the calendar still months behind, though he wonders if it's now months and years behind.

beau's heart aches, tight and taut behind his ribs, so he kisses you harder. his fingers find the zipper of your dress and start to trail it down, going back up to unclasp your bra in that same swoop.

your hands are on his chest, ripping at the flaps of his flannel, popping the buttons open, some of them flying loose. you look so beautiful in your anger, all bright eyed and flushed. beau lets you peel his shirt off of him, tossing it aside in the room. he lets you run your soft fingertips down his chest until they reach his jeans.

"stupid ass belt buckle," you grumble under your breath, looking up at him through your eyelashes, almost as if you were teasing him rather than trying to hurt him.

but the words hit their mark. yeah, the buckles were stupid, in the long run. he threw away the first six years of his daughter's life and six years with you for this stupid ass belt buckle. he'd wore it home as if it was some sort of flex that this is what his life boiled down to, on his own choices.

"let me make this right," beau murmurs down the column of your throat, sucking little marks into the skin, tasting the bruising skin with his tongue. "i'll make it right."

the belt buckle unclasps, and you're yanking it off of him wordlessly, though he can hear the little pants of breath falling out of your mouth. "can't," you manage to say, tugging open his jeans and trying to pull them off under your own weight.

"can't i try?" beau tugs the sleeve down your shoulder, helps you slip your arm loose from it.

you nudge his face up with your nose and steal a punishing kiss, teeth colliding and pinching the skin of his inner lip between them. "i'd rather you just shut up."

you'd hate him for this in the morning. hell, you'll probably hate him for all of this the moment that your orgasm subsided. he'd take these little moments of tension-ridden peace while he could.

the dress pools down on his waist, hung up by the fact that you were still in his lap, just like his jeans were. beau raises your arms to work the straps of your bra off, tossing it away as aimlessly as you'd thrown his shirt.

he goes back to your throat, trailing kisses downwards now, between the valley of your breasts and everywhere in between.

beau hooks his fingers into your panties with his lips sucking little marks on the tops of your breasts, tugging on the hem. "gotta get up for a sec, baby," he mumbles, kissing the sensitive marks he'd left, "got us at a standstill."

you raise up on your knees, kicking the dress away from you. the look you give him is some variation of malice, but he can look past the lingering hurt and see it for what it was. passion laced in with your anger, turning into something beautiful and violent, lashing against your veins and threatening to get out.

beau kicks his jeans off, his boxers following suit moments afterwards. he grabs you by the waist to get you to step between his legs, tugging your panties down your legs once you were close enough.

the lack of clothes seems to revitalize that rage warring inside of you. you go from complacent and warm against him to looking completely furious that this is happening at all. beau again expects another slap, but it doesn't come this time, either. instead, your hand shoves him back down onto the mattress.

"i want to hate you so bad," you say to him, a wobble to your voice that is more than enough proof that you meant it.

he reaches down for your hand, tugging you on top of him. "show me how bad," he whispers against your mouth, before he teases at your lip with his teeth.

you interlock your fingers with his, and for a second, it feels like it used to, back when you were both twenty and everything was fun and easy. it feels like the cool wind of nostalgia and the warmth of love. you lift the conjoined hands to rest against his chest as you shift from straddling his waist to settling into his lap, sinking down onto him in one slow motion.

beau watches every second. watches as your lips part as he stretches you open, your eyelashes flutter against your cheekbones. you still fit so perfectly around him, even if it hurt to admit that. how could he have thought for even a second that there was a dream better than the one he had in his lap?

your eyes lock onto his, and somehow, it's more intimate than your first time together was. more intimate than the entirety of your honeymoon. every emotion flashes across your face at once, and he reaches up to thumb across your cheekbone to wipe away the stray eyelash, though all that was, was just an excuse to touch you.

his other hand finds your hip, reluctantly having let go of your fingers, helping to guide your movements on him, even if you didn't need it. you knew what you were doing, knew what you wanted.

"i'm sorry," beau finally breathes out, the words more of a grunt than anything else. he opens his mouth to say more but you slap your hand over his lips, and it's all he can do not to laugh.

you grind down into his pelvis a little harder this time, smearing slow circles where you're connected, your lips open in wordless pants. "i told you to shut up."

"can't." he groans this time, his hips bucking up into you, the tip of his cock brushing along your cervix. he starts, and can't seem to stop it, as he meets your movements and buries himself into your tight walls. "got too many — too many things to apologize for."

even with glassy, dazed eyes, you manage a glare at him. it's probably the sexiest thing beau's ever seen. "you didn't answer my calls."

"felt like a dumbfuck," his voice is muffled against your palm, and your grip tightens over his mouth like a silent urge to shut the hell up, but he's never been one for listening, "sorry. dumbflip. thought it'd make it worse — when i didn't have an explanation."

you're not usually as domineering as this. you weren't exactly submissive to him, but you'd never held the control you had over him in positions like this and used it against him. because one moment you had a quick, steady pace as you rode him, and now you were agonizingly slow, your jaw ticking.

"you should have answered." beau wasn't listening. he could feel each time you stretched around him and could tell by the way your thighs tightened around his when he'd hit that spot deep enough inside of you to make you squirm. your hand squishes his face between your fingers to draw beau's attention again. "should have answered. should have checked in."

"i'm sorry." what was he even apologizing for again? all beau could think about was how his head was tipped back to meet the stern look in your eyes, and how pretty your mouth looked when it was pursed in that little pout. god, he was going to fucking bust like a teenager. "won't do it again."

"that's a terrible apology."

"sorry." all he can say is sorry. he'd been reduced to a mess of a man beneath you, and when he seemed to be reaching the point of desperation that you wanted him at, you finally stopped fighting against his grip's guidance and quickened your pace again. "really sorry, baby."

you move your hand away from his mouth, replacing it with a kiss that was almost loving, slow and languid. "you've got six years to make up for in one night. good luck."

yeah. good luck, alright. he didn't think he'd make it to the morning alive.

the adrenaline and the thrill that came from being in the bullring was an intoxication of its own, but beau found that it was nothing at all compared to the look on your face when he found you in the stands.

he'd pull you half over the gate and kiss the daylights out of you, until your lips were swollen pink and his ached with the loss of it. he'd stand on the podium with the local montana championship buckle on his belt, and it wouldn't even settle in that he'd won at all until you were dragging him back to his truck in the parking lot.

the people around town started saying his name differently now. he was outgrowing the reputation that he, rhett, and brooks had left as a heathen montana boy and was becoming his own name. a renowned name. one that, he could tell, you were proud to have attached next to yours.

"did you see?" you asked him one day at breakfast, sliding the newspaper across the table to him. "the next rodeo's gonna have scouts for the big leagues."

you were always his biggest fan. you told him to pursue this dream of his, ensured him that it was just as important as yours were to him, and so it only made sense that he take this next step for you. that he outshine every other guy in the county and take it big, down to dallas, texas.

and so he did. beau sustained a minor ankle sprain and a dislocated arm, but by god, did he ride hard, setting a local record and capturing the eye of that scout.

dallas has been waiting for a guy like you to come out, the scout told him. and beau saw gold; bright, shining, blinding gold.

"come with me," beau said the night before he had to leave, throwing handfuls of clothes and necessities into a duffel bag. he dreamt big, but he didn't plan big, and when given a week before the championship, he'd waited until two days before it to start and finish his packing.

you're taking the hangers that he tosses onto the bed, hanging them back up in the closet. "can't. i've got a shop to run and a horse to keep happy."

"sunshine'll live without her favorite girl for a few days."

"okay. scratch that." you snatched his stetson off of the dresser and put it delicately on your head. "someone's gotta hold it down here in arlenville."

beau laughed heartily, shaking his head in pure, unbridled amusement. "and you've taken up the mantle?"

"a sheriff's gotta do what a sheriff's gotta do."

he wanted to keep pushing, but he knew that you were stubborn — and right. you had a shop here to run, had a garden to maintain, and someone did have to watch over sunshine. as much as he wanted you there alongside him, he understood where you were coming from.

"i'm gonna bring it home, baby," he said when he rises to his feet, zipped up duffel sitting on the end of the bed. he tugged you into his arms, dipping down to kiss you once, twice. "gonna get the gold."

"i know," you nuzzled up into him, noses brushing together, "my cowboy can do anything."

beau ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "i should teach you how to ride," he murmurs, leaving little kisses down your cheek, just below your ear. "give her a li'l lesson on cowgirlin' up before i head out."

you laughed as he scooped you up in one arm, his other hand adjusting the hat properly on your head.

beau had put the hat back on you, too, that next day, when he was about to head out on the road. "keep it nice n' warm for me."

"don't you want it for good luck?"

beau's eyes ran all over you, his expression melting at the sight of you. "no. don't need it. i'll be back after this competition, baby," he promises, brushing a knuckle over your cheekbone, "and i've got all the good luck i need right here."

he brings his ring finger up to his lips, kissing the wedding band he wore. your eyes were a little glossy, but you still looked beautiful. a little nervous, maybe, but so was he.

beau takes a hold of your face between his bigger palms and drags you down to press his lips to your forehead, lingering there for awhile.

"i've got to tell you something," you breathed onto his lips, glancing between the both of his eyes. "but i'm gonna wait until you're home again. gotta keep your head on straight, don't you?"

beau laughed, taking your hand to kiss your wedding ring, too. "my head's always a little screwy around you."

"i'm serious," you laughed, too, and there those tears were again. he wished he could take them away, if only so you didn't look so devastated about these few days apart. "all of our dreams are coming true, beau."

he nodded, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose once more. "they are," he agreed, brushing your hair out of your eyes, "and we've got so many more to make."

letting go of you was the hardest decision he'd ever made. if beau didn't, then, he wouldn't have. he'd have stayed there in your arms and wiped away all of those tears as they fell. but some dreams were infinite and some had a time limit, and he wasn't capable of letting this one slip through his fingers.

"i love you!" you called from the porch, waving at him through the windshield of his truck as he turned the engine.

beau hopped up to sit in the open window of the driver's seat, head peeking out over the roof of the truck. "i love you more, baby."

you open your mouth like you were going to argue, but you must have known that again, it would have kept him there for hours, going back and forth until one of you caved and you wound back up in bed.

he gives you a little wave this time, as he shifts to settle back into the driver's seat. beau starts to back out of the dirt driveway, alternating between your shrinking form on the porch, waving at him, and looking out the rearview mirror.

leaving one dream for another. it made him feel a little sick, knowing that he was leaving you here and not having you next to him, but at least it wasn't forever. at least it was just a few days that he'd be gone, and then he'd get to see you again.

just a few days.

the sun crested over the hill that the arlen farmhouse was planted upon, spilling bright gold through the glass and onto the sheets that you'd gotten tangled up in. last night was a blur of sweat and sex and too many apologies to count. at some point, you'd deemed beau forgiven enough to get some sleep, even though you felt a little nauseous over the thought of beau in the bed next to you.

too familiar, and yet not enough so.

at least beau seemed to get it, in a way. it may have taken a fight and a few mean words to get through to his skull that this wasn't something that could be solved in one night. he'd missed the birth of his little girl. he'd missed her first steps, first words, and her first lost tooth. missed her first day of kindergarten.

you felt as angry at him for it as you felt guilty. you did try to tell him, but beau didn't pick up the phone, and there was never a solid address to send letters to. you'd tried, but it still wasn't his fault that you found out about the pregnancy the day that he left. it was just his fault that he chose to not come back.

beau shifts a little in his sleep, his arm tossed over your waist and tucking you closer into his chest. he still smells a little like sex, but underneath it all is that cologne of his that you'd missed so desperately.

"g'mornin', sweetheart," beau rasps into your hair, pressing a kiss into the mop of it, just behind your ear. his voice is like gravel and sin. you'd both changed a lot in these last missed years, but fundamentally, he was still beau, and you were still yourself.

you see those traces of him in his smile when you tilt your head up to meet his sleepy eyes. the alarm clock on his side of the bed read 5:43. you'd have to start rallying daisy for breakfast, soon, so she had enough time to play and watch cartoons before school, like she always did.

just because your life routine changed didn't mean that hers had to.

beau brushes the hair away from your forehead. "what's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?"

"nothing." too quick to reign true. what was the point of trying to lie, anyways? you'd already slept with him. the anger was already dealt with, leaving nothing but a dull sort of ache in its place. "just... thinking how i have to wake daisy up, soon."

and that you felt a little guilty for everything. guilty for the fight. guilty for kissing him. guilty for pulling him back into your bed like he hadn't walked out on you. guilty for hearing his apologies and still not knowing whether it was safe to forgive him.

his smile doesn't fade, not even for a second. there's still the underlying fear that he was going to leave again, but at least there was the reassurance that he was still beau arlen, sweet as a man could be when he wasn't so caught up on the what ifs.

"let me."

your eyebrows furrow. you open your mouth to insist otherwise, but he steals a kiss before you can. his lips dance with yours slowly, savoring the taste and the familiarity of the motion. "i'm serious, baby. let me."

beau shifts again behind you, this time to ease you onto your other side to face him better. words don't come to the surface now that you need them to.

"what was her first word?"

"baba." you smile a little, thinking back to little daisy in your arms, her tiny fingers grasping impatiently for the bottle in your fingers. "she was hungry."

he smiles, too, a shadow replica of yours. just as hesitant, sad; the same feeling of loss over what could have been a shared memory. "first steps?"

"she ran." you lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes for a second, remembering those days when she was littler but just as rambunctious, barreling into everything without a care of the scrapes and the bruises. "i was walkin' with her, holdin' her up on my feet, and she just... took off."

"sounds like you," beau teases, kissing the tip of your nose.

you snort, opening your eyes again. "no. it sounds like you."

beau's little smile fades. he brings a hand up to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb across it. "i'm sorry," he whispers, sincerity oozing out of the words so thick that you could almost taste their bittersweet honey, "i should have been here. hell, i should have long already been here."

"you should have answered the phone, too."

he nods. "should have done a lot of things differently."

it's not that you didn't forgive him, or that you were entirely angry with him. those feelings still existed, but at least he was here now, and at least he knew he messed up. you couldn't exactly make a proper judgement call on if he'd changed and learned from those mistakes, now; not until he proved that he meant these pretty promises he was making.

"daisy..." beau mumbles to himself, a little huff of a laugh falling from his lips, now. "i can't wait to get to know her."

"she's just like you," you say, desperately hoping that he ignores the voice crack in your words. "full of dreams and energy and wonder. she's great, beau. she's really great."

the pad of beau's thumb swipes underneath your eye, tracing the lift of your cheekbone. "we gotta get the hell up," he says around a yawn, a dimple poking through his muss of facial hair as he gives you a little grin, "we've got a little girl to drop off at school."

TWO YEARS LATER —

daisy is seven, almost eight. she calls beau dad with ease, even though she had from the moment that she met him. she brings home report cards with straight a's and b's and notes from the teacher about being a little bit mouthy, a little bit wild, but otherwise a wonder to have in class.

beau has her in front of him on the swingset, pushing her even though she insists she can do it herself. he knows she can, but he has a lot of parenting to make up for, and he was so damn glad to.

inside the house, he could hear the chattering of his friends and yours, cleaning up the remnants of a get-together dinner. ella gaylestone is just as crazy as rhett was, and so she was leashed to his belt loop to keep from running and tearing things up, even though beau knew that she just wanted to come out here and play, too.

he was picking up these things, these natural instincts that came with being a parent. rhett and delilah probably knew that their little girl wanted to play, but they also knew that sometimes, like now, daisy just wanted some time with beau.

he'd never deny his baby girl these moments, either.

abigail was pregnant with her and brooks's first. a boy; the first boy to get granted heir to the montana boys legacy, they'd said, though the girls were already proving themselves to be just as worthy too. daisy was so clever, and ella was crazy; they would pick up where beau, rhett, and brooks left off just fine.

"daddy, you never told me about the bull ridin'," daisy says suddenly, craning her head back over her shoulder to look at him. her green eyes were so pale and bright in the setting sun. "i thought you'd have so many stories."

she loved sunshine as much as beau had once loved moonlight. you and beau had signed her up for horse riding lessons that she didn't need, not when she was already a natural. she was his kid, through and through.

"what do you want to know?"

she hums, tapping her fingers along the chains she holds onto. "was it scary?"

"very scary."

"why did you do it then?"

beau wasn't very good with the why questions that came with parenting, though, but was any parent? he mimics her humming noise, just to make her laugh. "sometimes the scary things are the best things."

it was as good of an answer as he could give. that was something she'd learn with time, just like he'd learned how to slip into the role of father. something innate that clicked into place when the time was right.

it'd been terrifying to leave you, that day. it'd been terrifying to come back. it'd been terrifying falling in love with you, and even more so when he fell deeper in love. it'd been horrifying to meet his daughter at six years old. all of those things were things that he did not regret.

he glances out toward the open fields of land behind the arlen family home. daisies and sunflowers and, now lining the fence of their yard, roses. the wind blew and with it came the sweet smell of flower petals and pollen.

the back porch door swings open, and out toddles a wobbly stepped little girl, heading straight for the playground. rhett looks a bit sheepish in the doorway, tossing his hands up in exasperation. "she's got a mind of her own."

"that's alright," beau reassures, slowly pulling daisy's swing to a stop, even with her protests. "you gonna be okay hangin' out with uncle rhett and little ella?"

"do i get to stay up late tonight?" already bargaining with him. daisy arlen was definitely his little girl. you'd been right about her being just like him.

beau sighs dramatically. "i guess so. only tonight, though. you've got school again in a couple days."

daisy picks up ella and puts her on her hip, and it nearly makes beau's knees buckle. he doesn't want her to grow up just as much as he does want her to. it's so bittersweet, watching kids become adults, seeing how quickly it all happens. he used to carry daisy on his hip like that.

he turns to head back inside, waving away rhett's offer of a cigarette as he does. brooks seems to smell the cigarette through the florally scents in the wind and passes beau on his way in.

"they're havin' girl talk," brooks warns, snatching rhett's cigarette from between his lips, "good luck in there."

beau snorts. what did beau need luck for when he's already gotten lucky enough to have earned your forgiveness and your trust again?

still, he lingers a little longer in the kitchen, listening in for a good time to dip in and see you again. no amount of time anymore was enough time with you, in his mind.

"do you know what it is, yet?" abigail. beau smiles a little to himself, knowing exactly what they were talking about.

your voice chimes in next, a little hum to the words out of your mouth. "no. i don't think we want to know, either."

"that couldn't be me. i had to know the second i could." delilah. her voice is louder than the others, and before he knew it, she was about to run straight into him. "oh, sorry, beau. girlie, your beau's in here!"

beau shakes his head, stepping out of her way. delilah goes straight for the lemonade pitcher, and so beau goes ahead and grabs her a cup. "very original, delly."

"hey, i got a lot of cheesy beau jokes to catch up on!"

beau snorts, letting delilah pour her glass of lemonade before he steals it right from her hand, dipping out of the kitchen and into the living room as she protests behind him.

"beau," you say with a little sigh, looking up from your spot in the rocking chair to meet his eyes. he comes to stand next to you, bending down to kiss your temple.

abigail's nails tap mindlessly on her own lemonade glass. "maybe you will tell me," she says, sitting up straighter, "since your girl here won't."

you roll your eyes fondly, your hand coming up to steal beau's off of the armrest. he lets you take his hand, tracing shapes on his palm with your fingertips. "she's being nosy."

"i'm always nosy! so tell me!" abigail looks over at beau, now, one hand strewn over her swollen belly. "what are your name ideas?"

beau huffs out a laugh, taking the stetson off of his head and draping it on top of yours. "this is what that's about?"

"told you," you hum, your free hand lifting up from your own swollen belly to adjust the brim of the hat on your head, "nosy, nosy."

beau doesn't mind it, though. he's got years of talking about his kids and boasting about his family to make up for. "rose. we were thinkin' rose."

notes. u may be thinking omfg dahlia finally watched big sky !! beau arlen !! no i did not. i stole his name and the lil info i could find on the big sky wiki n i made an au <3 bc that is my specialty!!! not knowing canon shit so i make aus!!! terrified to post this literally bc what if the beau arlen lovers think i did bad. i will pretend i don't see. anyways this is long asf sorry i had a STORY TO TELL !!! LOL

tags. @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @theosaurous @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @aileenunfiltered @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @sunsettsam @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @hyacinnths @couturewinx @blushpinkdoll @mccartneyqp @svbnra

[asiatic-apple]

Love your writing! Thank you for taking requests.

I would absolutely adore fluff promp 6 with Zayne and female MC. Imaging them at maybe Dr Noah’s place in Snowcrest? Or anywhere where you prefer it :)

Thank you so much, lovely!! I'm still getting used to writing for Zayne, but I hope this is to your liking 💙 and I apologize for the long wait

Late night warmth

Zayne x female reader

Prompt: it’s freezing cold and they can’t figure out how to turn on the heat; they’ll just have to share the bed to stay warm then

Content: tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, cuddling

Dr. Noah’s house is quiet this late at night. Snowcrest’s frigid winds push softly against the windows, but inside, everything is still. The wooden floorboards creak as you pad down the hall, half-asleep, rubbing your arms to ward off the cold.

The thermostat near the kitchen hasn’t responded to anything you tried. Dr. Noah warned you the heating system could be stubborn this time of year, but you hadn’t expected it to be this bad.

You could go back to your room and try huddling up in the blankets. But there’s another, more tempting solution. When you glance down the dark hallway, you catch the faint glow of warm light beneath the other guest bedroom’s door. The one Zayne is staying in.

He’s still awake, it seems.

Waddling over to the door, you knock gently and whisper, “Zayne?”

A pause. Then, “Yeah.”

You crack the door open. He’s sitting upright in bed with the duvet tucked around his shoulders a bit comically and a datapad resting on his lap. The blue glow from the screen highlights the tiredness in his eyes. But there’s also a hint of amusement in them; he doesn’t look surprised to see you.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks quietly.

“Not in that room,” you say, stepping in and closing the door behind you. “It’s freezing in there.”

He hums in understanding—although you both ignore the fact that your excuse doesn’t make much sense since it’s freezing everywhere in this house.

You see him shift slightly beneath the covers, a subtle motion. As if he’s making space for you.

You glance down at the bed, then back at him. “Is your bed warm?”

He meets your eyes for a beat. To anyone else, they’d only see that calm, unreadable expression of his. But you notice the glint of playful teasing behind his wire-frame glasses.

“A little,” he says. “Blankets help.”

You stand there for another second. Then you cross the room.

Zayne doesn't say anything when you slide under the covers beside him. He just lies down beside you and adjusts the quilted duvet to tug it up over your shoulders. The bed is warmer than the one in the room you were given. Or maybe it’s your imagination.

Maybe it’s the way your skin always goes a bit too clammy whenever you’re near Zayne. And being in the same bed as him only heightens your yearning for him. The air feels thick with his calming scent—something clean yet faintly herbal like peppermint or eucalyptus.

You lie stiffly at first, trying to give him space by sticking to the extreme end of the bed. But the air beyond the blanket’s edge is cold, and you don’t want to accidentally slip out into the frosty air.

Zayne doesn’t say a word. He just reaches out, fingers grazing your wrist under the sheets. It’s the softest touch, almost uncertain. Somehow, his fingers feel even colder than the air outside. But his touch makes your skin sweat.

You turn your head toward him.

“Are you still cold?” you ask.

You expected to borrow his warmth, but instead, something about him draws the heat from you—like he needs it more than you do. For once, you want to be the warmth that eases into his chest. Maybe all the heat he makes you feel with a simple look or the graze of his fingertips can finally serve a bigger purpose.

He nods, barely perceptible in the dim light. “A bit.”

You shift, turning onto your side to face him properly. “C’mere,” you whisper, a little less confident than you want to sound.

There’s a pause. Then he inches closer, slow and deliberate, until you can feel the chill of his body against yours. Your legs brush. His hand settles lightly at your waist, no pressure behind it, like he’s testing the space between you.

You reach up and touch his cheek, brushing his hair back from his forehead. His skin is cool. But he melts under your touch—the perfect complement to how you always burn for him. You watch, enraptured, as his eyelashes flutter in what seems like bliss.

“You couldn’t sleep because of the cold either, could you?” you ask with a chuckle. “You should’ve come to my room.”

He exhales softly, something between a laugh and a hitched breath. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

“You never bother me.”

Your voice is quiet, but you mean it. You’re close enough now to feel the soft rhythm of his breathing against your chest. His body gradually relaxes as the warmth spreads between you—a slow, calm settling, like snow drifting to earth.

“Thank you,” he murmurs after a moment. “For being my hearth.”

You feel his fingers tighten slightly against your side, a quiet acknowledgment of how much your presence means to him—more than just the warmth you can provide.

His words and touch fan the flames beneath your skin, and you press a light kiss to his forehead in reply. Eventually, his breathing evens out. The house is wrapped in silence again as your stoic doctor curls closer to you in his sleep.

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dividers by me (please do not repost)

[dandelionsresilience]

Good News - July 22-28

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my new(ly repurposed) Patreon!

1. Four new cheetah cubs born in Saudi Arabia after 40 years of extinction

“[T]he discovery of mummified cheetahs in caves […] which ranged in age from 4,000 to as recent as 120 years, proved that the animals […] once called [Saudi Arabia] home. The realisation kick-started the country’s Cheetah Conservation Program to bring back the cats to their historic Arabian range. […] Dr Mohammed Qurban, CEO of the NCW, said: […] “This motivates us to continue our efforts to restore and reintroduce cheetahs, guided by an integrated strategy designed in accordance with best international practices.””

2. In sub-Saharan Africa, ‘forgotten’ foods could boost climate resilience, nutrition

“[A study published in PNAS] examined “forgotten” crops that may help make sub-Saharan food systems more resilient, and more nutritious, as climate change makes it harder to grow [current staple crops.] [… The study identified 138 indigenous] food crops that were “relatively underresearched, underutilized, or underpromoted in an African context,” but which have the nutrient content and growing stability to support healthy diets and local economies in the region. […] In Eswatini, van Zonneveld and the World Vegetable Center are working with schools to introduce hardy, underutilized vegetables to their gardens, which have typically only grown beans and maize.”

3. Here's how $4 billion in government money is being spent to reduce climate pollution

“[New Orleans was awarded] nearly $50 million to help pay for installing solar on low to middle income homes [… and] plans to green up underserved areas with trees and build out its lackluster bike lane system to provide an alternative to cars. […] In Utah, $75 million will fund several measures from expanding electric vehicles to reducing methane emissions from oil and gas production. [… A] coalition of states led by North Carolina will look to store carbon in lands used for agriculture as well as natural places like wetlands, with more than $400 million. [… This funding is] “providing investments in communities, new jobs, cost savings for everyday Americans, improved air quality, … better health outcomes.””

4. From doom scrolling to hope scrolling: this week’s big Democratic vibe shift

“[Democrats] have been on an emotional rollercoaster for the past few weeks: from grim determination as Biden fought to hang on to his push for a second term, to outright exuberance after he stepped aside and Harris launched her campaign. […] In less than a week, the Harris campaign raised record-breaking sums and signed up more than 100,000 new volunteers[….] This honeymoon phase will end, said Democratic strategist Guy Cecil, warning the election will be a close race, despite this newfound exuberance in his party. [… But v]oters are saying they are excited to vote for Harris and not just against Trump. That’s new.”

5. Biodegradable luminescent polymers show promise for reducing electronic waste

“[A team of scientists discovered that a certain] chemical enables the recycling of [luminescent polymers] while maintaining high light-emitting functions. […] At the end of life, this new polymer can be degraded under either mild acidic conditions (near the pH of stomach acid) or relatively low heat treatment (> 410 F). The resulting materials can be isolated and remade into new materials for future applications. […] The researchers predict this new polymer can be applied to existing technologies, such as displays and medical imaging, and enable new applications […] such as cell phones and computer screens with continued testing.”

6. World’s Biggest Dam Removal Project to Open 420 Miles of Salmon Habitat this Fall

“Reconnecting the river will help salmon and steelhead populations survive a warming climate and [natural disasters….] In the long term, dam removal will significantly improve water quality in the Klamath. “Algae problems in the reservoirs behind the dams were so bad that the water was dangerous for contact […] and not drinkable,” says Fluvial Geomorphologist Brian Cluer. [… The project] will begin to reverse decades of habitat degradation, allow threatened salmon species to be resilient in the face of climate change, and restore tribal connections to their traditional food source.”

7. Biden-Harris Administration Awards $45.1 Million to Expand Mental Health and Substance Use Services Across the Lifespan

““Be it fostering wellness in young people, caring for the unhoused, facilitating treatment and more, this funding directly supports the needs of our neighbors,” said HHS Secretary Xavier Becerra. [The funding also supports] recovery and reentry services to adults in the criminal justice system who have a substance use disorder[… and clinics which] serve anyone who asks for help for mental health or substance use, regardless of their ability to pay.”

8. The World’s Rarest Crow Will Soon Fly Free on Maui

“[… In] the latest attempt to establish a wild crow population, biologists will investigate if this species can thrive on Maui, an island where it may have never lived before. Translocations outside of a species’ known historical range are rare in conservation work, but for a bird on the brink of extinction, it’s a necessary experiment: Scientists believe the crows will be safer from predators in a new locale—a main reason that past reintroduction attempts failed. […] As the release date approaches, the crows have already undergone extensive preparation for life in the wild. […] “We try to give them the respect that you would give if you were caring for someone’s elder.””

9. An optimist’s guide to the EV battery mining challenge

““Battery minerals have a tremendous benefit over oil, and that’s that you can reuse them.” [… T]he report’s authors found there’s evidence to suggest that [improvements in technology] and recycling have already helped limit demand for battery minerals in spite of this rapid growth — and that further improvements can reduce it even more. [… They] envision a scenario in which new mining for battery materials can basically stop by 2050, as battery recycling meets demand. In this fully realized circular battery economy, the world must extract a total of 125 million tons of battery minerals — a sum that, while hefty, is actually 17 times smaller than the oil currently harvested every year to fuel road transport.”

10. Peekaboo! A baby tree kangaroo debuts at the Bronx Zoo

“The tiny Matschie’s tree kangaroo […] was the third of its kind born at the Bronx Zoo since 2008. [… A] Bronx Zoo spokesperson said that the kangaroo's birth was significant for the network of zoos that aims to preserve genetic diversity among endangered animals. "It's a small population and because of that births are not very common," said Jessica Moody, curator of primates and small mammals at the Bronx Zoo[, …] adding that baby tree kangaroos are “possibly one of the cutest animals to have ever lived. They look like stuffed animals, it's amazing.””

July 15-21 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[emmiesoverthemoon]

AISLE BE DAMNED

one: this could've been an email

wc: 3.1k ss count: 6 < previous | navigation | next >

tuesday, 10:10am

you arrive five minutes before your agreed time and glowing, the sun warming the backs of your legs as you slide into the booth opposite your cousin. she’s already halfway through an iced oat latte and a cinnamon pastry the size of her head.

“oh my goodness, hey gorgeous,” she greets, mouth full, rising to hug you. “that skirt is everything!”

you smile, returning her embrace. “i do it all for you. brunch is sacred.”

the café is airy and tiled in dusty hues, the smell of espresso tangled with vanilla and morning heat. it’s the kind of place that makes you believe in new beginnings, in soft restarts, in easy joy.

after classical so-how’s-life small talk, your cousin leans across the table, eyes bright. “so, i have a proposition for you.”

you sip your chai. “hit me.”

“you plan my wedding.”

you blink. “like… help you plan it?”

“like… plan it. fully.” she shrugs, hopeful. she’s a little anxious, you can tell by the waver in her voice. “start to finish. i trust you. you’re good at this stuff, and you have taste, and good planning skills, and the magic brain. and i’m overwhelmed and incapable of choosing between chairs without crying.”

your first instinct is to laugh. the second is to say yes, of course.

because you love her. because weddings are your favourite genre of event, because planning and decorating are your thing. because she looks like she might dissolve if you don’t.

“i’ll do it,” you agree, instantly, reaching for your phone. “we’ll build you a pinterest board first. there’ll be light installations and garden paths and—”

“okay, yes, love all of that,” she cuts in, voice suddenly small. “but… there’s a catch.”

you pause, suspiciously raising an eyebrow. “what kind of catch?”

she winces and takes a slow sips her drink. her eyes dart to anywhere but your form, refusing to make eye contact.

“i already kind of… have someone helping me.”

your smile begins to wilt. “oh?”

“he’s just a friend of ours, well. more so the fiance’s friend than mine,” she rushes, waving her hands haphazardly. “he offered when we were freaking out last month about things, and i didn’t know if you’d be available, and he’s… helpful. intense. but helpful.”

you narrow your eyes, unsure of the whole ordeal. you just wish you could have done it alone is all! “what’s his name?”

a beat passes, her hesitance unsettles you.

“minho,” she names. “lee minho.”

your stomach drops a little. the name tastes like paper cuts and perfectly aligned spreadsheets.

or is it just the bitter aftertaste of unexpected collaboration?

“he’s really not that bad,” she attempts to comfort quickly, “he’s just… very structured. very type-a kind of guy.”

“you’re saying i have to co-plan this wedding?”

“i’m saying it’ll be amazing. you’re the heart. he’s the brains. together you’ll be unstoppable.”

you stare at her. she stares back with the slightly manic optimism of someone who is very much not going to be part of the actual disaster.

“he can be sweet,” she adds, like a peace offering. “i swear. deep, deep down. you’re amazing, i’m sure you’ll crack through his shell quickly.”

you exhale slowly, reaching for your croissant. “fine. i’m all yours.”

she lights up, and immediately retrieves her phone from her purse to send you his number.

and just like that, the sun over brunch feels a little too bright.

tuesday, 1:53pm

you get home still smelling faintly of syrup and vanilla, the warm rush of brunch already fading into something more sour.

you throw your phone on the couch. it bounces once, screen-down, like even it is ashamed of what comes next.

you take a moment to kick off your shoes and toss your keys to the designated tray. you fill the silence of your home with a slow, theatrical sigh. then: you sit, unlock your phone, and start drafting a message.

polite. breezy. kind of professional, but not stiff. maybe a hint of charm, just enough to make this less painful. you reread it three times. edit an emoji. delete it. press send.

and then you wait.

two minutes later, your phone buzzes. his replies are short. clipped. vaguely insulting. you stare at your screen in disbelief.

who talks to someone new like that? and totally unprovoked?

lee minho, it seems, is all bones and no sugar.

you toss the phone down again and sink deeper into the couch, legs flopped dramatically over the armrest, sighing like a woman in a period film who’s just been informed her betrothed is “adequate.”

"this is going to be amazing," you mutter aloud, glaring at the ceiling.

then, lower, like it’s a confession: "i hate him already."

once you send your availability as requested, your phone buzzes again. it’s probably just a rude command, and you are yet to have the energy to read it.

you don’t respond immediately.

you’re too busy imagining all the ways this could go wrong. and, quietly, the strange, unwelcome twinge of curiosity blooming beneath your irritation.

thursday, 10:35am

you give yourself until the morning of the café meeting to spiral.

by the time sunlight spilt through your blinds, you had looked over your mood board six times, printed out a potential invitation design mock-up that absolutely no one asked for, and chosen your outfit with the intensity of a woman dressing for war.

soft but commanding. romantic but sharp. approachable but not easily walked over. there is blush on your cheeks and steel in your spine.

you talk to your reflection while curling your lashes.

“he’s just a guy. a type-a, emotionally constipated, spreadsheet guy. you’ve met worse. you’ve dated worse. you’re not going to let some polished little control freak ruin this for you.”

you nod and hold eye contact with yourself like it’s a trust exercise.

“you are composed. creative. you are unbothered. you are—”

you think of how he spoke to you in his messages. a hand runs itself over your forehead; the next long period of time spent with someone like this? really?

“you are… not... gonna kill him,” you mutter.

you decide you won't allow some man with a rude tone best you. this is your element! and you're doing your cousin a huge favour here.

because you’re nothing if not committed to a challenge.

and this?

this feels like the start of something awful. or brilliant. or both.

thursday, 11:15am

the café you both have arranged to meet in is pretty in a way that tries very hard not to be. pressed flower menus, exposed brick, a feature wall of trailing ivy that begs to be photographed. you pick a two-seater table in the corner—neutral territory—and set your materials out like armour ready to defend whatever attack is to come.

you spot someone enter the cafe, who your intuition told you was the person you're here to meet. he looks all clean lines, silver watch, zero visible humanity. it had to be him. you watch him scan the café like he’s assessing the structural integrity. he’s in a black button-up like he’s coming from a funeral or a business seminar (you're unable to tell). he approaches the service counter and orders something unintelligible from your distance.

once the order is ready, you see his sharp eyes rake over each patron. when he spots you, he approaches and gives a short nod, not a greeting. he sits without adjusting his expression.

you blink. nice to meet you too.

he lifts the cup, sips once, then sets it down. “you remembered to come. good start.”

you press your lips together, fighting the urge to roll your eyes to the back of your skull. does he think of you an idiot?

“like i would forget.”

you open up your planner. minho lays out his laptop. you bring up centrepiece colour palettes; he brings up guest list conflicts and structure. your visions have artful chaos and romance. his have rigid order and rules.

the next twenty minutes are mental gymnastics in practicing patience. you bring up florals— he talks about logistics. you float the idea of a champagne cart— he shuts it down before you finish the sentence. you suggest golden hour lighting— he reminds you sunset is unpredictable in late spring.

he doesn’t interrupt, not exactly— but his silences are so loud they feel like corrections.

and worst of all?

he’s good at what he's doing.

frustratingly, insufferably, disgustingly competent. you watch him reroute an entire potential reception layout because a hypothetical potential florist had an incompatible delivery method in no more than two minutes, and it was elegant. efficient. infuriating.

“you know,” you say eventually, reaching for your drink, “i think we have very different definitions of what a wedding should feel like.”

he doesn’t even look up. “it should feel seamless.”

you snort. “it should feel unforgettable.”

“seamless is unforgettable.”

“you sound like a walking brochure.”

he glances at you then, just briefly. “you sound like a pinterest board with a wifi connection.”

you stare at him, open-mouthed.

“you’re lucky i'm doing this for my cousin,” you mutter.

“and you’re lucky i like being prepared,” he replies, tapping his pen once against his page. “this would be chaos without me.”

“you think i bring chaos?”

he smiles. not sweetly. “i think you bring… flair.”

“you said that like it’s a disease.”

“i didn’t not mean it like that.”

after an hour that feels like five, you gather your things, already mentally rewriting everything he wrote down on his snobby little laptop.

“venue walkthrough’s next week,” he informs, “i’ll send over my availability.”

“don’t strain yourself.”

he raises an eyebrow. “i won’t.”

you offer him a perfect smile, all sugar and spite. he gives you nothing in return. just walks off, black coffee still in hand, like you were a task on a to-do list he couldn’t wait to tick off.

you watch him disappear around the corner, teeth clenched.

“this,” you say aloud to no one, pulling your phone out from your pocket, “is going to be so fun.”

once minho got in the car, he tossed his laptop onto the passenger seat, shut the door with a soft click, and sat there for a moment. hands still, eyes on the dashboard. the sunlight hit hard across the steering wheel. his jaw felt tight.

he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and opened messages. no notifications. he scrolled anyway. checked the time. turned on the engine.

a soft mechanical hum filled the space. he let it settle. then, finally, thumb hovering, he opened his chat.

he ran a hand through his hair.

he was here to help plan a wedding. not… deal with whatever that was.

he locked his phone and pulled out of the carpark.

he didn’t think about it again.

not really.

the next thursday, 8:55am

the forest opens slowly, like a held breath. sunlight drips through tall trees in long gold ribbons, dappling the moss-covered stone steps that lead toward the main clearing. the world smells like rain-soaked bark and white roses in bloom, the silence broken only by the crunch of gravel beneath your shoes and the occasional birdcall echoing somewhere deep above.

it is—if you’re being honest with yourself—stupidly beautiful.

the kind of place where people whisper even when they do not have to. the kind of place that looks like it came with its own filter. the kind of place that makes you believe in soft promises and forever.

you exhale through your nose and murmur, “okay. not bad.”

“just ‘not bad?’”

you don’t have to turn around. you’d recognise that voice anywhere now— clipped, smooth, with the exact tone of a man who does not believe in whimsy.

minho appears beside you, dressed like someone who doesn’t trust nature to behave itself. black again. always black. he holds a rolled-up blueprint under one arm and a coffee in his other hand, which feels offensive somehow.

you don’t dignify his sass with a response.

instead, you both drift toward the heart of the venue— the open-air clearing where the ceremony will take place. it’s framed by a white pergola, wrapped in fresh wisteria, with vintage chairs laid out in perfect rows that slope gently toward the altar.

“she's going to cry when she sees this,” you say, softer now.

“she’ll cry regardless,” minho says. “but yes. it’s nice.”

you glance at him.

he doesn’t look moved, exactly— but his eyes are locked on the treetops, the subtle shift of branches moving above the altar. for a second, he’s very still.

you look away before you can start projecting a personality onto him.

the venue coordinator joins you, clipboard in hand and smile too big for this quiet forest. she runs through the ceremony outline and power supply details, marking off lighting placements and “wet weather backup” logistics while you both follow, mostly silent.

except for minho. minho is never silent when he has an opinion.

“these cables will have to be repositioned,” he mutters, crouching to inspect the outer edge of the aisle. “if the musicians set up here, they’ll be blocking the view from the fourth row. not to mention the audio balance—”

“oh my god,” you sigh, crouching beside him. “can you give it five minutes before you start rearranging the trees?”

he doesn’t look at you. just gestures to the uneven slope of the ground. “do you want the bride to trip walking down the aisle? is that what your ideal “vibe” is?”

you lean in, dangerously close. “the vibe is a nice wedding. not a safety seminar.”

he glances sideways at you.

you glance back.

you’re close enough to feel his shoulder shift when he breathes. the forest is very quiet.

you both look away.

the coordinator leaves you to “walk the space” and finalise creative decisions. which, of course, means arguing.

“i still think the florals should be elevated,” you think aloud, gesturing toward the seating rows. “just on low plinths. it frames the aisle better in photos.”

“or it blocks the view for half the guests.”

“not if it’s arranged correctly.”

“which you think you’ll do personally?”

“i would if you’d let me within three feet of your spreadsheet.”

he exhales sharply— an almost laugh, except not nice.

“you’re not the first aesthetic genius i’ve worked with,” he quips, turning toward the altar.

“and you’re not the first control freak i’ve had to try to tolerate,” you shoot back.

the silence that follows is… heavier than it should be.

you step up beside him under the pergola, where sunlight pours like honey between the beams, spilling across your feet. minho glances at the lattice above.

“the light’s good here,” he murmurs, half to himself. “the bride’s dress will glow.”

you blink— it’s the first time you’ve heard him say anything that sounds like a feeling.

“see?” you say, a little too smug. “you can do romance.”

he turns to you, expression unreadable. “i never said i couldn’t. just that i prefer function over fantasy.”

“they’re not mutually exclusive,” you say, chin lifted, “not everything has to be entirely cold and practical.”

“and not everything has to be entirely whimsical and unrealistic.”

you face him fully. he’s standing closer than necessary. the air shifts, just slightly.

“i’m trying to make something beautiful,” you say.

he looks at you for a second too long.

“…so am i,” he replies quietly.

you both look away at the same time.

the final stop is the reception hall.

arched windows, soft chandeliers, walls the colour of antique lace. the breeze curls through the open doorways, catching stray petals off the tables left half-decorated for today’s walkthrough. the room smells like lemon cake and eucalyptus.

you walk in first. he follows.

“twenty tables,” he says, eyes scanning. “we’ll need to rotate two of them if we want to avoid congestion.”

“i already accounted for that,” you reply, pulling a mock layout from your folder.

he blinks at it. tilts his head.

“…this is good.”

you turn slowly, dramatically. “did you just compliment me?”

“don’t let it go to your head.”

“you just admitted i was right.”

“i said it was good. not perfect.”

“that's a compliment, coming from you.”

he exhales again. quieter this time.

you can’t help it— you smile. just a little.

you part ways in the gravel parking area with nothing more than a glance. the wind ruffles your papers. minho’s already opening his car door.

“i’ll send an updated schedule tonight,” he calls.

“make sure it includes time for feelings,” you call back.

he doesn’t reply. but you think—maybe—you hear the ghost of a laugh before the door shuts behind him.

you stare at the trees overhead. the branches sway like they know something you don’t.

you have no idea how this is going to work.

but, god help you, you are kind of looking forward to the next disaster.

kind of.

thursday, 7:32pm

later that night, your apartment is a mess of ribbon samples and open notebooks, your laptop glowing faintly beneath a half-eaten box of macarons. you sit cross-legged on the couch, phone in one hand, scribbling notes with the other, still high on adrenaline and candle-scented air.

you should be exhausted.

instead, your brain is running like it’s on stage, spotlight bright, full of centrepieces and dance floor placements and the exact shade of ivory the linens need to be.

you keep thinking about that moment beneath the pergola—how the sun lit the edges of his jaw. how he spoke softly like he meant it.

it’s infuriating.

you shake your head. type something aggressive in your planning document in attempt to alleviate some tension.

note to self: stop thinking about lee minho.

as if the man of the hour is listening to your thoughts, your phone buzzes.

you can almost hear the smugness through the screen.

across the city, minho sits in his dark kitchen, screen tilted back, a faint hum of lo-fi playing into the quiet. his notes are neatly filed, tasks ticked off. he stares at the seating chart for a second longer than necessary.

then opens your shared drive to scroll through the moodboard. he takes a moment to pause on a photo of candles in various antique candelabras, immersed in the decor, the light flickering like hushed giggles.

he tilts his head, feeling the corners of his lips curl slightly.

"hm."

and that’s all.

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here’s chapter one !!! ty for reading :)

stay tuned for chapter two and beyond <3

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[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Cornflower Blue

SPOOKTOBER SPECIAL

❥Yandere Outlaw Song Mingi x fem reader

✃The moonlight seeps in through the sheer curtains and paints your skin in a haze of blue. The bruise on your temple like a water color bloom.

♡'･ᴗ･'♡ genre: plot heavy smut, yandere, angst

♫ "You love me 'till you wear me out, then you love me more." -Cornflower Blue, Flower Face ♫"Love's never been more than pain, so Baby, show me how bad you hurt." -Dog Days, Ethel Cain ♫

➯a/n: this is my darkest fic yet imo, be sure to read the contents and take care of yourself! also im super proud of this, it took like three months tbh and i still didn't get to fit in everything i wanted to. enjoy some yandere minki 💙➯a/n 6/23/25 i finally edited this lmao

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: GOOD LORD WHAT HAVE I DONE ??? wild west au, HEAVY yandere themes, murder, reader near death experience, mingi is CRAZY, bribery, manipulation, threatening, gun violence/shoot-out, injuries, invasion of privacy, 'off-screen' death of main characters, kidnapping, NSFW; multiple sex scenes, masturbation (jorkin it), unprotected(BOO), corruption kink, virginity loss, head(reader receiving), size difference, spit, breeding kink, overstim, biiiiiig dick mingi (i'm a sucker😞), praise, dirty talk, soft sex turned rough, extreme possessiveness

♫"My Babe would never fret about what my hands and my body done- if The Lord don't forgive me, I'd still have my Baby." -Work Song, Hozier ♫"I just wanted to be yours. Can I be yours? Just tell me I'm yours." - Strangers, Ethel Cain ♫

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

"Ellis~" Your sing song tone echoes out through the alleyway, crates of stored food blocking your view. "Oh, my! Is that a corn snake?" You yell out dramatically, crouching down behind a crate.

"Where?!" The young boys voice gets closer by the second until he runs up to you and you snatch him up.

"Wraa! I got you!" He laughs loudly, an heart-full sound that rings out in the dead town.

Everyone has gone besides very few to a new market up North.

"I've caught you, and I'll eat you up!" You pull him up as he yells and laughs; swinging him around as you twirl to the main road. "I'll have ye for supper," you laugh with your best witch-like voice.

"No, I'm not tasty!"

"No? Well... I guess I shouldn't do this then!" You playfully nom at his sweatered shoulder, tickling his ribs.

"Auntie, please, I'll do it! I'll sweep!"

You stand up like nothing ever happened and smile, "great, Miss Carmen will be most pleased."

You had recruited multiple of the youngsters left behind to help you maintain the vacant homes while the market took place, and some off them were less than happy to have been roped in. "Would you like me to carry you?"

"Ye' , please!" His smile is missing a tooth, and it makes you chuckle.

You place him over your hip and begin the short walk, planning out the rest of the days chores in your head when he screams, "horsie!"

You follow the path his chubby finger points to, and find a large figure riding in past the town sign on a similarly large white horse. His face is obscured by his large droopy hat, but that isn't what makes you suspicious at first.

The man riding into town has multiple guns on his figure.

You scramble to the side of the dirt path and hold Ellis' head to your shoulder, looking up at the stranger as he slows his horse to come to a stop right infront of you.

   "Hello, Si-"

  "Auntie, I'm scared." Despite your best efforts, the young boy had caught a glimpse of the towering and dangerous-looking man, shivering in your hold.

     You crouch and set him down carefully, rubbing his back for a moment before you turn him in the direction you want him to go, "run off to the schoolhouse, tell Maria to come and cook up our guest a meal. You can do that, right?"

     He rubs his eyes and peeks at the man before looking back to you, nodding quickly. "Go on and get, then." You pat his shoulder and watch him run before turning to the man.

       "Room and board, Sir?" You ask the hidden man formally.

    "Yes." He speaks simply, swinging his leg over and jumping down from the horse.

    He's no less intimidating now that he's technically level with you. He looms over you like a shadow and places a chill in your bones. "Is this place a ghost town?"

He has an accent that you can't place, but you lock onto it anyhow because it's quite clear he isn't from around here. You look away from him, trying to hide your nerves at the fact that he's the first real stranger you've ever met.

    "No, Sir. Most are away to sell our spring crops."

He hums shortly in response, watching you closely from under the shadow his hat casts over his eyes as you grab his horses reigns. You can feel the way his eyes bore into your every move as you begin waking, "follow me, then."

    It's a silent and most awkward walk down the deserted main street, and you can still feel his gaze burning into your back as you lead his horse into the stables.

"So, where are you from, stranger?"

     "Away." Your feeble attempt at small talk is shut down by the man immediately as he stands in the large doorway, broad shoulders nearly touching its sides.

"Very well," you step back out of the horse's temporary home, and are put in the shadow his large frame casts. "Uhm, my name is (Y/n)," you extend your hand, trying to remember your manners despite the fear in your gut.

     He takes your hand, roughly. You can't tell if he means to- or if he's just that strong. "Mingi."

     His hand is cold. It shocks you. You pull away from his grip and push past him, head lowered. You've quickly found that you don't enjoy strangers.

"Miss Maria can help you get settled, show you around if you like. Nothin' much to do 'round here besides drink or play pool." You ramble on as you head to the bar, just down the road. You don't have to look behind you to know he's following. You can feel his gaze locked in on your back, that same feeling you get when men at the bar have one too many drinks or that time when a wild boar cornered you.

      The bar isn't anything special, though — nothing in the town is really. He looks around, silently. A few wooden booths and rickety tables. A pool table. A small island that separates the main floor and the bartenders area. Beyond that, he can see a kitchen.

He almost thought his luck had run out when he rode into the seemingly deserted town — and then he saw you twirling the young boy into the main road.

     He nods his head, maybe subconsciously, to say he's pleased enough to stay.

"Up this way," your voice echoes in the empty space, and you touch his arm ever so lightly to get his attention. The staircase is hidden by the corner, and he has to crouch to ascend them. When he does, he's pleasantly surprised.

     The room has a homey, lived in feel to it. Well — most of it. It's a large space, walls decorated with dried flowers and boxed in dead insects, chalk drawings of all kinds of things on the dark oak walls. There's a slanted shelf that's adorned with carved wooden trinkets and toys, most of which have a small layer of dust if he looks hard enough. A large open window is on the back wall, facing the town, and a dresser that fits perfectly under it. The bed on the left side of the dresser is messy, a large fur blanket that's bundled up to expose pristine white sheets.

     The part that doesn't look as lived in is on the right side of the dresser. An fresh lantern candle placed neatly on the made bed, dark red sheets and grey comforter.

     "I hope you don't mind a roommate... I'm not here for the most part, I won't be in your hair." You're shuffling around quickly, hiding a few things that he didn't get to inspect into the left side of the dresser. "You can," you gulp, clearly uncomfortable with the silent man, "you can put your things away in these drawers if you like."

He stands, like a scarecrow, holding his rucksack tightly. When he moves; you flinch, sliding closer to what he's now placed together is your bed. He chooses to ignore that, sitting down on the other bed and feeling the soft fabric. "You own this place?"

You're taken aback by his unprovoked speaking, gathering you thoughts as you sit across from him on your own bed. "Uh, no. A man named Louis owns this and the bar."

"Hm. And you?"

"I work down in the bar, bartending and such. So he lets me stay."

A small smirk plays at his lips, hidden by his hat as he looks around again. You've clearly lived here a long while. There's more to your story than just working downstairs. "Kind of him."

    "Very. You may be able to thank him for his hospitality, he gets back in a few days." You pause for a moment before you ask tentatively, "how long will you be staying?"

     He stands and turns his back to you as he takes off his hat, beginning to unpack his bag. "Few weeks maybe."

    "Ah," you draw quietly, anxiety growing in your gut. The very few visitors you could remember stayed for only days, if that. Even then, they weren't total strangers. They were people that others in town knew from the market or city.

    "Hope you don't mind a roommate," he turns back around and tosses a look your way as he starts to fold his clothing into the unoccupied drawers. And if the air wasn't gone from your lungs by now, it certainly is as you get a good look at his face.

This stranger, Mingi, is the most handsome being you've ever laid your eyes upon.

     His eyebrows are softly arched, beautifully curved nose and lips. And his eyes — oh, his eyes. You swear you could get lost in them.

And it seems you do, staring at the man despite the fact your intuition is telling you to look away. "Handsome, I know."

    A heat flushes your face and you force yourself to look away as he smirks at your flustered state, "w-well, you know, uh- let me go and fetch Miss Maria, you must be famished!"

     With that, you're down the stairs and out the bar. He watches as you speed walk away through the window, blissfully unaware that he's opened up your drawers to have a deeper look into his roommate.

༄

You dodged the handsome stranger until you no longer could, the sun was setting and there were no more excuses to be found to avoid going back home.

He wasn't in the room when you returned, but the bathroom door was closed and you could see the flickering of a candle from the cracks.

    You lit a few candles on the dresser before the sun fully set, taking some deep breaths as you heard him moving around. You remove your boots, a groan of relief settling behind your lips as you wiggle your toes.

    As you're unfolding your night gown, the door to the bathroom creaks open. "Hello, Miss," he greets, much warmer than his earlier aura.

     "Mingi," you greet back with a small smile, "have you found your way around well?" You shift your weight uncomfortably as he tilts his head; as if he's trying to read you.

    "Mhm, this ghost town isn't as bad as I thought," he sits down on his bed, rolling his head with a groan.

     "Very good, maybe when the other return you'll find it even better." You can't wait for the day. His presence makes you... uneasy, might be best way to put it. You know he could easily over power you and the others.

Elderly, young, and women who don't have a single idea of self defense. Maybe that was stupid on your towns part — but you needed all of the hands on deck to sell the bountiful harvest.

      You excuse yourself and lock the bathroom door behind you, double checking before you begin to remove your day clothes. As you change, you start to wonder if maybe Mingi was just uncomfortable around strangers as well. He's seemed to have warmed up quite a bit to you. You'll have to ask Maria in the morning about their encounter.

     Perhaps he won't be as bad as you expected —

"Oh, dear me!" You stumble as you re-enter the room, covering your eyes with your hands. "Uhm, Mingi?"

    "I'm just cleaning my wound," he chuckles, watching you with a glint in his eyes.

      You peek through your fingers, keeping your hands to your face to hide.

    Indeed, he's shirtless. Your eyes hadn't played a trick on you.

      You swallow the gathering wetness in your mouth as you peer at his naked torso. He's slim — toned in all the right places. His arms are something of a dream to you, and you have to force yourself to look away from them as sinful thoughts begin growing in your mind.

    Instead, you take a look at the injury he referred to.  A shallow gash going from his hip around and up to his back. The edges of it are already scarring, leaving only the middle of it as a wound.

You slowly approach the end of his bed, hands resting on the metal bed frame. "May I ask?"

"Every man his enemies. Mine happen to be good with throwing knives."

"Is that why you carry all those weapons?" The question has been nagging you. He has so many. And you don't like them. You don't like that they are in your home. He's left them on his side of the dresser.

"Perhaps." He groans as he tries to reach around and clean the part of the cut that stretches onto his back. "Would... would you be so kind, (Y/n)?"

It's your turn to be the silent type. You move to sit beside him, taking the damp rag and jar of salve with shaking hands. You haven't been this close to him until now. You haven't been this close to any man, really.

He smells shockingly good.

He shivers as you begin cleaning up his wound, and you apologize under your breath.

Unbeknownst to you — that was not a shiver of pain.

He's always been the nosy type. He couldn't help himself but try to get to know you through your belongings while you were gone. And he struck a pot of gold when he found your diary.

The entries dated back seven years. And he read through all seven of them. With every word, he became more and more infatuated with you.

And your touch on his body solidified that infatuation. It felt right. Your innocent, helping touch turned his infatuation into something more sinister.

So, no. It was not a shiver of pain.

"There you go," you can't help but stroke the large expanse of his back once you've finished; it's a work of art. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice.

But, oh, does he. He has to bite his lip to hold back a moan, looking down at his lap. His member is twitching from the smallest, most pure of your touches. "Thank you kindly." He forces out, breathily.

You're in your own bed much to quickly for his liking, hiding under your blanket. "Goodnight, Mingi. I shall see you in the morning."

༄

     "Hello, stranger," you smile at him as he steps out of the building, earning one back. "Slept well, I hope?"

    "Very, thank you." He takes a seat on the steps of the bar next to you and watches the sun grow higher in the sky. "May I ask you a personal question, (Y/n)?"

     "I suppose so," you shift slightly, toying with the strings on your boots. While your feet rest on the step just below your bottom, his stretch all the way off of the steps and onto the dirt.

    "Where is your family?"

    "I'm sorry?"

   "Well it's just — you're a beautiful young woman. Don't you have a husband and a couple of rug-rats?"

    "Rug-rats," you repeat with a chuckle, shaking your head. "No, no rug-rats."

"And... a husband?"

"The closest I have to a husband is Castle... my mutt." You look to him with a bigger smile, your nerves and anxiety around him unwinding. When he laughs, you feel a flutter in your stomach that makes them disappear completely.

You turn back to the sun as it rises, trying to convince yourself that the heat you feel on your cheeks is from the warmness of it. "Why do you ask?"

He hums, leaning back on his elbows and allowing his eyes to flick up and down as they observe you. "Wanted to know my chances."

"Oh!" You look back at him, his eyes shining with that glint once more, "the cow boy is a flirt? I see."

"I'm not a cowboy."

"No?" You lean back and join him, crossing your legs. Maria had told you just earlier that he was strange, that she sensed a darkness about him. But you only felt warmth and light. "What are you then, Mingi?"

"An outlaw." The smirk on his lips makes you think he's joking, and you let out a laugh.

If only you knew that Mingi was being truthful.

༄

      The wagons roll into town the next morning, bright and early. You're still asleep when the first one comes, but the happy hollering from Maria wakes you and Mingi both with a start.

    He's dazed and confused, rolling around and glaring at at ceiling above him. While you — well, you nearly jump out of your skin to run downstairs.

     Still in your nightgown and soft socks, you almost slip and fall as you jump off of the last stair and slide into the main area. "Lou!" You collide into him and sway happily as the older man lifts you up in his arms.

"There's my girl! You been holdin' us down?" He sets you down carefully and inspects you, making sure you've been kept safe in his time away.

"You know I have," you give him a wide and toothy smile, "how was the new market?"

"Oh, it was wonderful, dear! Next time I should take you both with me, so many new things," he reaches into his satchel, handing his wife something small and shiny.

Mingi, in his own sleep clothes — just a loose pair of pants, slowly descends the stairs; silent as a mouse as he watches the three of you.

Miss Maria, the older woman with a scarf permanently affixed to her head, looks down at the ring with a teary smile. "Oh, Louis, you shouldn't have."

You lift yourself up and sit on one of the tables, watching the two kiss with a small smile.

"Why shouldn't I? A man is meant to spoil his wife, isn't that what I always say? Besides, we made quite the profit this time around." His wrinkled hand cups her cheek, and you can't help but coo at their affection.

"Y'all are too stinkin' cute." Maria looks away bashfully, admiring the ring on her hand. While Louis turns to you with a smile, which fades as quickly as it came.

"And who is this?" His hand is on his belt, twitching at his pistol as he spots Mingi coming up behind you. You turn, and then back, moving his hand away from his weapon.

"That's Mingi, he got here a few days ago. A traveler." You don't know if that last part is necessarily true. Mingi never did tell you why he was passing by your isolated town. "He's quite alright."

"He's half naked — and so are you! Young lady-"

"Lou!" Maria is flabbergasted by what he seems to be implying, while you don't seem to see the innuendo.

Of course you are? You just awoke.

Mingi stays silent, and simply extends his hand to Louis. When he doesn't take it, he puts it back to his side, joining you at the table.

It seems to you that Mingi is indeed weary of strangers. He seems only comfortable with you. Yesterday, he followed you around; almost like a lost dog. Insisting that he wanted to help you with your daily chores.

His eyes flick down to your chest. Sure, he's seen you in your nightgown. But that was in the moon or candle light. The sunlight from the many bar windows exposes just how sheer it is. He can see your nipples if he looks hard enough. And have no doubt — he's looking.

And Louis notices, ears flushing red with anger as the strange traveler looks you up and down. "Alright, dear, go get dressed."

"Oh, but I wish to hear of the market! Unc-"

"Now, (Y/n)."

With a sigh, you slide off of the table, patting Mingis exposed shoulder as you pass him. He goes to follow you back upstairs when Louis grips his wrist. Hard.

Maria is fiddling with her new ring, almost cowering behind her husband as she feels Mingis aura once again. She can't seem to pinpoint why; but she doesn't like this man one bit. He's done nothing to her, to anyone for that matter. But she feels an evilness seep from his gaze.

"Have a seat, Mingi." Louis doesn't seem to like him either. Maybe because of his silent demeanor or the way he was ogling you.

He does so, with a bored expression, plopping down on one of the wooden booths. Louis slides into the long seat seat across from him, waving Maria off. She doesn't need to be told twice. She doesn't want to be near that man for one second more than necessary.

Alone in the seating area, the two men stare silently at one another. As if sizing each other up.

Louis is the first one to break, reaching into his pocket. A rusted old locket is slid across the scratched table top, and Mingi catches it before it falls into his lap.

As he opens it up, he sees a picture of two people in either of the oval locket. One, a woman with a wide smile. The other, a man looking down at the baby held to his chest. Their features seem... familiar.

"Her parents."

He looks up slowly, and sees the older man leaning back, "I'm sorry?"

"Those are her parents. My little sister and her husband. Died seven years ago, train crash. Hit a cow on the tracks. Hate those damned things. They can't slow down quick enough to avoid hittin' something."

It's silent again, save for the sounds of Maria cooking up a storm in the back.

He looks down at the pictures again. Seven years ago... that's when your diary entries start. But you never mentioned the crash. Did you just decide to forget about it? Move on?

Louis can almost see the cogs turning in his brain as he looks at the worn photo. Before Mingi can ask, Louis is answering. "I seen the way you looked at my little girl. The same way I look at my Maria. So I'mma tell you," he points to the locket, "I made a promise the day that train crashed. You know what that promise was?"

"No?"

"That I'd gut anyone who ever laid an evil finger on that girl."

"Maria!" They hear you coming back down, and Louis snatches up the locket from Mingis hands as he stands. You stop briefly and look at them, but move on when you see Louis smiling down at him. "Have you seen my vest?" Your voice grows distant as you join your aunt in the kitchen, unaware that the smile was followed by a threat.

"Don't make me gut you, boy."

༄

"You're so soft," you mutter as you brush the white mare with your fingers, stood just outside of her stable. She neighs loudly at you. "Oh, I know. So many strange horses, you must be frightened."

The once empty stable house was now filled again, everyone was back in town by high-noon. She seems like her owner; and like you. She doesn't like strangers. She nearly kicked the short door down when you approached with a handful of hay.

A few minutes later; she's letting you pet her. You're stood on a stool, bent over the edge of the door to dust the dirt off of her white coat. "You're a sweet girl, huh?" You smile at the animal, receiving more neighs in response.

"Who're you talking to?"

The abrupt interruption makes you stumble, nearly falling off of the wobbly stool. You steady yourself on the door and look back, throwing a smile his way when you see it's Mingi. "Your horse."

He joins your side at the door, holding his hand out to his mare. "You know she can't talk back, right?"

"Don't mean she can't listen."

He smiles at your response. You really are a kind soul; giving affection to an animal that can't give you anything in return.

"Busy, Miss (Y/n)?"

You shake your head. Nobody has come by the bar yet, and you don't think anyone will for a while. They're all spending time with their families.

"How about a ride, then?" He's opening up the door before you can respond, making your upper body follow it, legs outstretched to stay on the stool.

"Oh- I don't... I don't know how."

He keeps putting the saddle on the horse despite your words, a smile playing at his lips. By the way you're smiling as well, he knows you want to. "I can teach you. Are you afraid?"

     "I must admit... a bit."

    "Don't worry, I won't let you fall."

    "Really?"

    "Mhm."

      You hop down from the stool and move it out of the way as Mingi walks the mare out of her stable, following close behind him with a wide smile. You get a few strange looks from townspeople as you and the towering stranger stop in the middle of the main dirt road.

     One pair of eyes watches you even closer — Louis stands from his rocking chair on the porch of the bar, staring dumbfounded as Mingi picks you up and helps you onto the animal. Jaw dropped as he hops up and sits in the saddle right behind you, hands guiding yours to hold the reigns. Before he can even get off of the porch, the both of you are galloping out of town.

     The cool October air against your face as you slowly gain speed feels freeing, like it's washing your very soul. Your nerves are still shaking a bit, and you lean your back into Mingis chest, holding onto the reigns tightly. You jump ever so slightly when one of his hands rests over your stomach, gently holding you.

     "Don't worry," he says, "I've been riding since I was a child."

And so, you don't worry. You let the freeing feeling wash over you, relaxing into him and letting the mare take you where ever she pleases. Which just so happens to be the furthest you can ever remember being from town. You nearly forget that Mingi is even with you until you feel his hand move away from your stomach.

He grabs the reigns, his hand over yours as he pulls her head back carefully, slowing her to a stop in the middle of a field. He pulls your hands back with his and settles them in your lap, atop of your bundled up skirts.

She lowers her head and starts chewing on some of the green grass. You look up at the sky, clear and bright.

"Not so scary, right?" Mingi speaks up gently, his hands never leaving your own as he looks up at the baby blue with you.

"Not at all, though maybe it's because you did all of the work," you let out a small laugh, turning your hands palms up and letting him weave his fingers into yours, enveloping you in warmth. "Is this what your life is like?"

The endless expanse of nature staring back at you, birds chirping their lovely songs.

"For the most part." He doesn't want to tell you about the other parts of his life. The bloody and harsh parts. You don't need to hear about that. Not when you're so pure and soft in comparison.

"I like it. I can see why you don't settle, cowboy."

"I'm not a cowboy."

A grin on both your faces, a comfortable silence overcomes you for a moment. He leans and slowly, almost nervously, rests his forehead on your shoulder. When you don't make a move to lean away, he absolutely melts into you. His heart beating in his ears, he's shocked you haven't looked back to search for a marching band with how loud it is.

"I think I may stay a little while longer," he whispers tenderly into your shoulder.

"I think I may like that." You whisper right back.

You revel in each others touch for a few more moments before he moves, scooting back away from your backside. "Let's stretch our legs." Before you can complain, he's jumped off the horse and is holding out his arms for you. Deciding 'why not', you lean over and let him essentially pull you off her back.

You stretch your arms over your head as you wander, smiling back at him.

Oh, he could easily get addicted to that smile.

Directed at him — and him alone.

He watches with a flicker in his eyes as you start gathering wild flowers, folding up the rim of his hat to get a better look.

You start braiding them together, fingers working nimbly. The song of nature overcoming you as you work, and he admires from a few feet away.

You look like an angel, the sun beaming down and shining from behind you like a halo as you turn and face him. "Crouch down, big boy," you tease him softly, a heat creeping up your face as you see him blushing.

He leans down, letting you affix the flowers around his hat. When he comes back up, he does a small twirl, "how do I look?"

"Pretty!" It slips your lips before you have the chance to think, and it makes him blush all the harder.

"Let me see," he takes his hat off, short hair wild and blowing with the breeze.

He pulls the hat over your head in the next second, and the large accessory falls over your eyes. He laughs, hand over his mouth as you tilt your head up and peek at him from under the rim. "How do I look?"

"Like a doll," he exclaims breathlessly, eyes not leaving you for a single second as he takes in the sight of you in his hat. The wind blowing your loose hairs and skirts. A shy smile stretching your lips as you look away, admiring the sky as he admires you.

"Oh, hush."

"It's only true." He comes behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders loosely.

You have to remember how to breath as he looks over your shoulder at you, shit-eating-grin on his lips. "Doll~"

"We should head back!" You squeal, ducking out of his arms as warmth overwhelms your body. He only laughs, and the melodic sound echoes in the field.

"Alright then, up you get," he hoists you back onto the saddle, hands lingering on your exposed thighs as your skirt pools around your hips while he hooks his boot into the stirrup.

And you're off again, this time slowly. Like he knows that you crave to spend time with him as much as he does you.

༄

It's a few days later when he awakes in the night. The moon his only source of light. His breaths uneven and heavy.

Why did he have to wake up? That dream was ethereal, it nearly made him ascend to the heavens.

He groans as he flips onto his stomach, not a atom of shock in his being as he feels his hardness pressing into the mattress. Not after he just experienced the wettest dream of his life.

You looked like a Goddess below him, head tossed to the side and exposing all of the marks he left on your neck. The bed rocked in time with the yells of his names that left your bruised lips. Over and over. Louder and louder. Your eyes rolled back, your chest rising and falling as you tried desperately to keep up with his pace.

He's certain that's your rightful place; taking his cock and calling his name, soul intertwined with his.

"Fuck..." Just six days and you have him wrapped around your little finger. He's never felt like this. You must be the one.

    He can't help but look over at your bed across the room as his hand travels into his pants. His eyes nearly flutter shut, but he forces them open once again.

You're a restless sleeper, he's discovered. Your torso is pressed into the mattress while your hips are rotated slightly up, one leg bent and making your nightgown slip past the round of your ass.

God, your subconscious must know what he's doing.

That's the only 'reasonable' conclusion Mingis lustful mind can come to as you moan in your sleep, rolling onto your back and spreading your legs to get comfortable. It takes every fiber of self control in him not to pounce on you and take you right there.

He's content to fuck himself silly for the moment, and he's almost ashamed at how fast his release comes — but he can't help it. You look so fucking delectable and he hasn't touched himself since before he rolled into town.

He bites into his pillow with a low groan, eyes never leaving your peaceful form until he's overstimulated himself into oblivion. His arm sore and cock even sorer, he finally lets up, breathing heavily into the quiet night.

As he slinks to the bathroom and cleans himself up, he wonders what it would be like to feel your body close to him after such a release. Well —

Why not find out?

He leans over your bed with tears in his eyes, gently grabbing your arm and calling out to you.

"Min?" The nickname that you utter while half asleep almost has him ready to go again, but he pushes it away as you sit up groggily and look at him with concern written on your face.

"I don't feel too well, Doll... Can I sleep with you? Keep me warm?"

You feel his head with the back of your hand, a frown on your face as you feel his heated flesh — unknowing of the true cause.

"Mh, come on, big boy," you scoot to the wall and lift your fur blanket, a sleepy smile on your features as he dives into the bed. The metal frame creaks under both of your weight but neither of you pay it any mind.

He melts into your body heat, wrapping his arms around your waist and keeping you close.

It's so much better than he imagined.

༄

That's the best sleep you've ever had. You felt so safe and warm. And Mingi doesn't feel any different, he hasn't had a restful sleep like that since he was only a boy. You seem to have kept his reoccurring nightmares of his past away.

All the damage he's done and all the pain he's endured, wiped away as you rested your head on his shoulder.

Your legs are tangled together, arms wrapped around one another. Your head in his neck and his chin resting gently on top of it. Soft, gentle breaths as the both of you wake.

Rain beats down on the roof, creating a soft and steady melody.

Neither of you can tell how much time has elapsed, but it doesn't seem like it's ever enough. So when you finally sit up, a pout forms on his features.

You feel his forehead, smiling softly. "No fever."

"Hm, maybe a night bug." He sits up and swings his legs over the bed, facing into the room to hide his growing blush as the memories of his dream flood his mind.

He feels the bed shift under your weight as you crawl up behind him. "I had a dream last night," you whisper as you gently rub up his back.

"Mh?"

"Mhm." Your heart flutters as you muster up the courage to continue speaking, "a dream of you and I."

"Oh, do tell."

And tell, you do.

"Well... it began with you and I, sat in the bar. A few too many drinks in our bodies. A few kisses... A few touches... and then we came up here." His breath hitches in his throat, surely he's still dreaming. This is an elaborate trick of the brain. "Mingi?"

"Y-yes?" He wants to both explode with joy and collapse with embarrassment.

"Will you touch me? Will you kiss me? I'm sorry if that's wildly inappropriate — oh it is, I'm so ter-"

Your rambling is cut off as his lips collide with yours ever so softly. One of his hands cups your cheek, the other finds purchase on the small of your back.

He slowly pushes his weight onto you, laying you down on your back as you meld together. A curse falls past his lips as you ghost your fingertips over his abs.

He kisses down your jaw, savoring every inch of your skin until he reaches your covered breasts. He looks up, and the look in his eyes makes the heat in your belly grow ten-fold. "Can I see you?"

With the slightest nod of your head, he's slipped the straps of your nightgown down and tugged it down past your chest. His mind is racing. His heart is about to beat out of his chest. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He whispers, voice rough and barely heard over the storm raging outside.

His calloused hands trail down your chest, ghosting over the pebbled flesh on your breast and down to your skirt. You can't help the gasp that escapes you when he lifts it up, letting your entire nightdress rest in a bunch on your stomach. He's already panting, and he hasn't even touched you.

You're just so beautiful. You're a Goddess in his eyes.

He smiles up at you as he lowers himself, your legs spread by his wide shoulders. "I'm going to make you cum your brains out, Doll~"

Before you can even question what he means, his tongue is darting out and swiping up the length of your cunt. "Ah!" Your back is arched off the bed at the simple motion, and it solidifies his theory that you're a virgin. Your keening at the littlest bit of attention — your poor neglected pussy is begging for more.

You slap your hand over your mouth at the noise, looking shocked that it even came from you. He can't help the chuckle that vibrates in his throat — that is, before his taste buds register the most delicious, mind-blowing juice he's ever had the pleasure of putting in his mouth. "Oh, fuck..." Then he's just as flustered as you are, diving back in between your thighs like a man starved.

     The little noises that manage to slip past your hand urge him on even more than the way that your wetness just keeps coming and coming and coming as he slurps it all up. His tongue darts and licks and rolls all over you, and you can't even register all of the pleasure you're getting from it — it feels that good.

     He slips his arms under your thighs and grips them tightly to ground himself as he allows himself to drown in you. He lets his instincts do all of the work; enjoying himself more than he ever has. His nose nudges against your clit as he slurps noisily.

     The way you taste. The way you smell. The way you sound. The way you feel.

     All of it. All of you. He's going mad with lust. With love. He's going to explode — he truly believes it. And then you call his name.

      "Mingi—"

    So sweet and desperate, absolute music to his red hot ears as he sucks the bundle of nerves above your sopping wet heat. He doesn't even register that you've cum all over his chin until you're tugging at his hair roughly and forcing him away from your throbbing pussy.

     He moans out loudly as you harshly pull him away, jaw dropped as he pants. "You taste so good, Doll," he slurs drunkenly. Your arousal has gotten him drunker than any alcohol ever could.

     You're panting even heavier, chest rising and falling quickly as you tremble in the aftershocks of your first orgasm that's come from another person. 

     He rubs his finger tips over your thighs gently, luring you back down to Earth as he gawks at you. You swear that there's hearts in his shining eyes.

     "W-" your attempt at words comes out as jumbled whine, and you let yourself fall back into the pillow.

     "It's okay, baby," he coos, licking his lips as he sits up, folding his legs under him and pulling your limp hips into his lap.

     The new nickname makes your cunt twitch, and he catches it. "Oh, you like that, hm?" His index and middle finger spread your pussy lips wide, and he purses his lips — spitting directly onto your sensitive hole. "C'mon, talk to me, pretty baby."

      "G-god!" You cry out embarrassedly, forever thankful for the angry storm outside that hides your sounds from any neighbors. "Yes, I do, I really do," you draw out, grabbing the sides of his thighs as he teases your entrance. You're still hyper sensitive, twitching with every small movement he makes.

    And he absolutely revels in it.

    "Yeah? I bet no one ever made you feel that good before," he smirks, letting another wad of spit hit your hole.

     "Nuh-uh," you shake your head, peering up at him, and your next words make it hard for him to keep his composure. "Stay. Stay here and- and fuck me."

     Little do you know, after that first night, that first little touch — he lost any plans he had of ever leaving.

"I will never leave you," and he means it. He has no plans of ever letting you go. And he's about to let you know that.

       He slides you back off his lap and lays over you, holding your head with one hand as the other guides his leaking tip into you. "Oh, ngh," you whine, holding onto his shoulder tightly. He bites his lips as he feels your walls for the first time. So warm and tight around him. So soft. "M-min, be gentle," you whimper, leaning up and hiding in his chest.

     "Don't worry, Doll, we'll go slow," he strokes your head gently and slowly — oh, so slowly — sinking into your core. "Such a pretty thing, so fuckin' tight for me," he growls, and again as the noise makes you clench around him. "Gonna have to stretch your little pussy out before I can even move, you've got me in a fucking vice, baby."

       "Mingi, d-don't talk like that, it's dirty," you pant into his chest, the warm air making goosebumps form on his skin.

     "Well, look at you," he nearly purrs, pulling your head back from his chest gently, "look." You blink a few times, taking in the sinful scene.

    Your legs spread around his slowly moving hips. His thick monster of a cock gradually disappearing into your stretched folds.

     "Can't not be dirty while we're breaking in this little cunt," he says matter-of-factly, looking down at said cunt while it clenches around the half of his cock that's he's managed to sink into you. A lewd moan leaves his parted lips, looking back to you as you whimper and fidget. "Hey, hey," he coos, cupping your face in his palms. "Half way there, Doll. How's it feel?"

     "Like you're gonna split me in half," you ramble out, looking up at him with the softest eyes he's ever seen. "Please, c-can we take a break? You're jus' so big..."

     "Of course, sweet girl," he leans down, careful to keep his hips locked in place despite how badly he just wants to slam into your welcoming heat, and kisses you. Stroking your cheek bones with his thumbs. "You feel so good, like heaven." 

    The praise makes your rapidly beating heart skip a beat. "Mingi?"

    "Yes," he moans in response, looking deep into your eyes.

    "I think I'm falling in love with you." The sudden confession makes his cock twitch, his heart jumping into his throat. "Is that silly?"

     He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, which are admittedly a chaotic mess.

    "If it is, we would be silly together."

     "You mean-"

    "Yes."

    You grip his shoulders and lean up, pressing your lips to his in an act of pure desire. The both of you get lost in each other, tongues darting out and lapping at one another like a lifeline.

    Sufficiently covered in each others spit, you pull back. "Keep going, I want to take all of you." You have a newfound confidence after your short trade of admissions, demanding that he go on and fuck you.

      A few more moments of excruciating stretching pass when you suddenly feel his pelvis flush with your clit, both of you panting like wild animals as you feel each other completely.

     "Holy shit," he sneers, resting his face in the crook of your neck, taking in deep breaths of your scent to keep himself from jack hammering into you. You are truly the best thing to ever happen to him, and your cunt molding into the shape of him is just a bonus.

      There are no words that you can find in your brain. All if it is wiped away as you feel his rock hard cock stretching you out, filling you wall to wall. When he breaths out, a content sigh into your neck, you feel the veins on his length pressing into your gummy walls. "Hah~" Is all you can manage, thoughts turned into mush as he begins to slowly pull back out —just a fraction of an inch. Before sliding back in quickly. "Fuck!"

     "Doll, please, please," he whimpers, holding onto your waist tightly as he rolls his hips, "please say you're ready, I don't know how long I can take it."

    "Y-" the second the first syllable is utter from your lips, he's already pulled out half way, "yes!" He thrust back in, steady and slow at first.

Words are lost between you — minds absolutely flooding with hormones as he begins thrusting harder, faster. Moans, groans, loud whimpers. The slapping of your skin is so loud that even the rain pounding at the window can't drown it out.

He's stuffing you beyond your wildest imagination. His cock was made to stretch you so deliciously, and your pussy was made to take it.

It's his dream coming to life, quite literally, as your eyes roll back in your head and you clench around him tighter than before. It's almost impossible for him to keep thrusting, but he finds a way.

He grips your hips tight and is making you bounce on his cock effortlessly, all the while pounding his hips into yours. He's so deep inside of you — it feels like he can feel the same coil in your gut that you do. And it's about shatter.

He slips a hand down and begins swirling his fingers over your clit, pushing you off the edge roughly; making you cream over his member with a broken yell of his name. He leans in, all of his weight on you as fucks you through it harshly. His lips right next to your ear.

"You. Are. Mine."

And with that, a warmth like no other spreads inside of you.

༄

Nearly two months passed like they were nothing, days seemed to fly with you by his side.

     He felt he finally had a place where he belonged.

    He found himself work cleaning peoples guns in the bar, even selling and trading some.

    He had a bed to go to at the end of the day. After that first time together, you both rearranged the room. Pushing your beds together under the window and putting the dresser on the wall.

     He had the other half of his soul. You. He knew everything there was to know about you, and you knew everything there was to know about him. Well — all he was willing to tell.

Sometimes, there was a dark glint in his eyes that made you feel like you didn't know the full story of the man you shared your life with. But all doubt faded away when he smiled at you.

     All was well. It was more than well. It was perfect.

      Until a group of strangers rode into town. Strangers to the town. But strangers to Mingi, they were not.

     He walked into the bar and Mingis heart stopped. He saw all of his hard work to get you, to settle, to make a life — it all vanishes.

     "Fuck me," he groans, keeping his head low and cursing himself for not wearing his hat today. He hopes that he'll go unnoticed. But that hope is squashed when the man slides into the booth across from him.

     "Well, slap my ass and call me Pamela. Song Mingi!" The rowdy man immediately catches Louis' attention from behind the bar.

     "Why are you here, Buck?" Mingi keeps his tone low, hostile.

   "You know why I'm here. You want in?" The man, Buck, has a smirk playing mischievously on his lips.

     "No. You, and whoever else you drug here are leaving. This town is off limits."

     Buck lets out a shrill chuckle, "says who?"

     "Says me. This is my town. Get the fuck out before I shoot you." Mingi growls, placing his pistol on the table, finger twitching at the trigger.

      That gets Louis' full attention, his hand immediately unlocking the safety on his gun as he makes his way over. "Mingi, who's your friend?" He hates to admit, but he's grown fond of Mingi over these long winter days.

     "He's leaving. Ain't that right?" Mingi tilts his head at Buck, who takes a look around. Multiple patrons of the bar have their hands on their guns, ready to draw.

     He isn't stupid. Mingi is one of these people now and they'll protect him.

    "Yeah, that's right." He slides out of the booth, giving Mingi a seemingly innocent smile. But Mingi knows him all too well. "I'm glad you finally found yourself a nice girl to settle down with."

      With that finally threatening congratulations, he's back out the bar the way he came. Mingi watches from the window with wide eyes as he joins the posse of men outside. As soon as they start wandering away, looking into shops and other such buildings Mingi has come to be so fond of, he snaps into action.

    He runs up the stairs, nearly bumping his head. They've been casing the town, that's the only way he'd know about you.

      "Mingi!" Louis follows after him, slowed by age.

     He finds him reaching under the bed, staring bamboozled as he places gun after gun after gun into the mattress. "Mingi!"

      He ignores the panicking man, loading all of them up. "Son!" His head snaps up, tears threatening his waterline.

      "Louis, they're going to raid the town."

"What...?"

"I don't have time to explain, I have to go- go get (Y/n). You need to gather everyone who knows how to shoot. I n-"

"Boy, I don't care much for nonsense."

"Listen to me, Louis!" He clearly panicked, an expression he's never seen from him before. "What reason do I have to lie? This is my home too! This is my home and my woman, and I'll be damned if I let Buckey fuck-face and his thugs ruin it!" In his panic, Mingi doesn't notice the ring that falls from his bag as he gets out more ammunition.

Louis bends down next to Mingi and picks it up, puzzle pieces falling together in his mind.

Mingi snatches it back and shoves it in the bag.

"You're gonna propose to my little girl?"

"Not if we all die," Mingi responds shortly, shoving an armful of guns into Louis.

   They share a look.

    It seems Mingi made a similar promise to himself about you.

"Go and fetch her, don't raise any suspicion. If the townspeople know what's coming, it'll start a panic."

Mingi gives him a short nod. To say yes, sir. To say thank you.

He keeps his head down, hat covering his face as he weaves his way to the very back of the town. Trying his damnedest to avoid everyone from his past.

When he successfully makes it to the river, he spots you and is filled with relief.

    You hum quietly to yourself, bundled up in his large poncho to protect yourself from the frigid January weather as you clean both of your clothes.

    The harsh winds whip your loose hairs around, makes the clothes on the line flap loudly.

"(Y/n)!"

"Hey, darlin-" He pulls you up, holding you close to his side as he drags you away, "what're you doing?"

"Just keep your head down, when we get back to the bar, go to our room, lock yourself in the bathroom. Okay?"

"Min, you're scarin' me..."

"Do you understand?" He asks firmly, stopping at the edge of town, turning you to face him.

He looks deadly serious. You haven't seen this kind of look since the first day you met. So you nod, committing what he said to memory.

"I love you," he kisses you deeply, shortly.

And then he drags you through town, and into the bar. But he pushes you right behind him when you walk in.

Buck has Maria and Louis tied up, pushed to the floor. The few patrons are gone, and the yelling outside tells him Louis' plan to keep things calm has failed. Multiple men are rummaging around the bar, cleaning out the register. He can't hear any noise above them, and he's thankful that the entrance to your small home is so well hidden by the corner. 

     He feels you grip the back of his leather jacket, and he's about to turn and tell you to run when he feels you get ripped away.

     Your scream echos in the building as one of Bucks men tears you away, and Mingi has to stop himself from shooting the man the second he puts his hands on you. Doing that will just get you all killed.

He's deadly silent as he watches the man toss you to the floor. His gun was drawn the second you got tore away, and he's itching to use it.

You try to scramble away, but Buck comes up behind you and places his boot on your back, shoving you back down with a thud. Maria is sobbing uncontrollably into her hands, Louis' jaw is locked in anger as he looks away.

He bends down, putting more pressure on your spine. He grips your hair and turns your face to the side. "Well, well," he smirks, "you're even prettier up close, ain't you?"

Everyone stops in their tracks as you spit in his face. "Fuck you!" One of the men closest to you has a gun to your head in the next second, but you refuse to break.

"Feisty, I like that," he shoves your head to the floor, hitting it against the wood roughly. Mingi is seeing red as the world around him resumes, men ransacking the bar and chortling at your family. His family.

      "Buck."

   "Oh?" He turns, leaving you on the floor, "got something to say, pansy?"

     "Yeah." His eyes flick to yours as you push yourself up dizzily, and over to one of the booths before Buck even realizes he's looked away. "You need a key for the safe. I gonna give it to you, and you're gonna take it and leave."

     "Is that so? That's what's gonna happen?"

   "That's what's gonna happen."

   "You really lost your guts, aye? Found a nice girl and a cozy town and decided you're too good for this life, I see."

    Mingi slips his pistol back into its holster on his hip, sauntering over to the bar with all eyes on him. He stands infront of Maria and Louis, shielding them from what's about to come. "You see it how it is, then." He lifts up the pot of dying chrysanthemums in the middle of the wooden island and scoops up the key. His eyes spot you curling up under the booth he glanced at. Thank goodness you got the message.

      Because shit is about to hit the fan.

    He tosses the key to Buck, and as his hands raise up to catch it-

     Mingi puts a bullet in his brain.

     You can't help the scream that rips past your lips, covering your ears and hiding your face in your knees.

    As the men behind the bar start shooting at him, he ducks, shielding the older couple as the men infront of them begin firing. But he's too quick. Only one of them gets close, grazing his shoulder and stunning him briefly. He drops his pistol and takes the larger gun off of his back, propping it up over the island blindly and spraying the rest of the men in a hail of bullets.

     And then all is silent.

    With a heavy heart, you look up from your lap. The building is covered in blood, light seeps in from the holes in the walls caused by stray bullets. Maria is crying silently. Louis is looking at Mingi in shock as he falls onto his backside, holding his bleeding shoulder. 

     "What the hell was that, boy?"

     "That was me saving your ass."

༄

    Mingi and Louis, with the help of a few good samaritans, cleared the bodies out of the bar and drug them to the outskirts of town. Leaving them for the coyotes and bears. If it were up to him, Mingi would have hung them up as an example.

     Maria, seemingly in shock, scrubs the floor with a blank face as you fix up the register and dig out all of the bars belongings from the bandits bags.

     You feel a roll of papers at the bottom of one of the bag. A silent hum of amusement leaves you as you see what it is. They kept their own wanted posters. Proud of what they've done. You flip through them. Maybe out of morbid curiosity of who your boyfriend just gunned down.  And then you get to one who you know wasn't a victim.

     Because he was the gunner.

    Mingis face in a sketch stares up at you.

    WANTED.

    DO NOT APPROACH. ALERT THE AUTHORITIES.

 DANGEROUS FUGITIVE. SONG MINGI.

    The door to the bar swings open.

   The world spins around you as you look up from the drawing. And come face to face with it, brought to life.

    "Mingi..."

    "Are you okay, Doll?"

   You can't seem to find any words that describe the way your heart is breaking. Louis approaches you first, his own heart stopping as he sees what's held in your trembling hands. He tears it from you, glaring down like it's a hallucination.

    "Who are you?" Is all you can manage to whisper, backing away with a grip on your uncles sleeve as Mingi steps forward.

     "What is that?" He nods to the paper, although deep down he has an idea of what it is.

   Maria snaps out of her trance, joining your side, a gasp leaving her lips as she looks back and forth from the paper to Mingi.

     "You get out of here, you never show your face in this town again," Louis grips the man's collar and pulls him to his level, "You're lucky my girls are watching or I'd hold true to my promise."

     Mingi shoves him away and grabs the paper from Maria, his worst thoughts come true as he sees himself staring back at him.

     "Wh..." He trails off in a whisper, heart breaking into a million pieces as you look at him fearfully. Like you did the first time you met. He thought he'd never have to see that look again. "(Y/n), please, hear me out."

     Maria holds you to her chest as he approaches. "I knew I sensed evil in you, boy." She bares her teeth at him as she seethes, like a wild mother bear.

"Leave," your voice trembles, raw with all of the emotions that are flooding you. You lean further into your aunts arms as he reaches out for you. "You lied to me! I never want to see you again! I ought to turn you in!"

    "You have to believe me, I'm not like that anymore. Baby, listen! I only did what I had to do to survive, you don't understand. I'm not like them!" He fights against Louis as he drags him to the door. "Please, I love you!" He's thrown off the porch, only getting a glimpse of you as you crumble to the floor before the door is slammed in his face.

༄

Mingi drapes his mare's reigns over a poll, trudging through the snow until he's at a familiar door.

He doesn't bother knocking. He barges in and stares down at the man at the desk.

"Mingi, long time no s-"

"I have a job for you." He slaps down a wad of cash, "more where this came from when you're done."

The man sighs, but takes the cash, thumbing through it. "And why don't you do it?"

Mingi ignores the question. "Louis and Maria Donelley. Shoot them, make it quick. (Y/n) (L/n). Tie her up on the tracks."

He hesitates for a moment. But in the end, "More where this came from, huh?"

༄

     It's been three days since Mingi has gone away. Rather, since he was forced away by his past and your reaction to it.

     You've slept for most of that time. Cried the rest. You barely eat. Barely talk. You hardly even move off your side of the once-shared bed.

    Maria, Louis, all of your friends tried to comfort you. Telling you that he was just a fling. That the one for you will come around and make all of the pain Mingi left disappear.

     They don't know that Mingi was the one.

     He made you so happy. Happier than you'd ever been. He made everything seem... right.

     "Hey, dear," Louis knocks at the wall, slowly coming ascending into the room.

     "I don't want the soup, Uncle Lou..."

     "Auntie!" Ellis comes barreling past Louis and jumps onto the bed, hugging you tightly.

     "Ellis? Hey, buddy!" You force a smile as you hug him back, sitting up with a groan and holding the child in your lap. "How you been?"

      Ellis goes on and on about what the new teacher from the city is teaching his class, a big smile on his face. Louis sees the smile pulling at your lips in the slightest, and he excuses himself silently.

     He, admittedly, is a very good distraction from your heartache.

You spend quite a few hours playing with him, catching up on the things that are going on in town. He drops the ball onto the jacks and giggles loudly as it rolls away, under the bed. "I'll get it, set us up another round."

You bend down and feel around for it blinding, heart skipping a beat as you feel Mingis bag. You haven't found the courage to touch any of his things, even if to throw them away.

You move away from it and grip the ball, rolling it back to Ellis. "El, I'm feeling a bit tired, why don't you come back tomorrow."

"Aw... okay! I'll bring Violet and we can play outside!"

"See you then, kiddo," you ruffle his hair as he passes you to leave.

It was a nice break from your sorrows while it lasted.

You crawl back into your half of the bed as the sun sets in the window above it, pulling Mingis pillow into your arms as you sob yourself to sleep once again.

Deep into the night, you feel the bed dip. You open your eyes with the littlest inkling of hope that Mingi has returned despite your harsh words his way.

But you're only met with a stranger.

You open your mouth to scream, but only get a small squeak out before you are met with a hit on the head.

༄

You awake as your body is tossed into the air, a loud groan leaving you as you collide with something hard. Through your blurry vision, you can see the moon high above you.

You look to the side, and you put two and two together that you're in a wooden cart as you see the stranger from above your bed riding on a horse that's got you attached to it. "Hey-" You croak out, getting his attention.

"Morning!" He yells, making you wince. You have a splitting headache. "Just in time for the show," he mumbles under his breath, pulling the horse to a stop.

You can hear him shuffling around in the snow, and you try to sit up before you realize you can't. Your entire body is tied in a thick rope.

The back of the cart opens up, and you try — you try so hard — to shimmy away as he reaches in and grabs your foot. But to no avail.

      He pulls you from the cart and lets you fall into the snow. It wets the back of your nightgown and hair; soaks your thin socks and makes you shiver. You don't think you've ever been this scared. Even during the shootout, Mingi was there to protect you.

      You watch with a fresh set of tears brewing in your eyes as you watch the man double knot some ropes onto the tracks. "Oh my god..."

      He ignores as you begin to beg for your life, telling him all sorts of things about yourself to try and make him sympathetic. "- and his name is Louis, he took me in when my parents died! Uncle Lou and Aunt Maria, please! She'd die of heartbreak!" He scoffs, knowing she's already dead. So is Uncle Lou.

    He followed Mingis request and made it quick.

       He pulls you by your binds to the tracks, the metal on the tracks is the coldest thing you've ever felt and it makes you yelp. You cry out into the night as he begins tying the ropes on the tracks to the ropes on your body.

    "Please, why are you doing this?!" Your voice shakes with pure horror, tugging at the ropes that are wrapped around your entire body and tied to the tracks by the bandit. He crouches down at your feet and smirks, his simple answer making you cry all the harder.

     "Why not?"

   All of your pleas and prayers fall to deaf ears as the man turns away and to his cart, rummaging in his chest. The tracks begins to shake and you begin to except your fate. You turn your head to the side and watch the pebbles rumble, your sobs visible in puffs of air as you exhale into the harsh winter air.

    A loud thud and a groan makes you look back, and you see a tall figure on a familiar white horse.

    "Mingi!" He drops the crowbar he used to whack the man as he rode past.

    He looks back at you briefly — his face hidden by his droopy hat. But you can tell he's pissed. His jaw clenched and shoulders tense before a gunshot rings out and he ducks and rolls off of his mare, slapping her to make her run away as he draws his own gun.

    Between the rattling of the tracks and the thrumming of your heart, you can barely force yourself to watch as he approaches the man bravely, your eyes flicking from them to the horizon repeatedly. A sob of his name makes him pause for a split second before he comes back to his body.

    "Too close," Mingi scowls at the man, using his gun to smack his hand and make him drop his, kicking it away as he scrambles for it.

    "Aye, man, I did what yo-"

    "Too close."

    "Just give me my mon-"

       His gun smokes by his side in the next second as the man drops to the snow dead. He takes a moment to bask in the way the blood pools in the pure white before the steam whistle catches his attention.

      "Mingi, please!" He drops everything and runs to the tracks, crawling over your body and looking at your binds frantically. "Mingi, oh my god, please- I'm so sorry! Please untie me, hurry," you babble on in a panic as the train appears just over the horizon, sobs wracking your body under his as he tugs at the ropes.

     Your terror breaks his heart, but he knows it's necessary. He knows he has a knife strapped to his thigh, but he plays the panic card and 'forgets' as he forces a false worry onto his face. He won't let anything happen to his Doll, but you're too caught up in your fight or flight to remember that.

    "I got you, I got you," he murmurs as he pulls the ropes on one of your sides undone, taking his sweet time with the other as he watches the train grow ever closer — the conductor blaring the horn.

     Your free hand grasps at him, clawing at his leather jacket, eyes wide and soaked with tears as you stare down your death as it barrels towards you. Just a few feet away.

    Mingi yanks you up and falls to the ground besides the tracks with you on top of him, hands roughly holding you to his chest as his hat blows away with the wind that the train creates. You willingly slump into him, sobbing into his warm chest as the tracks rattle loudly besides you, drowning out your cries.

     He relishes in the way you cling to him well after the train passes, not daring move away from your savior as you cry your heart out and ramble on to him about how you're so sorry and how you never would have really turned him in and on and on until he silences you with a tender hug.

    He knows all of this. His girl would never betray him. But it's best that he get a subconscious message through your thick, naive, skull early on.

   The message being: the attempt to leave him has failed miserably. Why even try to leave when he's so clearly your fate?

༄

Mingi locks the bar door behind him as he carries you into the building. He kicks off his boots. He knows you hate the mess.

    It was silent the entire way back to town.

And it remains that way as he carries you up the stairs and to bed. He doesn't even acknowledge you as he gets you some clean, dry clothes.

"Mingi..."

He sighs, shoulders dropping.

"I'm s-"

"I thought you hated me?"

"Min... I was just- just in shock! Why didn't you tell me you were... an outlaw?"

He kneels at the bed and slips your socks off, replacing them with a warm, thick pair.

The moonlight seeps in through the sheer curtains and paints your skin in a haze of blue. The bruise on your temple like a water color bloom.

"Because I was afraid." He bites his lip as it trembles. That's the plain truth. He was afraid you'd leave if you found out all the things he'd done. But now that you know, he still doesn't plan on letting you leave. "Please forgive me, Doll."

He lowers his head into your lap and smirks as he feels your hand rest on his hair.

"Come back home, Mingi."

"Really?" He looks up with the most puppy like gaze you've ever seen.

You nod, wiping your tears away, "I don't care what the others have to say. We can leave this place if we have to, I just need to be with you, M-" His lips collide onto yours as he pounces on you, pushing you onto the bed and nipping at your lips like he's starved. And he is, because —

"I missed you so fucking much, Doll," he growls into your lips, melting into you as you wrap your arms around him. It feels like it's the first time in forever; and it is to him.

"I love you, Mingi," you whisper as you look up at him, chasing after him as he sits up on his knees.

     He lifts your ruined nightgown, looking down at you as if you're a work of art as he tosses it away. "I love you," he whispers back, cupping your breast in his big, warm hands. "I love you so much it hurts."

You lay back with a moan, arching into his touch. Your mind is so fried from this weeks events, all you want to do is disappear into him.

     And you let it be know. "Take your clothes off." You tug at his buckled belt with an utterance, licking your lips at the sight of his happy trail. "Show me how much you missed me. Show me how much you love me."

     Your sultry words have him undressing in a hurry,  slamming his pistol down on the nightstand he made and kissing you deeply as he removes his belt, heart beating rapidly as you cup his cheeks to bring him closer.

     You're the closest to heaven he's ever been. Kissing down his neck and stroking his back. He doesn't know how or why this infatuation grew into something wild and untamable. And frankly, he doesn't care.

       You work to undress his top half while he kicks his pants away, letting his larger gun clatter to the floor. You no longer care if he leaves them out. You just want him home.

      "I was so worried about you, baby," he pants, "I know I hurt you. I'm so sorry," he places kiss after kiss after kiss on your face, rubbing your thighs as he slides between them. "I love you. I adore you. I want you. I'm yours. You're mine." Every statement is accompanied by a kiss.

      "I'm so sorry, Min," you look deep into his eyes as he rubs his member on your wetness, "you're my one and only. I don't care what you've done to get here. As long as I have you in my arms. As long as I'm in yours."

     He hugs you tightly, forehead against yours as he slips inside of you. "I will never leave you," he moans out, settling deep inside of you as you pant and whine.

    You've taken him quite a few times at this point, but never like this.

    He always takes his time sinking into you, reveling in the slow stretch.

    But not tonight. Not after what you've been through. He needs to feel you, and now.

     He needs to feel your emotional connection on a physical plane. And so do you. That's why you don't stop him or push him away as he lowers into you quickly.

     You ground yourself by wrapping your arms under his and gripping his shoulders, careful of his healing wound.

     His chest against yours, heart beats drumming together as you try to disappear into each others being.

    Affectionate touches are left all over the both of your bodies. Tender kisses and promises of love.

    "You're all I ever wanted," you whisper into his chest as he starts a languid pace. "I want to be yours, tell me I'm yours."

"You're mine, Doll, all mine." He speaks ever so softly, cradling your head to his chest. He can't believe how lucky he's gotten.

"Make me believe you, show me I'm yours."

And he does.

     God knows how or why Song Mingi has so much stamina, but no amount of time passed stops him from pounding into you, he stops when he thinks you've had enough.

     He's made you cum seven times through the night, and with the sun beginning to rise out the window, he's still at it.

     It's been hours, and his pace hasn't slowed one bit. If anything, your pants and whines stir him on and he almost hammers into you. The quick in and out rhythm makes him moan. Your heat encasing him as the cold winter air seeps in through the walls makes him want to bury himself in your body and never leave.

    He knows he's big. He's so big and you're small compared to him. But he doesn't care when he's balls deep in your sore and swollen pussy. He makes you take it to the base and chuckles deeply when you try and crawl away.

    "Min- can't take it," you sob, but that doesn't stop him.

    He grips your hips roughly and pulls your clit flush to his pelvis, holding you there as you squeal out, banging your fists onto your shared bed.

     "Fuck you can't, your pussy was made for me to stretch it out." His next thrust sends your hips into the mattress, finally able to rest your exhausted body as he plunges into you from behind.

      Each rough thrust wipes away every thought from your mind until it's all Mingi.

   Mingi is so deep.

   Mingi is so thick.

   Mingi fucks you so good.

   Mingi treats you so good.

   Mingi loves you.

   Mingi.

   Mingi.

      "Mingi!" You moan out loudly into the pillows as you seize up, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you cum all over him. Vision dark and blurry, drooling all over the place, barely conscious after your eighth orgasm around his massive girth.

     He's panting and growling into your ear, continuing to thrust. He's relentless. He's really out to break you.

      "Please," you slur, wracking your slush of a brain for a way to get him to cum. You love him, and you love fucking him. But he just won't stop until he cums. And he won't cum until you essentially force him. He's so hell bent on making you get there, he forgets about himself, like he's outside of his own body. And he's extra determined after almost losing you. Your usual tricks haven't worked. So you pull out the big guns.

"Please, Min... put a baby in me." Oh, you know him all too well. He's made multiple comments about how good you are with children. How pretty you'd look with that pregnancy glow, your belly round with his baby.

    "F-fuck, Doll," it seems as if that is enough to satisfy his hunger, slamming his tip into your womb and filling you with his warm and sticky seed so much that it splashes back on him and makes a mess of his lower stomach.

Still buried deep inside of you, uncaring of the mess, he lays ontop of your back gently and wraps his arms around your shoulders, his head next to yours. Your shaking breaths and trembling legs calmed by his warmth over your entire body.

     "Holy fucking shit," you whimper, making him chuckle quietly.

     He places a gently kiss to your shoulder, "I didn't go to hard, did I?"

    "You did... but I liked it."

    He smiles as he rests his head, hands rubbing up your arms and to your hands, intertwining yours fingers. "I love you." He states. Loud and proud. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to share everything with you and I don't want to keep anything from you. I want you all to myself. Will you marry me?"

    The words almost get lost in translation on their way to your endorphin flooded mind, and your silence makes him nervous. That is until- he sees the giant smile spreading on your lips. "Yes."

"Oh, thank goodness," he sighs a breath of relief followed by a soft laugh.

    "But you'd better get me a ring," you joke, groaning out as he slowly pulls out of your abused core. There's a smirk on his lips that you can't quite place as he gently turns you on your back and helps you get comfortable.

     He reaches under the bed and grabs his bag. "You didn't-"

    "I did," he has his signature shit-eating-grin on his face as he takes it out. A dainty, pretty, thing. Much like he sees you.

      He cuddles into your side, fur blanket draped over your lower halves. Calloused and rough hands take yours. Gently and loving with you. Their past of violence is lost as he slides the ring onto your finger tenderly.

     "Mrs. Song."

༄

[crystalizedirongoblin]

OK I just read an ask about Derek being the one to kill Jennifer (Peter's nurse), and I didn't know that was a theory but I just had to go back and rewatch that scene.

(I am not a medical professional, so feel free to correct me, and also, this is TV, but assuming that human bodies work the same in TW than in real life…)

In Wolf's Bane, we see how Derek elbows her, she falls to the ground, a few seconds later, when Stiles gets to her, we can see there's a pool of blood under her, seemingly from her head. She also has a nosebleed, but considering she's facing the other way, it's unlikely that's the source. Taking into account hos she fell, she got hit hard enough to at minimum break her nose, turn around, and fall unconscious facing the other way.

Here we can see her while Stiles crawls away from the fight (and I can't see any movement, but the camera is shaky and she's not on screen for long)

Then Stiles leaves, and Peter and Derek fight, and then Peter goes to her and takes her car keys from her pocket. Regardless of who was the one to kill her, this is the last time we see her alive.

We know that the next scene happens three days later (In Co-captain, right after the game, Jackson reminds Scott that he has seventy-two hours to get him the bite, and says "three days makes it just in time for the Winter Formal")

So in Code Breaker, when Peter takes Stiles, the body of the nurse is in the trunk, she's dressed exactly the same as she was in the hospital, which doesn't really make sense, I mean, there is no way she would have gone to work again after that, even if only to avoid the question of "where is your comatose patient?"

She has this awful splotches on her arms, they could be bruises, if she died with her arm in a position where that was on the floor, it could be a sign of blood pooling there after stopping circulation.

Or, apparently, they could be a sign of early-stage decomposition. Apparently the blue fingertips could also mean she died from blood loss or strangulation (but don't quote me on that)

From the way Peter moves her arm out of the way, we know her body is not stiff. Rigor mortis sets about 2-6 hours after death, and lasts for 24-78 hours, so she has to have died either less than 2-6 hours or over 24-78 hours before this scene.

And then Stiles sees the body, and he reacts with a gasp, and this is Peter's face:

This is not the face of someone who's gloating or who's happy to be scaring a teenager, I think this is surprise.

Then he closes the trunk, says "I got better" and never mentions her again.

So... It's likely she did die a couple days ago, Peter stashed her in the trunk of her own car, never told Derek anything, and never mentioned it again.

(Now, considering Peter got set on fire and killed right after that, what the hell happened to her? Did anyone ever find her?? Where did Peter even park her car? He was already waiting for his dramatic entrance inside of the Hale house by the time everyone else got there, and I couldn't see her car anywhere)

[leashybebes]

Can I ask for 6 for the kisses? Happy or sad, up to you

6 was on a falling tear. full disclosure - when i got married we got ready together so i don't really understand how first look photos work 🤷‍♀️

Eddie sticks his head into the room where Tommy is waiting with Sal, getting increasingly tempted by the hip flask Sal is waving in his direction.

"You good, man?" Eddie checks.

"Yeah," Tommy says.

"Alright. Maddie's with Buck, you have like three minutes to get into position."

"Got it," Tommy nods. 

Sal claps him on the back. "Good luck, man. See you there."

The room where they're having these photos done is separate from the ceremony room, nothing really that special to look at. The focus of these shots will be just on them, not on any of the background - that'll come later. The room's empty apart from their photographer, Saf, and her assistant Charlie. She smiles broadly at him and gets him situated on one side of a screen in the middle of the room, facing away.

"How are you doing?" she asks.

"Honestly, way more nervous than I was expecting," Tommy admits.

"Everyone says that," she reassures him, then goes quiet when the door to the room opens again. Tommy holds his breath, counts the steps across the floor. He breathes again when he hears a soft knock on the screen.

"Hey," Evan says.

"Hi," Tommy says, and he feels Evan's fingers pluck at the sleeve of his suit. He reaches around the edge of the screen to hook their fingers together and Evan squeezes. Tommy's vaguely aware of Saf snapping a few pictures, but mostly he's aware of the warmth of Evan's fingers, and how immediately secure he feels with them wrapped around his own.

"Shall we do this thing?"

"Please," Tommy says.

"Okay, guys," Saf says in a bright voice. "If I can get you both to take three steps forward, Charlie will move the screen and I'll ask you to turn on the count of three. Got it?"

"Got it," Evan says, with a final squeeze of Tommy's fingers.

"Got it," Tommy agrees, his voice a little less steady than Evan's.

They take their three steps in unison, and Tommy listens to the sounds of Charlie moving the screen, him and Saf exchanging a few words before she checks in with them and gives them their countdown.

Tears burst into his eyes the second he turns and looks at Evan. He knew they would. Shit, that's half the point of a first look photo, isn't it? To get at least some of the blubbing out of the way before the vows.

"God, you look so beautiful," he manages, reaching up to press his hand over his mouth, trying not to actually sob. He knows he's an ugly crier, and they're going to have these damn photos for the rest of their lives.

Evan's eyes are shining with tears too, but he's holding it together better.

"Baby, c'mere." He reaches out to guide Tommy into his arms and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek, right where a tear is tracing down. "Don't cry on your pretty suit."

Tommy manages a laugh. "Bold of you to assume I have any control over this. We can't all be so butch, Evan."

Evan laughs, kisses his mouth this time.

"You look so handsome. Like a Disney prince. I can't wait to marry you."

Tommy kind of desperately wants to pull him closer, kiss him more, rumple up that gorgeous suit. But they're on a schedule today, step by step into the rest of their lives.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - I Still On1y Care About...

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Sept 2024 Week 1

Ongoing Series - Thai

Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs Gaga ) eps 7 of 12 - Deeeelightful. They are so damn cute + a nice kiss! The rise of the green flag semes continues. I like it when Diew flirts and shows that he does have some experience in a relationship, and he can/will flex his power. Props to God for being a man who remembers to TAKE HIS DRINK with him. 

Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues WeTV) ep 4 of 10 - Yep I still like it and all its toxicity. It’s fun to see how closely it follows the original. Now I really can’t wait to see how this one ends. Since this time around we get an actual ending.

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 6 of 12 - How did they know that what I wanted more than anything was a side couple = spoiled prince + demon lord? How clever they are to give them to me. Meanwhile, in a shocking twist, the leads have known each other since childhood. Because why be original? 

I Saw You in My Dream (Weds Gaga) ep 8 of 12 - Oh it’s very cute. I love Ing. I love that Ai was honest with his bestie. Best friend's older brother trope is a go! Also good kisses all round. 

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 1 of 12 - Ohm has his shirt off less than 5 min in. I guess GMMTV is learning what we want. My boy Title is the creep character again. I’m assuming that’s why GMMTV brought him on board at this juncture. Sigh. New boy, Q, looks like Mek’s younger brother. Ultimately? I'm not convinced on this one. It is doing what it says on the tin, but nothing more than that. I’m not wild about it, but I will keep watching.

The Trainee (Sun YT) ep 10 of 12 - The more OffGun BLs, the more time they spend communicating as characters in those BLs. It’s kind of charming. They've become the pair that advocates for communication in relationships. I like it as evolution for their brand. Flirting via the printer was very fun. Especially as the Thai script is so beautiful.

Live in Love (Sun Gaga) ep 1 of 5 - I guess this is a lockdown narrative? Odd choice. A lot of familiar faces but from more minor rolls. Is this from the Destiny Seeker people? It feels like that. It’s a bigger cast than I was expecting, and a sort of classic university BL of the kind star Hunter produces. Or the end of love people. Pretty classic Thai pulp stuff. I’m mildly enjoying it. Hali is too hot to be the dorky second lead. Nice to see Boat back on my screen. However, it is… what’s the word I am looking for? Oh yes. Boring. Plus singing. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

The On1y One (Taiwan Thurs Gaga) eps 5-6 of 12 - I entirely lost my mind over this show this week. Fuck me it's so good. The delicacy sends me. I keep expecting it to be clumsy and then is just isn't - it's so subtle and it demands we pay such close attention. I feel like I'm holding my breath the whole time I'm watching.

Cliff's notes on these 2 eps as follows:

The pure unadulterated tsundere of it all.

The awesome angst, it aches.

The series of repercussions after the fight was pacing genius.

The brilliant juxtaposition of "the kid who self isolates too easily" versus "the one who has been forced into isolation" meets both of them being smart enough to know why they react out of hurt, but neither can stop doing it.

Baby’s reaction to learning he’s going to be left behind = to instantly make plans to do the leaving in the future hurts my heart in the best possible way.

"Maybe what we call eternity is just persistence."

Maybe one boy simply deciding to be another boy's rock is romance. 

Production better nail the second half of this show! It better be the world against them from here on out or the audience is gonna riot.

And by "audience" I mean me.

Sugar Dog Life (Japan Sun grey) ep 5 of 10 - Oh noes! Poor baby boy!!! My heart hurts. But also gah so cute and next week they shack up together! Hooray! 

I Hear the Sunspot AKA Hidamari ga Kikoeru (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 11 - too much time spent on the girl again. I don’t need excuses for why she’s a bitch. So can we talk about Taichi instead? It’s such a good characterization, this boy who understands everything about other people but doesn’t notice anything about himself, including his own abilities of observation. The person who is special never realizes how special they are, I guess. The soundscapes are so good with this show. The moments where prod decided to be silent are so vital and so pivotal and used with such delicacy and strategy, it’s truly audio magic manipulation.  

First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) eps 7-8 of 12 - I loved how Orca just jumped on the stage. What a great side couple. CHARMED I TELL YOU. Orca was all… singing? Naw. I came back to fuck the manager's brains out. Anything less than that is unacceptable. 

Takara's Treasure AKA Takara No Vidro (Japan Mon Gaga) ep 10 fin - Essentially this was a growth story for Takara and an exercise in patience while the two of them learned each other’s quirks and languages. It was also an exercise in patience for me... who doesn’t like the power differential of a weaker younger character having to do all the pursuing while constantly feeling like he is inferior to the older popular hot character. I know this was a BL that was definitely for some people, since plenty liked it way more than I did, but I didn’t like it very much even though there’s nothing objectively wrong with it. It simply wasn’t to my personal taste. 7/10 

Seoul Blues (Korea Fri? YouTube) ep 5-6 of 8 - Enter an ex or something? Well he certainly has a type. Bah. This whole series seems to be mainly about cheating. It’s very annoying because they are all so pretty. 

Happy of the End (Japan Tues Gaga) - Based on a manga, longer than usual run time. A boy is disowned for being gay, dumped by his boyfriend, and ends up in a dysfunctional co-dependant relationship with his would-be kidnapper. We were due for another messy JBL. Messy gay pain here we go.

Oh it’s exactly what I expected. Do I like it? No I do not. And ya know what? There is plenty airing. I have a bad feeling about this one. DNF 

It's airing but...

4 Minutes (Sat Gaga) eps 1-6 of 8 - Gaga picked this one up so we can watch it there. I'm waiting until the end, it seems angsty and confusing and full of awful people being awful. But also... high heat and I'm shallow. So we shall see which devil wins (and how it ends).

The Hidden Moon (Sat ????) ep 1 of 10 - This is a supernatural romance (my ghost boyfriend trope) ‘เดือนพราง’ by Violet Rain (I Feel You Linger)... A Bangkok writer is hired to write an article about an old mansion in Chiang Mai which is being converted into a café. He gets into an accident and nearly dies on his way there. After that, he sees the ghosts of people who died at the mansion, one boy catches his attention. Was substantially recast. Couldn't find it. Didn't really look.

In case you missed it

Meet You at the Blossom (China) - I'm eating crow, binging the fucker, and live blogging. It's just taking me some time. This isn't really a bingable show, not for me anyway. It's A LOT to take all at once. No new one this week.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Plus:

9/9 Jack & Joker (Thai Mon IQIYI) 12 eps? - Be gay YinWar, do crimes. Dehup gives us Yin, War, Mark and a few other familiar faces in a Leverage sitch, only queerer.

9/14 Love Sick 2024 (Thai Sat ????) ?? eps - Remake of the original. I'm scared too.

9/15 Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) 10 eps - Assistant to a player boss who is in love with that boss decides to quit to save himself. The boss then makes a move. (A gay What's up with Secretary Kim?)

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Coming SEPTEMBER 2024:

9/17 Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 10 eps - Lawyer and a con artist meet at a bar, pair up, fall in love.

9/28 Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YouTube) ?? eps - oh I don't know just Ba Vinh doing his thing with pretty boys again.

9/? The Time of Fever (Korea iQIYI) 6 eps - HoTae & DongHee are back! Side couple from Unintentional Love Story, same actors, same character names I an WILD for this.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Not sure what this is from but I capped it for a reason so, shrug.

The scent trope AND the childhood crush trope? I see you suckering me into one trope because I like the other. Clever, Battle. Very clever.

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many at-ings.

[potatomountain]

CIY- 6

Chapter Six

📍pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective reader

📍word count: 3.2k

📍network: @pirateeznet

📍Warnings: (TBD)

📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @flurrys-creativity , @candypop1611 and @daesukiii

masterlist | Previous | Next

San spent a great deal of time going over the Green Vipers with you, in fact the Black Pirates had never gotten discussed as the two of you had been so wrapped up in the discussion you didn’t move on. He had moved around the desk and leaned next to you while he pulled up the files through your access, letting you write down any notes and taking his time.

The two of you were discussing the hierarchy of the known heads of the Green Vipers when your phone started buzzing, a picture of a pretty boy lighting up your screen. San looked over curiously, brow lifted as his lower lip jutted out in a pout. “You know pretty boys like that?” With a sigh, you picked up the phone more so to ignore San’s teasing pout. “Hyunjin I’m on probation I can-”

“Sure you can because currently I’m not on the team.” Hyunjin’s sass was heavy already but he caught you off guard. “Don’t worry sweetcheeks, it’s not permanent.” “Explain.” Standing up straight your eyebrows scrunched together as the phone call now had your undivided attention.

Hyunjin hummed on the other side mischievously. “I can tell you now or maybe over some lunch tomorrow? You moved away and now I have to actually make time to come visit you. Do you know how that hurts? My best friend moving across the city from moi? Like just tell me you don’t love me anymore next time.”

Despite the dramatics, you couldn’t help but smile. You missed this, missed him, knowing damn well that despite what happened each one of them could easily worm their way back into your heart. You loved them after all. “Still dramatic as ever.” “Should I be anything less? Jeez that’s an insult sweetie, you know better.” A genuine laugh was pulled out of you, grin widening. “I do, I do. Then lunch tomorrow? Text me a place?” “Who says I don’t already have one in mind? I better see you looking as fine as the day I wed you my boo. I’ll text you. Kisses.” Hyunjin blew a few into your ear which you happily replied with one of your own before hanging up with a laugh.

As you set the phone down you were still grinning, nearly forgetting you weren’t alone… until San cleared his throat. “Boyfriend?” A bit startled, you blinked a few times before shaking your head. “Friend. Hyunjin.” You pointed at the photo of the two of you at Disney. “Old unit, he just wants to hang out tomorrow.” “Aw, I want to join.” Your face scrunched up several levels of disgust and judgment. “Excuse you?” He chuckled, watching you with a slightly more intense gaze than he had before. “I liked your laugh, I want to hear more of it.” The heat that coursed through you burned your ears and cheeks. “Wha- where? Excuse you?!” More flustered by the second he grinned, turning so he was leaning his side against your desk. “I laugh plenty normally!” “I’m sure you do, but what’s the likelihood it’ll be in my presence where I can just soak it in?”

You felt your face get even more heated, scoffing at his words. “Some other time when I like you more.” “You don’t like me already? Damn I’m not doing a good enough job then.”

With a grunt you shut your laptop annoyed. “Oh just drop it.” “I don’t wanna.” He stood up and blocked your way with ease as you tried to get out of the little space behind the desk. “So can I join you?” “No!” Huffing, you squeezed past him but not without pressing the entirety of your side into his chest. “Stop fooling around and let me go-” “But where are you going? We weren’t done.” He had a wide shit-eating grin on his face that popped his dimples out the entire time you dodged and tried to put some space between you two.

He just stalked you around the lobby, clearly getting a kick out of how you were running from him. “I’m packing up for the day and heading home! I’ve had enough of this team’s mental torture for one day don’t you think?”

He pouted at that, hands going up in the air in surrender. “Fair point. I’ll let you head out for the day- but we’ll be going over everything Monday when you come back.”

Sighing with relief you slid back behind your desk to finish packing up your things. “Thank you. Liking you more already.” He chuckled, standing on the other side of your desk and watching you pack up your laptop and notes. “Noted. I’ll let Captain know I dismissed you.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching as you slung your bag over your shoulder and headed for the door. “Enjoy your day off sweetcheeks.” He winked, using the nickname Hyunjin had called you.

Flustered all over again, you rushed out, stomping on the urge to flick him off considering he was doing you a kindness- even if he was teasing you about it.

— — — — — — — —

You were more than a little excited about your lunch date, dressing up your casual because otherwise Hyunjin was just going to judge you- with love of course. He had messaged you a time and place and informed you with plenty of spam not to be late.

Which you weren’t, but he was. Something you expected really, the man did like making a dramatic entrance when he could.

You kept glancing at your phone, tapping your toes on the concrete outside the small, most likely family owned restaurant. Looking around when you weren’t waiting for a text, you couldn’t find his pretty self anywhere at first.

When you did spot him, he made a show of waving, but didn’t rush. He was, as usual, dressed in style; you knew modeling and fashion was his second career choice. Pocketing your phone when he closed the distance, you sighed, only to pull him in for a hug which he was just a tad reluctant about at first. “There’s my drama queen.” “And my feisty boo.” He gave a gentle squeeze before pulling away and looking you over scrutinizingly. “Hmmm… it checks out. I was afraid I’d have to drag you shopping before lunch if you weren’t up to my standards.” You rolled your eyes, smiling despite the banter. “Oh please, you would love to go shopping.” “Caught me. But this way it can wait until after lunch, I’m famished.” With a wink he pulled you into the restaurant. Perhaps to show you some mercy he didn’t immediately hound you with the million questions he wanted to ask, instead berating you for moving so far and complaining about the absolute travesty it was that you did. He was watching your every move and expression as he did, waiting until food was ordered before he dropped his so-called niceties and dove in. “Be honest, how are you doing without me? Absolutely lost right?”

You rolled your eyes and sipped your drink, thinking over the last week. “It’s been hell, Jinnie. I miss you. I miss the team. But I also can’t believe things happened like that. Even Minho agreed! I’m just so- ugh!” Slamming the drink down, rage surged through you. “I know I can get ahead of myself, that I can bend the rules and get worked up on a case but how can they just-” “Sweetie…” Hyunjin softened and reached out, placing his hand over yours. “I’m sorry they did that, you belonged with us and it pisses me off that they forced you out like this. It hasn’t been easy without you. Fuck it’s a mess.” “Then why… Hyunjin, why do I have to start over with a unit that practically loathes me?” Tears pricked your eyes, emotion making your throat tight. “It’s infuriating, and it hurts. Chan, Minho, Felix… even Binnie. I never expected any of them to just boot me like that, especially Minho! We made a promise in school to be detectives together. Partners. He might have joined the S.K unit before me, but we were partners before the unit.” Hyunjin looked torn, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. “Listen… it was shitty of Minho, of them all, but I also understand why. As much as I hate it. You deserve to do bigger cases than dealing with minors. Sweetie you are so driven and such a damned good detective. You shoot as well as Minho, you can run as fast as Changbin and solve puzzles as fast as Thing 1 and 2-”

“Min and Innie would not let you live it down if they heard you call them that-” You interrupted, earning a playful glare.

“My point is, you have the skills to do more as a detective and it’s not with our cases. What pisses me off was that it wasn’t your choice- you needed to be the one to decide when you were ready to do that, not Chan or the board: but you! That was shitty as hell the way they handled it but I understand why they think you deserve a different team.” He took your hand in both his, leaning forward to be a bit more intense. “I still deserve to be your partner but I’m not as cool of a detective as you.” You blinked back tears, staring down at your joined hands. “I know… I know you all feel that way; I read Chan’s report. And someday I’ll be able to forgive them, but not right now. Fuck Jinnie, you know how I felt about them, how much that team and being a part of it meant to me. I still needed them and then they just pushed me out the door?” “I know… I know.” You shook your head, looking up through your watery lashes with raw emotion. “Hyunjin… you don’t know the half of it. That night we went out clubbing and I got wasted? Chan was in my apartment when I woke up...” His gasp was scandalous, eyes going wide as he leaned in more. “Did you fuck him? Oh my God-”

“No! He told me he slept on the couch. I guess you called him to come pick us up when we were both just blitzed out and he took you home first. He said he stayed because I asked, but uh…” You trailed off, cheeks burning bright as you recalled the morning a week before you were told you had to transfer. Chan had been in your kitchen making coffee… shirtless considering you were wearing it. “He definitely had a hickey on his neck and there might be a chance I put it there after drunkenly confessing. But I’m positive no sex happened.”

He groaned with disappointment, pulling his hands away and shaking a finger at you. “I don’t remember a hickey but he had been insistent on turtlenecks all week. Chan isn’t the type to sleep with a drunk woman… oh my God-'' When it dawned on him, he sat up, once more appearing scandalized but grinning from the juicy gossip. “You finally confessed? Even drunk? Did he ever come talk to you about it?” You shook your head, frowning deeply. “No… the next conversation we had alone he was handing me the paperwork that informed me I was being removed from the unit and would have my choice of precinct to transfer to. I had to fill it right there…” His face fell again, watching you when it clicked: you confessed, drunkenly, and in response you got kicked out of the unit in as nice a way as possible. “Oh no, baby…. That’s…”

Tears pricked once more but you blinked away, unable to look at him. “Yeah. So, I’ve been rejected by him as not only my Chief but also as one of the men I’ve been madly in love with for what, a year?” “Well fuck him, but not literally- oh food.” He stopped the conversation as lunch was brought out, effortlessly flirting with the waiter.

You rolled your eyes, looking elsewhere so you didn’t have to cringe at the level of charm Hyunjin had. While your eyes lazily scanned over the restaurant, they caught familiar faces. You narrowed your eyes, the two men turning away and fixing their so-called disguises. “Jinnie, you were tailed?” “Oh I forgot about them, I just got so excited when I saw you.” Hyunjin turned his attention back towards you as the waiter walked off. “Are you mad about that?” You sighed, shaking your head and looking back at one of your best friend’s. “Not at all. Jisung called me on my first day you know; it makes sense that such an anxious bean would follow you to check up on me. And Felix is just as bad of a worrywart. I adored that about him though.” “Neither of them have been happy that they can’t check in on you. I swear Jisung’s squirrel energy has just increased tenfold without you around.” He paused to dig into his food.

You laughed at the image, wiping away the unshed tears as gently as you could before also digging in. “Want to give them a run for their money? I’ve been meaning to check out the neighborhood.” “Well duh, I did say I wanted to go shopping.” “Maybe we can get them better disguises while we’re at it. Whose idea was the trench coats?”

Hyunjin glanced over at the two men huddled at a table on the other side of the restaurant. “Hmmm, hard to say, they both would. Don’t they realize that makes them stand out more? Like seriously, they’re detectives, how shameful can they be?”

He steered the conversation to lighter waters while you two ate, which was mostly just scrutinizing Felix and Jisung’s outfits and behavior. You pointed out they would do horrible undercover work which switched the talk over to that. Hyunjin easily agreed he couldn’t stand trying to blend in to watch someone or spend hours to days doing that but he could see you thriving.

By the end of the meal he had your spirits back up and stomach full.

The two of you spent quite a bit of time after that walking around. You found some cute shops you liked, some places you wanted to check out, but overall got a vibe for the neighborhood. You were just a couple of blocks before the warehouse and docks, but you noticed quite a bit of newer businesses. Even while spending time with a friend you couldn’t pull yourself out of work mode fully, taking note to look into that later on. 

Usually local businesses take a hit from heavy gang activity and you knew this was Black Pirate territory. Of course, aside from the White Guardians, you knew the least about that gang.

“I know that look.” Hyunjin was watching you with a bit of a smirk. “So, going to tell me about it? Your new unit?” You sighed, shaking your head as you both grabbed food from the food truck you ordered from for dinner. Several hours had passed and you two hadn’t realized it until the sun was setting and you were hungry. The two tagalongs were still following, clearly making a day out of it as well if their bags were anything to go by. “They don’t want me there, well most of them.” “Most?”

You shrugged at his inquiry, taking a bite to avoid answering right away. “I met the Captain yesterday and another Detective. The Captain seems odd but doesn’t hate me entirely I think and the other one has been… nice.” “I hear a but there- and not a nice butt.” “The others have not been. In fact they made it perfectly clear they don’t want me around. From straight up rude and blunt to condescending and yanking me around. They refused to give me an actual desk- I work at a receptionist desk and they tried to give me that job!” He listened intently, walking with his hands full. “Sounds like a bunch of dicks.” “Mhmm. But considering the nature of the unit, I'll refrain from speaking out too much. We do have two tails.” You winked over at him, glancing back and waving at the two. You had waved once a few hours ago but they didn’t join you, more so bending the rules than outright breaking. That was fine with you, you didn’t want to handle Felix just yet. Sweet intentions didn’t make the pain less. 

“True true. Ready to head to your new place then? I need to see where you live so I know where to suddenly crash when I miss you. And I also want to get back home before it gets too late, my beauty sleep counts on it.” Hyunjin sighed heavily. “Thankfully we aren’t very far.” 

It was nice to have a normal conversation, some comradery after the last few weeks. Hyunjin made things normal for you, talking as if you were still part of the unit, as if nothing had changed at all. You relished in it on your walk back to your place, the sun set and dinner fully settled in your stomach as you approached your building.

You slowed when you recognized a familiar figure at your complex door, an arm loosely around a woman that was attached to his arm. Your sense of normalcy was dashed away when he turned to smile down at the woman, confirming who it was. “Well fuck-” 

At your curse Mingi looked back, the smile wiped clean off by an expression of confusion.

“You know him?” Hyunjin asked next to you, looking between you two but you just shook your head. “The girl?” “Don’t worry about it Jinnie- come on up.” The door was opened and you rushed to get it before it closed, glaring at Mingi’s back as he ushered the woman inside. You were hoping, with every fiber of your being, that it was the woman who lived here.

But as you led Hyunjin up the stairs, Mingi was clearly directing the woman up the stairs too. You were getting more annoyed by the second, more anxious, as you stopped at the top of the stairs and watched. Mingi took her down the hall and stopped at an apartment. Only when he pulled the keys out and unlocked the door did your blood run cold. 

Apartment 17, right next to yours.

Cursing under your breath you strode down the hall and stopped at your own apartment, putting the bags down as you got your key out. “This is fucking insane. Oh my God, how bad can my luck be?”

“Sweetcheeks, are you sure you don’t know him? He’s staring right at you? And he’s hot.” Hyunjin leaned down to mutter in your ear, staring over at Mingi that you knew was watching you. 

At the woman’s giggle, you looked over, eyes going wide as Mingi dipped his head just then to kiss her. Not your sweet chaste kiss, but he dragged it out, pulling the woman close and his hand going to her ass in the miniskirt. Your cheeks heated up, turning away and unlocking the door before pushing it open. You pulled Hyunjin in quickly, then the bags, and slammed the door.

Mingi was your new neighbor, and he just brought a date home.

Taglist (form): @mingsolo | @wowie-hockey | @crispybaguettes | @tiny-apocalypse | @philijack | @lelaleleb | @idfkeddieishot | @isiloiale | @candypop1611 | @vannabanana1995  | @piratequeen-queenofgames | @starstruckforyou | @minheeskitten | @amphiroxx  | @cloudysannie | @fire-and-flame | @sugarnspice630 | @hongjoongswifefr | @sanhwalvr | @plutoneu | @auroreen | @sousydive |  @fatalt | @asteroidshowers | @Bts-army380 | @iwishiwasrichasfuck | @bitchwhytho | @st4rhwa | @fixonjoongg | @alextheweeb7 | @ddaeing |

[modmad]

today's 'technology is in such a hell state now that I genuinely feel compelled to scream about it daily' moment was my trying to print and scan a document, with my printer/scanner (which, I must have you note, despite my pleading with the seller did not come with usb wire option available, and none of the others did).

Predictably, having been used on the day of purchase and not since, the printer did not work despite being less than 6 months old. Searching for why this could be led me down a rabbit hole that eventually resolved into how the print cartridges for this model just dry out and clog up if you don't use them every single week. you know. what a normal thing to happen. but don't worry! just soak the bottom in a shallow bath of warm water for 30 minutes dry it off and reinstall it that'll make it work

8)

you what.

Anyway, it did work. I print the test sheet, boom, what should have worked before at least worked now. And there was Much Rejoicing.

alas. alas. how shortly lived it was.

Now I naturally move on to print the document, sign it, and scan the newly signed document. The document from my pc. With this printer/scanner which is sitting on a desk directly NEXT TO my pc.

Which. will not. connect to my pc.

I plead. I bargain. I follow the wizard twice, thrice, but it is a cruel wizard, a tormenter from the nether world. "Type in the IP address!" He taunts me, cackling maniacally as I do, weeping over my staggering fingers attempting to puzzle the code out of the 1 inch touch screen, numbers and dots jazzing into nonsense in my field of vision as I loose all comprehension of what the symbols mean. The printer cannot be found. The printer does not Exist. The printer, at this moment, the sole focus of my gaze, decides it is bored and goes to sleep, therefore ending the whole attempt of communicating with it just as the 938678th loading bar had reached its zenith and I, ever the hapless Sisyphus, watch my dignity flatten into a pancake of wordless, stark-eyed bewilderment verging on hysteria as my boulder crashes back down the hill as the wizard begins to drag me back to the beginning of his never ending Labrynth, to be eaten by and become the ouroboros yet again but no! I will not enter back! I shall bite down, break my scales, and end this cycle of tyrannous misery!

anyway that's why I ended up taking a shitty photo with my phone's camera and I'm doctoring it in CSPaint to look like I scanned it with the SCANNER THAT I AM ABOUT TO THROW OUT OF A SECOND STORY WINDOW

[gunsandspaceships]

MCU Timeline: Iron Man 2. Part 2

Part 1

2010

May 11, night - Stark Expo opening. Blood toxicity - 19%.

May 12, 9:00 am - 3:30 pm - Tony at the Senate Armed Services Committee hearings.

May 13, evening:

Tony is back home and has a video conference in 4 hours. Blood toxicity - 24%. 362 days of Expo left.

Tony (unofficially for now) appoints Pepper as CEO of SI.

May 14 - Tony officially transfers the management of the company to Pepper.

Note: confirmation of 2010 from S.H.I.E.L.D. dossier. The Avengers (deleted scene).

Between May 14 and May 23 - Tony hires Natasha as his new PA.

May 23 - Tony in Monaco. Vanko attacks him on the race track. Blood toxicity - 53%.

BAMF achievement: are you talking about Afghanistan, Tony?

May 24, 7:32 am PT - Tony and Pepper are on the Stark Jet flying home from Monaco. Three hours into the flight, Stern is interviewed by MSNBC.

May 25:

Hammer arranges Vanko's escape and brings him to his place. Ivan begins work on drones, his reactor 2.0 and a suit.

Night - Tony searches for information about Vanko after he was declared dead.

Another f*ck up in dates - the screens say 05.06.10. For that to be true, we'd have to move Tony's birthday and change the Expo countdown.

May 29 (Saturday):

Tony's birthday. Blood toxicity - 89%.

10 pm - party.

Rhodey steals Mark II and fights Tony, then flies away.

May 30:

Morning - after ~10 hours of doing something somewhere Rhodes finally brings Mark II to Edwards Air Force Base.

Tony eats donuts in a donut. Fury and Natasha give him a pep talk and lithium dioxide.

Hammer brings Ivan not his bird and notices that he makes drones, not suits.

USAF calls in Hammer to outfit stolen Mark II with his weapons.

Afternoon - Fury tells Tony that Howard was the founder of S.H.I.E.L.D. and gives him a chest of Howard's things.

Evening - Hammer gets his hands on Mark II and turns it into "War Machine".

Tony looks through his father's notes and receives his message recorded in 1973.

May 31:

Morning - Tony goes to apologize to Pepper and finds the "Key to the Future".

Afternoon - Tony (re)discovers a new element and orders components for a particle accelerator. Meanwhile, he drills more holes into his house, eventually turning it into a piece of Swiss cheese.

June 1:

343 days of Stark Expo left.

Morning - Tony builds his particle accelerator. Coulson is reassigned to New Mexico.

Note: As we've established in Thor's timeline, its events take place in November 2011. Not May/June 2010. I could do some logical gymnastics and stretch it to 2010 (which would already create a mess), but there's no way it could be in May/June.

Afternoon - Tony finishes the particle accelerator and synthesizes the new element at home.

Note: mention of 2010 again.

Evening - Vanko finishes his suit and the drones.

6:20 pm - Vanko calls Tony. Tony heads to New York in the new Mark VI.

40 minutes is most probably an exaggeration, since it is unlikely that Tony could get from Malibu to Flushing in less than 40 minutes. In any case, Tony didn't have time for anything else, especially considering that he needed time to assemble his new suit.

7-9 pm - Hammer and Vanko at the Stark Expo. Tony and Rhodey fight Vanko and defeat him. He blows himself and the Expo up. Tony saves Pepper and 8-year-old Peter Parker. Pepperony's first kiss.

Considering that other things tell us it's been 19 days since Pepper became CEO, Tony's "a week" line is an exaggeration. And Pepper plays along, just like she did with 12% in The Avengers.

I could write a whole post about why it could not be just a week (from Expo opening to the fight) as it's stated in other timelines, but I'll just give you one question to think about: how many days Ivan would need to build all those drones, a new reactor and a suit? Probably not 2.

A week later - Fury gives Tony Natasha's assessment of him and offers him a position as a consultant at S.H.I.E.L.D. Tony accepts.

Mid June - Senator Stern awards Tony and Rhodey with medals.

The Consultant

Second half of 2010:

The World Security Counsel still supports the Avengers Initiative at this point. But they want The Abomination on the team. Coulson and Sitwell send Tony to sabotage the transfer between General Ross and S.H.I.E.L.D. He succeeds, and Blonsky remains in prison.

After that, the WSC loses interest in the Avengers Initiative.

MCU Timeline: The Infinity Saga

[myobsessionsspace]

Okay so my theory on the screen in Who mv is that it’s a device, it was never hinting at a collab.(unless one with you know who comes along than yay!!)

call it a plot point if you will, but it’s literally and figuratively falling from the sky to block Jimins path, to turn his direction.

When you think about the lyrics and what the song is asking, ‘who is my heart waiting for’ , notice no question mark of course… so less a question more a statement.

To me, it’s Jimins walk through his questioning himself and his wants/desires. So him thinking of a girl, one that society dictates he should want or find, but that’s not WHO caught his eye, or his heart. If you watch the video and the dancing he is trying each girl he comes across but none is right. He dances west side story style with 6 other men, bts, at first, with the girls. The next time the men are seen on screen one has disappeared interestingly enough, leaving 6 men dancing…

then Jimin walks forward but the screen crashes down, blocking Jimins path, telling him to keep going…

the screen then rewinds and he walks down the street again, this time he doesn’t interact with the women, he walks past them, doesn’t touch them.

then in the end there is a tornado of love (from the postcard at the start), it’s come to rip apart or shake up everything he thought was true, or I guess required. He sings passionately but he cannot keep up with the group dancing until the second part of the chorus, he’s accepted himself is how I see it. The street empty and he walks away.

now the tornado is also a device of sorts and some screenshots of it also show is has a face within the swirling vortex. There are fireworks etc it’s all going off.

There is a lot of queer coding in the video, the colours, the signs, the way the vhs /auto calibration to go back as a above, I’m sure there are many meanings etc, he is extremely clever I’d say.

Also keep going being a saying often used in real life and also in fiction… as well as are you sure? It’s literally in every ff ever. Coincidence maybe but still fascinating to me.

anyway, that’s my two pennies, my only other though is that using the phrase on Ays for the photo stills was a way of tying it together but it also could be as I said above use of a very common phrase

previous related ask

Oohh lovely!

🤌✨

Thank you for sharing 💜

[malk1ns]

december 28 @ islanders, 6-3 loss

playing this team is so fucking BORINGGGGGGG oh my god.

i received confirmation this season that geno is still the penguins' finemaster (click here for more info on what that entails) and is just as much of a cheerful bully about it as you'd expect him to be.

Losses are always deflating. Nobody who’s made it to the National Hockey League is ever okay with losing a game, any game, even if they’ve gotten better at processing how they feel about it.

Some games are definitely easier than others, though, and a road game after Christmas break definitely qualifies, especially when Sid feels like perhaps the final score doesn’t quite reflect their quality of play. Plus, they have a chance to get their own back in less than 24 hours.

He keeps an eye on the team as he changes out of his gear, but the mood is light—seems like most of the guys feel the same as he does.

“Hey!” Geno calls, standing on the bench and banging on the side of his stall. “Hey, assholes, quiet. I’m nice all month, okay, know you all need to buy good gifts for your wives because you’re not nice—” there’s an eruption of jeers and teasing at this, which Geno allows for a second before banging on his locker again, “—I’m not make you pay your fines all December. But it’s new year soon, need to balance the books, and I have list.” He waves his phone in the air.

“Fuck,” Bunts mutters from down the row. Sid stifles a smile as he hangs up his shoulder pads, patting OC on the shoulder as he drops into his seat.

Geno’s been finemaster since Sid was out with his concussion and neck issues. He shared duties the season after they won their first Cup, but the season before the lockout he took over full-time, and he does this every year—gets lax with assigning fines as they approach the holidays, takes IOUs and deferrals without any argument at all, but the whole time he keeps a ledger, noting down who hasn’t paid and who’s still committing fineable offenses.

Kris learned about Krampus a few years ago. Geno protests when Kris calls him that, but Sid knows he likes it.

Geno’s recitation of fines owed starts on the shuttle to the airport and is still going when the plane touches down in Pittsburgh. He goes easy on the younger guys, he always does, but the vets are hit especially hard this year—even the most minor case of tape-hoarding earned a spot on Geno’s naughty list.

Once they’re ready to de-board, Geno heads off the plane first, making a show of plugging in his Square card reader amid the team’s groans. He stands at the bottom of the stairs, holding everyone up until they either fork over the cash or swipe their card to pay what they owe.

Sid takes his time getting his stuff together, smiling blandly when Kris shoots him a disgusted scowl as he makes his way to the front of the plane.

Kris knows about him and Geno. Sid doesn’t remember how exactly he found out, but he’s kept their secret for years now. Being trustworthy, though, doesn’t stop him from being nosy, and then acting like the intimate details he’s cajoled out of Sid or Geno after encouraging them to get tipsy and spill their secrets are some disgusting burden he’s stuck with.

It’s his own fault that he knows the game Sid and Geno play when the end-of-year fines are collected.

Sid ends up shivering in the sharp breeze halfway down the stairs as Karl tries to argue his way out of one of his infractions at the base. Geno holds firm, though, brandishing his phone and scrolling rapidly through his photo album with some sort of evidence, and eventually Karl relents, digging out his wallet and counting cash into Geno’s waiting palm.

Nobody else puts up a fight, and by the time Sid reaches the bottom of the staircase, the rest of the team has scattered, heading home to rest and recharge before tomorrow’s game.

“Well, Crosby? Cash or card?” Geno says, holding up his phone and waggling it in Sid’s direction. On the screen is a notes app list of all of Sid’s crimes over the last four weeks. It’s a lot longer than what Geno read out in the locker room on Long Island.

Sid looks up at Geno through his eyelashes. “I don’t have any cash on me, and my card got frozen—fraud,” he murmurs, quietly enough that Geno has to bend closer to hear him. “Isn’t there any other way I can work off my debt?”

Geno frowns at him. “Sid,” he chastises, tucking his phone into his jacket pocket. “What’s the guys say if they’re find out I’m not make you pay? Not fair, you know.”

“C’mon,” Sid wheedles, shifting closer to Geno so their body heat bleeds together. “I’ll make it worth your while.” He slides his hand into Geno’s jacket and down, groping over where his dick is half-hard in his suit pants.

Geno shudders, pretending to think about it. “Don’t know, Sid, you’re owe a lot of money,” he points out, and Sid breaks character for a minute to glare—he knows he didn’t do that much to get fined over this month. Geno smirks back at him.

Glancing around to make sure they’re alone, Sid leans up and puts his mouth to Geno’s ear. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he says huskily, smiling when Geno shivers.

—

They drop the act in the car ride home. Geno complains about the refs calling back that goal, and Sid gets out some cathartic bitching about Cizikas. They spend more time talking through what went right in the second period than anything else—the coaches will go over the bad stuff and breakdowns in video tomorrow morning.

That continues into the house, where they grimace at each other in the kitchen as they choke down the protein shakes the trainers assigned them this season, all the way up into the bedroom where they go through their nighttime routines.

When Sid emerges from the bathroom after brushing his teeth, Geno’s leaning against the wall across from their bed. He’s naked, and still mostly soft, but he’s playing with himself, and Sid zeroes in on his hand where it’s stroking slowly over his dick. “Time to pay up,” Geno says, and when Sid jerks his gaze up to meet Geno’s eyes, Geno’s smirking. Smug bastard.

Sid’s mouth waters. “I could blow you,” he rushes out, crossing the room towards Geno. “Let me…” But before he can get too close, before he can drop to his knees between Geno’s legs and get his mouth on him, Geno puts out his free hand and stops Sid in his tracks, nodding over at the mattress.

Sid looks over his shoulder, just now noticing the lube out on the nightstand, the open bottom drawer where they keep their toys.

“You owe lots this year, Sid,” Geno says, gently pushing Sid backwards. “You want to suck me? Fine, okay, maybe that’s part. But it’s not enough. For the rest, you get on the bed, touch yourself, show me what you like. Then maybe you work off enough to get my dick.”

“Fuck,” Sid mutters, palming himself where he’s getting hard. Geno’s voice is even, almost bored, like this is any other fine transaction. When Sid looks at him, he arches an eyebrow.

It’s a challenge. And Sid always rises to a challenge.

Geno wants him to prove himself, to earn it? Sid can do that.

It takes him a little bit to settle when he gets onto the mattress. This isn’t something they do, really—Sid’s never been much of an exhibitionist, and Geno’s always so eager to get his hands or mouth on Sid that he’s never really asked for this.

Sid feels exposed, leaning back against their pillows with his thighs parted as he pours lube into his palm and takes himself in hand. Geno’s staring at him, eyes half-closed as he lazily touches himself, and Sid matches his pace at first, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.

It doesn’t take long to sink into it. Geno’s gaze feels good, the sharp intakes of breath Sid can hear from across the room as Sid starts to show off a little, tries to make it look hot only egging him on.

Geno likes a lot of lube, likes to make them messy, so Sid pours more onto his hand, slicking up his fingers so that every stroke sounds loud in the room.

Sid gets all the way hard pretty quick, and the way he’s spread out for Geno makes him itchy. His hand on his dick isn’t enough, not even when he starts playing with his balls too, tugging at them meanly like Geno usually does.

He shifts his hips, and Geno notices. “Put pillow,” he says hoarsely, “and get from drawer.”

Sid whines, but he does what Geno says, rolling to his side and groping through their nightstand until his hand closes around a familiar toy—nothing too big, he’s not sure he has the patience it would take to open himself up for some of the stuff they have, but one with a curve that hits him just right.

His hand shakes as he spills lube over it, and Geno makes a strangled sound when Sid tucks a pillow under his hips, spreads his legs, and pushes the tip into himself.

He’s going too fast, especially since they have a game tomorrow, but he feels desperate, and when he opens his eyes Geno’s touching himself in earnest now, hand moving over his dick steadily.

“Please,” Sid gets out, licking his lips as he works the toy further into himself, hissing when it hits his prostate too hard. “Have I—is this enough, please can I blow you now, Geno—”

“No,” Geno says, working himself over with little grunts that Sid can practically feel, all the way from across the room. “Not enough. Fuck yourself, Sid, let me see it.”

Sid moans as he sinks the toy in further, twisting it so the curved tip rubs over his prostate with every thrust. It’s too much too fast, and he’s going to be sore tomorrow, but Geno wants a show, and Sid’s going to give it to him.

He loses track of the game as warmth builds low in his stomach. The hand on his dick slows as he gets into the feeling of fucking himself, clenching his thighs as they start to shake with every pass over his prostate. He can’t always come just from penetration, but this is really doing it for him, being spread out like Geno’s personal porn, and he thinks he can get himself there.

Sid can feel it building, arches his back and clenches around the toy as he speeds up his pace. Yeah, this is gonna be a good one.

“Stop,” Geno’s voice is shaky and turned-on, but Sid jolts, hand going still almost on instinct. “Sid, stop, come suck me off, now.”

Sid moans, but this is what Geno wants, so he pulls the toy out and staggers across the room, dropping to his knees between Geno’s thighs and opening his mouth.

Geno feeds Sid his dick, and Sid lets his eyes drift closed. He’s keyed up, trembling slightly from how close he was to coming, but he knows how to do this, knows how to relax his jaw and angle his head to let Geno’s dick slip into his throat, knows how to keep his lips and tongue soft so that when Geno finally thrusts into him, he groans long and loud above Sid.

“So good,” he praises, threading his fingers into Sid’s hair and holding his head still. “Baby, so hot, fuck, take it—” He trails off into Russian, and Sid lets the sound wash over him, sucking when he can and laving his tongue around the shaft when Geno presses deep and holds Sid’s face against his groin for long moments, fighting back his gag reflex.

It doesn’t take long. Geno clearly liked what he saw, had gotten himself halfway there before he called Sid over; all Sid has to do is breathe through his nose and let Geno hold him steady, until Geno’s coming down his throat with a loud moan.

Sid swallows, pulling back and blinking his eyes open. He’s dizzy, still so hard it almost hurts, and he clenches around nothing against the feeling of emptiness. His balls hurt. He needs to come.

All he can do is stare up at Geno, mouth open as he tries to catch his breath.

Geno’s still panting when he pulls Sid to his feet and tugs him back to the bed. He gets Sid on his back, and before Sid can even think of anything to ask for, he slides three fingers into Sid’s hole and bites down on his nipple.

Sid comes so hard every muscle in his body locks up. It’s so intense it almost doesn’t even feel good. There are tears running down his cheeks into his ears as he tosses his head back and forth.

Geno shushes him, keeps his fingers inside Sid as he gentles him down, only sliding them out when Sid gets oversensitive and tries to squirm away.

“Shit,” he finally sighs, rolling his shoulders back into the mattress. He feels like a bruise, hole throbbing and dick still twitching a little. His knees hurt.

It’s awesome.

Geno hums, pressing his palm down on Sid’s stomach. His hand is sticky with Sid’s come, but Sid can’t even bring himself to care about how gross he’s going to be. “Debt paid,” he half-slurs. “Good job.”

It takes Sid a minute. He’d completely forgotten their game.

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Calls Abroad

A tired sigh left your lips as you looked at the living room before you. Lego pieces scattered the floor, farm animals and action figures lodged between all the couch cushions, and dishes from dinner were still on the coffee table, half eaten Mac and cheese all dried up on the plates.

After putting the kids to bed, showering, and sewing your son’s favorite stuffed bear’s nose back on after the dog ripped it off, it was nearing midnight and you still had the house to clean. Or at least the living room since it looked like a bomb went off in it. The rest you could put off till the morning.

Grabbing the Lego box, you began throwing all the legos and miscellaneous toys in it as your cellphone chimed. Pulling it from your pocket, you saw a text message from your husband.

Jethro ⛵️❤️: Call?

You smiled, knowing he only texted you because he knew how late it was and didn’t want to wake you with a loud phone call. Doing the math in your head, you calculated it to be around 6 in the morning for him, most likely already fully awake and drinking his second coffee.

You: Of course. I’ll call you on the computer. 😘

Forgetting the task you were doing, you took a seat on the couch while opening up your laptop and started a video call. A few seconds of waiting for a connection and his face appeared on screen. He was sitting at a table, dressed in his NCIS uniform, coffee in hand. He looked just as tired as you felt and a pang of longing hit you. He had been gone for only two days but you already missed him holding you at night and helping you with the kids.

“Hey hun,” he greeted with a soft smile that you returned. “Why aren’t you in bed already?”

Instead of giving an answer, you took the laptop and spun it around so he could see what you were dealing with, hearing him sigh a little.

“I’m sorry I’m not there to help. Hopefully we’ll be closing this case in the next day or so and I’ll be back before the end of the week.”

You just nodded, not really having much to say about it since the argument it caused days before he left. You knew it was unfair to be upset when his job needed him to travel but sometimes you felt like you barely saw him when he was in the States, let alone half way across the world.

“I miss you,” he stated. “And the kids. I wanted to say hi.”

“Jethro. It’s almost 1 in the morning here. I’m not waking them up.”

A look of disappointment crossed his face and it made you feel guilty. You know he just missed his babies.

“Here. I’ll bring you to see them but I’m not waking them. It took 2 guessing games and 3 bedtime stories to put them down,” you explained, lifting his spirits.

You made your way up the stairs and down the hall to their room, where the door was already cracked open. The sound of their white noise machine played softly as their rotating underwater themed lamp illuminated the room just enough so Jethro could see them. You saw him smile as you went over and caressed each one’s head, both of them so deep in sleep, they didn’t even stir at the touch.

He didn’t say anything until you exited the room and went back downstairs, out of ear shot.

“I can’t wait to be back home with you guys. I’m sure Frank is keeping my side of the bed warm for me while I’m away,” he insinuated, your dog picking his head up from the couch at the sound of his name.

“He is. And he even hogs all the blankets like you do, it’s almost like you’re right there with me.”

You both laughed before a yawn forced its way out of you, as you rubbed your eyes tiredly.

“Alright hun, I’ll let you go. I’m gonna have McGee send you some photos we’ve taken since I don’t know how to do any of that. But I miss you and I love you.”

You blew him a kiss before replying, “I love you more Jethro. Goodnight. Stay safe.”

You both ended the call, bringing you back to your clean up. It didn’t take you as long as you thought it would have, getting everything squared away and you were in bed with Frank by your side in less than an hour. You cuddled Jethro’s pillow, inhaling his scent as it lulled you to sleep quickly.

[stuck1nthelimbo]

im so normal about them — 📌 post | masterlist | ko-fi

6 》Masturbation - Squirting - Dacryphilia ― Truth or Fuck [Fushiguro Toji x f!reader]

Everyone knows about the 'Truth or Dare' game, right? How about the adult version?

TAGS!!! 2.1k, age gap, toji fucks son's friend (20s), masturbation, squirting, rough-ish, creampie, no beta

With the perfect freezing weather and knee-deep snow, a small group of friends has gathered at Fushiguro’s cottage. We were greeted by the host’s father, Fushiguro Toji. I became smitten with him when I met him months ago and after gathering the courage to admit it to my friends…

“I dare you…” Yuji pretends to come up with a dare, yet I’m aware of what he’s about to say. I roll my eyes and blow lip bubbles. Nobara hides behind him, giggling at my upcoming disgrace, “I dare you to go and kiss Mr. Fushiguro, on the lips,” the audible gasp slips Megumi and he nudges his friend, who’s impatiently squirming. My friend points at the vodka shot, which can negate the dare, however, I’m conflicted: between being unaware of what the diabolical trio has in plan and the fact that I don’t want to miss the opportunity.

“I’ll get back to you,” I flick Yuji’s forehead as I walk by him, trudging to the kitchen. Peeking in, my eyes discover broad shoulders and a muscular back with a skintight black t-shirt. For a moment, I envy his ex-wife, who enjoyed all these and bore his child. Well, let’s focus more on the conception of said child and less on rest. “Um, Mr. Fushiguro?” He turns head while fiddling with something in the fridge, then twists on his feet, squinting at me.

“You kids involvin’ me now?” he blatantly mocks the group, puffing air through the nose.

“They dared me to kiss you,” shuffling on the spot, I mutter, and he scoffs. His head drops to the side, crossing arms over the puffed-out chest. That shirt is holding on its dear life.

“What are you, twelve? You’re older than those punks,” Toji’s peeved, yet leans forward and sticks his cheek out. I shake my head and point at my lips with an index finger. The scoff’s louder now, gives me a peck on the lips, and dismisses me with a hand gesture.

Not enough. So I’ll make sure I end up with another opportunity. The second time doesn’t quench my thirst either. Maybe the third time’s a charm? Now with the gust in my stroll, I prance in the kitchen and heartily grin at the eldest. The sudden aggression alarms me: large palm grabs my face and his lips crash onto mine, tongue slithering into my mouth. This grown-up kiss leaves me breathless.

“The fourth time you’ll wobble out of here,” he’s so fine when his eyes gleam with malice and a sly smirk contorts his face.

I shouldn’t have drunk so much. Now I’m tiptoeing down the stairs for water while fixing an oversized shirt. Caught a glimpse of the clock on my way, it’s around two in the morning. Everybody’s asleep, it’s dead silent until I step foot on the first floor and hear the faint sound of the TV. I waltz into the kitchen, grab a water bottle, and plop on an empty sofa, sipping.

“Hey,” the low disembodied voice startles me, I jump, almost spilling the liquid. Something huge slouches beside me. Now shirtless Fushiguro Toji glances at me. A sculpted chest and abdomen and the gray sweatpants leave so little to the imagination, “Someone dared you to kiss me at midnight? You’re a tad late.”

“Come on, Mr. Fushiguro, give me a break. They dared me, I didn’t have a choice,” I lie through my teeth, averting gaze from him to the TV. He looks back at the screen, his hand tampering with the remote.

“First,” the index finger raises, the rest hold the remote, “You didn’t drink, shots were untouched. And second,” the middle finger flicks up, “stop calling me Mr. Fushiguro, Toji’s fine,” he mutters. The silence lingers between us, the low volume of the movie relieves the awkwardness.

“Hey, wanna play ‘Truth or Dare’?” I break the silence and he glances at me with an embarrassed smile.

“And you’re gonna ask me who’s my crush? Pass, kiddo,” he brushes off the idea without considering.

“Come on,” I straighten between the cushions, my digits tap on his veiny forearm, “truth or dare?” his eyes bounce to my dimly shadowed face, and a sigh of defeat escapes him.

“Truth.”

“Have you ever…” I wander off, sweeping the room with my eyes before they land back on him, “had sex outside the bedroom?” Toji shoots me a dumbfounded look, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised. The shock shifts to a flirtatious smirk.

“Oh, you meant with a twist,” his lips pucker, eyes tag along the flickering TV, “alright,” he clears throat, “almost always. I don’t remember the last time I had sex in bed,” chewing on the inside of my cheek, I anticipate the question, “truth or dare?”

“Truth,” half-lidded, verdant eyes stare at me.

“Have you ever hooked up with a man twice your age?” He knows the answer, the stuck-up grin plastered on his scarred lips. I audibly swallow and shake my head. He faintly nods, proud of himself.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Do you prefer slow and romantic sex or rough fucking?” He chortles, air eagerly puffs out of his nose, and his eyes glance at the TV. In a moment, his head turns back to me and drops a bit, staring from under the lashes.

“I prefer to hold down brats and turn them into incoherent, blabbering messes. I like leaving a mark,” his husky voice reverberates in my ears, and my tailbone tingles. He doesn’t take his eyes off of me, “truth or dare?”

“Dare,” I maintain the eye contact, holding my breath in. He’s pleasantly surprised. His tongue glides across the teeth.

“You should kiss the player in front of you,” he’s so casual, and his eyes trail down to my lips. I lean forward, supporting my weight on open palms pressing down the cushions. Poising face near his, he mumbles, “for thirty seconds,” I barely register the statement before his large hand clasps the back of my head and pulls me in a sloppy kiss. His teeth nibble, fleshy tongues lap, fingers on my nape claw along the hair, steamy breath spills over me and half a minute runs out with the spiderweb-thin threads of saliva spreading between us. Glazed eyes gawk at me, stirred breathing heats my throat, and he skulks toward me, tossing the remote on the floor.

“Truth or dare?” I somehow utter the sentence and hear him click his tongue and mouth the word ‘Dare’ without halting the predatory movement. “Just touc–,” Toji’s low chuckle prickles my skin with goosebumps and I’m unable to finish. His teeth ready to feast on my delicate neck freeze midway, his hand crams between the flimsy underwear and soft pussy, index and middle fingers plunging in my sopping cunt without an ounce of resistance. I mewl at the intrusive sensation and glance at the older male. He’s dead absorbed in the sounds and the texture my gummy walls exude with each knuckle-deep thrust, occasionally the thumb flits across the clit, and I twinge with each brush.

The other hand lurks under the shirt, feeling around before grabbing onto my breast, kneading it with his fingers, possessing the softness of the flesh. Buried digits quicken the pace, the forceful thumb rubs against the bud, drawing few quiet whimpers out of me. The prominent squelchs of my wetness echo. Something pleasant swirls in the depth of my stomach, coils several times and pours downward, between the thighs. His long fingers meticulously slip the soaked underwear to the side, before pulling out and relentlessly sinking back in.

"Wait, Toji," I protest, yet he positions himself between my legs, spreading them further apart; I feel something coming, the unfamiliar sensation and without the proper amount of time, the ecstatic pleasure swallows me, my legs tremble and I gush all over him. Literally. Under the heavy eyelids, I notice how half his body glints, as if splashed with water, "oh, my God," the audible whisper under the heavy breathing snaps his attention. He straightens and I see droplets of transparent liquid on his torso, guiding down the chiseled figure.

"First time squirting?" the cynical tone annoys me, but I'm still under the influence of soft, gentle waves of post-orgasmic bliss and prop myself up, "Clean up," now the tone has changed into demanding, irritating me further. Reaching hand for the paper towels next to the sofa, his palm seizes my wrist, "no, not that," the sharpness makes me tingle again; I push my tongue out, and after his validating smile, I press it flat on his damp chest. The skin feels smooth under my muscle as it glides around the muscular chest, under the collarbone and finishes close the crevice of the neck. I can feel the vibration of his throaty laugh and I pull back, searching for his eyes, before being pinned down on the sofa by a strong hand around my throat.

With one hand, fingers tightly envelope under my jaw, the other yanks his sweatpants down, and even in the dimmed TV light, I make out the silhouette of his fat veiny cock, bouncing out of the boxers. His fingers pull my underwear aside, straining the fabric and harshly grazing his manhood against my drenched pussy. I whine and buck my hips, but he pulls back in time. Brushing the tip of his cock against the swollen clit, he pity smiles the following childish pouts from me. The index and middle fingers press down on his cock, firmly nudging the head of his cock on my sopping cunt until I fling legs around in frustration.

"Truth or dare?" Both of his hands wrap around my thighs, hooking his girth at the entrance of my cunt, teasing. I ignore the question, but the nails digging into my skin bring me back to his expression.

"Uhhh," I reluctantly mutter, "truth," he leans forward, leveling his face with mine, and one of my hands tug on the strands of hair on his nape, closing the distance between us, Toji’s shaky breath seeps under my nostrils. The stillness agitates me, until he bucks his hips, bottoming out inside. My mouth gapes, but before any sound escapes, his palm blankets over my trembling lips, and the pillow under my neck dampens his grunts.

“Everything you wanted?” the ‘truth or dare’ question flies over my head, my brain short-circuited and drunk on the smell of sweat beading on the male’s temples. He hasn’t moved since he bottomed out, forcefully stretching my cunt around his thickness. Each spasm around him runs a shiver up my spine. The pain is buried deep between the ecstasy that radiates from the depths of my stomach. The nails I've dug in his hair nearly break the skin. The other hand weakly pushes against his flat stomach, to which his response is pushing himself inside to the hilt, grinding his groin against my sensitive clit. I swiftly shut my eyes and he, in a painstakingly slow manner, thrusts. Moving back and forth, reminding me with each thrust how enormous he is. He quickly picks up the pace, chipping away at my sanity with each hit. The room's filled with the quiet buzzing of TV and short, sharp grunts his throat echoes, alongside the wet sounds that emit between us.

With each passing second, another round of pleasurable waves swirl in the depth of my stomach. The hand over my mouth tightens as his hips stutter with each forceful thrust. The stuttering turns into hips bucking erratically, teeth grinding, sinking into my flesh, and throaty grunts, soon replaced by barely audible moans, as I feel something fill each nook and cranny of my gummy walls up. The grip on my face loosens while my hips shake following a stomach-churning, body-rippling orgasm.

His weight pulls away, and straightens in his seat: strands of damp hair glue to his forehead and cheeks, mouth hanging, Toji regains his steady breathing. I struggle to close my legs, the strained muscles ache with the smallest movement. The hot, viscous fluid leaks onto the sofa cushions from the apex of my thighs and the elder man groans in frustration, yet does nothing. With difficulties, rises off the sofa, trudging to the kitchen. I reach for the water bottle, almost spilling the contents of it all over my sore, tired body. My pussy stings and I know, this will be hell in the morning. But oh, well. He won this round of ‘Truth or Fu– Dare’.

© stuck1nthelimbo; do not redistribute, repost, modify, or use in any way, form, and/or shape. re-translation by asking for permission first.