#also like you know whats fucked up ?? the fact everyone forgot how fives referred to tup as his best friend during the chip arc

[papanowo]

tup was a shiny on umbara

[patternwelded-quill]

Consider this an open invite/tag game. I'll ask the question now and explain my answer! Do you have, or would you get, a tattoo based on something from your writing?

If yes, what and why?

Obvs yes since I'm sharing it, lol.

How is this relevant to my books and why does it look like I can't stop thinking about the Roman Empire? Let me tell you!

When the Red Hand Company was founded, it was by five very close friends who were all veteran military (three of which where also mercenaries post state military.) Five fingers of the same hand.

One of them was a Dryhtnar (race) Wodras (title). Among his people they are *also* governed by five people who make up the Elder Council: Nelade (red hand: external relations, chief of war), Nelbuv (white hand: internal relations/domestic chief), Arahe (chief military leader), Wodras (war speaker: priest, healer, wizard, advisor), and Satlaade (red angel: always a woman who isn't the Arahe, but a seasoned warrior, also heads the council of women's issues.)

Red Hand, you see, was no coincidence of a name. Ade also refers to life, blood, the color red, war, and family (bloodline sense.) So the Nelade Chihk'ni, (red hand brethren/brotherhood/group) or Red Hand Company was born.

You *might* also notice another thing. It's a *left* hand. That's intentional. The left hand holds your shield, which you use to protect your fellow warriors on the line. The left hand is a Teryn (more on this coming) and Dryhtnar symbol of, for lack of a better English word, a brotherhood. The symbol of the military family is put on the left arm, because they are all your shield, as well.

Okay, Myka, sure... but why the gold wreath? You basically have 'the manus' there before you added it anyway? You're right, and I noticed that detail so I leaned into it.

You see, there *was* a Rome in that part of the world in my... world. I'm a writer, I swear I have vocab. Anyway. The Kingdom of Teryn has a lot of Rome in it, and when it imploded that continent ended up with a lot of warring micro states. Thus the prevalence of mercenaries waging wars for rich assholes who lack a population to conscript in such numbers. One of them is Karvan, whom other founder Vledec hails from. Kinda fascist assholes, mandatory military service, state sponsored religion... you can imagine why a young man didn't want to drink the koolaid and fucked off. But the very-Roman legion standard feel of it comes from his background, military commanders wore them after battles so it was an associated symbol of power, victory, the Great Old Kingdom™, etc. Being a group of mercs, and ones that got hired to fill some deficiencies in post-Teryn nation militaries, was a way to thumb their noses at them. But the uninsightful nobility just saw 'Teryn symbol, okay, they're like us.'

Okay, cool, but why tf do *you* have a fictional military tattoo? Well, everyone in the RHC gets one and I made it, so...

Also, Relarial was my character, all the worldbuilding came after her. She got me through a lot of tough times, was my avatar in any game that let me be a one-eyed, knife-eared war cri- adventurer/mercenary, and is a big part of me. Those of you who know the hints and facts, that too.

So there you have it. A symbol that evolved for IRL years from an old mspaint gauntlet on a black shield to a fully worldbuilt heraldic symbol with centuries of meaning. *And* it looks cool!

@illarian-rambling @ladytamris @somethingclevermahogony @thecoolerlucky @roach-pizza @unrepentantcheeseaddict @princesscolumbia and anyone else I forgot at 0200 on a Thursday...

[hishighnesstheprincess]

Sonic Movie 1 Rewatch Live Reaction

Aight

Gonna do it

Gonna watch the first Sonic movie and post aaallllll my reactions below

Below a read more because I don’t hate my followers

Okay so first off I love these movies I love Sonic but the fact that Tom is a cop fucking SUCKS his plotline in the movie sucks because it is about him being a cop and it is not nuanced and I doubt they will handle it well in the third movie. I’m not going to be covering the issues with it too in depth because a) white person here and b) gotta be honest I don’t know a lot about cop depictions in media. I’m mostly just going to be repeating what everyone else has already said, there are better sources than me when it comes to covering the issuesTM. 

Okay, unpleasant bit over.

Movie beginning

Had to take a five second break to autism bounce around my room

Still love the use of rings for the Paramount logo....

OOUGH THE SEGA MUSIC

Sonic started talking and I started squealing

Of course he calls himself handsome

I love him doing the lil rewind sounds with his mouth he’s so silly he’s so goofy

Sonic refers to Green Hill Zone as an “island” hmmm interesting. I can easily see it being like Mobius in the movies is a bunch of islands that are all different zones and Mushroom Hill is just different I guess

OWL MOM

Oh so many thoughts about Longclaw she is so accidentally interesting on the movies part

Boy sure hope those echidnas won’t come back hahaha

NO I JUST REALIZED AN ARROW PIERCED THE FLOWER SONIC GOT FOR LONGCLAW

Symbolism much

So it was definitely Knuckles’ dad that shot Longclaw down

“the only way to stay safe is to stay hidden” literally how much damage did she inadvertently do to Sonic with just those words

Longclaw is such a warrior cat’s ass name and I love it

God I forgot that they imply Sonic’s mom gets brutally murdered and then cut to the movie title

Tom being a cop sucks but him using the speedomoter on the turtle/tortoise, joking loudly about it, and then apologizing is pretty funny

Sonic going 300 interests me. I very much doubt that he hasn’t broken the speed barrier at some point in these movies (especially in the second one when he runs on water) but I don’t think we’ve specifically heard a Sonic boom yet

Sonic talking avidly to the turtle is so so cute but also. Concerning. Considering the only other person he talks to is himself

Oh my god he traumatized that poor turtle

THAT IS ONE DIRTY ASS ROOM WITH A LOT OF STUFF IN IT

Hmmm something something Longclaw being Sonic’s protector something something him immediately latching onto the “protector” of Green Hill

Boy there is so much that is wrong with you (affectionate)

SANIC

Something something Sonic’s only human contact being a man trying to capture him something something the echidna trying to catch him something something GUN

Screw it AU where Sonic gets captured by GUN immediately and meets, or at least sees Shadow and ends up learning what happened on the ARK

Do you think baby Sonic ever got caught in a trap :(

This hog is traumatized. But he can always get even more traumatized

Sonic’s favorite movie being R-Rated canonically is so so funny to me

There are probably better actors. But it would be so so funny if Keanu Reeves played Shadow

Tom and Maddie’s relationship is so sweet I’m sorry

Me when I’m autistic

The thing about them getting two cakes just in case is so sweet as well

Okay so in the first movie Tom says that he’s still using the neighbor’s wifi but in the second we see that the house is pretty far away from the town. Conclusion: they moved after the first movie. Probably for Sonic

BASEBALL SCENE. THE FOCUS ON THE IDEALIZED AMERICAN DREAM (which as of the second movie ending Sonic has, two parents, middle class lifestyle, three kids, etc.) SONIC T HEDGEHOG THERE IS SO MUCH WRONG WRONG WITH YOU

FORGOT TO MENTION IT WAS ABSOLUTELY A WACHOWSKI THAT SHOT MARIA. MADDIE SAID ‘there’s been a Wachowski protecting Green Hills for over 50 years” that CANNOT be a coincidence

OHTHE BASEBALL FREAKOUT. @neurotypical-sonic knows way way more about BPD than I do but this is screaming BPD to me. He definitely needs mood stabilizers and therapy

What do his powers run on? Emotions? If that’s the case then boy howdy is the third movie gonna put him through the wringer

Everytime media mentions IQ I have to laugh so hard. I took an IQ test and got like 140 or something and I’m the dumbest motherfucker I know. It’s so stupid

While I do think the worst part of the movies is the cop thing, I don’t think the movies are pro-military overall. The military is introduced as sending in the main villain of the movie who apparently destroyed a whole country(?) in to a small town, letting him break a fuck ton of laws both legally and morality wise

Jimbotnik is so fucking insane I love him. Him and Agent Stone are so funny. “Excuse me Major what was your name? NOBODY CARES!”

“Look what came out of my Eggsack”

“half eaten cantaloope” EDNOS EDNOS EDNOS

THE FCAT THAT HE DOESNT SAY “goodbye home” HE SYS “goodbye cave”

Tom and Sonic’s first meeting is so funny

Ough I love that Sonic is depicted as having actual quills cus like in the games he is just a blue shape

“I’m not in the mood to get probed” “You think you’re worried? I’m not even wearing pants!”

EARS DROOOP

Sonic is only the second weirdest person Tom has met today

“I was spitting out formulas while you were spitting up formulas.” “I was breastfed actually.” “Nice. Rub that in my orphan face.”

“Worse than death?”

Oh he actively talks to himself

“I had kind of an embarrassing lunch” EDNOS

Robotnik just screaming when he sees Sonic is actually very funny

And so begins the tradition of Tom punching people

Agent Stone and Robotnik are SO funny

“So, as I crashed into the wet, dark water of the Pacific-” I love that line

Movie Sonic is gonna think Shadow is the coolest person on Earth lmao

Tom just hanging up on Robotnik is so funny

“You just sit there and be you.... sless.”

Who is the lady agent that’s with Robotnik I want to know her name I’m gay

He’s soooooo me coded

Watching Mike’s Mic has ruined my vocabulary

Shannon Chan Kent hiiiii helllow love you love your Amy she’s so good

NOW I WANNA REWATCH PRIME TOOO

Sonic’s horrified gasp when the biker dude called him a hipster is hilarious

Sonic

OH I FORGOT SONIC MENTIONED LONGCLAW IN FRONT OF TOM

AND HE DIDNT EVEN QUESTION IT

SO EITHER TOM JUST DIDNT WANT TO GET INTO IT RIGHT THEN OR SONIC ALREADY TOLD HIM

I’m going wit h the first option for my fic. Is more fun that way

CARRRRR SCENE CAR SCENE

“We’re not best friends.” “You tucked me in last night.”

He’s so splitting. I don’t even know a lot about splitting but he’s SO splitting

“HAVE YOU NOTICED THE H A R P O O N STUCK IN THE CAR”

OH EMOTIONS SO TRIGGER HIS POWERS

Ngl I unironically like the flossing

“HOW ARE YOU NOT DEAD?!” “I have no idea :D!”

HESO SMALL IN THIS MOVIE

“I think that tank just had a baby.” Does. Does Sonic know how kids work. He didn’t know what a payphone was earlier in the movie.

“Ever wonder where your tax dollars are going?”

“Aw, this one is cute, let’s keep him :D”

“Nailed it!” dies

That’s it movie over sequel cancelled Sonic’s dead

“Pin yourself to wall.” excuse me

SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT WHAT EGGMAN WOULD DO TO SONIC IF HE CAUGHT HIM

Rachel is iconic

Ngl the song that plays while Robotnik is doing tech stuff is a whole bop I love it

I FORGET THE STONE JUMPSCARE VERYTIME

“Of course I want a latte. I LOVE THE WAY YOU MAKE THEM.”

“It talks.” “Almost constantly.”

Oh my god I forgot we technically see Sonic’s feet in this movie. Imagine this scene but with ugly Sonic

WHY DID THEY LET SONIC DRIVE

“As long as I’m here, I put everyone in danger” not me thinking of my runaway Sonic AU immediately

“It’s the government nutjob who keeps trying to kill us- UNSUCCESSFULLY”

Do you think Sonic got grounded for shoving them off the roof

God I remember me and an irl friend laughing so hard when we first saw that

“THAT WAS AN ILLEGAL LEFT, BY THE WAY”

THE SMASH BROS POSE

OH MAN

WHAT IF IN THIRD MOVIE WE GET A CHASE SCENE LIKE THAT BUT ACROSS DIFFERENT ZONES AND WITH SONIC AND SHADOW

HE

HE

HE EYES GLOW

TOM PUNCHING ROBOTNIK AGAIN

Oh man the timezones in this movie make NO sense

HE PINBALLED HimSELF

HE

“Oh my god my sister”

Hoooooome

Oh this movie can be so personal if you have family issues of any kind actually. Even if I personally have mommy issues more than daddy ones

GREEN HILLS MUSIC

The government was so angling to kidnap Sonic since the end of the first movie 

“You guys are SO uncool”

How did they get everything from Sonic’s cave to the attciAAAAAa

Literally never gonna forget this ending scene

“Welcome home” I’m fucking sobbing

“my grasp on sanity remains... absolute”

This ending absolutely SLAPS people angry about it are either just lame or racist about rap being in Sonic for some reason

And here it is, the ending scene that made me lose my fucking mind

TAILS

TAILS HI TAILS MY FRIEND TAILS MY FRIEND :D

[rainey-staerie-daize]

Was thinking about something the other day, and the post I just reblogged just reminded me about it...

Do I have commitment issues? And do they stem from the fact I never quite felt permanent as a kid?

I'm autistic, which means I was predestined to kinda suck at making or keeping friends. But on top of that, I was moved schools more than once in elementary. I didn't want to, but moving houses changed what I was zoned for. I got used to not having a permanent set of peers.

I stayed in the same middle school all three years, but everyone had history with each other that I didn't. I felt like an outsider. I wanted to go to the same school as a friend from elementary, but my mom forgot to sign me up, so that didn't happen.

Stayed in the same high school all four years. It was a Magnet school, so what I was zoned for didn't matter. I craved moving schools again, though. Stability seemed boring at that point, and at least I could still go to class when I woke up late if I went to the one within walking distance. The school I went to was across town and I had no ride if I missed the bus.

I wasn't close to anyone in high school. There were people I considered friends, sure, but it finally clicked that they were acquaintances and nothing more when none of them showed up to my sweet 16. Didn't help that they could hang out after school on a regular basis, and I lived across town. I once ran into a classmate outside of the 99¢ store when Mom and I had just picked up Roxie, and it was a total trip to me! I forgot that that's a thing that just happens when you're in the same neighborhood as your school.

I brought up moving schools to my mom when I started living with her more and my dad less, but she was like "but it's a Magnet school! And you'd be leaving your friends behind!"

Bitch, what friends? And I got bored with the Magnet program halfway through freshman year. She switched my sister's school, though, and she was happy where she was!

I graduated high school and attended a university. The parties didn't always have the same people because the school population was huge. The campus was like a small city. Fresh faces every day, except for my classes, but I didn't socialize much in those. No point in making friends if they're gonna leave my life anyway.

Now I use VR. VRChat is one of my favorite apps. The social environment is similar to my university: good luck running into anyone you know. Sure, I have about a hundred "friends," but good luck at catching them online. Only about five of them are online at a time. It feels a little empty sometimes, but I would take that as a sign to take the headset off and get some sleep.

I've started using an app called Banter more recently. It's newer, so there are fewer users. And there is an event system in place, kinda like my university's events and parties. I see a similar group of people almost every time. Most don't have previous history because they met in Banter. The few that do aren't people that are online a ton, I'm pretty sure.

I've started getting closer to a person or two in both VR apps. And I find making plans to meet up with them both exciting (because I like hanging out with them) and nerve-wracking (for the discussed reasons, I suspect). Like, holy crap, what if I do something to fuck up our relationship? And they no longer want to be my friend? I can't be saved by moving away. That's not a thing in VR!

So I might have a fear of commitment. Woo. And they're not even romantic relationships!

And I wonder if that fear extends to why I feel bad about picking a major, too. WoOoOo!

And all this also means that I have no frame of reference for how a friendship is even supposed to be. Like, is #3 being clingy? Or is he being normal and I'm being avoidant? I have no fucking clue!

I needed therapy fucking years ago.

[candysimaginaryworld]

CRY BABY ➜ HAIKYUU

How the haikyuu boys comfort you when you’re crying! (gn!reader)

feat — Hajime Iwaizumi, Oikawa Tooru, Kuroo Tetsuro, and Sugawara Koshi

w.c: 5+ (i have no self control)

☾ content: an unnecessary amount of suggestive innuendos (not 18+ material but read at your own discretion nonetheless), mentions of insecurities, fluff, comfort and weed.

☾ note: i finally posted something and the fact that I rewrote this seventeen times is laughable (for reference, I started this on February the 19th) lmaoooo anyway—don’t be a stranger, reach out and tell me what you thought or request something! i love feedback! <3 

k.t

An absolute menace. If this man ever finds you crying, he will fight everyone and anyone within a six foot radius of you, regardless of it being their fault or not.

Kuroo is the kind of man that would smother you to the point where you are sick of him.

He’d be constantly checking in on you; making sure you’re eating right and staying hydrated (If he catches you munching on a bag of Cheetos and a half empty can of sprite, he’s cooking you a five course meal).

Don’t be surprised when his tall, lanky, body flails down the stairs in an attempt to make you laugh. When you ask him about it, he’ll tell you that his pain is worth your smile 😭 But then you’ll hit him for being a dumbass 🗿

His well-toned arms would wrap around your waist as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear; cute things like, “it’s okay baby, I know,” or “I’m here.”

Absolutely refuses to leave your side. You need to pee? He’s coming with you. There’s someone at the door? They can come back later. You need to go to work? No you don’t.

Once you finally calm down, he’ll ask you what was wrong with extreme caution. He tries not to push it—even though he desperately want to know what happened—so he’ll slyly slip in subtle questions every now and then to gain a better understanding of the situation.

In the end, he’ll ruin whatever soft moment you two had by making really bad puns and dad jokes.

If he’s in the middle of work and finds out you’re crying, this man is running out of wherever he is to come home to you. And when he’s overseas, he’s already hovering his thumb over the call button under your contact (which is so cutely named “doriyaki💔” based solely on the fact that you accidentally ate his when you two were dating. Thirteen years ago…in middle school. Mf never forgot.)

The type to bring you roses and takeout after work 💜

Sends you wholesome messages throughout the day, even if you’re in the same room:

K: Ik I tell you everyday but you’re my other half and I love you with my entire heart ♡ ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

Y: tetsu, you’re literally sitting right beside me—

K: I know

K: I just wanted to remind you ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚

Does that really attractive thing where he gently rubs his thumb over your knuckles while you’re talking.

Coddles you like a child; won’t let you do ANYTHING without his supervision or approval.

He won’t typically cry when you’re sad but if he feels like it was his fault, he’s fucking crumbling. He can’t handle knowing he was the reason and would do anything to make up for it. Even if it means prancing around in that maid dress you bought him last year 🥲

He’ll offer you his weed pen and, if you’re lucky, you two will hot box in his car before hitting the nearest beach. The smell of the salty ocean air and indica filling your nose while Kuroo’s arms wrap around your waist is enough to make you forget about all your problems. And the way he looks into your eyes—dear god. The amount of love and adoration swirling in those dark pools of his has your heart hammering. How could you possibly cry when he looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world??

If you tell him you look ugly from all the crying, he’s cupping your face in his hands and telling you you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen and kissing you until you admit it.

Kuroo is a business man but he’s also incredibly family oriented and romantic. If he’s really busy and can’t immediately come to your aid, he’s decorating your entire living room later that night. The walls are decked out with blinking Christmas lights and the table littered with your favorite dishes, all ranging from sweet to spicy entrees and desserts. The first thing you notice isn’t the gorgeous decor of your otherwise plain apartment, it’s the dashingly handsome man kneeling in the doorway. In his gloved hands is a bouquet of flowers and in the other a glass of wine, smiling as if to say, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there before but I’m here now.”

His body has to be touching yours. Whether it be his hands on your neck or his legs on your thighs, there has got to be some sort of body heat between the two of you, not that you minded of course.

He’ll also make you a nice up of tea or coffee and offer you a warm blanket for cuddles. If you choose to take him up on his offer, he’s quick to kiss away your tears and burry your head in his chest. Nothing’s more important to him than these moments where he can be your comfort; your rock.

And as much as he hates seeing you cry…there’s something about that vulnerability that makes him feel one with you. Well, that and when he’s literally one with you but yk—

Just an overall sweetheart when he finds you crying to yourself.

“Listen to my heartbeat, love. You hear that? Yeah, that’s the sound of me having a heart attack—don’t ever scare me like that again...you okay now?”

Overall a solid 8.5/10, he’s an amazing cuddle buddy and doesn’t invalidate your feelings but he can’t help but tease you too. It’s nothing major but little condescending jokes here and there end up pissing you off and leaves him in the dog house 🥲

o.t

His very first instinct is to find out what happened.

The second is to stop you from crying—as much as he loves seeing your tears in the bedroom—he can’t stand to see them when you’re upset. It breaks his heart :((

He’d rather see you cry on his cock :(((

He so desperately wants to cry alongside you but he’s too afraid to reveal his vulnerability so he scrunches up his face and hides in your shoulder to conceal his tears. He’ll 100% deny it too if you bring it up.

Actually a huge sweetheart when it comes down to it. He’s tending to your every need, treating you like royalty and even cooking for you!

He would let you do whatever you want. Unlike Tetsuro, Tooru is the kind of comforter that encourages you to do whatever you want to make yourself feel better. Hell, he’ll even join you if you let him. Even if there’s something he’s not particularly fond of, he’s putting his distaste aside and doing it for you 💜

The kind of person to reenact the entire Romeo and Juliet play in the middle of the living room by HIMSELF—or with Iwaizumi—just to make you laugh.

Endless teasing. It doesn’t matter if you’re crying about something serious or something stupid, this dumbass would say the most out of pocket things at the WORST times, sometimes without meaning too.

Would let you braid his hair and do his makeup if you promised not to show anyone. But when he’s not looking, you’d sneakily send filtered pictures to the Argentina group chat.

@OfficialY/N: [[attached an image: 5]]

@OfficialY/N: my boyfriend looks so pretty :)

@TheBestRomero: lmaooooo posting this rn

@OfficialY/N: I—

‘@TheBestRomero tagged @MilkBread and @OfficialY/N in a post!’

@TheBestRomero: Never looked better @MilkBread! Everyone, thank @OfficalY/N for the photo ;)

@OfficialY/N: 🗿

“Y/NNNNNN!!!”

“Shit.”

His own insecurities fuel him. He puts himself down a lot, saying he doesn’t deserve someone like you and often spends his nights away from you crying about it. Instead of going out to celebrate his win with his teammates, he coupes himself up in his hotel room and makes silly little edits of you that no one will ever see. He understands how you feel, more than you ever would know, but he’d never openly confess it. Instead, he uses his insecurities to comfort you. No one could make you feel as warm as he does even if they tried.

Thinks it’s all his fault so he often apologizes on his behalf even if it has nothing to do with him.

This man lives in constant fear that one day you’ll just up and leave him—just like in his last relationship—so he lives everyday reminding you just how much he loves you.

Scatters random love letters and post-it notes around your shared apartment, his favorites being, “I love you my little milk-bread stealer” and “remember when we shared a kiss at the altar? me either, let’s make that memory together :)”

Sends you gifts from his travels. As cliché and romanticized as it is, he’ll write you post cards from wherever he is because sometimes a simple text isn’t enough.

Shyly suggests to take you out on a date to make you feel better. He feels the most vulnerable here so if you decide to tease him a little bit he’s pouting for the rest of the night. It’s 100% worth it though to see this gorgeous man’s plump lips puffed out as he brattily glares at you through his thick eyelashes 😩

If someone hurt you, Oikawa is immediately all over it. He isn’t extremely violent, nor has he ever been, but when it comes to you he’s willing to throw hands with just about anyone. However, if it’s a body builder three times his size, he’ll most likely call up Daichi and Iwaizumi to help him 😅

Checks in on you every so often. Since his job has him overseas a lot, he’s hardly home but he always makes the effort. He catches wind that you’re crying while he’s in Peru? He’s FaceTiming you almost immediately, no matter where he is or what he’s doing. Once he even FaceTimed you in the middle of a preliminary match.

(^We all know that oikawa was single because his ex-girlfriend said he spent too much time playing volleyball so I think he’s extra cautious about his time because he’s so scared that you—the absolute love of his life—is bound to leave him for the same reason. You wouldn’t, of course, but he’s mindful of it regardless 😭)

Hesitantly lays you on his lap, moving slowly to make sure you’re comfortable. If you make no effort to move away, he’ll lean into your touch and rub soothing circles on your shoulders:

Oikawa’s movements are silent. He’s gently pulling the collar of your oversized shirt passed your shoulders and gently pressing his lips against your neck. His kisses are soft, eagerly trying to cover every inch of your skin as you let out shaky sobs.

“It’s okay, beautiful,” he cooes, nuzzling his nose into your hair as his hands run up and down your sides, “I’m here for you. Everything will be alright now, I promise.”

Would definitely stick his tongue out cutely at you, threatening to kitten lick your tears away unless you stop crying. He probably wouldn’t do that because that’s kind of gross but it makes you laugh anyway.

Constant reassurance. He would tell you all the right things to make you feel loved and secure in his warm arms 💕

Posts “my s/o is sad so i am too :(” on his Instagram with a picture of you crying in his lap. Your face isn’t shown in the picture but the way you buried your face into his torso easily gave you away.

^ You’re beating his ass after that.

Depending on how bad you’re crying, Oikawa will either gently hold you in his arms with his fingers gliding through your hair or he’s silently listening to you rant. He might not have the answer to everything but he sure as hell is good at giving advice and listening. He’ll give you everything you need and more.

He even wears the cologne you love so that you can smell it when you cuddle him to sleep.

If he’s home pray to god for mercy 😭 he’s not letting you out of his sight, let alone out of his arms. Much like Kuroo, he has to be touching you. Doesn’t matter where or how, physical contact is an absolute must for you two (it’s his primary love language).

Let’s be honest, this cocky mother fucker would use this as an opportunity to turn you on. Like I said, he loves seeing you cry in the bedroom so once he sees your red eyes, tear-stained cheeks and smudged eyeliner, all blood rushes to his head. He gets so dizzy he physically can’t think of anything else. Once he feels that you’re starting to feel a little better, he’s jumping into action. His hands are snaking from your waist to the inside of your thighs, gently kneading your skin as his hot breath tickles the back of your neck.

“You look so fucking gorgeous when you cry, precious…I wanna see more. What do you say? Will you let me take care of you?”

^🦋🦋🦋

Would 100% send you pictures of cute dogs and himself

If you’re wearing makeup that gets ruined after you’re crying, he’ll touch it up for you as best as he can and if you’re being honest it’s better than what you normally do.

Tries to make you brownies but quickly remembers he doesn’t know how to bake for shit and nearly burns down your kitchen ☺️

Willingly gives you his milk bread in hopes of cheering you up

The kind of man to head to a bakery or flower shop before seeing you, getting you only the best things he could possibly find.

He’s a pretty good listener and would make connections to his own life to let you know that you’re not alone <3

“Please don’t cry, baby, what’s wrong? Want me to run to the store and get you something?”

5.5/10. He’s just too much of a drama queen to handle the situation 100% seriously

Overall an 8/10. He knows when to be serious so when you’re crying about something important, you better believe he’s going to be all over it. There wouldn’t be an ounce of joking or teasing in his voice until he sees a smile on that beautiful face of yours <3 (but then right after he’s back to calling you a crybaby 🗿)

s.k

Immediately panics, no matter how big or small the issue is. He doesn’t even have the gall to hide it, he practically has a mental breakdown in the middle of the living room and asks you what happened and if he needs to get the cops involved. (Sure on the court Suga was the best at keeping everyone calm but what happens when he can’t be calm? All hell breaks loose 💀)

Once he gets over his initial shock, he’s quick to react. He’ll do subtle sweet things like running you a warm bath with aroma therapy or giving you massages with essential oils—anything to keep your mind and body at ease 💕

More times than not, during your bath, he’ll pull up a chair and start scrubbing shampoo into your hair. Even though he’s not a masseuse, he might’ve been in his past life with how perfect his technique is 😩

The kind of man that would make you homemade pastries when you’re sad. Just imagine crying your eyes out in a dimly lit bedroom and Suga comes in with a dopey smile on his face and a plate full of apple flavored cream puffs. What’s better than that??

Would give you one of his hoodies since he knows you love the smell of his vanilla and citrus shampoo.

Professionally sings the song, “under the sea,” from The Little Mermaid. He’ll encourage you to sing with him and if you do, Suga’s heart swells. Doesn’t matter if your voice cracks or if you can’t sing, he just loves the fact you’re trying. (If anyone gets the reference—you’re hot.)

Wouldn’t hesitate to call Daichi if he suspects someone has been harassing you in any way, shape or form:

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Y/N’s crying.”

“Huh?”

“Y/N is crying.”

“Who is—hold on. Is this Sugawara-san?”

“Yeah.”

A sigh could be heard on the other side of the phone.

“…just a minute, I’ll send you over to Daichi-san.”

“Thank you.”

Click.

“Hello?”

“Daichi, Y/N’s crying.”

“…I told you not to call me at work, Suga—”

“But it’s important! I think someone is harassing them! They came home from work and wouldn’t stop crying! I think it has something to do with that bastard Kumura from sales!”

“….the one with the boat?”

“The one with five.”

“Shit,” a lot of rustling and the jangling of keys could be heard, “ETA 10.”

ETA: Estimated Time of Arrival

Makes you rest in bed for days. You developed a small headache from the crying and as soon as you mentioned it to your fiancé, he was immediately treating you like a sick child incapable of taking care of themselves.

Constantly uses pet names like it’s a mantra, so much to the point where you think he might have forgotten your real name.

He’ll even hit up the pretty setter squad to support you. They’ll all make sure you are laughing and smiling in no time! However, if he notices a certain blonde setter getting a little too close to what’s rightfully his, he won’t hesitate to grab you by the waist and establish his boundaries:

“Ooh, a new outfit,” Atsumu hums, gently running his fingers past the light blue material of your shirt, making you jump slightly in surprise. He chuckles, tilting his head to the side and grins cheekily, “hehe sorry, honey. Ya just look real pretty.”

You turn around and take notice of his lingering gaze on your body, making you shake your head and offer him a goofy smile. You were used to the twins’ blatant advances toward you, knowing full well he enjoyed teasing you any chance he got—especially if he found out you were feeling down. In a strange way, it was his way of comforting you.

“Hey ‘sumu,” you laugh sheepishly, taking a small step back from the flirtatious setter’s advances only for him to close the gap again, “how’ve you been?”

“Better now. I finally get to see ya, precious.”

Strike one.

“Precious? Well that’s a new one,” you snort, crossing your arms and keeping your eyes level with his, “where’s your brother?”

Atsumu’s eyes wander from your eyes to your slightly exposed chest right down to your thighs.

Strike two.

“He’s in tha back gettin’ firewood. Wanna go ‘round and see what trouble we can find, sweetheart?”

Strike three.

Suga wastes no time in pushing past his old orange-haired kohai and stalking up to the two of you, having seen the entire interaction before it even began. The blonde setter feels a sudden rush of cold air cascade down his spine but chooses to ignore it, big mistake. Not even a second later, the source of his discomfort is standing right in front of him, grabbing you by the waist and quickly pressing his lips against yours. You jolt, feeling Suga’s tongue prod against your lips as he stares right at you, as if to say, “keep your eyes only on me.”

Yeah, Atsumu left soon after lmao (forgive me—idk how to write the way atsumu talks 😭😂)

Being as artistic and crafty as he is, he attempts to paint a portrait of you. Initially, he was saving it for your anniversary but once he sees the crocodile tears streaming down your face, he decides to give it to you early.

Magic hands. It doesn’t matter where this man touches you, if his hands are anywhere near your body, expect a massage that’ll have you drooling. There’s just something about his soft yet firm touch that makes you fold. It doesn’t help that he knows all the places that make you squirm either.

Would cover your face in cute stickers for no real reason at all. You don’t have kids but because of Koshi’s job as an elementary school teacher, he’ll always have at least a pocketful of cute stickers his kids give him.

Gently pokes you on the side of your stomach, chanting, “negativity begone!”

Says things to himself as if you aren’t in the room. He’ll up and say, “I really wish that my amazing partner was happy! What could I, their oh-so-amazing fiancé, do in this a dire situation!” Which usually ends up with you giggling into his chest.

Makes you tea, coffee, or hot cocoa depending on your preference but is always so extra about it. Your tea would have honey and lemon served with a lemon bar, your coffee would have latte art severed with a slice of toffee cake and your hot cocoa would have marshmallows served with a s’more 💕

Just lays with you until you decide to speak. He’s really considerate of other people’s feelings, especially yours, so he would embrace you in his arms and waits until you’re ready to talk.

Gets his entire elementary class to do something for you. The next day after you’re crying, he’ll tell his kids that you’re not feeling well so he wants them to make something nice for you during arts and crafts time. Expect plenty of cute little hand-drawn cards, necklaces, and macaroni art.

Constant videos of him interacting with the kids. He’ll be dancing with one of the girls, playing catch with one of the boys or even singing with the whole class. It’s the cutest thing ever to see him messing around with them 😭

Just a super considerate sweetheart who holds you on a pedestal.

“Take as long as you need, honey, I’m not going anywhere.”

1000000000/10. I don’t make the rules, he’s the best. No further debate 😭

i.h

Bless it be the lucky son of a bitch that gets to cry into Hajime’s huge, tattooed, biceps 🙏🏻

As soon as Hajime sees your tears it’s all over. He immediately jumps to the conclusion that someone hurt you and unless you tell him otherwise, he’s planning someone’s murder checking in with all your friends and family to see if they know anything.

(Very concerned and devoted husband 10/10)

As soon as he gets an understanding of the situation he approaches you more sensitively, gently asking you what’s wrong while he wipes your tears away. The last thing he’d want to do is make you feel worse of course.

The kind of comforter that’ll load you into his pick up truck and take you out on a late-night drive through the city.

He’ll come home from work ready for a night of classical music and body oil. As much as he refuses to admit it, he loves these moments. The evenings he gets to spend with you, stripped of all clothing, completely and utterly bare to him just so he can take care of you makes him feel whole. The feeling the warmth of your body under his touch gives him reassurance that you’re okay so as much as it helps you it also helps him. (It’s a completely sexless endeavor full of non-sexual love. He’s gently rubbing oil into your tense muscles, just wanting to make you feel better—he’d never take advantage of your vulnerability.)

Hajime’s day job as an athletic trainer requires him to know a lot about the body so the massages he gives you are absolutely mouth watering 😩 (sometimes you even pretend you’re sad just to get a full body massage)

When you look at him with those big, gorgeous, doe eyes of yours—brimmed with tears nonetheless—he swoons. He thinks you’re such a pretty crier and would tell you that without hesitation.

Randomly tapes passive aggressive letters to your bathroom mirror 😭

“Stop crying, you look like a gremlin. Love you ♡”

“Take a shower stinky, you’ve been in bed for days.”

“Idc if you’re sad, you better not watch 90 day fiancé without me.”

^and once he’s done being a little shit 🙄 he’s forcing you to cuddle him on the couch like the huge softie he is 💕

Shyly offers to cook you dinner. The adorable little blush on his tan cheeks as he shuffles into the kitchen wearing nothing but his boxers and a “kiss the cook” apron leaves little to imagination. At that point, you’re hardly crying anymore, all you can think about is how fast you can get him off under those pretty pink ruffles.

Playfully picks fights with you. You’ll have a small stain on your shirt that Hajime notices and he’s teasing you about it 😭 like you’re crying and he’s just like “babe…did you have mochi without me? How could you?” And you’re just there like 🧍‍♀️

His arms. That’s it. That’s your comfort.

Rubs the upper parts of your cheeks with his thumbs, removing the tears from your face before they fall. He hates seeing you cry, it makes him feel like he failed to protect you.

The kind of man that’ll play the song you two danced to at your wedding. The both of you gently swaying to the music as your daughter, Asaka, comes running in, doing her own little dance with her little bunny rabbit 😭

Like Tooru, Hajime will randomly send you selfies throughout the day. Most of them are either really out of focus or just plain dorky but they make you smile nonetheless. (A lot of them are just him flexing in the mirror at the gym)

Gives you his Godzilla™ hoodie then gets mad at you for wetting it 🗿

Takes your daughter out of school early to surprise you at work.

Asks Oikawa to play a few practice matches with you when he’s in town, knowing how much you enjoyed watching the Argentinian play:

“Iwaizumi,” the brown-haired setter rushes off to the side of the court, catching you and your husband laughing at something by the bleachers. It was like high school all over again—the image of young Hajime trying to pick you up in the gym suddenly flashed in his mind.

Both you and Hajime turn.

“Yes, ‘kawa?”

“What’s up, shittykawa?”

Two completely different responses.

“Oh,” Oikawa reels back in embarrassment, cheeks glowing red as his eyes flickered back and forth between you and your husband, “I keep forgetting you two have the same last name. Still haven’t gotten used to it.”

You both share a quick, knowing glance, before bursting out into fits of laughter. That’s right, you remembered, watching Hajime strike up a conversation with his best friend with a look akin to annoyance, you were an Iwaizumi. The realization almost made you start crying again. Almost.

If you have long hair, Hajime is using one of your daughter’s hair ties and putting your hair up in a ponytail so your tears won’t stick to your bangs.

Constantly poking your cheeks. He just loves the feeling of your soft skin in his hands so he’ll knead at the small squish in between his palms until you’re muffling your words. He does this a lot when you’re crying so you stop talking and breathe.

Loads up animal crossing on your matching Nintendo Switches (you both have the limited edition green and blue one) and gives you cute things he finds around his island like white cosmos and blue sea shells 😭 he’s also the kind of person that would spend all day setting up a ocean-side cafe in game to surprise you on a little animal crossing date 🥺💕

^(idk man, the idea of seeing hajime spending hours perfecting the ideal picnic spot has my heart all warm and shit. For reference, your date spots would look something like this 😭😭)

Practically force feeds you if he suspects you haven’t been eating well.

Tickles you 😭 this man would be a menace if he finds you crying. He’s pulling out the “tickle monster” card and chasing your ass around the house until he’s got you trapped underneath him. Your daughter thinks it’s a game and joins him 🗿 the little traitor—

The kind of man who’ll prioritize you above all else. Everything that isn’t you become irrelevant and the only thing on his mind is how he could possibly make you feel better.

“Hey hon, want me to take the day off? We can go to that amusement park you and Asa are always talkin’ about.”

11/10. Hajime just has a comforting aura around him that makes you instantly feel at home. The combination of his biceps wrapped around your waist, his natural scent of oak, and the gentle rain pattering against the hard-panned window is all too perfect 💜

I ran out of ideas lmfao

||Requests Open||

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

LO$ER=?, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Life is just a path and you walk it. Until Jeon Jungkook. He made you run, sprinting through winding side roads and alleys, fighting, bleeding, losing. Your paths split, but life is made of orbits. Now that they have overlapped once more, his hand is fiercely holding yours and he won't let go again. Nothing matters if he's with you. Thus, you run once more, laughing like you've gone mad.

continuation of 0X1=?, m | jjk – click here to read

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of sexual assault (not heavily described, however, please note reader is the victim of said assault); actually predominantly fluff; mentions of previous angst; mentions of physical fighting; smut (fem reader, fingering, cowgirl, scratching / marking, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS - tattooed, previously rich!Jungkook x rebellious!reader (mostly reader's POV, a tiny bit of JK's POV), ft cameo of Kim Taehyung as JK’s best friend and crossover with 'bao, t/m | myg' au

yes, I waited until the TXT's 'LO$ER=LO♡ER' was released to write this XD there's a ton of TXT references as well, enjoy!

--

now playing – LO$ER=LO♡ER by txt

"Jeon Jungkook! Yah! Jeon Jungkook! Come out of that whore's home!"

You were about to remove the groceries from your front seat, but then you stopped at the shouting, peering up at the second story of the apartment complex to see… ah, yes, a young woman yelling at your front doorstep. One look at the imported, Western, black car with heavily tinted windows and you were well aware that the woman in a matching designer two-piece – a ruffled pink suit jacket and flared skirt – complete with immaculately pulled back hair in a half-ponytail must be...

She turned around, fuming, pretty features twisted in rage, and screamed in frustration.

You quickly jerked your head back out of her line of sight and clicked your tongue.

Your boyfriend's ex-fiancé had some lungs on her.

You waited until she finished shrieking like a banshee and peered out to see her spin on her heel and return to pounding on your apartment door with her small, manicured fists. You spotted her beige, black cap-toed slender heels.

Chanel.

Huh.

You stayed in your car.

Reached over to your bag and pulled out the single ice cream you bought to share with Jungkook but, at this rate, you would have to buy another. You pulled off the cap and folded it in half, curving it like a spoon, and began to eat the mango sorbet. Hm, well, it was better this way. Jungkook would probably prefer chocolate or straight up diabetes over mango sorbet.

He would eat pretty much anything though.

You scooped up some of the frigid, melting sweet into your mouth and watched his ex-fiancé shout at no one.

True, you could go up there and throw her down the stairs. But there was something hilarious about this, her beating and howling at your apartment door, completely ignoring the fact that no one was answering it and that she was very clearly causing a public disturbance, all because of her own personal problem.

You glanced up to watch her slide down the door, openly crying now. You pressed the button of your car window to roll it down a crack to listen to her sobbing above you.

"–can't believe you would do this to me... you know I need this marriage... my family's company depends on it..."

You slowed, licking off your makeshift spoon.

"I'll be left with nothing... nothing unless I get married..."

Crocodile tears or not, the woes of the rich did not earn much sympathy with you.

You rolled your window back up, leaving your car on idle for the air conditioning.

It was a mix of previously being constantly berated by Jungkook's wealthy parents that now exiled him over a fucking eyebrow piercing and being a member of the working, lower middle class. For some reason, that latter fact was also offensive to Jungkook’s parents. Everyone was accepting until money got involved. You hummed, eating another scoop. You didn’t like it, but you understood that his parents wouldn’t believe that you have no interest in their money. What you didn't understand was why his ex-fiancé was so hellbent on yelling at your door. From what you could tell, she wasn't ugly. Couldn't she find someone else?

You scraped the last of your small ice cream out and ate it up.

You checked your phone.

Jungkook wouldn't be out of work for at least another three hours. You had found him a job at the local bao shop through your own job as an accountant. You assisted the family in sorting the finances for their small business and personal tax forms. The owner had back surgery and so the daughter had been working there by herself with one other employee that delivered the orders. They wanted to hire another to help with cooking and cleaning, perhaps even open up the front counter again to accept pick-up orders instead of only delivery. However, it was hard to find someone trustworthy and reliable. The best way was through word of mouth.

They won't mind my tattoos?

Whenever I drop by, the delivery guy is wearing a leather jacket, ripped jeans, and has a resting bitch face. You'll be fine. Also, I think the daughter and him are dating.

Jungkook had blinked at you.

You know. In case they disappear for ten minutes, unexplained.

You loved Jungkook's laugh.

He didn't complain or whine for some other job. He only asked when he started and how to get there. You bought him a secondhand bicycle and he was off to work, five to six days a week. Sometimes you would drop him off with your car if was too rainy. Occasionally, when he had to stay late for a large order, the delivery guy would drive Jungkook and his bike back home.

That's how it was here, in the world of everyone else, minus the rich.

The fuck is all this?

Manager gave me a bunch of leftovers. She said I'm a fast learner. Did you know Taehyung stops by there? He's never said shit! He said it was his little secret, that ass–

You smiled as you remembered Jungkook's animated face and annoyance at his best friend for not sharing what he thought was crucial information. Jungkook would speak excitedly, hauling a bag of buns and spilling them over your clean kitchen counter, scrambling to catch them as he explained the different ones to you and how they were made, telling you all the things he was learning and funny stories about customers.

You almost forgot this Jungkook.

It was strange, feeling something after such a long time of feeling nothing, strange to find your time occupied once again by him, when at many times you vowed not to get involved with Jungkook anymore, only for him to show up and make you throw your promises to yourself to the wind, recklessly chasing the anger, wondering, hating, loathing how much you still loved him after he left, recalling him standing there, stone silent as his parents' verbal lashes ripped you to shreds.

You turned the car off, pulling the keys out and pocketing them, not wanting to the drain the battery.

Maybe.

Maybe you were stupid for loving him so much.

Maybe you were as pathetic as the woman up there in some ways.

Then again.

Maybe that was just how everyone lived.

You heard a soft tap by your car window.

You jerked your head to see Jeon Jungkook, in the flesh, peering at you through the glass, clutching his bike. You could see half of his head, short black hair and large, curious brown eyes, nose pressed up to the bottom of your car window. He was wearing his work clothes, light wash jeans and an aqua blue t-shirt, lightly dusted in flour. He pointed up and you noticed his ex-fiancé had switched back to yelling at the door, no longer facing the street.

You shooed him back and opened the car door, eyes wide.

"Why are you home?" you whispered, crouching down to speak to him.

He grabbed your hand, gasping as he gripped it. You shivered at the coldness of his fingers, but there was a warmth in between your and his frozen palms, melting each other.

"Oh, shit, your hand is so cold!"

"So is yours!"

"I was biking! My hands get cold from the wind. What's your excuse?"

You held up the empty mango sorbet container in your other hand, shifting your eyes guiltily.

"And you didn't share?!" Jungkook hissed, his windswept hair giving him a fierce appearance, dismay clear in his glistening dark brown orbs despite trying to sound angry.

You spied his other hand on his bike. There was a large, wrapped bandage on his left forearm. You ticked your chin towards it, furrowing your brows. "What happened?"

"Ack, I burned myself and manager-nim told me to go home early. I told her I could still work, but there were only a few hours left and it seemed like she wanted to be alone with Yoongi-hyung..."

You raised your eyebrows.

"What are they gonna do, bonk in the kitchen?"

"You wouldn't want to bonk me in the kitchen?"

You grinned at him and Jungkook grinned back, eyebrow piercing flashing in the sun.

"JEON JUNGKOOK!"

"Oh shit–"

You scrambled out of your car, locking it, slamming the door as the young woman wailed his name and pointed at you and him, furiously wiping her tears.

"You bitch! How dare you take him from me! He was mine! I had him wrapped around my finger!" She hiked up her skirt and swiftly power-walked to the stairs, looking back to yell more at you as Jungkook placed his bicycle down. "He would do anything for me!"

You raised your eyebrows, again.

Jungkook yanked on your t-shirt sleeve, ushering you to get on the bike with him.

"Doesn't seem like it!" you called back casually, chucking your trash at her, causing the empty ice cream container to smack her in the shoulder and roll across the sidewalk.

"You–"

You cackled and got on the bike, hooking your arms around Jungkook's shoulders and adjusting your feet as she stomped up to you two, conventionally attractive features contorted in rage.

"He was my dog!"

Your eye twitched.

"You were gonna marry a freak who was into bestiality? No wonder you left," you remarked, patting him on the chest as Jungkook burst out laughing, loud and rich, shaking his head.

"You can't do this to me, Jungkook! You can't leave me with that other guy!"

You felt it.

Pause.

You felt Jungkook stiffen under your hands and you turned yourself, hearing the helpless plea in her voice now, throwing herself to the ground, designer knees in common dirt, anguish on her face, tears streaming down her made-up cheeks, sniffling hard, and, with your breath lodged in your throat, you realized she was restraining her pained sobs, so trained in maintaining appearances that it seemed like she couldn’t even cry properly in front of others.

"You can't... you know how they are... I can't marry him, you saw what kind of man he is... that's the whole reason I tried to find another husband..."

There was no more anger in her voice, only fear and dread, and you didn't understand, and yet you could for some reason, for some reason you could see it as if it was tangible, the realness in her enigmatic words. Jungkook's hands tightened on the handlebars of the bicycle, his knuckles turning white, tense shoulders under your arms, and for a second, a moment, an instant...

You thought he might go back.

"You should run."

The crying woman on the ground lifted her head, hiccupping, cheeks blotchy pink, still somehow beautiful.

"W-What?"

Jungkook turned his head and looked down at her. "You should run away, like I did. Find someone who actually loves you. Getting married to me will only make both of us miserable, even if it saves you from that other guy."

She looked from you to him, and you recognized that look in her eyes, jealousy and envy, but not directed at you. It was directed at the warmth between the coldness of his hands and yours, directed at the orbits of his and yours finally overlapping, meeting in the vastness of space once more, his zero and your zero becoming one, not you, but his ability to throw everything away, his wealth, his comfort, the world he knew, all for a feeling she had yet to feel.

"What... what if I can't?" she asked weakly. "What if I can't find what you have?"

Jungkook lifted his foot off the asphalt and placed it on the pedal. He raised his head, and you found his eyes on yours for a brief moment before casting them back down to his ex-fiancé.

"Then keep running. It's better than being married to him, right?"

He began to turn the handles, about to pedal away.

She screamed after him, words choked with agony.

"Love won't solve our problems, Jungkook!"

You held on tight, chest to his back, fingers clutching in Jungkook's shirt, nose in his hair, his warmth under your cold hands.

"It won't!" he yelled over his shoulder, gaining speed with a grin. "But it sure as hell makes the problems worth shouldering!"

-

“Hey! Get back here!”

You snickered and chucked the plastic bag into the basket connected to the bicycle, jumping on quickly, pedaling away as Jungkook ran after you at top speed, breathless and laughing, his black hair flying back, aqua shirt molding to his muscular chest, long legs sprinting after you and the bike, your grinning face looking back periodically to catch his smile, going not too fast, but still fast enough so he couldn’t quite catch up. Golden hour brought out the tan on his skin and his high cheekbones, both of you tearing out of the gas station at high speed, drawing stares and shaking heads, but neither of you noticed or cared, his booming voice calling your name and you sticking your tongue out at him childishly.

“Watch out!”

You jerked aside and sped past a group of five young men with skateboards, two with shorter black hair, one with long black hair and white highlights, one with ash gray hair, and one platinum blond, all very tall, but you didn’t have time to stop and stare at the impressive height of them, turning into a side alley towards to the creek nearby, avoiding pedestrians, Jungkook following close behind until you got to your destination, grabbing the plastic bag in the basket and throwing the bike down, cackling as Jungkook snatched you from the air, his heart racing against your back as you kicked the air, him still somehow effortlessly carrying you despite sprinting so hard, panting into your hair.

“Get off!”

But instead of letting you go, Jungkook held on tighter, fierce kisses into your neck, wiping his sweat all over you and making you cringe amidst your laughter. It was already late, the sun dipping into the horizon, slowly taking its warmth with it. Water trickled meekly down the creek, barely coating the rock bottom due to the hot summer.

“Stop, stop, the ice cream is melting,” you finally gasped out, shoving Jungkook aside, wiping your neck with the back of your hand, pretending to be disgusted, but Jungkook just grinned and seized your cheeks, pressing his lips against yours.

“I love you,” he breathed.

“Ack, I love you too, fuck, get off–”

-

You two sat on the swings of the empty playground, watching the sun disappear, eating ice cream with the lids of the containers. As predicted, Jungkook got the chocolate that seemed to have everything in it but the kitchen sink. You, on the other hand, got red bean this time.

“Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

He looked up from his ice cream, shoving a large lidful into his mouth.

It was strange how beautiful he looked, even with his black hair sticking up every which way, his cheeks filled with the frozen sweet, the faint rays of sunlight catching the silver of his jewelry – eyebrow piercing, earrings, silver chain around his neck with the compass star pendant – all paired with his oversized aqua blue t-shirt and baggy jeans, still with bits of flour on his thighs from work.

“What did that man do to her?”

A darkness clouded his features even though he tried to hide it from you with a neutral expression.

“Ah… He just… Just wasn’t really the kind of guy who thought of women as people,” Jungkook finally got out, looking away from you. “You know, the kind of guy you really hate.”

“That’s you,” you joked.

“I know I can’t do anything,” Jungkook continued, ignoring your quip and you suddenly regretted it, seeing the way he lowered his hands, exhaling slowly. “I am not responsible for anyone else’s behavior but my own.”

Come crawling back to me on your knees when she reaffirms to you that I'll be the best fuck you'll ever have.

She'll never make you feel as good as I can make you feel.

Enjoy your piranha.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook looked up at your sudden declaration.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, coughing awkwardly. “I’m sorry for saying the things I said about her.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t be. Just because she was in a shit situation doesn’t excuse her for being a shit person.” He shoved the lid into the empty ice cream container and rubbed the back of his neck, pushing his hair back with a sigh. “Just like how it doesn’t excuse me from being a shit person for what I did to you.”

His eyes shifted away.

“You don’t have to–”

“Yeah, I do,” he muttered, cutting you off. “I’m a fucking loser.”

The streetlights began to turn on, but no one was in a place like this, two adults in a place for kids, stuck wondering what adulthood was supposed to feel like because it still felt like an endless cycle of forever learning and forever running, wandering to find out what the finish line meant.

“I wasted time you can’t get back and I will spend the rest of my life chasing the time I wasted.”

Jungkook sucked in a shuddering breath, hand falling from his hair, rueful smile on his face.

“I can only hope you can put up with me for so long.”

You blinked slowly.

He turned his head, brown eyes finding yours, those irises catching the streetlights like how his jewelry had caught the sun, proving that Jeon Jungkook was, indeed, already adorned with nature’s very own jewelry.

You scooped out the last of your red bean ice cream and ate it, looking away from him.

“Sounds like forever,” you remarked, feeling the chilled sweet cool your heated cheeks, swallowing slowly, savoring the way the cold warmed you in its own way.

“Hm?”

“Sounds like I’m stuck with you forever then,” you said, turning back to him with a smirk. “Kinda sucks.”

He smirked back, cocking an eyebrow. “Yeah. Major suck. Speaking of my dick–”

“Oh, shut up.”

But you said it with a smile and he knew you didn’t mean it.

-

“Why the fuck do you have that?”

“It’s from work. Gimmie your arm.”

“Why?”

You extended your arm, frowning, stopping under the streetlight, one hand on the bike as Jungkook held the black permanent marker with his right hand. He used two fingers to uncap it and tucked the lid neatly into his palm, spinning the marker with the adjacent two fingers to readjust it so that he could write on your arm.

“Do you wanna get a tattoo with me?”

“Of what?”

You looked down to him scribbling on your skin, his own black tattoos standing out, covering his entire right arm and up to his shoulder. You wondered if he would end up tattooing his back and maybe his other arm – but, then again, he kind of needed money to have pay for such large pieces.

“Couples tattoo.”

You looked down when he drew back, grinning, reading the word upside down.

LO♡ER

You raised an eyebrow.

“You want to get ‘lover’ tattooed?” you asked, skeptical, turning your arm this way and that, unsure if you liked the placement on your forearm, near your wrist. “You don’t have any space on your right arm anyway.”

“That’s why I would get it on my left.”

And he curved his wrist to write on the bandage on his left forearm, messily writing on top of it.

LO$ER

Now you raised both eyebrows.

“You want to get… ‘loser’ tattooed onto your body?” you snorted disbelievingly.

Jungkook grinned, recapping the black marker with one hand, tapping the dollar sign on the bandage with the marker lid. “Doesn’t it describe me? ‘Cause I had money, and now I don’t.” He pointed to the heart on your skin. “You love me. I love you. A lover with a dollar sign is a loser, right?”

Laughter and skateboards sped past, five blurs of black along the street, spinning around the parked cars, people yelling after them to stop being so reckless, but you were too busy staring at Jungkook to notice the ruckus, too busy staring at that smile and those brown orbs lit up by streetlights.

“Are you stupid?”

Jungkook’s grin widened, mole underneath clearly visible. “Yeah, kind of. Stupidly in love with you.”

You both instantly pretended to gag, trying to mask your smiles, you shoving him and him shoving back, playful and laughing like mad, falling into him, dropping the bike with a loud clang, swept up in his arms and his kiss, your hands hooking behind his neck, love you, love you, love you, not sure about this whole tattoo idea, but, hell, maybe, just maybe if he annoyed you enough about it.

-

Shit, the groceries...

Are they still good?

The green onions look kind of wilted, but so do you and you're still good... I think.

Shut up.

You didn't need him, but being without him was like being frozen in time.

Not that you had any big dreams or aspirations anyone could be envious about. It always been like that, casually cruising through life, existing for the sake of existing, no real reason needed. It just was, and there was no reason to stop, so you kept going. The path was there, so you kept walking.

But, then.

Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook made you run.

It's not washing off.

Tragic.

Easy for you to say, you wrote yours on your bandage, 'loser'.

So terrible that you have 'lover' written in you by your lover - hey, pfft, stop! Put the showerhead down!

It was truly by chance to meet him, a moment of terror and then he was there, yelling, get off her, don't fucking touch her, and you didn't understand, didn't understand why some random guy would suddenly intervene between an interaction of two strangers, how could he sense your discomfort and fear, and now he was throwing fists, brawling with not one but three guys, friends of the one who slipped his phone and his hands under your skirt, the stranger smashing the phone with venomous rage, fighting in a dress shirt, slacks, leather loafers, and expensive-looking rings, giving you a chance to escape.

A winner at life.

Not like you, you who let something happen because you froze up in that second, disbelieving that such a thing could happen to you, a nobody, a loser.

He kicked one of them in the knee, growling, a howl followed by the sharp crack during the fight.

You could turn and escape.

Or?

You heard sirens.

You grabbed your protector's flying fist and clenched into it tightly, panicking.

Run!

This was before the tattoos.

This was before the pain.

This was before the piercing.

Jeon Jungkook had whipped his head around at the foreign touch, in this mess because he had witnessed something disgusting and because he simply wanted to fight, just wanted to beat someone up, wanted to cause real pain to someone because he couldn't control his own life, wanted to fight something.

Needed to fight.

A hand around his hand.

Run!

Never once had Jungkook thought about escape.

Not until he saw that face, fear and panic and rage and determination, stunningly beautiful, hand around his hand, not letting go, pulling, sirens screaming in the distance, his legs already moving, following, running, running, running, into the sea of the unknown.

Sinking into it.

Lungs screaming, clumsily flying through alleys, on wings of adrenaline, running after the girl in the white hoodie and red plaid skirt holding his hand, falling, falling, falling, skidding across the concrete, her arms around his, her head buried into his chest, his hands around her head to protect it, hitting a dumpster with a pained wheeze.

The sirens sped past.

He was holding her and she was holding him.

It was chance.

Just chance.

His hands were scraped up, bleeding from the trip and tumble, her white hoodie dirtied and ripped from the fall, scrapes on her legs and knees.

I'm sorry...

It was ridiculous chance.

Just ridiculous.

You clung to this stranger and laughed, laughed like a maniac, laughed like you had gone mad, crying into his dirty navy dress shirt, thank you, thank you, thank you, not knowing you were holding the one who would make you run, not knowing who or how affluent he was, now knowing of how it felt to hold his hand and kiss his lips and hear his laugh, not knowing how you would introduce him to a friend who was a tattoo artist and start his interest in them, not knowing you would sit by him for long hours and watch the art grow on his skin...

Holding him, crying, thank you, thank you, thank you for saving me, leaning against a dumpster as the stranger hugged you tightly, I got you, it's okay, don't cry, don't cry, don’t cry please, rubbing your back.

Not knowing.

Not knowing he would make you zero, not knowing you would be standing there, time and time again, verbally beaten by his own parents as he looked away, unable to fight.

And you would escape.

You would run.

He would come back.

An endless cycle until you broke it.

Then he started the endless cycle again, broken as it was, his whispers to your cheeks, I love you, cheeks that were dried of tears because you were cried out and left with a mechanical heart, I love you, heart to heartless because of wasted time, I love you, time wasted but you still loved him, no matter what you did.

Did that make you pathetic?

Did that make you stupid?

Did that make you the loser?

I love you.

Why did it matter?

Even winners die.

I love you too, Jungkook.

"Get your hands off my tits."

"Why?"

You glared at him. Jungkook grinned and spun you around, hair still a little damp, kisses on your face that made you cringe as your naked bodies tumbled on the bed, him doing it on purpose, your grumble against his kisses, should have known, his smirk against your scowl, thought you knew me well by now, capturing his lips to shut him up, sinking into his arms and the ocean that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you want to run through the maze of life instead of aimlessly walk down the path.

His hands on your face, staring into your eyes.

You looked back, into those eyes that once had everything, but you.

And yet, he chose to lose it all and have nothing, but you.

It didn't really make sense, being in love.

You searched for regret, but there was none to be found.

"Am I forever your waste of time?" Jungkook whispered, breath drifting over your lips.

You smirked.

"Always was and always will be."

I know you said I was a waste of time. But I was your waste of time and that was all I ever wanted to be.

"Let me at least..."

"Ah, f-fuck, Jungkook!"

Your hands faltered a little, rolling the condom down while biting your lip, gasping as his two fingers plunged into you, him moaning at the wetness, thrusting slowly and deeply.

"What, you think I can't feel good with only your dick?"

"No," Jungkook snickered, pulling his slick fingers out of your pussy and bringing them to his face, cocking an eyebrow. "Just want a taste."

You rolled your eyes as he shoved his fingers into his mouth, sucking them off, eyelids fluttering.

"You're so annoying."

He grinned around his fingers, slowly pulling them out and tracing his wet lips.

You narrowed your eyes.

You don't have to take me back. I understand now, you know... I get it. Everyone... everyone will tell you you're crazy and to not to take me back.

I'm not taking you anywhere.

I... I wouldn't blame you. I promise.

Jungkook, please, shut the fuck up.

Your hands on his chest, smacking your hips down, his head thrown back on the pillows, breathless moan at your tightness, matching his sound with your own, stretching yourself out and feeling him swell even more at the pulse of your walls wrapped around him, rolling your hips into his, wet, intense smacks, his right hand flying up and wrapping around your left wrist, watching you through his lashes with effort, losing himself in your pace, no need to ask because you could see it in his face, his open mouth and glazed over eyes, fingers slipping down, curling your nails into his skin.

“P… Please…”

Raking your nails down his chest, his back arching and eyes closing, groaning in pleasure and pain, fucking him into your mattress so hard that the bedframe squealed, setting your jaw and closing your eyes too, savoring his fullness and thickness, sinking into the ocean of pleasure that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you feel like no one else, the one who could make and unmake your mechanical heart, funny how that worked, your nails in his skin creating crescents of lust, your eyes snapping open as you felt his chest rise, his back arching, his hands flat on the bed and thrusting his hips up into you, one eye partly open, black hair pushed back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips.

That dark brown orb partly obscured by his lashes, but revealing all to you.

You ticked your chin at him.

“Look at me.”

His eyes fully opening, pupils dilated, hazed over with lust and stubborn love.

“Nothing is more important to me than loving you,” he panted before sinking his teeth into his lower lip, mole underneath flashing, smacking his hips up into yours hard and fast, and it took no time at all, staring at his face and the way the moonlight cradled his strong jaw and toned muscle, catching the low light and bringing out the fervor in his gaze, filling you just right, pleasure blossoming from your core and yet concentrated tightly at the same time, moan of his name falling from your lips, spilling out from your lips and in between your legs, covering him with the sweet scent and harsh squeezes of orgasm, even wetter now, his eyes rolling back, cock twitching, satisfied hiss of your name spilling out with spurts of cum filling the condom, his length shivering inside you, your thighs closing in and holding him in the air so you could feel it all.

His pleasure and him.

I won’t make it to heaven. I don’t belong there.

It’s not like I belong there either, Jungkook.

Are you sure? Only an angel would take me back.

I didn’t take you back. Only your body walked away. Your heart never left me, did it?

“You sure you don’t want to get a couples tattoo with me?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around how your dumb ass wants to get ‘loser’ tattooed and how you think that’s romantic.”

He pressed his right forearm against your left and grinned, watching you suck in a breath as he pushed into you again, other condom already in the trash, new one on, your right leg against his chest, sandwiched between your bodies.

“But yeah, if you want, I’ll get a ‘lover’ tattoo.”

He paused, blinking rapidly. “Really?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Why not?”

“You never wanted a tattoo before.”

Now you raised both eyebrows. “Did you ever ask me before?”

Jungkook looked down at you, hair a mess, smile blossoming on his face, somewhere between giddiness and mania, diving down and showering you with kisses, you smacking his arms and telling him, you’re bending me in half, the fuck are you doing, and he laughed, lifting both your legs now, I’ll show you bent in half, placing them between his arms, leaning down, sinking in as deep as possible, your moan and his moan mixing together.

You’re still here.

Of course, I am, this is my fucking apartment. Ugh, your black eye looks even uglier than before.

You don’t… you don’t want me to leave?

Did I say that? Uh… why are you crying?

F… Forget I said a-anything…

Hey, stop. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Jungkook, please…

“Fuck, you feel so good, fuck…!”

Your hands in his hair, teasing grin on your face, and he was looking down at you, I love your smug smile, fuck, your fingers combing through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face, letting him see your smug smile without any obstructions, you always fuck me so well, Jungkook, the smile breaking out over his handsome features, breathing erratic and labored, hard and rough and deep, you rising your hips to meet him for every loud smack, exhales and moans blending together, tight, wet, full, your grip on his hair tightening, closer, closer, racing to the edge of the cliff and the edge of the world, Jungkook in your hands, taking him with you, or was he the one who was leading you?

“Jungkook…”

Breathless as if you were running, winded from the pleasure, tightening around him, his head lowering, your name washing over your cheeks in a hot gasp, putting more weight on you, nearly folded in half but it felt better this way, gratifying in how hard he could fuck you in this position, staring into those dark brown orbs, his body on yours, knowing he was yours, always was, always will be, and you were his, always was, always will be.

Head pressing into the pillows, moaning his name again, loud and unashamed, the overwhelming feeling taking over, muscles tense and nerves on fire, pouring it all into the pleasure, pulsing around his jerking length, his moan of your name on your skin, shooting shivering strings of cum into the condom, massaged and milked by the strength of your orgasm, locking him in your embrace and his arms closing in, lips on lips, a fierce kiss dominated by shuddering aftershocks, trembling in each other’s hold and taking the other’s breath away, blazing hot all over even though this frozen world cared about no one.

The kiss lasted a long, long time.

It fell apart slowly, leaving you both lightheaded from the intensity.

“You’re a waste of time, Jungkook,” you whispered, heated. “But you’re my time.”

The side of his lips quirked upward, sweaty, panting, chuckling.

“That’s all I ever wanted to be.”

--

masterpost

[thejudgingtrash]

11. “...did you just sniff me?” for percabeth pretty please 🙏🤍🤍🤍

Heya! I’m finally here to come back to this request 😄😄 It took me only a little bit in comparison to other requests, but I'm here!

Also since @percyheartsannabeth, @skaterannabeth and @not-optimistic-petrol-biscuit had asked about fluff. Here you go... Kinda? 😬 Anyway. Here's a monster sneak peek into may I introduce you to my beloved wife? 😋

It took me all day yesterday, but I managed to pump out 11k words. That's a record for a single session in one day (with like two breaks). And yes, that is still not the entire chapter. Here are roughly 9,2k for you to consume!

TW: alcohol, overbearing relatives not minding their own business, a tiny section talking about domestic abuse and Athena and Frederick Chase ain't shit but that's nothing new. Poseidon too, for once. Enjoy!

may I introduce you to my beloved wife?

(*absolutely not proof-read, my bad)

Annabeth sighed. You can do this. You can do this. You’ve already finished the week. Think about the money. Think about the move to California. Push through this day and next week, think about the money and the minute you’ll hand your termination in. She wanted to splash some water up her face, but the makeup that tinted her lips in a luscious rose and added some bronze to her high cheekbones was too expensive to be washed off and hastily reapplied.

It was pre-Dionysus Day, which meant it was merely the calm before the storm. The first sparkling sip of an impending disaster waiting to rollover the roomy Greek villa Percy forced her to stay in. Well not really forced. Forced and bribed her to stay in. That made it sound slightly better. Just think of the one-hundred seventy-five dollars he’s going to transfer into your bank account for your new start in California. I should renegotiate. California is also expensive. Make it two-hundred fifty thousand.

The tall blonde looked at her reflection in the mirror. A young woman full of life was the first thing she had seen in the morning but now she looked tired and annoyed, just how she felt. Something crashed in one of the dozens of rooms next to her and people laughed. Annabeth sighed again. It was the only thing she could do, otherwise she would scream like a banshee, making sure that at least Hermes and Prometheus would check her, if it wasn’t for Percy stuffing socks into her mouth to make her shut up before they got to her. The majority of his Greek relatives had been lovely if not terribly nosy and overbearing. It was the opposite of her family. His was warm and chaotic and for the most part welcoming. Hers? Cold, apathetic, disapproving of everything she did. She had no family in comparison, and neither would she want to compare this wholesome messy bunch to the cold-hearted Athena Pallas and the monster that was Friedrich Chase.

Annabeth respected Hera and Hestia, she definitely side-eyed Aphrodite who was cheating on her husband and she would definitely stay away from Zeus. Crossing paths with him occasionally in the New York office of Atlantic INC. was terrible, seeing him openly be flirty and loosen up during a forced trip was way worse.

This was a bad idea and I have a terrible feeling about this. The burgundy wrap dress that hugged her skin was soft and light but in the Thessalian heat it felt like a sticky cocoon caging her. She wasn’t a beautiful butterfly, ready to burst out and wow everyone. Neither was she a moth drawn to a flame. She was a bug that had been sprayed by Percy with a pesticide, wrapped in toxic chemicals which were slowly dissolving her body, piece by piece.

A knock shoved the horrendous image inside of her head aside. “Yes?” she asked with a firm voice. Too firm with a hint of annoyance, but she was not a professional actress and could not switch her emotions off as she pleased. She was a junior marketing manager for Christ’s sake. Not for much longer. Only two more months…

Percy opened the door. “Are you ready?“ he asked with his usual pleasant baritone reaching her ear.

He wore light linen pants that hugged his legs loosely and a light blue shirt with the first buttons opened up. She could see his defined chest and the swirls of black hair peeking through. The hair was styled into a disheveled curly mess which suited him way better than the gelled back corporate look and he forgot to trim his beard like the day before. Annabeth couldn’t deny what she saw – her tormentor was a very attractive man.

“Do you want to bail?” His sea-green eyes darkened a shade. Worry flashed through them.

Annabeth exhaled sharply for the last time. “I wish I could but then I’d leave you without a fiancé,” she smiled through the pain.

Her glance found her reflection again. The topknot was still intact, and a few strands carefully framed her heart-shaped face. She looked perfect on the outside and she wanted to commit manslaughter in the inside.

“Let’s get over with it,” Percy sighed and stretched his hand out. It seemed like Percy was the one that would rather bail.

Annabeth took it without any complaint. She was the happy girlfriend soon-to-be-wife and holding hands was way better than being forced into kissing him during Sports Day. The Theodoropoulos family truly had planned activity after activity during those two weeks in winter.

“Oh!” Sally peeked into the bathroom and saw her son holding Annabeth’s hand.

“There you are! Is everything okay, mija?” she asked with her sweet Dominican accent and looked at Annabeth.

Annabeth automatically smiled back. Sally was the mother she never had, and it broke her heart crumble by crumble by the sheer charade Percy and she were forced to display for the next six days. Sally Jackson deserved the best. She certainly didn’t deserve being deceived and lied to by her terrible son and his tag-a-long coworker.

“Yes, Percy was just making sure we’re arriving on time.” Annabeth got on her toes and placed a soft kiss on Percy’s stubbled cheek. It tickled but by now she had gotten used to it.

He rolled his eyes, smiled at his mother, nonetheless. Sally’s eyes sparkled and she clapped, clutching her hands tightly. “You don’t know how proud you’re making me, mijo,” she then said teary-eyed.

“You finally found a great girl and she is standing next to you.” Sally wiped a tear away and the awful feeling that sat on Annabeth’s chest and made everything heavier, amplified by a thousand times.

This was way worse than being referred to as the woman that would bear him three to five children presuming with the first one sired on this current vacation by Ares. Yes, Annabeth wanted two children at max, but not definitely now. She was twenty-eight and in the prime of her life! Note: Percy would certainly not be the father of said two children. Unruly blond waves and a mischievous grin blitzed through her head. Pale blue eyes came back from the deepest pit of her memory. Luke. Fuck no, that was even worse than Percy. His betrayal… Annabeth tried to shake the memory off and focused on the ongoing situation in front of her.

Sally truly hoped her son found love and not a quick fling. Oh shit, Annabeth thought and looked up to Percy whose face expressed similar thoughts. His conscience nibbled and guilt flooded his body.

“Mamá,” Percy began and released Annabeth’s hand in order to grasp the older woman’s shoulder.

Sally brushed his large hands off. “No, no! Off you go! You younglings should be downstairs celebrating your reunion with the entire side of Poseidon’s family.”

Annabeth appreciated the fact that Sally was invited and flown out each winter holiday by the Theodoropoulos’. Despite having been divorced from Poseidon for over twenty years, she was still a popular and welcomed guest, not just because of her son’s attachment to the Greek side and his tied division of the Greek family company.

Sally gave each of them a last smile before entering the women’s bathroom. Percy exhaled and pinched his nose. After ten seconds he released the nose and looked back at Annabeth. “Ready?” he asked a final time. Annabeth nodded.

The loud singing, yelling and talking that had been muffled by the bathroom hit her by a tenfold. The place had all the Mamma Mia vibes without the fun singing four days ago. Not anymore, as drunk relatives hit up the shore with loud music and talked loudly in their Pontic Greek dialect.

As the couple descended the stairs and walked through the parlor, a new wave of guests arrived at the same time. Three people that have just entered early adulthood looked up to them. Two men, one blond with a stoic face and bronzed skin, the other was shorter with spiky black hair and a beautiful grin on his lips. The woman next to him was the tallest out of the trio and possessed a high ponytail that would leave Ariana Grande dying out of envy. The dyed lilac hair swung around and nearly reached the middle of her thighs, meaning the hair was even longer without its tight prison on top.

“Thanatos, Zagreus, Megaera!” greeted Percy and gave each one of them a rib crushing bear hug. They looked pleasantly surprised at seeing Percy being accompanied by a pretty woman his age. It seems like the proposal didn’t reach all of the ends of the Greek world.

They fell into a short conversation in Greek and Annabeth smiled politely next to Percy as she fell entirely out of place. The evil Duolingo owl didn’t prepare her for this experience. Neither did her mother bother teaching her at least their Athenian dialect properly. She could introduce herself in Greek, order a beer, say goodbye and that was it. Thank you, Athena. For nothing again.

“Oh, you must be Annabeth,” Megaera eyed her carefully and Annabeth had the feeling that she could split her open with her hands. Weirdly enough, Annabeth was kind of into it. Megaera wasn’t only as tall as Percy but she was clearly the one with the toughest workout regimen as she displayed her muscular legs and defined arms with a short cocktail dress only a few shades darker than her hair.

“Yes,” Annabeth squeaked. She nearly added a ma’am towards the end. Megaera cocked her dark eyebrow. She had an aura that demanded respect.

“Interesting to see the woman who captured Perseus’ heart. It seems that he did develop a good taste after all. Calypso was as pretty as the crescent moon flower but sadly as dull as his corny jokes are.” Megaera’s deep smirk was a stamp of approval as her eyes roamed all over Annabeth.

“Hey!” Percy interrupted and placed a firm hand on Annabeth’s waist, as if he was trying to mark his territory.

“You have your own toys right to your right,” he then added with a playful tone.

Megaera actually laughed and waved dismissively. “That doesn’t mean there isn’t room for more.” A clear offer which left Annabeth’s face turn into a fiery tomato red.

“Anyway, we have some catching up to do,” Thanatos proposed as Zagreus and he silently watched the conversation blossom. He sounded as reserved as he looked.

“Indeed,” Zagreus agreed, surprising Annabeth with a posh English accent. “Father will murder me if we miss out on his moussaka. It’s to die for you need to try it, Annabeth, at least before Hephaestus gets ahead of himself.”

Annabeth laughed. The Theodoropoulos did have their positives. “I will, Zagreus,” she nodded.

“Oh please, if aunt Sally gave her go for you to stay here, you’re as good as family. We’re Than, Zag and Meg for you,” Zagreus offered.

“Annabeth is already my nickname but thank you for the kind offer!”

The three new guests went on to join relatives and friends at the party which seemed to get more chaotic by each passing minute as the volume seemed to increase.

“My cousin Zagreus from my uncle Hades’ side,” Percy explained as the three went out of his sight.

“Are they friends? Or…”

“Pretty sure they’re polyamorous. You know, I don’t know, and I honestly don’t really care, I see Zag once every twelve months at max. Just don’t stick to Meg’s side for too long otherwise she’ll turn you into her fiancé.” Percy’s tone suggested that he was not joking.

“Oh.” Annabeth didn’t know what to think of it.

Percy closed his eyes as if he was making a silent prayer, before his sea-green met Annabeth’s light gray ones. She smelled like lemon with a hint of lavender, instead of roses like normally. Delicious. If it weren’t for the fact that it was Annabeth.

“So, listen. You know I’ve talked about Dionysus Day and how his birthday brings out the worst side of everyone.”

Annabeth nodded as Percy went on to explain.

“Pre-Dionysus Day is basically same with the only exception that my great-grandmother’s house is filled with the entire family. Yes, we’re expected to eat, drink, laugh, drink, dance, drink, reminisce on our past, drink, make fools out of ourselves in order for them to take blackmail pictures and drink some more, but no matter how much they want you to open up… try to control yourself. Everything you say can and will be used against you.”

Annabeth’s stomach started to churn, and her knees slightly gave in. “Look, I’m truly sorry for the mess that I’ve caused,” Percy looked directly into her eyes and tried to ignore the rosy streaks across her flushed cheeks. “And my relatives can be overbearing. But if we manage to stick through this night and the next one tomorrow, we’re as good as done with playing games.”

“Fine,” Annabeth gritted through her teeth. She had agreed to the terms and condition. She didn’t need a reminder of the stupid decision she made two months ago.

“Let’s go.”

She placed her hand on the doorknob that separated the parlor from the huge living room. Percy followed her as she opened the door. A wave of laughter, wine, ouzo, discovered secrets, cigarettes, sweat and fun hit them.

“Oh wow, someone should open a window.” Percy suggested as he coughed. Luckily cousin Metis had the same idea. No, aunt Metis. Or was it Thetis? Why did Percy need to have so many relatives with similar names again?

“Oh, Annabeth, look at you!” Aphrodite had snuck up behind them and surprised the fake couple by hugging each of them and nearly spilling the expensive Greek vintage in her hand on Percy’s shirt. The red alcoholic liquid carelessly swirled in her glass and more than often seemed to want to escape from her clutch.

“Aphrodite, be careful!” Percy reminded her as she dug her fingers into his arm. Her nails were as fake and bought as was the bond between Annabeth and Percy.

“Oh, please cousin, you should learn how to loosen up!” She laughed, but it sounded more like the shrill sound a bird made when it got nearly hit by a car. The high pitch made Annabeth slightly frown.

“Take your girl upstairs and show her all the Zorbas moves you got!” She wiggled her badly overdrawn eyebrows.

Aphrodite had always been the poster child of perfection. She knew how to dress her curvaceous body the right way, she knew how to apply the perfect touches of makeup on her face and she was the most graceful being Annabeth had ever met. Seeing her so disheveled left the blonde American content. It showed that Aphrodite wasn’t one of the gods, she was a mortal mess like they all were. That, and it was kind of funny seeing the abrupt transition from oozing perfection to looking like a rough mess after a couple of glasses of wine.

“If you know what I mean, you two know what I mean, right?”

“Yes,” Annabeth and Percy answered. Unfortunately, they did.

“That reminds me, this is such a pretty dress that you got!” Aphrodite’s eyes widened and she tugged at Annabeth’s sleeve that went slightly over her elbows. “Percy needs to bring me a couple of those the next time he visits. Oh wait! You’re about to marry, Annabeth can take me shopping. I want to visit New York next summer. When was your wedding again?”

Panic filled Annabeth she tried to stutter a lame excuse like they had done the entirety of the stay. Aphrodite’s brown eyes found something else to focus on in the meantime. Her hand went out to poke the tall blonde’s chest as she went on to pull on the thin fabric.

“You should show the men what you got! Free the girls!” Aphrodite yelled over the loud music, pushing Annabeth’s C cup to its limits. “Let Percy stand in the corner with that stupid frown, all jealous and depressed while you’re out on the hunt!”

Percy did not look amused especially since he tried to pull Annabeth away.

“Yeah, just like that!” Aphrodite’s glass pointed directly at his face as Annabeth tried to shove Aphrodite’s fickle fingers aside. “Oh, if I were just a little bit younger and not tied to your cousin…”

“You mean cousins,” Percy corrected and made a step backwards as Aphrodite’s dreamy and drunk dazed focus shifted from Annabeth to him.

“Aphrodite, leave Percy and his future wife alone,” Hera arrived to save the stressed couple and rolled her eyes. “Go harass Hephaestus and try to be a faithful wife for once in your life.”

She still looked like she had a massive stick shoved up her ass by the way she stood entirely straight next to them, but Annabeth appreciated the gesture. If Hera didn’t like Aphrodite much, Annabeth would rather join Team Hera than stand alone by the bleachers and under Aphrodite’s charmspeak. Aphrodite pouted and stomped with her feet twice as if she were a toddler and not a grown woman marching towards her forties. Then she stormed off and ran into the arms of her lover, nother husband to spite her mother-in-law and embarrass her even further.

“Malàka,” Hera cursed and lost her cool for one second, before clearing her throat and focusing on the already tired fake engaged couple in front of her. Not even Hera seemed to be averse from drinking a glass of wine or two. “You two definitely need a drink.”

Annabeth agreed with her for once.

She pointed at the bar behind her, which was managed by Dionysus and his wife Ariadne. The number of relatives ganging up on them and demanding new drinks was frightening. Surprisingly Dionysus kept his cool and shoved drinks in people’s hands at an impressive speed.

“Yeah, let’s get over with it,” Percy sighed and took Annabeth’s hand again.

“Are you okay?” Annabeth asked him. She knew from Thalia that Percy rarely ever drank and that his family was to blame for most of it. Percy seemed stiffer and graver than usual as well. As much as she disliked his jokey nature and easy-going demeanor he displayed at work, she’d much rather have that Percy by her side right now. Dionysus Day and the day before seemed like it was hell on earth for him and walking through it each year must take a toll on him.

“Yeah, let’s just each grab a glass of wine. Let them be happy about me shoving this disgusting stuff down my throat.” He thanked Ariadne as she prepared two glasses of the same vintage Aphrodite seemed to have inhaled earlier.

“Thank you.” Annabeth took her glass and sniffed. The wine smelled sickly sweet with a hint of the bitterness that the fermentation process had left. The glass in her hand weighed surprisingly heavy, not because of the wine itself but because of the golden swirls decorating it. The glass transitioned from the crystal-clear transparency into a deep black. A lyre surrounded by a bigger laurel wreath decorated the middle section and a golden snake was wrapped around the stem. The golden rim gave it a nice finish.

“Into a fruitful night,” Percy darkly mumbled over the music. He was really not looking forward to it, which confused Annabeth immensely. She didn’t understand why he pushed himself through this if he really didn’t like the drinking activities. He surely had his reasons, hence her not starting a fight with him over it. It was his family and their tradition after all.

“Into a fruitful night,” Annabeth instead repeated.

Issuing a weird toast as well. Percy Jackson was clearly not a drinker. Their glasses clinked and each of them took a sip. Thankfully grandma Rhea made sure they were well-fed before the festivities began.

“Fuck,” Annabeth muttered. A fine vintage as well. Not as sweet as she thought, it left a hint of sweet cumin as the lingering aftertaste. Her lipstick left a mark on the glass, but she didn’t bother to care as she took another gulp. The wine was nearly finished. She slowly started to understand why ancient civilizations went crazy after this stuff.

As she looked at her so-called fiancé, she saw that his glass was already empty. A grimace rested on his face as well.

“Err, Percy?”

“What?” The dark brooding look on his face was no more.

“Shouldn’t you take it easy?” Annabeth carefully asked. His eyes narrowed.

“I am,” he stated and cocked his head towards his cousin who was still busy playing the barkeeper but kept an overall watchful glimpse on the guests that flooded the gates.

“Dionysus saw me drink. Most importantly he saw us have a drink. That should be enough for me, but if you want some more, be my guest.” He shrugged.

Annabeth felt that she should probably drag his mopey ass out of the party, but it was way too early to leave. “Fine,” she said and asked Ariadne for a refill. Annabeth went in for another long sip. She should definitely stock her wine cabinet once she was back at her shitty apartment. Before the glass reached her lips again, Hermes snatched it away and chugged the remaining wine.

“Hermes, what the hell?!” Ariadne grabbed the glass and pushed her husband’s cousin away. The bored postman was back with his shenanigans.

“My bad, dear wifey, but I’m on a mission here to abduct sweet Annabeth,” Hermes winked and placed his hands around Annabeth’s shoulders.

“What are you up to?” Out of all of the relatives she’s met so far, Annabeth was convinced that everything Zeus had ever sired was a mistake. Zeus himself was a mistake.

“Can you stop being German and boring for once?” he joked. Annabeth’s eyes narrowed. She did not like this one bit. She turned her head around and saw that Percy had been pulled into a conversation by Hypnos and Morpheus. He had completely forgotten about her. Great.

Hermes guided her through the crowd, towards the middle of the room. They had to dodge chairs, drunk relatives, a sofa, chatty relatives, the coffee table and dancing relatives before they made it.

“There she is!” greeted Achilles the confused marketing manager.

Paris, Helen, Patroclus, Hermes and Achilles stood in a circle around a table. Dozens of shots of all sorts of colors were displayed. Annabeth had a terrible feeling about this.

“What is this and why are you pulling me into this?” Annabeth asked and did not like the mischievous grin they all shared. She wanted to go back home and cuddle with Daedalus on her sofa and push his cat ass out of the way before the next steamy Outlander scene hit the screen. Yes, Annabeth was that much of a single that seeing some on-screen action was the best she could get. She hoped that the mangy cat didn’t bother Thalia all too much while she was staying in Greece. She owed her so much already.

“Well, I stayed in your country,” Paris started. “And they have a weird tradition with ouzo. They don’t drink it the way we do, watered down and slowly at lunch and what not…”

Annabeth was still American for the most part and had nothing to do with Germany. The last time she stayed there was nearly thirteen years ago. She didn’t want to have anything to do with Germany. Friedrich Chase lived in Germany. And she fucking hated Friedrich Chase. Therefore, she hated Germany. Things that would never change. Okay, Hamburg was a cool city and she was glad her father moved to Cologne. Should she feel the urge to travel back to Germany for a week or less, she’d go to Hamburg, take ten thousand pictures, and post them on Instagram the minute before she was boarding her flight back to New York. Helping her to enrage her stupid father was all Germany had to offer.

“Germans do ouzo shots,” Patroclus cut to the chase. “And since you’re the newest member of our family…”

“And German!” Paris and Hermes added simultaneously.

“We’ve decided to play this little game,” Achilles added.

“What’s the name of the game?” Annabeth asked. She was only slightly curious. Emphasis on slightly.

“Last man standing. Oh sorry, ladies. Last person standing,” Hermes corrected himself as he placed four shots in front of each person. That was way too much hard liquor to handle. But if she did Jägermeister bombs in her sophomore year of college without any issues, this should be fairly easy.

“What are the rules?” They all looked at her in silence. No rules. No prize. Just drink.

“Oh wow.” The urge to roll her eyes and walk off came back with a force.

“I think I’m going to pass,” Annabeth said and already turned to her right.

“Why?” Helen asked innocently. “Need your man to look after you? The one who’s having an amazing time back there with his third glass of wine?”

Foul game. Annabeth’s head shot to the right. Helen was right. Percy was laughing and looked like he was having a great time chatting with Oceanus and his wife Tethys. Tethys refilled his glass as her husband and Percy broke into laughter once again.

If that’s the case…

“Fuck it, I’m in,” Annabeth agreed. She swallowed the bait and she knew it. There was no reason why she should feel upset about Percy opening up all of a sudden. He desperately needed it. Why she wished to be a part of that, Annabeth did not know.

“Great!” Helen threw her brown mane over her shoulders and grabbed the first glass.

“Για μας!” they all yelled and chugged the liquor. Gia mas, the Greek toast, was repeated every time and it seemed to brighten the mood, despite resting heavily on Annabeth’s stomach. Her college days were over, but she was glad she resisted coughing repeatedly.

Patroclus clutched his stomach after the second shot, Helen ran out after the third, Paris and Achilles were laughing maniacally after the fourth and Hermes mysteriously disappeared after the first one. Annabeth was the last person standing. She placed the crystalized shot glass back on the table and examined the messes around her. The only thing that had happened to her, were that more golden locks escaped from her bun and her lipstick needed some reapplying as she left marks on each glass.

Annabeth tried to take a step away from the table and felt how the world slightly shifted around her. The fact that she would curse and hate herself for her behavior in just six hours, was something drunk Annabeth gladly put aside. The headaches that definitely would haunt her for the rest of the trip didn’t matter, she won and that was all she cared about.

“Hell yeah!” she yelled as all inhibition faded away, leaving pure and raw life force behind. Unbeknownst to her, Annabeth had moved right into the circle of dancers.

“Perseus, get your bride before she breaks her legs!” someone laughed. Was it Iapetus? Or was it Hyperion? Who even cared at that point?

The next two hours were a blurred mess. A blackout slowly crept through her mind, leaving foggy memories behind. Annabeth felt how she was dancing with people and how people were laughing. Were they laughing at her or with her? Did it really matter? Why was her hair repeatedly slapping her face, didn’t she tie it up?

She danced with different people, men and women. She really hoped that the guy that looked like a naked Danny DeVito with longer black hair was not Zeus who had lost his shirt and pants. Who was the guy with the sea-green eyes again? Why was he clapping and laughing whenever she was busting a move next to Hermes? Was he important? Why did he remind her of work? The shots might have been a short-sighted idea after one and a half glasses of wine. She probably overestimated the amount of food she had consumed at dinner prior. Wasn’t she supposed to try someone’s moussaka?

“There you are! Ares, stop dancing with her for once. We’re about to leave.”

Ugh. Ares. Not Zeus, but still yucky.

Sea-green eyes. Percy, of course. How could she have forgotten the asshole that brought her into this whole mess? He seemed fairly sober, didn’t he have a glass or three of wine? Annabeth was certain, she’d be able to drink him under the table. His height and his build might put him at an advantage, but if he wasn’t used to drinking, she might have a fair shot.

A rock song was the next song that appeared. Percy wanted to drag Annabeth off the dance floor.

“Oh no!” Aphrodite intervened with a shrill screech. “Give the two lovers some room to show each other affection!”

Hera actually raised her glass for once to show that she actually agreed with one of Aphrodite’s wild ideas. Someone fumbled with the playlist and a Greek slow jam roared through the old speakers.

“Are you guys fucking serious?” Percy muttered under his breath. But roughly eighty pairs of eyes were all but watching the soon-to-be betrothed and waited for a romantic dance which reminded Percy more of the horrors that the eight-grade dance was.

Annabeth drunkenly hiccupped and looked at him in surprise as she felt one of his hands around her waist and the other one taking her hand. They rocked as if it was the final dance at prom. Annabeth barely remembered prom. Oh right. Her mother had forbidden her from going. She never attended prom.

A casual glimpse through the crowd showed her that people were actually filming this nonsense and some women were actually cooing. Did… did they seriously think this back and forth with sweaty clothes on was romantic? Her eyes found Percy’s again.

“So…” he began.

“So…” she repeated.

“Careful!” he warned her before twirling her through the tight circle. People screamed and applauded. A camera flash blitzed through the darkness twice.

“Oof,” Annabeth groaned. Her stomach and equilibrium did not appreciate that sudden movement.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do that again,” Percy swore. The rocking motion made both of them sleepy. Annabeth suppressed a yawn, rested her head on his shoulder. Percy could make the perfect comfy bed, if he wanted to.

Percy, sensing that people were awaiting some action from either of them, placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face up. Annabeth’s eyes widened. Is he going to kiss me in front of them? Again? her panicked brain asked. She was turned into stone, not by Percy’s distant cousin Medusa who had eaten most of the truffles, but by the tenderness of his actions. He was one solid actor.

Percy placed a soft kiss on her forehead, before moving on to a temple. Annabeth blushed and buried her heated face in his chest as he released her. Intimate, soft and sweet. The screaming relatives disrupted their comfortable silence yet again. The slow song came to an end and the next upbeat one invited everyone back to the dance floor. Annabeth released herself from Percy’s tight embrace and just bolted. Damned be nausea. A wave of coldness hit her. She felt something she didn’t like the minute Percy had softly kissed and soberness woke her at a start. What was it? Anger? Disappointment? Longing? She didn’t know and she didn’t want to know.

“Annabeth!” Percy shouted, but the amount of people standing in his way made it more difficult for him to keep up with her. His hand brushed over his own lips.

Annabeth opened and closed doors left and right. The kitchen, the dining room, the smoking room. She hasted through the first floor until she found another lost soul in the fireplace room. Why the villa had a fireplace room in the first place, she did not know. It had been super-hot the entire time but what Annabeth understood as heat and what native Greeks deemed as hot temperatures didn’t have to correlate.

Great-grandmother Gaia’s humming faded away. The eldest of the Theodoropoulos looked up from the pair of socks she was knitting. When she came to find out the intruder was Annabeth, joy spread over her face.

“Come, come!” The broken English that she softly spoke reminded Annabeth of her own grandmother. She hadn’t seen Elsbeth Lilienthal-Chase since she had left Germany. And since her mother didn’t give her a chance to say goodbye, she didn’t have a phone number to reach her with. The only way would be through that asshole Friedrich Chase, and the only time she’d willingly let someone contact that man was if she had been six feet under and he would be forced to show up for one important family event for once.

“I was unable to sleep. Parties aren’t something for me. I’m too old and boring for my children and their children,” Gaia sighed as Annabeth took a seat on the green sofa next to the light blue armchair. All of the cushioning seemed to have been made by Gaia as the socks had the same pattern as the pillow that Annabeth leaned against. Balls of wool surrounded the older woman as if she sat on a field of fresh tulips.

“Drink, drink! You need water. I’m pretty sure you danced a lot.”

Annabeth kindly took the offer, grabbed the carafe and poured herself a little bit of water into a small glass. The water was surprisingly cold and refreshing.

“My children deem me crazy,” Gaia continued. “The war with the ottomans. Deportation. Fleeing and seeing death everywhere. Losing my father in the chaos. Then the big world war after that twenty years later. They don’t want to listen to the same stories. They only want to have fun. So, they sent me away.”

Annabeth felt terrible for the old lady. It looked like she had been through hell and back in her youth. She didn’t look like she needed much, only someone to listen to her.

“I won’t bore you much,” promised Gaia.

Gaia’s tanned leathery hands continued working on the little socks. “Don’t worry about tomorrow, dearie. We have plenty of acetaminophen and other hangover remedies. Tomorrow will be even worse, because Dionysus wants to celebrate his birthday with even more wine,” the old woman laughed, and her green eyes twinkled full of life.

“I also was young once…”

The two sat in comfortable silence, only interrupted by Gaia’s humming or Annabeth refilling her glass of water.

“So,” Gaia began.

“So?” repeated Annabeth.

“You are the woman that tamed my little Perseus,” the older woman grinned.

Oh no.

Annabeth had a lump in her throat and drinking water to solve it, didn’t work. She wasn’t just lying to Zeus and his wife. She was lying to an entire clan, from the youngest to the oldest members. What Percy and she were doing wasn’t right, neither was it fair. Sure, Percy’s shitty uncle didn’t help much by forcing him to marry the next person, but did the rest of the family deserve to be deceived as well? No, they didn’t, and that truth rested heavily on Annabeth’s narrow shoulders.

The fact that Gaia looked so much like her great-grandson was crazy. They possessed the exact same shade of sea-green. It was passed onto Rhea, Percy’s grandmother, and then Poseidon, Percy’s fucked up father. Always full of intelligence and calculation. Shifting easily from delighted and full of life to the crashing anger of a storm. Power and knowledge were key features of Gaia’s eyes.

“How did you meet my sweet Perseus again?” Gaia innocently asked but Annabeth knew that there was some sort of ulterior motive behind her question.

“At work,” she honestly answered, and Gaia smiled. The old lady was able to sense the truth.

“He’s not my direct boss, but we run into each other a lot. And we hated each other from the moment we saw each other.” Annabeth remembered how she accidentally spilled her hot coffee all over his shirt. She had been public enemy number one from then on.

“He’s an excellent boss, as much as I hate to admit it. He knows his ways around and is passionate about the ocean and its inhabitants. Definitely more passionate than me, I’m just there for the money. He actually wants to make a difference. And he’s extremely annoying, might I add.”

Gaia burst into laughter and needed a minute to calm down. Annabeth cracked a toothy grin. “Ah yes, I can see how you fell in love with him.”

Doom. Uneasiness. Discomfort. The lump in Annabeth’s throat grew bigger and bigger. Why was her vision so blurry all of a sudden? She looked down at her dress. Dark dots appeared. More sprinkled across her lap as Annabeth realized she was crying.

“I’m so sorry,” Annabeth sniffled. “I… Percy… I…”

Gaia put her knitting utensils aside and set herself upright in the armchair. “Oh no, what is going on, Annabeth?”

The calming hand on her back did not help the young professional at all. No, Gaia’s honesty and curiosity made it way worse.

“Percy and I… we’re not engaged. We did it because Zeus-” Annabeth tried to confess, but Gaia brushed her off.

“It’s okay, Annabeth. I know,” the old woman smiled.

The tears that smeared her foundation or rather what was left of it ceased to fall. “You what?!”

Shock widened Annabeth’s light gray eyes.

“I knew from the minute you stepped into my house. I’m pretty sure Rhea knows as well.”

Annabeth’s jaw fell open. “B-but how?!” she stuttered and felt like an utter and complete idiot. The first few days had been rough and difficult, but now she thought that Percy and she conveyed the illusion of being a happy couple.

“You were scared of everything including him the minute you arrived,” Gaia warmly smiled. The infectious warm smile of a grandma looking out for her little chicks. Was Annabeth now one of them?

“I knew something was off with that sudden engagement of yours with the way you two behaved. Either you were pregnant, or it was a ruse. Since you are heavily drinking and paper thin, it was clear that there was no pregnancy. You young people truly don’t eat enough anymore,” Gaia shrugged, patted Annabeth’s knee and went back to knitting the sock.

“But now… it all makes sense. You do feel something for each other. Even if you are blind to it for now.” She continued to hum. “I just hope that my dear Perseus will be the young and carefree boy he was all those years ago one day again. And I do believe that you are the key in finding him hidden underneath all those layers and walls he had put up due to his father.”

Annabeth didn’t even close her mouth during the elder’s monologue. Did Gaia seriously connote that she… that Annabeth Chase… might feel something for her soon-to-be boss? Madness. Absolute madness. She took everything she had thought of the friendly old woman in front of her back. Maybe her relatives did have a point, when they decided to brush Gaia off due to her old age.

Annabeth? And feeling something for Percy? If that something was hatred and the utmost rage, absolutely yes. But… anything else? She would receive a hefty sum on her bank account and would put in her two weeks the minute she found a better job in California.

“You know… there is a tale I’d like to tell about men.”

And Annabeth would prefer to place the glass back on the table, throw the heels away, storm out and run to the next airport.

“They are stupid vapid creatures,” Gaia carried on.

Annabeth snorted behind her glass. “That is certainly true,” she agreed and earned an honest grin from Gaia.

“My dear husband Ouranos with whom I had all of my dear children decided one day that one woman was not enough. And that twelve children were not enough.”

Twelve children?! Annabeth's womb just twisted and turned in protest. The shocked expression on Annabeth’s face made Gaia chortle loudly.

“Oh yes, back in my day we were all very fruitful,” Gaia affirmed.

“That sounds horrible,” Annabeth interjected.

“Oh, only the birth part and the eighteen years after it,” the older woman dismissed her which made Annabeth in turn laugh again.

“My father was a farmer and he had one piece of advice: never let someone toy with you. You are not a doll; you are a person with morals and dignity, a person with feelings and dignity. Let no one, especially not a man, treat you like a commodity or something to kick around. Well… when dear Ouranos left me and sought our neighbor with bigger breasts… I taught him that lesson. And I did so with my father’s trusted knife that I hung on the wall afterwards.”

There was no knife displayed on the wall. It was a fucking scythe. Large, frightening, brutal. A golden great long sickle with jagged teeth rested on the wall as if it were ready to cut you up into one thousand pieces. Was there really dried blood stuck on the teeth or was Annabeth’s drunken mind making things up?

“The minute our youngest turned eighteen he took off and was never seen again. And now, should a person, in that case my Perseus, not know how to treat you properly, you know what to do,” Gaia advised and took a sip out of her own glass.

“Uh… you mean threaten to cut his genitals off with a large and sharp family heirloom?” Annabeth’s eyes widened again.

“No, dearie…” Gaia gave it some thought. “Well maybe so, dearie,” she then went on. That made Annabeth chuckle again.

“But demand absolute respect from him. Don’t ask him for it. Demand it. I don’t know how but he has dragged you into our family and expects you to play the perfect fiancé. This will eventually blow up in his face and he will drag you along with him. Teach him a lesson, however.”

“You know what? I will!” With Gaia’s official blessing, Annabeth was all smiles and scheming new plots. If the head of the family gave her the approval of kicking Percy’s ass, she definitely would.

Steps echoed in the fireplace room and Annabeth and Gaia’s heads turned to greet the intruder. They didn’t even realize the door opened and closed again.

Gaia’s younger twin who still had some black streaks in the braids marched into the hall, curious about what the two women in front of her were previously talking about. Gaia’s youngest daughter Rhea had joined them. The large blue floral dress made her seem like she never left the late 1960s and the two long braids only added to that sentiment.

“Mamá, what is going on? By the way Percy is looking for you, Annabeth,” Rhea informed her grandson’s alleged fiancé before taking a seat in front of her and grabbing one of the many balls of yarn in front of her mother. Rhea then went on to play with it as if she was a six-year old.

“Oh no, Rhea, Annabeth and I were just chatting about love and life,” Gaia batted her eyelashes.

“You see, I gave Rhea the same advice about her disgraceful husband when he went out to seek another woman.”

Rhea rolled her eyes behind the large pentagonally glasses. “You and your stories about the scythe, mother,” she sighed.

“I have to make sure the younger generation knows!” Gaia huffed. “I won’t be here for much longer and then-”

“We'll regret all the things we’ve said and done to you, I know mamá, you have been telling me this since I was four years old and spilled my apple juice,” Rhea completed her mother’s sentence.

Rhea’s attention shifted to the smiling blonde in front of her. She grew to like Percy’s fiancé. She had a fire within herself and a backbone, all great things to handle a Theodoropoulos man.

“But my mother is right when she says that the scythe is a trusted tool. Zeus, Poseidon and Hades did scare Kronos with it after he tried some foul things with their sisters. Treated them worse. Did overall horrible things. He never wanted daughters, only sons. Didn’t seem to accept the fact that it was out of my hand.” Rhea squished the ball of light blue yarn in her hand.

“My children were always looking out for me and I will be forever grateful for them. I do hope that you will have the same feelings and love for your children.” It was clear who their father was supposed to be.

“Yes, I hope so as well,” Annabeth squeaked. Did it get hotter in here all of a sudden?

The door opened, and a worried Percy stepped into the fireplace room. “Oh, there you are,” he sighed as he immediately sighted Annabeth’s blonde unruly curls. He had been running from the basement all the way to the roof searching for her. Relief washed over his face like some shower gel from a cheap commercial. Only then did he realize that Annabeth had been cornered by both his nosy grandmother and his even nosier great-grandmother.

“Whatever they’ve been telling you, it’s a lie, it’s wrong and it never happened!” he warned her as he took a seat right next to her.

“Oh please, relax,” Rhea rolled her eyes and threw the wool at her grandson. “We have been talking about mamá’s scythe.”

“Hey!” both Percy and Gaia complained. At least they hadn’t dished out embarrassing stories of him taking off in diapers at night.

“This is expensive! You young people show no respect towards others' belongings,” Gaia cursed.

Annabeth took the blue yarn and placed it back on top of the pyramid of other colors.

“Thank you!” Gaia smiled before she focused on finishing the sock.

“You’ve found your fiancé, Perseus. Now go off back to celebrate and let us old people reminisce about the past and talk.” Rhea lazily waved at them whilst Gaia didn’t even look up from her craft.

“We will,” Percy said while getting up and casually dragging Annabeth along. He kissed both Gaia and Rhea on the cheek, Annabeth threw a hasty “See you in the morning!” over her shoulder before the couple left.

“Are you okay?” Percy asked as he pulled Annabeth aside for a small breather.

She nodded. “It’s just a bit overwhelming with the amount of people that either want to take pictures of us, hope I remember when their youngest kid’s birthday is, or they tell me they hope we have our first baby preferably in less than a year.”

Percy blushed. He didn’t think it was that bad, but then again, men are mostly left out of the baby talk until their mother’s saw that their best friend’s children had their first grandbaby. He truly didn’t have any intention of having a child before the age of forty. He had to save a business from his damned uncle, run and manage said business and preferably find a woman he tolerated enough to marry before he could even think of children.

Percy apologized again. “One week,” he promised her.

“One week,” Annabeth repeated and nodded.

“We’re going in, you’ve missed the high of the party with your talk with my yai yai, but that’s perfectly fine. The first have already left, let’s just mingle for ten minutes or so before we can-”

The door flung open. “There they are!” yelled Hermes who was followed by Zephyrus and Hercules.

None of them had any intention of letting the party stop before five in the morning. It was merely two. The minute Hermes had his sights on Annabeth, he knew that he had found his best drinking buddy aside from Dionysus himself. Oh no, Annabeth thought and rightfully so.

The minutes of calmness and rest next to Gaia did their wonders because Percy and she were thrust back into the party at full force. She didn’t exactly remember when the blackout happened, but it was roughly thirty minutes later. She was drinking, she was dancing, she was completely making a fool out of herself. The hair? A mess. Annabeth herself? Don’t even think about it. She had been dancing with Hermes and Patroclus, Aphrodite accidentally stepped on her foot one time when Ares approached her.

Percy broke his own promise and accepted a fourth glass of wine from Dionysus who insisted on it. That glass was his doom. The last droplet touched his tongue and his world turned into a flashy mist, his consciousness was broken into pieces, fragmented and sprinkled across the floor. Where he was, when he was and who he was were things he couldn’t remember. The only thing that popped up in his mind were waves of solid gold. Was it hair? Could hair truly move like that and possess that texture? And a whiff of lemon with a hint of lavender crawled up his nose. It was an odd combination, but it felt safe and like home. He liked this smell. Where did he smell this before?

Percy didn’t care, he had other matters to attend to. The first thing on the docket was finding the bathroom, he had drunk way too much. The house had weird rules in regard to bathrooms. Was it the left side or the right side that the young men could use? Why did his uncle Hades have to break two sinks in a span of a week when he was sixteen again? Why were women and others allowed to do whatever they wanted? His great-grandma and her weird plans were always set to make him fail somehow. Things that she had thought of decades ago still bore fruit today.

Percy stumbled upstairs and turned right and prayed the doors he was opening were empty bathrooms and not relatives making out. That was just what he needed. The first door he opened was of his great-uncle Oceanus and Tethys who had a face mask on her face and pink curlers up her hair. At least the old people still knew how to behave. He hoped his mother had left the party hours ago. He apologized and closed the door. The next one was an empty bedroom, his even maybe. No, his bedroom was on an entirely different floor. Or was it?

The next bedroom was closed off thank god, but from the sounds on the inside it seemed like cousin Eos and her newest catch Orion had some fun. Disgusting, Percy thought before he moved on. The next door was what he was looking for. A bathroom. Lit up, clean and empty. Empty if it wasn’t for this one woman who was clutching the brims of the polished sink. She was tall, the golden hair equaled a rat nest and her red dress seemed to have witnessed a lot.

“Ugh,” she muttered and looked into the mirror. Her eyes found his immediately.

“Percy?” she turned around.

Oh right. He was Percy Jackson, thirty-one, single, hopefully the new CEO of Atlantic INC., he had a fantastic apartment in the Upper East Side with an amazing view and he was in Greece to impress his family with his fake fiancé in order to secure his father’s legacy. His fake fiancé being Annabeth Chase, a woman he loathed, had to pay a little hush money and hoped would leave the company fairly soon after.

“You’re in the men’s restroom,” Percy then stated.

Annabeth looked around. No, it was not the same bathroom she used in the morning. Oh yeah, Gaia’s weird bathroom rules.

“Honestly who cares?” the junior marketing manager complained. “A toilet’s a toilet, no matter who uses it.”

Percy shrugged. Annabeth had a point but it wasn’t their house so they couldn’t dictate the rules.

“I wanted to retouch my makeup, but I didn’t find my makeup bag.” She walked steadily to Percy, but it was clear to both of them that she had her fair amount of shots in her system.

“Yeah, it’s probably in the other bathroom. Wait, let me use the bathroom for a second and then we can head back to our room and you can look for your makeup.”

Annabeth nodded and waited on the outside while Percy was tending his business. After drying his hands, he opened the door and found Annabeth yawning in front of one of his yai yai’s paintings. It showed the scythe from the fireplace.

“In all honesty, your great-grandmother is an amazing woman. I admire her. Showing kindness and strength each day. How old is she?”

“Turning 106 next October,” Percy smiled at her. “She always said she wanted to live long enough to see her favorite descendants find their own happiness, whatever it may be.”

The softness in his voice made Annabeth’s heart ache. She turned her head back to the painting. She was a nobody. She had no family, no traditions she could upkeep. She didn’t even have a steady relationship in the past five years. Fucking Luke Castellan. He also had to take that from her as well. Make her suffer. That’s what Athena, Friedrich and Luke all thought at the same time. And they all had nearly reached their wicked goal if it hadn’t been for her stubbornness and will to eventually blossom into something else. The first step towards that something else resided within her move to California. She wanted to leave everything and everyone behind and start a new life, somewhere where no one knew her.

A thumb brushed over her cheek. Annabeth looked up to Percy. She hadn’t even realized she was sobbing again.

“Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay,” Percy assured her. His hands found her sides, pulling her into a soft hug.

A true fiancé level hug. Annabeth had never felt that comfortable within a man’s reach. Percy might have been an awful and annoying coworker, but he truly cared about his fellow people. The way they slowly rocked and kept hugging each other reminded her of the school dance work they had put on the floor earlier. But this time it was real. This time there was no one taking pictures or yelling into their ears, or the demand to see a kiss.

Annabeth rested her face in his chest and Percy leaned his head on hers. It was like they had been made for each other. A welcoming scent greeted Percy. Lemon and lavender. The person stuck in Percy’s crumbled mind had been Annabeth. She was his anchor in the havoc his relatives had created in such a short time. He took a deeper breath. It felt reassuring.

“Did you just sniff me?” Annabeth laughed as she pulled away from him.

“You do smell good!” he defended himself with a stupid grin on his mouth.

“Oh, wait you’re super drunk,” she giggled again as she saw his widened pupils that had pushed the darkened sea-green iris away.

“Well, look at you,” he retorted.

They looked at each other. Aside from the bumping music and the noises people made downstairs it had been completely silent. He missed her warmth; she missed his comfort. Neither would have guessed that a simple embrace could offer so much. Neither would have thought they would take it to the next step within a split second.

One last look. A last time sea-green and light-gray met before each set of eyes closed and their lips met with a brutal force in the middle. Their teeth clacked but it didn’t matter to them. What mattered now, was the moment. Forgotten was the alcohol, forgotten were the troubles of past, present and future. Forgotten were the friends and relatives in the building and back in New York.

So... what do you think? 😄 Like I said, this is not the entire chapter 🤷🏾‍♀️ I honestly feel bad for cutting the chapter off because it's really getting more interesting from that point on 💁🏾‍♀️ I'll probably continue working on this once I've published the next act of The Fool 🥳

Also Greek people, if something seems off with this (aside from random English at times lol) hit me up, I definitely have to do more research!

[leia505]

The Sunrise and Your Sins | Tetsurou Kuroo x Reader (street racing AU)

This fic takes place in the same universe as “deciphered” by @hoeneymilktea​! Here is the link to the car visuals and spotify playlist, as well as AO3 where the fic is also posted if you prefer to read on there. 

Huge shoutout to @aikk00​ for creating the fan art that inspired both this story and “deciphered”. 

And another shoutout to @hoeneymilktea​ for pushing me to write this fic, if you’re here from deciphered I hope you enjoy this addition to the deciphered universe! 

Pairing: Tetsurou Kuroo x Reader

Rating: Explicit, NSFW(later chapters)  

Word Count: 10k

Tags: Street Racing, Alternate Universe - Car Racing, Inspired by Fanart, References to Drugs, Aged-Up Character(s), Original Character(s), Inspired by The Fast and the Furious, Inspired by Tokyo Drift, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Mystery, Drama & Romance, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary: Being a mob boss’s daughter had always been a dangerous life, but Tetsurou Kuroo—street racer and mob henchman—made it all seem easy. Although the mutual attraction between you two was undeniable, the darkness that encompassed your family took precedence over your love. Surrounded by lies and deception, you and Kuroo must work together to uncover the truth of your brother’s death and your father’s shady business.

“Hey there kitten.”

“Is that really how you want to talk to a yakuza boss’ daughter?”

“It’s not like your old man’s here to listen.” Kuroo says, pulling up a chair to sit close to you. You turned your head to stare him in the eyes as he smirked at you.

“You think a man like my father doesn’t have his own office wired?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

Kuroo chuckles nervously, looking around your dad’s office. Just some harmless flirting boss. Nothing to worry about here.” He says loudly, turning to you with a wink. You can’t help but smile, you’ve always enjoyed the times Kuroo came to see your father. You weren’t going to try to deny the fact you found him attractive, but there’s no way your father would allow it. A mafia princess and a drug smuggler? What a cliché.

Your father’s sudden entrance startles you both, and Kuroo instinctively stands up to bow. You remain seated, knowing that the power he held over this city applied to everyone but you.

“Hello father.” You greet your dad as he sits in his office chair at the front of the room. He definitely has a demanding presence, which is to be expected from the man who has the Tokyo underground in his pocket. Kuroo had power, and definitely had some authority, but he was a guppy compared to your father.

“Sit, Tetsurou.” Your father says, motioning for Kuroo to take a seat. He quickly sits down in his chair, attentively looking at the mafia boss for further instructions.

“So, as you could probably guess, I have another job for you.” He says, pulling a file out from the locked cabinet of his desk. He laid the file open in front of him and turned to Kuroo. “There will be a shipping container coming in this Friday from Cuba. I’m going to need a team of your best racers to get it from point A, the ports, to point B, headquarters.” He explains, motioning for Kuroo to stand next to him to look over the details.

“Seems easy enough, standard job.” Kuroo says, studying the papers in front of him. At this moment, you can’t help but wonder to yourself why exactly you’re there.

“Exactly. Nothing new, just the same old.” Your dad agrees. “However, this is a bigger job. And we do have some eyes watching us nowadays. So what I need from you is to take the lead and choose your team. Approved by me, of course.” He says, motioning for Kuroo to take his seat again.

“How many people are we talking?” Kuroo asks.

“You, maybe two others. And your colleague, Snake Eyes, taking the lead on logistics.” Your father explains, leaning back in his chair. “Snake Eyes will be essential to this one, we need eyes and ears on the route. The less run-ins with the authorities, the better.”

‘Snake Eyes.’ You thought to yourself. ‘Isn’t that Kenma? The nerdy looking mechanic?’

“I’ll let Kozume know.” Kuroo says, nodding. “I think Oikawa and Shinsuke would be a good fit for this one. Fast, experienced, trustworthy.”

“Oikawa…he’s the one that calls himself Cypher correct?” You father questions.

“Yes sir, head of Seijoh Brawlers. Shinsuke goes by Sly Fox, head of Inarizaki Bois.”

Your dad let out a hearty chuckle, startling both of you. “You kids and your code names. You would think you’re playing spy.” Kuroo nervously chuckled in agreement.

“No playing here sir, we’re all in.” Kuroo says, giving him a confident grin.

“That’s what I like to hear, Tetsurou. With that attitude, you’ll fit right in at the grown-up table.” Your father says, getting up from his chair. You roll your eyes, bored of the conversation between the two criminals. 

“Why am I here?” You ask, causing both of them to turn to you as if they just realized you were there. You rarely sat in on your father’s meetings, so you were confused from the start as to what your purpose was.

“Oh sweetheart! I almost forgot, Kuroo has a present for you.” Your father says brightly, waving his arms at you, motioning for you to follow Kuroo out the door.

You peered your eyes at Kuroo suspiciously as he smirked at you. You continued to follow him out the door of your family’s Tokyo home, with your father following behind you.

As the three of you exit the house, your eyes fall on a bright pink car, with a giant white ribbon tied around the hood.

“Is that-“You begin saying, quickening your pace to get closer to this absolute beauty.

“A Honda S2000? Yes, yes, it is.” Kuroo says, leaning against his car, a cherry red Nissan Veilside 350Z. He holds up a pair of car keys, which he tosses to you.

“It’s mine?!” You exclaim. You turn to your dad, who smiles warmly at you.

“A gift, from the Nekoma crew to our family. Me and your mother have enough cars, so I figured you could claim this one.” He explains, chuckling.

“Thank you!” You wrap your arms around him, embracing your father in a hug. He tightly hugs you back, the same way he always has. You turn towards Kuroo. “And thank you, you and the whole Nekoma crew. How’d you know I wanted pink?”

Kuroo shrugs. “I just guessed. Seemed like your color.” He says, winking at you. He slyly opens his car door, climbing in. “Thursday night, I’ll bring the team?” He asks, turning towards your dad.

“Yes, and make sure they bring their cars as well. I need to see for myself what type of speed we’re working with.” Your dad says, switching into business mode seamlessly.

Kuroo lets out a laugh, closing his car door and rolling his window down. “I can promise you sir, the one thing we will surely not be lacking is speed.” He says, revving his engine, speeding out of the driveway and down the dark street. The roar of his engine could be heard long after he disappeared from our sight, breaking the silence of the upper-class neighborhood he sped through.

“Sweetheart, Tetsurou and his boys are here if you’d like to sit in on the meeting.” Your father says, peeking his head into your room. 

“I’ll be right down dad.” You reply, getting up from your bed. You heard their cars coming from miles away, so you were already prepared to meet them downstairs. You were curious as to why your father suddenly invited you to sit in on his business meetings, he never really allowed you to take part in your family’s activities. Nevertheless, you were glad you finally had something to keep you entertained while locked away in your home. 

As you walked down the stairs, you heard Kuroo’s voice speaking to his friends, and you were caught off guard by how mature he sounded. He must have known you and your father were coming down the stairs, so he put his big boy voice on to impress your father. 

“Hi.” you say shortly, causing all of them to turn their heads to you. You finally got a good look at all of them, and they were all exactly what you’d expect street racers to look like. Piercings, tattoos, just a bunch of tough looking guys with skeptical faces as they looked up at you. 

“Is this the one you keep bringing up?” a guy with shoulder length bleached blonde hair asks, turning to Kuroo. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. It was a drastic change from Kuroo’s deep, commanding voice. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Kuroo says, awkwardly clearing his throat, tugging at his collar as he avoided your gaze.

“Hola mami.” The brunette one says to you, shooting you a devilish smirk as you descend further down the stairs. 

“The fuck is wrong with this one?” You ask Kuroo, opting to stand next to him. You tilt your head towards the brunette guy, who was still staring at you like a luxury car. 

“He lived in Argentina for a few years and now he’s just...like that.” Kuroo says. “You kind of get used to it. He also doesn’t care that no one but him knows Spanish.” 

“Tetsurou! Glad you all made it here in one piece. Shall we move this to my office?” Your father says, waving his arm down the hall to the large double doors that lead to his office, the space where all meetings, illegal or otherwise, were held. 

The five of you made room for your father to lead and followed him down the hall. You were keenly aware of the fact Kuroo stood almost directly behind you, mainly because the smell of his cologne was too strong to ignore. Kuroo was just like that, a presence you couldn’t seem to get out of your head. 

Upon entering the office, you choose to take your usual spot on the comfortable sofa chair you put in your dad’s office over a decade ago. When you were younger, more naive to the truth to your father’s business and your family’s wealth, you frequently accompanied your father in his office on long work nights, falling asleep in the chair that was kept out of the way to keep others from taking your special spot. That’s always how your dad was, making sure to accommodate you. Anything for the princess. 

“So!” Your father announces, clapping his hands together, causing you and the blonde one to jump slightly. “Don’t be shy, introduce yourselves.” You roll your eyes at him, thinking that he sounded more like a grade school teacher than a yakuza boss with hundreds of skeletons in the closet. 

The 4 men stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, not knowing how to start. Everyone except the silver haired guy wore a bomber jacket, with names printed on the back. The brunette wearing a white bomber jacket spoke first. You noticed the teal lettering on his jacket that read ‘CYPHER’. 

“Tooru Oikawa, sir. Cypher.” He says, bowing at your dad. 

“Uh, Kenma Kozume. People call me Snake Eyes sometimes.” the bleach blonde spoke next, his voice quiet and skeptical. 

“Kita Shinsuke, aka Sly Fox.” The silver haired guy in the plain black hoodie says, giving your father a slight head nod. 

“And obviously you know me.” Kuroo says. He turns to face you, flashing his signature grin. “Your turn.” 

“(y/n).” you introduce yourself, giving them a small wave. “If you haven’t figured out who I am then you’re pretty slow.” 

“My daughter, everyone. Excuse the attitude.” your father remarks, shaking his head at you. “So, I assume you filled them in on the details?” 

“Yes sir, they’ve all been filled in on the job. Kenma running point on logistics, the control tower of the team. The three of us running the cargo from the ports to the warehouse. Basic rules, don’t be dumb, and don’t get caught.” Kuroo says. The other men looked at him, nodding slightly in agreement. 

“Excellent, I knew I could count on you to take the lead here. Keep this up and you may find some more jobs like this in your future.” Your father gets up from his chair, pulling more files from his cabinet. He hands each of the men their own file, which they all take and begin looking over. “You’ll find all the smaller details in there, as well as numbers to contact in case you run into trouble. You’ll also find a receipt, with your pay for this job highlighted. I hope you find it accommodating to your work.” He says, studying each of them as they flip through the files. 

“Definitely accommodating.” Kita comments, nodding his head as he peers down at the file. You begin to wonder when you’ll be able to see the fine tuned details, to truly see everything your father does in a day. So much of who he is still remained a mystery to you, and perhaps you found some comfort in your own ignorance. 

“Thank you sir, our teams greatly appreciate your contributions.” Kuroo says, bowing once again to your father. 

“It’s really no problem, after all, who doesn’t like a good street race.” Your father says with a smile. “And, in a way, I feel as though keeping your teams afloat helps me remember my son.” 

“You have a son?” Oikawa asks, looking up. 

“Had a son, yes.” Your father replied sadly. You winced, not expecting to have to relive these memories. “He passed in a racing accident. It was a few years ago. I think it was before your kids’ time.” 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was his name? Or, what team was he on?” Kenma asks. 

“Keishin. He used the last name Ukai when he raced, to get away from our family name. I believe he raced for Karasuno?” Your dad says, bringing up more and more painful memories. 

“Karasuno Killers? They’re getting back on the scene nowadays. I remember someone talking about how they stopped coming to races a while back, but they just recently started racing again because they have a whole new team.” Kuroo says. 

“Really? Well, I might just have to come watch a race one of these days. For old times sake.” 

‘Old times sake my ass.’ you thought to yourself, knowing the truth about your father and your deceased brother’s relationship. Your father hated racing, and resented your brother for choosing Karasuno over the Sakanoshita name. At the time of your brother’s death, you couldn’t help but wonder if your father was truly upset, or if he was putting on another facade, the same way he was now. 

“Well, speaking of races, you wanted to see our cars, right?” Oikawa says, clearly trying to redirect this depressing conversation. 

“Oh yes, of course! I want to see for myself what you’re all going to be working with tomorrow.” Your father says, walking out of his office towards the front of the home. 

Outside, there were 3 cars parked in the driveway. You recognized the models, and you could guess which cars were Oikawa and Kita’s just from the colorways, white and black, just like their outfits. 

“Mi amor.” Oikawa says, looking at his car. “Mazda RX-7 Veilside Fortune. ‘97.” 

“He would marry his car if he could.” Kuroo comments, tilting his head towards you. You laugh, looking up at him. 

“Nissan Silvia. 2002.” Kita says, walking up to his car and opening the door. The smell of smoke was strong, and he grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the middle console. “Mind if I smoke?” Your father nods, and Kita proceeds to light one and take a puff. 

“Kenma, no car?” Your father asks, turning towards him. Kenma seems caught off guard by the sound of his own name. 

“Uh, no sir, not tonight. I have cars, but I don’t drive all that often. I don’t see the point in risking my investments.” He says, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Yeah, he’d rather be in the passenger seat with me driving and risking my car.” Kuroo says, playfully shoving Kenma’s shoulder. 

“That reminds me, I have a proposal for you Kuroo.” Your father says, getting everyone's attention. “Would you be willing to let (y/n) ride with you on this job?”

“Excuse me?” You say, interrupting the conversation. “Why am I going? You never let me go anywhere, but suddenly I’m running drugs for you?” You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms across your chest. 

“Well, sweetheart, I figured it was time.” Your father says, taking a step closer to stand in front of you. “I was around your age when your grandfather started allowing me to learn the ropes of our family’s business. You are the only one who can continue the Sakanoshita name. I think this is a good first job for you.” 

“For the record, it's no problem. She can ride with me. I promise she’ll be safe.” Kuroo says, inserting himself into the conversation between you and your father. 

“So, does this mean I finally have something to do? I can start leaving the house again?” You ask, hopeful that this decision from your father will mean more freedom. Things haven’t been the same since Keishin died, and your father kept you under a microscope, claiming it was for your safety. 

“We can talk about new safety rules after this job. Deal?” He asks, holding his hand out for you to shake. 

“Deal.” You say, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. 

“Looks like the princess is growing up.” Kuroo comments, smirking at you. 

“Hope we don’t scare her too much.” Kita says jokingly. 

You scoffed at him, excitement growing inside of you as you realized this will be the start of you growing into a leadership position in the Sakanoshita family, becoming the face of this giant organization that ruled the Tokyo underground. “Nothing scares me.” 

You stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to get your head together before the job. ‘What does a person bring to a drug smuggling? What does someone wear? Fucking jeans?’

‘No.’ you thought to yourself, grabbing a pair of leggings. What if you needed to run? Well then you need sneakers too. And a warm jacket, just in case. Do you bring a phone charger? Would it be weird to ask Kuroo to plug your phone in while you’re smuggling drugs together? 

“What the fuck am I doing.” You say out loud to yourself, beginning to question your own sanity. You let out a deep sigh, trying to clear your head. 

You eventually decide on leggings, sneakers, and a cross body fanny pack to hold your phone and smaller things. Before exiting your room, you hesitate. 

You make your way to your bedside table, opening the drawer and reaching to the back, pulling out a small handgun. You take it out, along with a note that was tucked underneath it. 

‘Stay safe. -Keishin’

This was a gift from your brother, before he passed. You kept it close by, both as protection and a heavy reminder. Your family name carried a lot of weight, which the both of you felt smothered by. You both understood the dark side of the luxury you lived with, saw the blood that stained your family’s money. But now, with him gone, it all fell on you. Everything depended on you. 

You make the decision to take it along with you, holstering it to your thigh. ‘Better safe than sorry’, you thought to yourself. A regular night could turn deadly in an instant, something that you were very familiar with given the way your brother passed. 

You exit your room and descend down the stairs, walking out the front door to where everyone was waiting with their cars. Oikawa was busy on his phone, and Kita was further away smoking a cigarette. Your father stood with Kuroo, most likely discussing the job. 

“Where’s Kenma?” You question, walking up to stand with Kuroo and your dad. 

“He’s back at the garage. Don’t worry, he has eyes and ears at us at all times.” Kuroo says, pointing at the earpiece he wore. “Here, one for you as well.” He hands you an ear piece, which you put in, immediately hearing the sounds of a video game, most likely from Kenma. 

“Are you ready?” Your father asks, turning towards you. You nod in response, and he looks over you, stopping and furrowing his eyebrows when he sees your gun. “Is a gun really necessary?”

“Keishin would have wanted me to bring it. Better safe than sorry, like he used to say.” You say, knowing that bringing up your brother was the easiest way to get your father to comply with whatever it was that you were doing. 

He nods, giving you a sad smile.  “You’re right. He was always the cautious one.” 

“The smart one too.” You say, smiling nostalgically. “Are we all ready to go?” You ask, turning to Kuroo. 

“Yup, all set.” He replies, swinging the passenger car door open for you. “I’ll have Snake Eyes let you know when we reach the ports, and again at the warehouse.” He says, turning to your father. 

“Perfect.” Your father says. He turns to look at you once more, then back at Kuroo. “Bring her back in one piece.” He says, holding out his hand. 

“You can count on me, sir.” He says, giving your father a firm handshake. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, the business your family was involved in was always so masculine, so formal. It was something you would have to adjust to when you begin taking part in it. 

Kuroo closed your car door and nodded to the other two racers, who immediately got into their cars, turning their engines one. He climbs into the driver’s seat of his car, turning the key in the ignition, the loud roar of the engine startling you. He chuckles, realizing he made you jump. 

“Mic check. Roll call.” You hear Kenma say in your ear. 

“Tap once to speak, twice to mute.” Kuroo says, pointing to the earpiece. He taps once, and speaks. “DK here, with Princess in the passenger seat.” He says, grinning at you. 

“Ew, keep it PG-13 dude.” Kenma says, making you laugh. 

“Cypher, ready to roll.” You hear Oikawa say. 

“Sly fox.” Kita says shortly. 

“And Snake Eyes. Ready when you guys are. All clear on the short route to the ports, I’ll let you know if that changes. Stay safe everyone.” Kenma says, muting himself. 

“Alright, we all know the route, I’ll take the lead, Sly Fox you take rear. You already know the rules, don’t be stupid, and don’t get caught. I’ll check back in when we’re 5 away from the ports.” Kuroo says, taking the parking brake off and switching gears, the car beginning to move. 

Everyone mutes themselves and begins driving off, away from your wealthy neighborhood and towards the city’s industrial district. The Tokyo skyline was in your rear view mirror, and your heart beat faster and faster as you went further away from your home, the place that you’ve been stuck in for years now. 

“You don’t get out much do you?” Kuroo asks, breaking the silence. 

“Not really, no. My father doesn’t allow me to go many places now, ever since my brother died. He says it’s too risky, which I think is bullshit.” You say, shrugging your shoulders. 

Kuroo laughs. “I knew you weren’t just some obedient princess. Look at you, all rebellious.” 

“I’d be more rebellious if I were able to do anything. This...is my first time out of the house in 6 months. The last time was just for the dentist.” You say, awkwardly laughing at yourself. 

“Well, then we better make the most of it, right?” Kuroo says, switching gears, now going 105 km/h on the expressway. 

“Kuroo what if we get pulled over?” You ask nervously, knowing the risks he was taking just to show off. 

“Relax, (y/n), I know what I’m doing.” Kuroo says, flashing his signature grin at you. Everything about him drew you in, made you want to keep looking, to reach out and know him as more than just your father’s employee. 

“Kuroo, stop showing off. Just because there’s a pretty girl in the car doesn’t mean that you get to be cocky.” Kenma says in your ear, catching you both off guard. 

“Alright alright, take it easy Snake Eyes.” Kuroo says, tapping his ear piece once, then double tapping again to mute. He begins slowing the car down to 80 km/h. 

You let out a small giggle, looking over at him. “You think I’m pretty?” You say in a mocking tone, leaning in closer to him. 

“I think you’re beautiful.” He says in a serious tone, catching you completely off guard. You begin to slowly back away from him, retreating back into your seat. 

“What?” You ask, not sure if you heard him right. 

“You’re beautiful. I’ve always thought so. As a matter of fact, if it wasn’t for my extremely deep fear of your father, I’d want to take you out on a date.” He says, laughing. 

You laugh as well, suddenly a little sad about what he said. “Yeah, that’s too bad. I would’ve said yes.” You say, turning your face to give him a sad smile. 

He smirks at you, but his eyes drooped, giving them a sad, tired look. “Would’ve been a great first date.” 

After that exchange, you both remained quiet, lost in thought of what could have been. Thinking of the undeniable chemistry that drew the two of you together, but also the forces at play that kept you from colliding. What could have been, if circumstances were different, if the two of you were different. Normal. 

“Can I ask you something?” You ask him, breaking the silence that had fallen between the two of you. 

“Of course.” 

“What would you be, if you weren’t racing and working for my dad? Who would you be?” You were genuinely curious, because all you ever knew about Kuroo was that he was dealing before getting pulled into the Sakanoshita business, and that he raced with Nekoma. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He says, a smile growing on his face. 

“Try me.” 

“Well, I would be a student. Right before I got recruited by your family, I was in college. Chemistry major.” He says, peering over at you. 

“Chemistry?!” You ask, surprised by his answer. “You’re a science nerd?” 

“I mean, I wouldn’t say a nerd.” He says, laughing at your reaction. “In my senior year, I ran out of money. So, I started dealing. It wasn’t anything serious, but I guess I was pretty good at it. I ended up on your dad’s radar, and he took me in as a transporter and dealer. And so, here I am. No degree, but hey, I have a nice car.” 

“I’m sorry.” You say, almost out of instinct. It felt like the only right thing to say, even if it wasn’t something that was expected. 

“Sorry for what? Your dad giving me a job?” 

“You never got to graduate.” After saying this, it seems as though Kuroo realizes it as well, that he never got to finish school. “You were so close, but you got stuck with my family. I’m sorry you didn’t get to finish your schooling.” You say, meaning every word. You were sorry, and you couldn’t help the guilt you felt. After all, it was your family that pulled him into this world.

Kuroo stays silent for a few more moments, thinking over what you just said. He appears to snap out of it, switching back to his usual easy going, casual self. “Nothing to be sorry for, princess. Without your dad recruiting me, I would just be a broke bum with a lame car and no money to my name. Besides, I can go back and finish things up someday. But for right now, I’m exactly where I want to be.” He looks over at you and winks, making you laugh. “What about you? Where would the yakuza princess be if she wasn’t a mob boss in training?” 

You paused, not knowing how to answer. “I actually don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it, because there really isn’t a future for me outside of the family business.” You say, unable to hide the disappointment in your voice. 

Kuroo frowned, thinking of a response. “Well, hypothetically, what would you be doing? Let’s say, in an alternate universe, where we’re just normal people, living normal, legal lives. What would (y/n) be?” 

“A teacher.” You say proudly, without hesitation. “Or a professor. Definitely education.” 

“A teacher?!” Kuroo asks, laughing. “How do you go from yakuza boss to teacher?” 

You laugh, realizing just how ridiculous it sounds. “What, you said normal! If I had a choice to be normal, I’d want to be a teacher, in a small town. I think I’d be a good teacher!” You say, defending your choice. 

“Okay, okay. I guess I can see you as a teacher.” Kuroo says, still grinning from ear to ear. “But, the hot teacher. With a gang tattoo.” He says, referencing the giant koi fish tattoo you have on your shoulder. 

“No!” you exclaimed, laughing loudly with him. “I want to be the generic teacher, with cardigans and sensible shoes and house cats to come home to. I’d grade papers and mentor kids, and just be free to be as boring as I want to be.” 

“Y’know, maybe I can see it.” Kuroo says, smiling at you. You couldn’t ignore the butterflies in your stomach every time he gave you that smile, the kind of smile that made your day so much better by simply existing. “Maybe someday we can be boring together.” 

The profound silence that followed that sentence spoke volumes to the both of you, almost as a silent prayer to the universe, begging for a chance to be boring together. However, that silence was broken by Kenma in your ear, bringing you both back to the reality you both began to dread.

“5 minutes out, turn your headlights off.” 

“Going dark. Thanks Snake Eyes.” You hear Kita say. Kuroo flicks his lights off, leaving only the street lamps to light the way. 

“What container should we be looking for?” Oikawa asks. 

Kuroo replies, reading out a series of letters and numbers. “The boss gave me an idea of where to go, I think we’ll have to get out to look around though. Snake Eyes, you got eyes on the port? Any trouble?” 

“Nope, all clear. Limited street lamps though, you may need a car for some light.” 

“Got it. I’ll let you know when we find the container. Let us know if anything suspicious catches your eye.” Kuroo says, muting himself once again. As you enter the industrial port, Kuroo begins taking a series of turns, leading you deep into the maze of containers. The further you got, the number of street lamps began rapidly decreasing, and you became very familiar with the reason why it’s called shady business. 

Kuroo flicked his lights on, and you kept an eye out for the shipping container, or at least one that was close to the number you were looking for. 

“I think I got something.” You hear Kita say, flashing his lights behind you, to signal for everyone to stop. Kuroo turns around, putting his car in park and leaving the lights on, pointing at a shipping container with the exact identification numbers you were looking for. 

“Nice work Sly Fox.” Kuroo says, patting him on the back. You stood close by the car as the three men approached the container, Kuroo pulling a key out of his pocket and unlocking the giant lock that secured the container. 

As he swung open the door to the container, the scent was strong, but familiar. It smelled like… 

“Tobacco?” You ask, walking closer to the container. 

“Cuban cigars.” Kita says, laughing as he walked further into the container. 

“Hey Snake Eyes, let the boss know we’re in the container. 30 bricks right?” Kuroo asks into his ear piece. 

 “I’ll let him know. And yes, 30 exactly. He left a note in the file that said you may have to look around a bit for the cargo. Also, Sly Fox, don’t take any cigars.” Kenma says, right as Kita was stuffing a handful of cigars into his pocket. Kita reluctantly returns them to the pile they were taken from. 

“Got it, 30 pieces of cargo. We’ll make contact again once they’ve been located.” Kuroo says, tapping his ear piece twice. “Okay, 30 bricks. Let’s start from the back and make our way out, whenever you find one, take it straight out to my car. Princess, you’re the look out.” 

“Why do I have to be the look out?” You protest. 

“You can’t reach the top of the containers, chica.” Oikawa points out, putting his hand on one of the shipping boxes that towered over you. Kuroo snickered, walking up to you. 

“Just stay outside, kitten. Let us know if there’s any big bad guys coming?” Kuroo says, putting his arm around you and walking you outside. 

You rolled your eyes and shrugged his arm off. “Whatever, just hurry up, it’s freezing out here.” 

You stand outside, staring out to the distant city lights, listening to the quiet waves that lapped against the side of the port. Kuroo came and went, bringing cigar boxes filled with cocaine out to his car. 

After the 12th box, he noticed you were crouched down with your arms tucked into your jacket, the arms of your jacket swinging in the breeze. He laughs, walking up to you. 

“Cold?” He asks, looking down at you. 

“Maybe.” You answered through chattering teeth. You stand up, looking up at him. He towered over you, meaning you had to crane your neck in order to meet his gaze. 

“Here.” He says, taking the red bomber jacket off his body and wrapping it around you, using it as an opportunity to pull you closer to him. “Your dad might slice my head off if you catch a cold.” He whispers into your ear, making you laugh. 

“How’re we doing guys?” Kenma asks through the ear piece.

“A little under halfway done. Anything we should be worried about?” Kuroo says. 

“Nope, still all clear. Just let me know when you’re done and heading out.” Kenma says, muting himself. 

“Back to work.” Kuroo says, pulling you in tighter for a moment before letting you go. You stood there, warm under his jacket, wrapped up in the lingering scent of his cologne that remained. You wanted to freeze time, to live in this moment of calm, feeling protected just by the residual presence of Kuroo. 

They continued on, carrying cigar boxes out of the container and into Kuroo’s trunk. Every once in a while you’d hear hushed conversations from inside the container, too quiet for you to hear. 

“This is the last of it.” Oikawa says, walking out of the container with Kuroo. They each had 4 boxes in their hands, which they placed in the back of Kuroo’s car. 

“Ready to go?” Kita says, popping up next to you out of nowhere, causing you to jump. 

“Jesus, where did you even come from?” You ask, startled by his sudden appearance. 

Kita smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “They don’t call me sly fox for nothing.” He says, walking back to his car. Kuroo was busy closing up the container, securing it and making it appear as if we were never there. Oikawa was leaning over the trunk of Kuroo’s car, arranging the boxes of drugs underneath a spare blanket. 

“Snake Eyes, you there?” Kuroo asks, walking back to the car. 

“Yup, all ready to go?” Kenma responds. 

“Ready when you are.” Kuroo says, walking over to your car door and holding it open for you. You climb in, ready to get out of the cold. Kuroo closes the door, and continues to talk to Kenma through his ear piece. You figured out that Kenma had made it so their communications wouldn’t be heard through your ear piece. You couldn’t make out exactly what they’re saying, but you assumed it’s some info about the drive to the warehouse. 

You watch as Kuroo leans in to tell Oikawa something, which he nods in agreeance to before walking back to his car and getting in. Kuroo then walks around to his side of the car, turning it on and beginning to pull out of the dark alleyway of the port. 

“Ready to roll, princess?” He asks, turning to flash you a grin. 

“The faster the better.” You say jokingly. He laughs, revving his engine loudly. 

“Careful what you wish for.” He says, speeding up as the three cars leave the port and enter the expressway. 

“DK, stop showing off.” You hear Oikawa say through the ear piece. 

Kuroo rolls his eyes, taking his foot off the gas to slow down. “Buzzkill.” He mutters under his breath. 

You rode in silence together, heading towards the warehouse your father owns. The warehouse was a front, being used as storage for the goods your father exported in his legal business. For the illegal business, it was used as a storage and distribution center for the underground dealings. 

“DK, we have a problem.” Kenma says. 

“Talk to me Snake Eyes.” 

“We’ve got some cops heading your way. The boss texted saying someone may have tipped them off to tonight’s job. Apparently the king of Tokyo has some enemies.” 

“That’s one way to put it.” You mutter to yourself. Your father had more enemies than allies, meaning that there was a constant target on the backs of every member of the family. It’s no surprise that something went wrong tonight. 

“Which way are they coming from?” Kuroo asks. 

“West. I think they’re gonna intercept you soon. At least 2 cars, and I’m pretty sure they’re looking for you.” 

“Shit.” Kuroo whispers to himself. “Cypher, Sly Fox, you there?” 

“Heard it all, DK. What’s the next move?” Cypher asks. 

“Sly Fox, take the lead. Take the back route, go straight to the warehouse, fast as you can. Cypher, take the rear behind Sly Fox, if you run into any trouble you’re the diversion. Got it?” Kuroo says, his voice taking on a new tone of authority. 

“Roger that. When should we check in with you?” Sly Fox asks. 

“I’ll make contact when we’re free. Just get in touch with Snake Eyes when the delivery is made.” 

“And (y/n)?” Kita asks. Kuroo turned toward you with an expression of deep thought on his face. 

“She’ll stay with me. We’ll be fine.” Kuroo says firmly, turning his eyes back to the road. You weren’t sure why, but you trusted him. Given the circumstances, you probably shouldn’t, but some part of you just impulsively put all your faith in him, trusting that being in his car was the best place for you to be.

You hear Oikawa chuckle. “Have fun princesa. I hope DK doesn’t scare you away.” 

“Shut your mouth, amigo.” Kuroo says mockingly. “I’ll see you both later. Be safe.” He says, muting himself. 

You look behind you to see Kita’s car already in front of Oikawa’s, and you see them both exit off of the expressway, their engines revving as they sped off, out of sight. 

“Maybe I’m pointing out the obvious, but aren’t you the one with the delivery to make?” You say, growing worried by Kuroo’s plan. 

“Don’t worry about it princess. Just trust me.” Kuroo says, revving his engine loudly, rapidly increasing speed. 

“You have 20 bricks of cocaine in your trunk and you’re telling me not to worry?!” You exclaim, turning your body to face him. 

“Or do I?” He asks, glancing over and smirking at you. This question caught you off guard, making you wonder if this guy was crazy or stupid, or both. 

“On your left!” You hear Kenma say, moments before two police cars appeared behind you two, struggling to keep up with Kuroo’s speed. 

You slumped back in your seat, trying to find it in yourself to trust Kuroo. The police sirens grew louder and the red and blue flashing lights started to draw closer, but somehow, Kuroo remained calm, not even bothering to increase speed. 

Your heart raced as the police cars began getting closer and closer, nearly pulling up right beside you. 

“Hey princess, ever wondered what DK stood for?” Kuroo asks calmly.

“Fucking Donkey Kong?!” You yell at him, having no patience for his games. 

He laughed at your stressed demeanor, throwing his head back and shaking his head. “Nope. Not even close.” He switches gears, causing the car to slow down quickly and making the cops draw far ahead of you. He veers off to the side, seemingly to take the ramp that curved to exit the freeway. Suddenly, he speeds up yet again, turning his wheel suddenly as the car begins drifting on it’s side. 

“Drift King.” He says with a smirk. The car drifted down the ramp, screeching as Kuroo pulled the emergency brake up and maneuvered the steering wheel to keep it steady. You were familiar with drifting, due to the fact your brother was involved in street racing before his death. You knew that it was something that only experienced drivers could do, and it took a certain level of skill and a lot of practice to perfect. You realized that this meant Kuroo was a skilled driver, far more skilled than you realized. No wonder they called him Drift King. 

By the time the two of you reached the end of the ramp and began racing down the industrial district street, the cops just began heading down the ramp, trying their hardest to keep up. 

The chase continued on for several blocks, Kuroo barely breaking a sweat. It seemed as though this wasn’t his first chase. After some time, Kenma’s voice comes through on the ear piece. 

“Hey DK, you may want to end this chase. They’re calling for backup soon.” 

“Got it, I’ll pull over now. Thanks Snake Eyes.” Kuroo replies, beginning to slow down. 

“Pull over?!” You ask him. 

“Just trust me! You think I’d put you in danger?” He asks you, grinning. The car comes to a stop, and the two police cars quickly pull over as well. 

“Give me your ear piece.” Kuroo says quickly, the two police officers quickly approaching the car. You quickly hand it to him, which he shoves in the inside pocket of his jacket. 

“Sir, please exit the car. You as well, ma’am.” The officer says, shining his light in Kuroo’s car. The two of you exit the car, standing in front of the headlights. 

“Now, what in god’s name were you doing?” He asks, as the other officer begins searching the car. 

“He was just being a show off.” You say, lying on the spot. Kuroo looks surprised by your sudden statement, but plays it off, acting natural. 

“Yeah, sorry about that. Just trying to impress a pretty girl.” He says, putting his arm around you and kissing the side of your forehead. Although it was just an act, your stomach still did somersaults just with that one simple action. 

“I see.” The officer says, shining the light at your gun. “You have a license to carry that ma’am?” 

“Yes sir. Just a personal protection piece.” You say, pulling your driver’s license as well as gun registration out. You hand it to the officer, who looks it over. 

“Sakanoshita?” He asks with fake surprise, looking up at you. 

“Yes, my father. I’m sure you know him.” You say, knowing that the name Sakanoshita held a lot of clout in the city. 

“We're familiar with him.” He says shortly, handing the papers back to you. “Anything?” He asks, turning towards the other officer who was peering into the car. 

“Nothing. Mind popping the trunk?” He asks Kuroo. Your heart begins to race, knowing what they would find. Kuroo however, remained cool as a cucumber, sauntering over to the car to open the trunk. He walks back to you with a grin, standing behind you and draping his arms over your shoulders, pulling you closer to his body. You grab his hands, bracing yourself for the big reveal. 

“Now what do we have here?” The officer says, ripping the blanket off of the boxes. You close your eyes, preparing yourself for the worst. The officers pause, opening one of the boxes. 

“Cigars?” They ask. You open your eyes, looking up at Kuroo as he continues to grin at you. 

“Yes sir, we were on our way back to her place, to deliver them to her dad. You know, the infamous Mr. Sakanoshita.” Kuroo lies with ease. 

“They’re gifts, for some associates of his.” You say, joining in on the lie. “He’s hosting a little get together tomorrow. I believe your boss, the police chief, will be there. It’d be a shame if he heard you pulled over a Sakanoshita.” You knew exactly what you were doing, using your name for your own benefit. 

“I see.” He says, closing the box of cigars and putting it back down. “Just some Cuban cigars I suppose.” He closes the trunk, walking to where you and Kuroo stood. 

“And I suppose the speeding was because the old man is waiting on these cigars, huh?” The other officer says, standing next to his partner. 

“Exactly.” Kuroo says. “Not exactly the best idea to get on the bad side of your girlfriend’s father, right?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. 

Surprisingly, the cops laugh. “You got your work cut out for you kid. Sakanoshita is not an easy man to win over.” 

“Yeah, his daughter isn’t any easier.” Kuroo says, pulling you closer. You laugh along, wishing for this interaction to end already. 

“I’ll tell you what.” The officer says, taking a few steps closer to the two of you. The headlights from the car streaked behind him, casting a dark shadow over you and Kuroo. “You two can go ahead home, just make sure not to mention this to your dad. Or our boss. Sound good?” 

“Perfect. Have a good night you two.” You say, hurriedly pulling Kuroo back to the car. 

“Sorry for the trouble!” Kuroo calls out as the two men walk back to their patrol cars. 

Once the two of you are back in the car, you breathe deeply, staring into space. 

“You alright princess?” Kuroo asks, turning towards you. 

You snap out of it, punching him in the arm. He jumps back in pain, looking shocked at your outburst. 

“Cigars?!” You question him, unable to form a full sentence. He laughs, throwing his head back. 

“Yes, cigars. I told you I didn’t have any drugs back there, didn’t I?” he says, grinning slyly at you. 

“Then who the hell has the coke?” You ask sternly, adrenaline still pumping from that run in with the cops. 

“Think about it.” Kuroo says, turning his whole body to face you. “Where do you think the drugs are?” 

You thought about it, the entire night, all the interactions that occurred. Only one person stood out to you, which was- 

“Sly Fox.” You say, realizing the stunt that they had just pulled off. “Kita. I never would have seen him take anything to his car, he’s too sneaky. I had my back turned to his car because it was up against a container, no one could have come from over there. That’s why you had him go straight to the warehouse. It’s all in Kita’s car.”

“Well look who figured it out. Good job princess.” Kuroo says, leaning back in his seat. 

“But why take the cigars? And why not tell me the plan?” You question him, not satisfied with the answer you had come up with. 

“In case of a situation exactly like this. Insurance, in case everything went wrong. An alibi.” He says peering over at you. “And, well, I wanted to test you. See if you could take the heat.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I wanted to see how you’d handle yourself, with your back to the wall. I wanted to see if you trust me.” He says, with a small smile on his face. 

“Didn’t really give me much of a choice but whatever.” You grumble quietly. 

Kuroo laughs, looking over at you. “You did great, princess. You’ll be a mob boss in no time. I hope you’ll let me keep my job, though.” 

You let out a tired scoff, exhausted by the adrenaline rush that had come and gone. “Just- please keep me in the loop about things like this. If you can do that then maybe you can keep working for me.” 

“DK, everything good?” You hear Kenma say through the ear pieces that were still in Kuroo’s pocket. He dug them out, handing you one which you placed in your ear. 

“Yup, crisis averted. Have you heard from Sly Fox and Cypher?” Kuroo asks. 

“We’re right here boss. Delivery has been made, just waiting on your order.” You hear Kita say. 

“Meet us back at the boss’s house, me and the princess have one last loose end to tie up and then we’ll head over.” Kuroo says, starting the car. 

Kuroo heads back in the direction of the ports, and you assume it’s so that the 20 cigars could be returned to the container. Once again, the two of you ride in comfortable silence, your mind wandering as you gazed at the distant city lights. 

“What’s on your mind, princess?” Kuroo asks, bringing you back to reality.

“My brother.” You answer without hesitation. “If things were different, it’d probably be him doing this job with you. Maybe not in the passenger seat, but still. The family legacy would be his.” You felt a pit grow in your stomach, your eyes suddenly tearing up. You always had these lingering feelings of doubt, but you never realized it was because of Keishin, having to be in his shadow. No one ever bet on you, or thought you were going to be the one inheriting the empire. Regardless, you were there, because your brother wasn’t. 

“Well, no offense to the great Black Lung but I for one am glad you’re here. No one else I’d rather have in my passenger seat.” He says, giving you a sincere smile, one that you haven’t seen before. It was different from his flirtatious smirk, or his arrogant grin. It was just a simple, kind smile. 

Black Lung?” You questioned. 

“Your brother’s racing name. Y’know, like DK, Cypher, Sly Fox. He used to smoke like 6 packs a day, even more than Kita. He was kind of a big deal in the racing scene. After he passed, Karasuno didn’t race for a long time because there was no one that could replace him. They’re slowly getting back on the road, but your brother is definitely still a driver people remember.” Kuroo explains, pulling into the port once again. 

“He smoked?” You asked, trying to remember a time you saw him with a cigarette. You assumed it was because he only smoked when he was away from the house, because it was something that your father would have never approved of. You were pretty sure Keishin would’ve been disowned if he smoked or drank in front of  your father.

“Yeah, all the time. That was his whole thing. Did he not smoke around you?” Kuroo asks, eyebrows furrowed. 

“No, I guess he never smoked around our family. I don’t think my dad knew either if he only smoked when he raced.” You pause for a moment. “Do you know anything about it? The accident?” You ask, growing more and more curious about what Kuroo knew. Your brother’s death was always explained to you by members of your family, and you wondered if there was something that they didn’t know that the racers did. 

Kuroo paused, an expression of deep thought in his face. He looked as though he was trying to figure out the exact sentences he would say next. “All I’ve heard is that…there was an explosion. I think his girlfriend was near it at the time, and she got injured. That’s all I know though, no one really talks about it much because of how bad it hurt everyone. A lot of people cared about him.” 

“He had a girlfriend?” You ask, turning towards Kuroo as he puts the car in park. 

He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, some chick named Saeko. I think she has a younger brother that races nowadays. I’m pretty sure she’s still a mechanic for the team.” Kuroo pauses, looking out towards the port. “Look, I don’t know too much about the accident. And I assume your dad doesn’t want you looking into it too hard. But if you do want to know more, just let me know. I’ll talk to some guys from Karasuno. Sounds good?” He asks you.

You nod in agreeance, knowing that there had to be a reason why Keishin was so secretive, and why your father is still keeping secrets about his death to this day. “Okay. If you end up talking to Saeko, could I come along? I just...I feel like I’m getting to know my brother all over again. I want to know the side of him that he hid from our family.” 

“Of course. Now c’mon, let's get these cigars back where they came from.” Kuroo says, getting out of the car and popping the trunk. You follow him, getting out and standing next to him. 

The two of you silently put the cigars back, working quickly to get the job completely finished. By the time Kuroo was closing the container door, Oikawa came through in the ear piece. 

“Hey love birds, are you heading back to the house soon?” he asks. Kuroo rolls his eyes and unmutes himself. 

“We’re heading back now from the port. Snake Eyes, you told the boss the delivery was made already, right?”

“Yup, I let him know. He’s waiting for you guys at the house.” Kenma replies. 

“Sounds good, we’ll be there soon. Cypher, Sly Fox, go ahead and start heading over now.” 

“Will do. See you soon DK.” Sly Fox says. 

“C’mon princess, let’s go home.” Kuroo says, throwing his arm over you as the two of you walk back to the car. You take the hand he had on your shoulder into your own, squeezing tightly. It was strange how natural it felt, being with Kuroo. It was almost as if it was where you belonged, with him, wrapped up in his arms. 

You climb back into the car, watching Kuroo as he starts the car and begins driving off once again. Your head was spinning trying to make sense of everything that had occurred that night, as well as processing all the new information Kuroo had told you about your brother. You knew this day had to come, when you would have to jump in head first into the world your family operated within, when you would have to fully take on the Sakanoshita name and all the responsibilities that come with it. 

As Kuroo rolls up to the driveway of your home, you see Oikawa and Kita standing outside with your father, smoke billowing from where the three of them were conversing. 

“Tetsurou! (y/n)! I was beginning to wonder when you’d be back!” Your father says, cutting another cigar and handing it to Kuroo, motioning for him to join the group. 

“Cubans? What’s the occasion?” You ask your father, standing next to Kuroo. 

“Your first job, sweetheart. And with no casualties, no arrests, a clean job deserves a little reward.” Your father says, grinning at you, holding out a cigar for you to take. 

“Dad, I don’t smoke.” You say, laughing. 

“Oh c’mon, the most powerful man in Tokyo offers you a cigar, you take the cigar.” Oikawa says, smirking and letting out another cloud of smoke. 

You roll your eyes, taking the cigar and allowing your father to light it. You thought more about the cigar as you drew the smoke in, about what it meant for you to be invited to smoke with your father. It meant that you were finally owning your family name, you were finally a true Sakanoshita. 

You stood there silently, listening as Kuroo explained to your father the decision he made to use Kita as the real transport and to make himself the emergency decoy. Your father listened as well, nodding along with an expression of deep thought on his face. 

“Great thinking Tetsurou. That is exactly why I keep you on my payroll.” Your father laughs, smacking his hand against Kuroo’s back. Kuroo laughs as well, putting on his usual submissive attitude that he uses with your father to gain his good graces. 

“Let’s just hope your daughter keeps me on when she takes over.” Kuroo jokes, nudging you with his elbow. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ve earned your place with the whole family.” Your father says, smiling at you. “Say, isn’t that Tetsurou’s jacket?” 

“Oh, yeah.” You say, realizing you still had it on. “It got cold at the ports.” 

“It’s funny. You’re starting to look more and more like him.” Your father says, eyes squinting as he smiles sadly. 

“Like who? DK?” Kita asks with a cigar hanging out of his mouth. 

“Keishin. The racing jacket, the gun. Even the smoking.” The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, remembering the conversation you had with Kuroo about your brother. Your suspicions about your father kept growing, and it became harder and harder to believe his mourning father act, the smoke and mirrors he used to deceive everyone. 

“Well, you know how much I adored him.” You say, taking another puff from your cigar. You and your father both pause, staring one another down. There was noticeable tension, but with no clear reason. Nothing more than a gut feeling. 

The staredown was cut off by Kuroo clearing his throat, getting both yours and your father’s attention. “It’s getting pretty late, we don’t want to keep the two of you from a good night’s rest.” He says, finding a way for the three racers to leave. 

“Yes, it is getting rather late. Oh! Better not forget these. Tetsurou, I put your friend’s pay for tonight with yours.” Your father says, moving away from the staircase leading up to the front door to reveal three paper bags with names on them, which you assume was full of money. 

“Thank you sir. I’ll make sure to get it to Snake Eyes.” Kuroo says, bowing to your father. Kita and Oikawa follow suit, bowing before grabbing their bags. 

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Kita says, walking back to his car. 

“See you next time boss. You too, princesa.” Oikawa says, waving to the both of you before getting into his car. 

“So, you’ll let me know when there’s another job?” Kuroo asks as Oikawa and Kita begin pulling out of the driveway. 

“Absolutely.” He nods, turning to face both of you. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I better get inside before your mother comes out here and drags me back in. Have a good night, Tetsurou.” He says, going back inside. It was once again just you and Kuroo. 

“Oh! I almost forgot.” You say, beginning to take off Kuroo’s red bomber jacket. 

“Keep it.” He says, taking a step closer to you. He places the jacket back onto your shoulders. “I’ll be back for it eventually.” 

The two of you pause, staring into each other’s eyes. It felt like a moment that you could live in forever, relishing the comfort that Kuroo gave you. 

“Thanks for having my back tonight. You sure know how to think on your feet.” Kuroo says. 

“Not like I had much of a choice.” You say, remembering the moment earlier in the night. A part of you wished it wasn’t a lie, that you and Kuroo were just two lovers out for a drive. Nothing illegal, nothing scary, just a guy with a car and the girl in the passenger seat. 

“Come here, princess.” Kuroo says, pulling you into a tight hug. Your heart skips a beat, startled by the sudden act of affection. You wrap your arms around him, feeling perfectly at home in his arms, being squeezed tightly against his body. 

“Please be careful. I don’t trust your father.” Kuroo whispers into your ear. You realize the real reason why he hugged you, so that he could tell you this message in secret. “I’ll talk to some people from Karasuno Killers and see if you can meet Keishin’s girl. He’s hiding something, (y/n).” 

“How do you know? What are you talking about?” You ask, holding him tighter. 

“(y/n), how would your father know that Keishin smoked? If he lied about that, then we don’t know what else he’s hiding.” Kuroo responds. Your breath catches in your throat, remembering what your father had said, about your sudden resemblance to Keishin. 

Racing jacket, gun, smoke. 

[marky4l]

Step by Step / Mark Lee

step by step / mkl

pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

From an innocent childhood friendship to a juvenile high school rivalry to a forced pairing for a Psychology paper, it seems you and Mark just can’t avoid each other. But something’s a little different now.

genre: fluff, angst (a little bit), suggestive themes, childhood friends (barely mentioned!) to enemies to lovers, college!au

notes: lia yeonjun chan hyuck jeno all make tiny appearances 

word count: 17.2k 

hi!!! this is my first work nd I’m really excited to put this out I’d looove if you could give it a read :^) hound me on my inbox if u wanna i take anything

“Remember when we were best friends in fifth grade?”

His voice is a little quiet, and there’s a very obvious undertone of boredom, but you hum softly anyway, nodding, as if to question why you would ever forget. Fifth grade was a suburban brew of Star Wars marathons, figuring out the world, and Harry Potter merchandise littering your house. Fifth grade was lemonade and oatmeal, knitted sweaters, and sneaking into your mom’s vanity to swipe her makeup. And fifth grade was Mark—bright eyed, geeky Mark, with his Death Star replica and weird electronica music. 

Mark, who had an affinity with Troy from High School Musical and Spiderman, and wanted to be just like them. Mark, who would show up grinning to your front door everyday, pie dish in his nimble grip. He was the one who had opened a lemonade stand at the corner of your block so he could buy you the Gryffindor scarf you’d been nagging your mom about the entire holiday season. He was the one who learned the chords to your favorite Jonas Brothers song and sang it to you each time you requested it.

“Yes, I do,” you answer instead, clearing your throat. 

You attempt to push down all the memories that just ran through your head and adjust the grip you have on your pen. “Well,” Mark continues, “that was ages ago. Beats me why it ever happened.” 

The timidity is replaced with a tidal wave of teasing, and the annoyance that had disappeared is beginning to crawl all over you. Again. You roll your eyes and pull up the slides your professor had assigned. “Beats me why we even ended up in the same university, let alone the same class,” you jab, “if you thought I forgot about how you outright failed our Spanish classes in high school, I didn’t.”

Your friendship with Mark had reached its unfortunate demise to the hands of middle school, where you had branched out with your interests and began to stick to societal (as societal as school can get) norms. He had joined the geeky, cool kids; you hadn’t joined a specific social circle, but you had a best friend, Lia, and you were generally good with everybody. 

Somehow, despite you both being in good graces with everyone, you had a deep-seated dislike for one another that stemmed from an intense academic rivalry. Specifically, the competition to become school council president. That had ended now, seeing as though you were both in college, but the abrasiveness of your banter had never worn off.

“Oh, because you were so good at Physics?” he says, voice even. His brow is raised. “We all have our strong suits, you know. You’re one to talk.” You decide to pay him no mind, instead jotting down the criteria for your final project in Psychology 1—something about the stages of grief. You’re supposed to relate it to a different human process and show how they fit with one another. 

It’s absolute fucking bullshit, and the fact that Mark Lee became your partner among a hundred students is beyond you. Absolutely beyond you. 

He nears your screen, reading the content of your project, eyes squinted—you’d noticed his lack of decent eyesight years ago, but it seemingly hadn’t improved. “Relate the stages of grief…hold up, what? That’s difficult as hell. What are we supposed to do, lose a loved one?” You roll your eyes, turning to him. “No, Mark. The point is to find another process that happens gradually and relate it to this—denial, bargaining, anger. Get it?”

He stares back at you. “No.”

You groan audibly, turning back to your notebook. “This is impossible. Can we just switch partners so I won’t have to deal with you?” He smirks, kicking his feet up on the library table. Absently, you note how nice his sneakers look. Reclining onto the seat, he shuts his eyes as if to contemplate. 

“I heard through the birdvine our professor’s the type to pair up people she thinks would look good together for shits and giggles. Girls and boys, boys and boys, you name it. Johnny”—he’s referring to a guy who’s a year above yours, studying Biology—“tells me over five couples have been born out of this class. Isn’t that nice?” You scoff, scrolling mindlessly through the slides to keep yourself distracted. 

“It really is. A shame we won’t be adding to that list, because I can’t fucking stand you.” He laughs loudly, the vibration of it remaining in the deadly silent air. “I can stand fucking you, though,” he says, and then, before you can even blush, “All jokes. Don’t get your hopes up, ‘kay?” He’s quick to get up, just as flustered as you are at the uncharacteristic phrase that just left his mouth. He collects his jacket and jogs out of the library with a small, half-assed bye under his breath.

—

Lia’s eyes bore into yours. “He actually said that? I’m telling you, he’s some weird kinky guy under that whole cool geek persona. High school Mark would never have. Oh my god. He’s a furry—he’s a furry!” She flops back onto your bed, laughing. You poke at her waist in protest. 

“It’s because he’s surrounded by too many weird classy fuckboys. You know, those that think that they’re all that because they haven’t roofied a girl.” You’re half-joking, and you’re really only referring to maybe two guys you’ve happened to see Mark with. As if to read your mind, Lia continues. “Hey, I heard some of them are okay. They’re not, like…those ‘nice guys’, if you get me.”

“I do,” you quip. “But I guess I’m just trying to find a way to justify the whole 360 in Mark. I mean, in high school, he was still nerdy—well, you know. Shy. But jump to sophomore year of uni and he’s suddenly some…” You rack your head for a proper term. “Sex god?” your friend asks, holding in a laugh. “Oh, eat shit,” you fire back, “really, eat shit. And while you’re at it, feed me some, too, because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to turn in at the end of the term. Like, Jes—”

There’s a faint knock at the door, and then. “Lia? It’s—uh, it’s me, Daniel? Er, Daniel Choi.” Your wide eyes can’t possibly match Lia’s as she tugs on a decent-looking pullover and puts it on. As she swings the door open, you manage to sufficiently hide yourself under your duvet and attempt to hear their conversation. 

“You know, it’s okay if you leave out the whole…saying your full name at the door part. Trust me…I know you,” she jokes, and you hear him laugh before you detect the crinkling of a plastic bag. “Chinese. Uh, I bought some extra for your best friend, because I’m not gonna pretend I don’t see the sentient blob on the bed.”

You pull the blanket off and smile sheepishly. “Hey, Daniel,” you say, “thanks for the food. I owe you an empty room next time, I swear by it. It’ll be easy, since I’m gonna be”—you heave yourself off the bed and onto the floor, where they’re both sitting—“holed up at the library for the next few weeks.” 

Lia nods, chewing her chow mein, and then when she’s done, she explains to Daniel your whole huge Psychology end-of-term paper about stages and grief and whatever, oh also she’s partnered with Mark Lee, this guy that we both know from high school, and she dislikes his guts, oh you know him? 

“Wait. You know him?” You repeat, and Daniel nods, ruffling his black mullet. “His room’s, like, three away from mine. He’s studying Theoretical Physics, right? Yeah, he’s always in his room doing school shit, but every weekend he’s out with the upperclassmen. He’s probably out now, ‘cause it’s Friday. How he even charmed them, though, is a mystery.”

Mid-dumpling, you roll your eyes. “Y’know, the hardest part is being partnered with him. But also, even finding what kind of gradual process to relate denial and anger too is weirdly hard. It feels like I could find something, but I haven’t gotten it…quite…” you trail off, your eyes landing on Lia and Daniel across you—they’re smiling softly at each other, and you distinguish their fingers interlocking quietly, as if you wouldn’t notice. 

“…yet. Except maybe I have. How would you want to participate in my end-of-term paper?” Their gazes turn to yours, and you nod frantically. “Oh my god, I’m a genius! Seriously! Falling in love! Yes! It’s denial—anger—whatever, whatever! It makes perfect sense. The end is acceptance, too! Oh god, Li, it’s perfect. I will owe you for life if you help me out.”

“Wait, what? You dove straight into it, what—recap, please,” Lia asks, and you compose yourself before explaining giddily. 

“Falling in love. It happens gradually, and we can compare it to the stages of grief. Seeing as you and Daniel are headed right there, we can use you as some test subjects. It’s not required to have respondents or subjects, really, it’s just an extensive paper, but it might help get the grade up. This is gonna be great, and if you ever wanna back out, you can, because it’s not mandatory.” Lia and Daniel meet eyes briefly, and then slowly, nod. “Okay, that’s pretty smart,” Daniel says, “I’m up for it. Are you?” Lia nods, slowly and hesitantly, and you smile widely. “You two just saved my Psych grade. I’ll be at Giselle’s tonight. Just…not on my bed.” You grab your keys and phone and bound out of your room, straight into the elevator at the end of the hall.

The elevator door nearly closes when a Converse-clad foot steps in, and your eyes rake up the figure, eventually landing on his face. 

“Jesus fuck,” you mumble, “you must be kidding me.” 

Mark enters the elevator with a small, teasing smile, hands tucked into his jacket’s pockets. “Hey, dude, what’s up? Was on your floor on my stop down to get some money Lucas owed me,” he says, “this is actually a godsend, because my genius brain found us a project idea. Relate grief to something else gradual? Easy as pie. Falling in lo—” 

You cut him off before he can finish, “Falling in love, right. I thought of it first, earlier,” you say profusely, absently noting the pettiness in your tone. He whistles. “No need to get all possessive over an idea the previous classes have used before, man.” You continue, ignoring him. “Whatever. Lucky for our grades, I went the extra mile to get us some test subjects. Do you know the two Chois? Lia and Daniel?” 

He nods once, “Yeah, their PDA on Instagram is fucking sickening, but I see your technique, and I like that—we get some extra data from their god awful PDA.” You nod once, and he continues. “It’s nearing 11 on a Friday night. Whose party are you headed to?”

“You’re welcome for the test subjects,” you gripe. “Anyway, I was so giddy about coming up with it, I just left them to…well, fornicate. As a compromise for being lab rats. I texted my…” you realize you’re starting to share too much to a guy you typically dislike talking to, and then there’s a silence in the air that’s painfully awkward. 

“You texted your…?” Mark asks. “My friend, but she’ll be home at 1AM, so I’m out to kill time. No parties, just…I dunno.” He nods again, and then the elevator lets out a blissful ding. You step out simultaneously, and then he faces you. “Look, it’s freezing out, you’re in shorts and a puffer coat, and it’s three hours to 1AM, so I doubt you’ll get far.” You scoff at his words despite feeling your legs shake from the breeze outside. “I’ll be fine, dumbass.”

“Just concerned,” he says, in a tone that sounds more blank than annoyed, but he turns and heads toward the door anyway. He swivels back around briefly. “It’s in Johnny’s apartment. Just a couple people, if you get bored freezing.” He jogs outside then, and you inwardly appreciate the small gesture, but again, annoyance returns just as quickly. You linger a bit before heading out yourself, walking briskly to a local Japanese restaurant. You consider this an opportunity to have some me time, some rest after a shitty week in university. Lasting ’til 1AM alone and entertained would not at all be a problem. 

You last one ramen bowl and head to Johnny’s apartment.

—

When Johnny Suh answers the door, he’s clad in a makeshift shower curtain gown of sorts, and is flushed and very buzzed all over. He hikes up the top to cover his chest and laughs profusely. “Did Mark invite you?” Behind him is a sizeable group of just about twenty people, which looks like forty in a cramped communal space. You’d been here before—Johnny likes to invite just about anyone to get stoned and listen to Kid Cudi on Fridays, and you had pushed Lia to accompany you before. 

You distantly spot the kitchenette, the small living room, and then the two bedroom doors opposing each other. “The rule was to show up wearing something not marketed as clothing, but Mark didn’t follow the rules, so. Anyway, you’re off scot-free, too…” he pauses, “…if you take off the puffer coat. We’ve got heating, anyway. Free booze and weed, too.” You figure being in a flimsy tank top isn’t so bad—you’re sure half the people here are already getting laid or trying to, and nobody would really pay attention to you.

You shrug off the coat as Johnny steps aside to let you in, hugging it close to your body and navigating your way to the kitchen. The granite counters are filled with various bottles of booze, and you also note the cigarettes and blunts lining the island. You peruse the brands before settling on a sealed can of decidedly not-so-cheap-looking beer, and crack it open to take a swig. It’s warm and fucking disgusting, but there’s not much glitz in an “anything but clothing” off-campus college party anyway. 

There are several people scattered among the living area, passing around a blunt—another group is playing suck and blow. You make your way over to the cheap couch on the far end of the room, taking a seat on the arm and stretching out your hand to claim the blunt. It’s Jae who passes it to you—Jaehyun Jung, an upperclassman whose infamy (for wearing nothing but toilet paper and running through campus) greatly surpasses him. “Who are you?” he asks, and you holler your name back over the Kanye West song playing in the background. “Mark invited me,” you tack onto the end as compensation.

He nods in understanding, watching you take a drag and pass it back to him. He only hands it back, saying, “It’s nearly done, just finish it,” and getting up to probably get some booze or another blunt. 

You scan the area for a better place to cherish your weed, because you’re definitely not going to do it on the arm of a couch housing three couples making out to the high heavens. You spot an open window and a fire escape just beside the kitchen and walk over, ducking into the cool night air. It’s not quiet, it never is, and you treasure the peace that comes with the noise, closing your eyes and trying to milk the last few drags. All that is flushed down the drain when somebody kicks you out of your reverie and your last two drags are falling down, through the grills of the fire escape. 

“What the fuck?” You look up to meet, of course, Mark’s gaze, teasing and mischievous. 

“That wasn’t fucking funny, asshat. Get away from me.” You get up instantly, ducking back into the house and searching for your coat. It’s (very unfortunately) buried under a couple who have escalated from making out to borderline public indecency.

“Fuck it,” you mumble, swinging the door open and mentally preparing yourself for the cold once you get to the sidewalk, floors down. Mark follows suit, a laugh gracing the atmosphere around the two of you. “You know, I forgot how fun it is to make you pissed off. I did it all the time in eighth grade when I told our teacher you knew the solution to the Physics problems.” You’re fucking pissed. However petty, you’re fucking annoyed that you couldn’t finish the blunt, and you pay no attention to him. 

He badgers on anyway. “Hey—it was a mistake, I wanted to say hi to you.” You scoff, finally turning—“Why? Because we’re friends? We’re not. We’re Psych partners, we came from the same high school, we share a couple mutual friends. But you and I are not friends, not objectively, anyway. Please, Mark. I only just re-acquainted myself with you today, but, like, you’re already so annoying!” You’re at the elevator now, and when the doors slide open, you step inside and let them close at once. You barely catch the unreadable look on his face in your annoyance, and you lean against the wall, shutting your eyes and breathing heavily. 

How you’d even get to Giselle’s, or how you would wait out the remaining half-hour before she got home, was just up to whichever higher power happened to be witnessing you that night.

—

The door of your professor’s office closes with a saddening click. You stare back at her name, embossed on the wood in bold, in defeat, accepting your fate with a heavy heart. Just fifteen minutes prior, you had entered with a whole spiel prepared on how you just had to swap with somebody from your class so you wouldn’t have to work with Mark. This speech had occurred twice now—with your TA, and then once with your professor. This was your second chance, your redemption: so you prepared notes, you prepared convincing words—you had a point. 

But your professor simply shooed you away, muttering how she didn’t have time for you because she was going to be receiving hundreds of papers in a few weeks’ time from a different class and she, quite honestly, couldn’t be bothered. You bite your lip, thinking back to the previous Friday—it was nearing two weeks since your small outburst at Mark. Since then, you’d expected to build a silent rapport of just working, observing Lia and Daniel, and then parting. And that was almost it. You would show up to your so-called “lab rat sessions”, cup of warm caramel latte in hand, and work. 

Except Mark would constantly make noise, jeer, swipe your pen, and do other things that got on your nerves.

“You’re going to have to stop trying sometime,” Lia says, backhugging you. She’d been waiting outside. You let your head loll back onto her shoulder and whine. “Do you know when you’re so frustrated you want to cry? Yeah? That’s exactly how it is, Li. I can’t keep up with this for another two, three months. It’s like he’s not even, like, fuck, like he’s not even trying, y’know? We’re building the foundation of a pages-long paper. This isn’t some finals essay he can bullshit in three hours.” 

You groan as Lia pulls away from you, whirling you around to face her. “It’ll be fine, I swear to you. I’ll help out, anytime you need it. I promise. If I start hating Daniel, I’ll even pretend like I’m in love with him. Head over heels.” You let yourself laugh and pull out your phone as you two begin to walk towards your dorm.

She tsks. “We’re gonna have a thing tonight, right? Like, a lab rat session?”

You nod, squinting over your calendar app. “Yeah, at around 5:30 to 6. It’ll be quick, but Mark and I are gonna have to stay behind to divide the work for the general paper and then start. Hopefully we can get some outlining done by tonight…so don’t wait up,” you sigh. She smiles apologetically, pinching your waist affectionately. 

“Daniel and I will totally help you. He’s a Mark anti now. I told him about the party outburst thing.” You had sent her a slew of texts that night, and like every other story you had told (save for the most private ones), Daniel had caught wind of it. You’re half sure he was capable of blackmailing you at that point. “Good,” you shoot back, “I’m going to need all the anti-Mark force I can get.”

“Why?” You both turn to see Mark standing idly behind you. There’s a beat, and then: “You look like an inane stalker,” you retort, turning to continue walking. Lia follows suit—with the two of you, the vibe of the atmosphere would always come easy. If one was mad, the other would act mad, too. 

“Hey,” Mark repeats, falling into step beside you, “why do you need an anti-Mark force? Tell me.” At this point, your nerves are on fire and your blood is boiling, and you’re beginning to envision beating him up on the quad. “Mark, it’s been great, but we’re going to our dorm, and in case you don’t want to catch a restraining order, I suggest you get off at your floor instead of following us like a creep,” you say sweetly, quickening your steps until he’s far behind you, smiling. Fucking asshole. 

“I’ll see ya this evening, then,” he teases, and you grumble under your breath.

—

It’s 5:45 when Lia and Daniel leave the library—fifteen minutes early. You and Mark leave ten minutes later, hours before you were supposed to complete your task. You’re fuming, and for once, Mark has the decency to read the room and feel remorse. 

The evening had started off well enough, though—Lia and Daniel had showed up, did their thing, described what was happening, and you and Mark had noted it down. And then, well. Mark spilled water all over your planner, which, in hindsight, was definitely unintentional, but in the spur of the moment, you could do nothing but your natural—everybody’s natural—response to getting something precious ruined. You began to cry. “What the fuck,” you sniffled, “is wrong with you?!” You had shaken the majority of water off your planner, but any and all dates had been smudged and bled, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive him. “I know I called you annoying, but this is too far,” you had said, watching his face go from teasing to genuinely sorry. “Dude, it was accidenta—” 

“I don’t give a fuck—!” You quickly cut yourself off and wipe your tears when you see a young library assistant heading towards your table. Everybody composes themselves—Lia and Daniel straighten out the things on the surface and Mark sits up straight. “Hey,” he says. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but two students already came in with a noise complaint. We’re gonna have to ask you to,” he makes a gesture, “leave for now and come back tomorrow. Also, the puddle on the table…yeah. I’m really sorry.” He leaves, as if to make sure you have no other choice but to just go, and you slump back onto your chair in exhaustion. 

“You two can go ahead,” you hear Mark say, “I’m really sorry about this. We’ll clean up and apologize.” Faintly, you hear them get up, and you feel Lia’s hand squeeze yours as she promises a text and food later. You let your eyes remain shut, drinking in the quiet, trying to calm your inner turmoil.

Ten minutes later, when you’re out in the cold November air, Mark finally speaks. You had cleaned up and collected your things in silence. “I’m really sorry,” he says, “it was an accident, for real. I know I tease a lot, but, uh, I’m being serious. I would never have done that on purpose. I see you write shit on that thing a lot, so…I know how much you like it. Treasure it…? I don’t—whatever it is, I’m really sorry. Like, really. T’was an accident. If you need me to pay for it…” You shake your head softly, hugging your damp planner closer to your sweater-clad chest. “It’s okay. Thanks, anyway. For helping. I’ll email you what you have to do. Bye,” you turn and begin walking in the direction of your dorm. The sun is beginning to set, golden orange hues casting a vast array of colors onto the landscape of the city. You sigh softly, heart heavy with annoyance and exhaustion, and speed up before you start having a mini-breakdown.

—

Stage 1: Denial|

Your cursor blinks back at you as you finish typing in your outline for the introduction. It’s early into November, but already, you’ve had to shut your window to shielf yourself from the biting breeze outside. Across you, Lia applies mascara and talks to you. “What are you up to?” she asks, face contorted. 

“This godforsaken paper,” you mumble back, “just finished the introduction outline. I’m trying to give a loose definition for each gradual ‘stage.’” Shoving your Macbook off your lap, you get up to stretch. “Which I’ll probably find on Google Scholar, honestly. If you had to give me a definition—what’s denial?” 

She hums contemplatively, wand on lash, and then pipes up. “I think it’s just a stage where you can’t face the fact that you’re interested in that person. Like, why them? With Daniel, he wasn’t really my type. So the whole denial was denying I liked him, because…well, yeah. But I think it differs. Some people deny it because they’re shy, or ashamed, or weirded out that they even like them.”

You’ve had your fair share of crushes before, and sure enough, you had denied them all. But that was high school—college, though, had only brought short-lived flings and one night stands; you were an overachiever, much too committed to your own prosperity to pay mind to anybody else for too long. (Except Lia.) So you hadn’t really experienced the whole boyfriend-in-university thing—not that you particularly wanted to, but you were just human; you were curious. Lia had gotten it, and it looked wonderful. 

Speaking of—“So, a week without meeting Mark in person, huh? How is that going for you?” You scoff lightly, shaking your head as you pull your hair into a bun. “It’s going just fine. Dandy, actually. We work from our dorms and you and Daniel just update us. It’s a fine arrangement that I regret was not formulated sooner.” Lia nods in understanding, and you watch her pull on a top, mutter I’m out and head outside. For the fifth time this week, you’re alone in the dorm, with nothing but your Alexa playing SZA and your laptop. You pull it onto your lap again, staring at the boldface letters you had typed minutes prior: denial. You had no firsthand experience of being mature and going through denial; not in that way, anyway. You found it stupid that people even denied when it would be less painful to just admit interest.

You blow a raspberry as you research studies related to the term, bored out of your mind.

—

Two days later, you meet Mark again. 

You’d also had the pleasure of, for a minute or two, meeting a friend of his, Donghyuck Lee from Economics. He’s loud and amusing and, from your viewpoint, undeserving of somebody as boring as Mark. (That’s from a minute-long intercation.) 

At Lia’s insistence (and likely Daniel’s, too), you two met up to properly work and collaborate. In fear of being kicked out again, the four of you had chosen to meet somewhere else—a cafe off-campus affectionately named something along the lines of Saltwater Coffee. Naturally, after Donghyuck leaves, you find yourself sitting idly (awkwardly) beside Mark. “They won’t be long,” he says suddenly, “er, Daniel just texted me. They’re near.” You nod, pursing your lips, eyes trained onto your laptop. “We’re almost done formulating the denial stage and we can start outlining anger and bargaining. This’ll take about a week more—maybe mid to late November? Uh, I know it seems justifiable to slack off with the holidays,” you say, “but I really want us to finish this early. The due date’s in mid-February, so we can pass this on the 14th.” You turn to face him. “Get it? ‘Cause it’s Valentine’s Day.”

He nods. “Okay. No slacking. I get it. The Valentine’s is smart, too.” You nod back in silent understanding, turning back to type frantically into your keyboard. 

You hear the door jingle and Lia’s small “hey, guys”, so you look up and offer a smile. “I’m gonna go order everyone some coffee,” Mark says beside you, getting up and shuffling over to the counter. Daniel joins him, and Lia takes a seat across you, her smile knowing and apologetic. “Everything okay?” You blow a raspberry, but smile, anyway. “It’s not so bad. It could be better, but no more banter, just very annoyed auras…? You get it. It’s just been tough trying to divert my focus to this and ignore all the annoyance I feel.”

“Totally, I get that,” she says, “but all the same, I’m glad he’s matured a little bit and lessened all the ribbing.” You smile at that, agreeing, and then the conversation spirals into one about both of your days—“Professor Callahan totally pops a stiffy over Professor Michaelson”, “Daniel tells me Joshua cheated. Yes, on Jess!”, “Mia dropped out the other day and nobody knows why, hope she’s okay”—before Daniel and Mark return, coffee cups in hand. Mark places one next to you, and profusely, you look up at him, who’s just about to sit. 

“Thanks, but I don’t drink brewed coff—”

“It’s a caramel latte, the only thing you drink. Heard you say that to Lia once.” He takes a seat and pulls his laptop open. 

You stare at him, taking the cup and bringing it to your lips. Sure enough, it’s caramel—thick, and foamy, and sweet. You look up at him again, but he’s busy on Google Scholar, perusing through journals and studies. You shake your head before turning to Lia, who’s already looking at you, expression mirroring yours. 

Sweet, she mouths, but you purse your lips and choose not to acknowledge it. “Thanks,” you say quietly, and he hums to say you’re welcome. 

Your eyes flicker to him. He’s wearing a knitted sweater, but he’s pulled it up to his elbows. He’s typing quickly, and he can use all his fingers, too (you fail miserably at that), and his brows are furrowed as if he’s stressed, or in a hurry. You’ve never really noticed this much of Mark before. It’s probably, you think absently, because you’re confused. Puzzled at the gesture that you didn’t expect—at all.

After an hour, he angles his laptop to yours. “Nailed the intro. High five?” You open the Google doc on your own browser, and sure enough, the word count has increased monumentally. You can’t deny his knack for writing. “There are a few discrepancies in grammar,” you say instead. “But…okay. This is good.” You ignore his hand, in mid-air, and continue researching. 

Lia holds in a giggle, but turns back to Daniel, who, after fifteen minutes, turns to you and Mark. “Lia and I are heading out, guys,” he says, and Lia quickly tacks on. “Hey, if you need me to stay, I can,” she says quickly, but you smile and shake your head. 

“This might take a while. Go ahead. See ya at the dorm, Li. Bye, Daniel.” Mark bids his farewells, too, and they leave you alone in the cafe. It’s nearing a three hour crunch when he abruptly gets up to stretch, a low grunt leaving his lips. “I’m exhausted,” he sighs, “but at least we’re nearly done with this whole denial thing.”

“We’re actually only just starting,” you state, “this is going to go through a lot of editing and proofreading.” 

He chuckles and walks back to the counter to order something, and you shut your laptop to rest your eyes. Your glasses rest uncomfortably on the bridge of your nose as you breathe deeply. You lose track of time, and you open your eyes ten minutes later, fumbling to get up properly. There’s a panini beside your laptop, wrapped neatly in a tissue and laid on a plate. Mark’s is empty, save for crumbs, and he says nothing. 

“Get up,” he remarks teasingly after a while, and you groan in exhaustion. “I am, I’m up,” you mutter, straightening your back and flexing your neck. Inwardly, you wonder if you should thank him for the panini that is obviously yours that you obviously did not buy for yourself. 

Then Mark’s hand stretches out to take the panini, and he takes a bite. “Sorry,” he says, “I had to put my second sandwich in your space. This table’s a little small.” You hum back in acknowledgement, nodding once. “It’s, uh…all good,” you respond, voice small as you type into your laptop. Internally, your body fills slowly with humiliation and confusion, but you stay quiet, and that’s how the rest of the night goes: a silent, steady beat of keyboard clicking and the occasional question. 

No banter, no nothing—it’s a godsend, yes, it is, but you can’t help but miss the abrasive, playful conversations the two of you had built up over the previous several weeks. But really—had you truly assumed he had bought you a panini? As if a coffee wasn’t enough? You felt at odds with yourself for even expecting such a gesture from the guy whose main habit was to annoy you to the ends of the Earth.

“It’s late,” he says, as if he’s reading your mind and knowing you’re absolutely mortified inside. “Let’s head home.” You nod, deeming the night’s work satisfactory—maybe even beyond, considering the amount of effort you both put into the output. You shove your laptop and charger into your bag and pocket your phone, lingering awkwardly and waiting for Mark to finish packing up. He’s particular with it—he has little sections in his backpack for the wires and chargers, and even his AirPods, and his laptop. 

“Very organized,” you find yourself commenting offhandedly, your tone taking on a teasing edge. He glares playfully back at you. 

“Sorry I don’t want my wires to break,” he shoots back, eyeing your flimsy tote bag, “unlike some people.” You roll your eyes and, against your strongest wills, a smile appears on your lips, albeit a small one. His eyes linger on your smile for a little bit before he clears his throat and zips up his knapsack. “Let’s, er, go. Thank Jesus we’re in the same building.” When you exit, the air bites at you despite the jacket covering your body, and you quicken your pace. “It’s cold as hell.”

“Ironic,” Mark says. You hide a smile.

—

That’s what November brings you—the next week and a half are composed of just slowly learning to get used to working with Mark again and going home late into the night, crunching to the max. 

Your paper begins to take on more and more structure, and two out of the six days you’ve met, Mark has set down a caramel latte for you to arrive to. The acoustic music slowly phases into holiday guitar, and the coat rack at the entrance is weighed down more and more as the days pass, preparing to welcome December. 

You and Mark work silently, save for the rare banter and eyeroll, and very gradually, the annoyance that had bubbled up within seconds before had sank down. You’re not friends, per se—it’s just that the frustration and exasperation had lessened considerably. 

You were civil. That’s it. You won’t try to deny that you’ve been thinking about this a little too much—about what your “friendship” had become with Mark. You hadn’t snapped at him in days, and he hadn’t tugged at your ballpen in even longer. It wasn’t that you had cowered him into silence by crying over your planner—it may have instigated it, but his behavior was…different. 

More calm, more sure. Less childish. He would still tease you, but not as much. It’s nearing mid-November now, and you’ve successfully done much of your introduction and denial, needing less and less of Lia and Daniel’s presence. (Which you’re sure they’re grateful for.) But being left alone with Mark isn’t as bad as you once thought—

“Hello. Earth to you,” you distantly hear, and you whip your head in the direction of the voice as you pace back to your dorm building. Mark stares blankly back at you. “What,” you mumble back. He quirks a brow before continuing. “I was saying, I think I need to take a rain check tomorrow. The, uh”—he clears his throat—“um, yeah.”

You eye him. “Okay…?”

He nods profusely, “Yeah, all good.” The walk continues in silence, the sun finally setting down behind the Manhattan skyline beyond you and the breeze taking on a chillier temperature. You sigh softly, fatigue overtaking you as you stare at the building nearing you. “If you take a rain check, just make sure you write it within the day or after,” you say, half-sternly and half-tiredly. He mumbles a “got it” and you both jog up the steps to the lobby, where you run into, by some weird twist of the day, a small group of anti-abortion protesters.

“Jesus Christ,” Mark mutters under his breath. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You rub the bridge of your nose in your fingers, choosing to tune them out and instead maneuver your way through the door. Before you can even take a step, though, they’re all up in your face with pamphlets and brochures and a guitar. “Excuse me,” you grunt, trying to gently push them aside, but they only come on stronger. “A child is a child,” they say. “If you know anybody who’s—”

“Is this your new initiative? Preying on college students on school grounds, unaccounted for?” Mark asks from behind you. You turn to find he’s filming and stifle a laugh. “I’m surprised nobody’s kicked you out. Won’t be long, now,” he adds with a smile. 

You tune out nearly everything else—it’s really just them telling Mark to stop recording and him retorting with equally snarky phrases. It’s not until maybe after a solid two minutes of back and forth that one of them, a weird middle-aged woman, pulls out a burgundy gummy bear from a bag and pushes it into Mark’s camera. He takes it from her and examines it, puzzled. “That,” she says matter-of-factly, “is the approximate size of a fetus. It’s big. It’s sentient, alive. What, I beg of you, what would you do?”

Mark squints at it. Then he pops it into his mouth, takes your hand, and runs straight to the elevator across the floor. 

“There’s a bunch of anti-abortion people outside, it’s not cool!” He hollers to the receptionist before the doors close with a damning click. 

There’s a beat, and then.

Both of you are doubling over in laughter. “Why the hell would y—why would you do that?! You’re insane!” The response is: “Because they’re not cool! They’re fuckin’ annoying! So I ate their baby!” There are tears in your eyes, your laughter so hard it’s nearing silent—Mark’s, though, is loud and annoying sounding, though you seem to not mind so much. The laughter subsides when the ding of your floor sounds and you straighten yourself up. Getting into a different position reminds you of the very there, very obvious brushing of your hand against Mark’s, which he’d taken just moments earlier, post-baby eating.

You freeze and jerk your hand away. “I’ll, um, go now,” you say, “I’ll see you tomorr—no, the day after.” Against your wills, you meet his eyes, and you’re surprised to find that he’s already looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Okay,” he says, his eyes not leaving yours. Your heart beats faster at a very small increment, but you head out and semi-run to your room, swinging it open and leaning against it. 

You look up to find Lia and Daniel engaged in a heated Monopoly match. You make no noise, mind (and heart, but you can’t tell why) racing fast. You watch them play for a second before they both look up slowly.

“You’re smiling like a goddamn idiot,” Daniel says. Your face falls immediately. “I’m, um, no I’m not,” you say casually, pacing over to your bed and flopping onto it. Lia laughs loudly. 

“That sounded so freaked. Like we’re your mom and you just brought weed home kind of freaked.” Pause. 

“Are you hiding something from me?” She rises from her spot to look at you, head in pillow and all, and you let out a muffled “no!”, probably too defensive for your own good. 

It’s Daniel’s turn to snort. You look up and glare at him, “You’re getting too comfortable for your own good. You need to humble yourself, Daniel. What’s it again? Oh yeah, Yeonjun, right?” He rolls his eyes at the use of his Korean name and turns back to the Monopoly board.

Lia flops atop you, eliciting a grunt from your lips. “Are you okay? Did somebody flirt with you? Did Mark finally fuck off and leave you alone properly?” 

At the mention of Mark, your heart races—you will it to stop, and audibly groan in the process. “What is it, you bitch?” Lia asks, tugging on a section of your hair. “It’s nothing, Li! Nothing, I promise.” She glares at you before walking to Daniel and covering his ears. Instantly, he begins to let out a chorus of Lalala, and deeming the environment safe enough, you let it slip.

“Mark and I held hands. But it—”

“You what?!”

“It really, really doesn’t mean anyth—”

“How can that not mean anything? It’s hand holdi—”

“If you would listen to the backstory you’d know!” She pauses, and then uncovers Daniel’s ears and knees him. 

“Okay, get out. Monopoly postponed, Jun,” she says, pushing him out insistently. He barely collects his phone and keys before he’s out, but you swoon silently when you catch him pressing a short goodbye kiss to her forehead before actually leaving. She turns immediately, fire and curiosity awfully evident in her face. 

She nears you. “Explain.” 

And that’s what sparks the story of the weird protesters, Mark’s power move, and the unintentional hand hold that lasted a few moments too long. She nods the entire time, laughing, and then her face straightens out again. You can almost hear the gears in her head turning as she analyzes the situation, and then she nods once. 

“Okay. Perfectly justifiable to freak out.” Another pause. “But why were you smiling?” You stare blankly back at her, head working impossibly quick to formulate a reply. You’ve taken too long now, judging by the way Lia is looking at you with the most shit-eating grin on her fucking face. You groan.

“You like him, you bitch!” 

You shake your head, facing her. “I don’t, dude. Trust me. I just…it was a fun experience, so naturally I’d be laughing. And smiling. But I’m just not interested in Mark! I’m not,” you fumble, being completely honest. 

You didn’t—not even if you looked in the mirror and asked yourself. But you couldn’t deny the feelings you felt in the ten seconds from the elevator to your room, your heart racing and your fist curling and uncurling. When you look at Lia again, she’s still smiling, flushed. “You like him,” she says into her palm, which she’s slapped over her mouth in disbelief. You stare back at her, your expression baffled. “If I did,” you begin, getting up to discard your shirt, “I’d have told you by now. It’s really not that big of a deal unless you make it out to be.”

After that, you and Mark spend nearly three weeks walking on eggshells around each other. While conversations are no longer avoided, and you could talk without getting exasperated or too embarrassed, finger brushes are frequent, and eye contact only makes you extremely nervous. You had worked until the second stage—anger—already, but you’d still been polishing the denial and introduction. Considering November wasn’t over and the paper was due February, you figured you were moving at an okay pace. Besides, a lot of your friends hadn’t even begun.

—

There are two instances where you rush home, mortified beyond belief.

The first when when you struck up a conversation with the cute, Australian barista. Scrawled in big penmanship on his name tag is Chan. You had brought up, in passing, how often you’re at the cafe and how you probably deserve a free drink. He replied with a low hum, and you dialed down your flirty tone, slightly embarrassed. But not really. You’ve rejected plenty of people before. It’s when you’re already paying for your drink that he replied, handing you your (for a change) iced matcha with a small grin. 

“I’d have flirted with you weeks ago if you didn’t have your boyfriend with you all the time. He’s always buying you your drinks.” You spluttered for a good second, staring at him incredulously. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you finally said. 

He had shrugged, nonchalant. “He sure as hell looks at you a lot for someone you’re not dating. And you do it just as much, if not more. I’m observant, by the way. Not a stalker.” You had taken your cup and paced over to the other end of the cafe, sat across Mark, cheeks heated.

He looked up, brow raised. You shook your head.

The second time was when Donghyuck graced you both with his presence. You quickly found out that he was a magnetic presence and you both shared similar interests. The energy you both created was both amusing and annoying to Mark. 

Although you kept quiet mostly, you enabled Donghyuck’s incessant teasing, which annoyed Mark to the ends of the Earth. “You’re a dork. Isn’t he?” You look up and nod with a smile. Mark rolls his eyes, sending Donghyuck into a laughing frenzy. Mark just grunts and continues typing.

Hyuck had made a joke about how two Physics textbooks discussed why the sad man named Mark owns two of them and didn’t have a life, and you laughed. 

You didn’t usually laugh, not around Mark, at least, since it was safe to say you didn’t have any source of entertainment in such a boring guy. But you laughed at the witty joke, and Donghyuck, without thinking much, had said in passing: “Mark, I guess you’re right about everything about her being pretty.”

Mark said nothing, typing. You said nothing. Nobody said anything, not even a sly Donghyuck or, from the counter, an even slyer Chan.

—

When you see Mark next, it’s three days later, and it’s, for the second time, in Johnny’s apartment. 

Lia had asked if you wanted to tag along, and you found no harm in going. (“You’re going because Mark is” becomes Lia’s favorite phrase of the night, so much it’s spread to Daniel, who you’d succumbed to and spilled everything to hours prior.) The walk there has something boiling low in your gut and you’re quiet, in fear you might end up vomiting in nerves or saying something stupid. Lia teases you, but her hand clasping yours reassures you, and you squeeze it tightly. 

You get there late—it’s past 1AM, and you have a sense of deja vu walking into the cramped space. It’s fuller this time—people are creeping into the bedrooms to smoke in private or do some other things, but suffice to say it’s crowded as fuck.

“Want a drink?” Lia hollers, and you nod over the music. Johnny’s neighbor is another upperclassman named Doyoung, though he’s mainly referred to as Doie by just about everybody around him.

You’ve seen his girlfriend call him bunny a few times, though you’ve long desired to repress that memory. 

Judging by the fact that you can faintly hear a different song from the next room, the party has probably extended to Doyoung’s. There’s quite a gathering this week—the rich freshman who you’d befriended once before, Chenle, and his horde of friends are here; from Lia, who hands you a drink, you learn that Kun and Sicheng, two incredibly attractive juniors, are here, too—in Doie’s, though. The party only intensifies, which is hard, because Johnny’s apartment is very tiny.

Eventually, you find yourself in the bathroom, smoking a joint you’d grabbed out of the clammy hands of a tipsy Chenle and kicking a couple out under the guise that you’re Johnny’s cousin. Chenle had protested but eventually given in, pulling a new one out of his pocket.

The bathroom light is white and harsh, but there’s a very funky lamp at the corner. From your place inside the dry (and thankfully clean…looking) bathtub, you eye it. It’s a tall one in the shape of a glass of margarita. 

You heave yourself up and find the switch, and then when it’s on, you giggle at the green light emitting from it. You have absolutely no idea why Johnny, Jaehyun, or their roommate Jungwoo (3J, as some call them) have a decorative, margarita-shaped green lamp, and in their bathroom nonetheless, but you shut off the main light and return to smoking your blunt. Deciding your ass aches far too much, you lean against the tile wall and cherish the smoke.

The door opens abruptly, and you curse, pushing it back closed. 

“I have explosive diarrhea,” you say robotically, using the same excuse you did for the previous three couples that showed up. 

From the other side, you hear a shrill laugh and sound of confusion. When you peer over the other side and see Mark, you groan and laugh. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I saw you come in. Like, twenty minutes ago.”

“I’m cherishing the party privately.”

Mark ushers himself into the dark space and shuts the door. He makes a show of locking it, as if to show you it’s possible to do so. The sound of it locking sends a wave of nerves up your spine. 

“I didn’t lock it in case a medical emergency happens and they have to rush inside.” 

Mark quirks his brow. “I doubt they would think to go inside the restroom and not panic and call 911, you know.” 

You shrug in indifference and take another drag, reluctantly offering it to him.

He takes it, and you pause for a second to observe him. His hair, dark, and which usually covers his entire forehead like a broom or at least parts in the middle slightly, is now styled differently. 

He’s in a fitting black shirt and blue jeans, and, upon your closer inspection, silver rings adorn his fingers. You will yourself to look down. It’s dark. “What’s that you’re holding?” You ask instead, trying not to extend your stare at his shoulders.

“Your puffer coat,” he says, tossing it to you. “Left it last time.”

“That time when you annoyed the shit out of me, right,” you retort.

“Yes, exactly that time. That was ages ago. Weeks ago. Look at us now.”

“Us now—what, still disliking each other?”

He laughs humorlessly, but doesn’t entertain you further. He turns to the lamp instead. “Do you know I was there when they moved this in,” he begins, gesturing to it, “Jae got it at some weird, awful flea market, and he had to buy some extra wiring to fix it or whatever. I was doing Physics homework. It was at the start of this school year. And I bet you didn’t know…” he bends down and reaches to the base of the lamp, pressing a button, “that it changes color.”

The room is bathed in red now, and you swallow. “Interesting,” you manage to say, despite the racing in your head. “Very,” he responds, taking a step closer to you. You gaze up at him. He’s tall. You breathe softly. You nod in agreement. You don’t know what to do. You want to punch him and kiss him and leave all at once. 

You want to kiss him, oh God, you want to kiss him.

“Oh God,” you say softly, out loud. Oh fuck. Too much weed?

He inches closer, leaving the blunt on the rim of the sink. “Why?” He smiles a little and you smile back, nervous. He’s so close now, and he smells so good—like cologne and laundry and weed. You shake your head. “Nothing,” you mumble back.

He’s even closer now, eyes boring into yours. You adjust your strap, a nervous habit. He takes your hand and does it for you. “I like this song,” he says casually, like he’s not playing with the strap of your dress. “Do you know what it’s called?” It’s vaguely familiar to you, but you shake your head. 

“It’s Jhene Aiko,” he replies, and you nod. You gravitate closer.

You stare at him. He stares back. “I’m high,” you say. You giggle. “I had a brownie and that blunt.”

“That’s a lot,” he says. “Don’t finish the blunt, ‘kay?” You nod back, and giggle again. In two seconds, your nervous mechanism has kicked in and you’re laughing like a psycho. “I’m high,” you repeat, and then he kisses you, effectively sobering you up.

Huh. He kisses you, effectively sobering you up. He kisses you.

You kiss back, shocked and relieved, deepening it, trying to get as much of him as possible. His hands are big and wide and warm, traveling all over you. You want him. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, lips molding against yours deliriously. 

“Want you,” you say when his hands play with the hem of your dress, teetering closer and closer to your core. “I said, I want you,” you whine, “now.” Mark only laughs, his hands under your dress and playing with the lace waistband of your underwear. 

“I like how this feels,” he mumbles. “Wanna take a look.” You whimper, hiking your leg up and nodding. “Please, just…touch me,” you say breathlessly. “Please.”

“I will,” he says, voice calm. “You’re being good.” You can’t deny the noise you make at the praise, breathy and loud. You pull him in again, drunk for more, your hands raking through his hair. It’s dark, the both of you basking in the small red light. Mark hikes your dress up, inching it higher, slowly, until he sees the hem of your white lace underwear. He grunts and pulls at it. “I love this,” he says. “So fuckin’, Jesus.” 

You giggle against the smile. He toys with your panties for a bit before finally pulling them down, watching them sink to your ankles. “Hot,” he jokes, and you laugh in disbelief. “Why would you even be joking abou—”

“Mark! Let’s go, it’s 2:30!” Donghyuck’s voice is just as loud and clear as it would be if you weren’t separated by a door. Jolted, you and Mark instinctively break apart and stare at the rattling door. “Maaaark,” he sing-songs, knocking to a beat. You stare at Mark, waiting for him to respond.

“I have explosive diarrhea,” he says. You stifle a guffaw, pulling your panties up.

He pouts, tapping your ass. “Bullshit,” Donghyuck says from outside. “I’m cooomin’ in!”

In the span of a minute, where you realize Donghyuck is not bluffing and in fact has a stolen bathroom key from Jungwoo’s bedside drawer, you manage to shove yourself into the bathtub and hide yourself with the curtain. Mark switches the light back on, much to both of your disappointment, and pretends to smoke the blunt you’d left on the sink fifteen minutes ago. Ergo: pre-kiss.

You find your phone on the bathtub floor and grip it, turning the brightness down. You have a plethora of messages and voicemails from Lia, five calls from Daniel, and an interesting iMessage of Donghyuck’s red, weed-induced eyes from an unknown number. It could be anybody, and that scares you.

The texts are all frantic, and they’re the last things that bring you out of your high and back to reality. Where are u, who u with?, u getting railed??!, Have you seen mark?

“Hyuck, if I actually did have a shitstorm coming out of my ass, you’d be so sorry for breaking in,” you hear Mark say. You sink lower into the bathtub, awaiting Donghyuck’s voice. “You were the one who suggested we go at 2:30, and you’ve been smoking weed for the longest time, dipshit,” he says, “now let’s go. I haven’t seen your Psych girl all night, so you can cry about it at home.” You faintly detect Mark protesting and then, “Let me just freshen up! Just go ahead.”

Reluctantly, you peek out and find Mark alone. You get up and fix your dress.

You’re sober now. The red lights are gone. It’s just you and Mark, plain and simple. Your feelings haven’t gone away, though. You’re fucking fucked. You want him to fuck you. Oh, fuck.

“Go,” you say instead, spluttering. “And I’ll see you. Tuesday.”

You leave first despite yourself, not turning around for even a split second, finding a worried (and then relieved) Lia and taking five consecutive tequila shots to down the nerves and denial bubbling in your system. She raises a brow, but you refuse to even meet her eyes, head and heart pounding impossibly fast. You want to kiss him again. So, so bad. But what the fuck did you just let happen?

—

Stage 2: Anger|

Lia hadn’t pressed, and you were nervous, but it was getting easy to diverge the details of what happened during Johnny’s party. You had instead opted to work alone, too much of a coward to even see Mark’s face. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you feared you might just kiss him if you ever saw him. So you spent days at class working, and then at your dorm working, adjusting your route to avoid, as much as possible, Mark or Hyuck’s buildings and that godforsaken cafe. You did text Mark, though, and the exchanges were brief, not even a “thank you” or “good morning” preceding them. It was awful.

Working alone forced you into a heavy load of retrospection. You would think deeply, like how you are now, spiraling into a series of questions where you studied the play-by-play of what happened in the bathroom, up against the wall. You liked it. A lot. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t let yourself. Why it even happened…God. You mentally berated yourself for giving into it. Didn’t you hate him? Or at least dislike him? Didn’t you take pleasure in scolding him or fighting with him?

“You’re freaking me out,” Lia says from her bed. She’s been staring at you. “You’ve been lying on your bed staring at the ceiling for twenty straight minutes.” She walks over to you, flopping next to you, her arms winding around your body. “You can tell me anything.”

“I know,” you say, nervous. You gulp.

“Okay. If you’re n—”

“Mark and I kissed.”

She sits up and turns to look at you.

“Made out, more like. We were going to fuck if we didn’t get interrupted.” You’re mortified, refusing to meet her gaze. When you look up, her face is even, but you know she’s bubbling over with giddiness inside. “That is so fucking great, dude,” she replies. “Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Because it’s Mark,” you whine. “He’s not…I don’t know.”

She lies back down. “You’re overthinking this.” You laugh, poking her waist. “I know, but I just…I feel like he might not like me much anymore.” You recount the way you left him hanging, despite the lack of awkward air and the potential to talk and become something. She tsks but justifies it, because she’s so good at that, being a mediator, and you continue with your day quietly. 

Your mind is always on it, though, his hands and his lips, and you’ve scoured Spotify for the song playing that he had commented on.

It’s called Pussy Fairy. You cannot make it up. It’s a weird title, but the song is heavenly, and you can’t deny when it’s full blast on your AirPods and your hand is creeping closer and closer there, trying desperately to replicate what you felt in that moment. When you’re not sated, ashamed and sighing, you resort to working on your paper. There are moments where both you and Mark are working at the same time, and you hate yourself for getting all flustered when it happens. 

—

It’s a Tuesday, in the early afternoon, when you’re out of class and cleaning out the little litter in your dorm, repasting whatever decorations fell off, et cetera. You have the time, anyway, and it wouldn’t hurt to fix the place up a bit. You’re halfway into re-stringing Lia’s fairy lights when someone knocks on the door, jolting you. You curse under your breath, hopping off her bed to swing the door open and reveal—

“What is up?!” Donghyuck grins back at you. His hand is raised in a high-five invitation, which you hesitantly reciprocate. “Mark tells me you’re meeting today, and that I should come remind you, since it seems like you forgot. He says you haven’t texted all day. Since I was on this floor—do you know Jeno Lee? Do you know it’s so amusing how Mark, Jeno, and I all have the same surname? Anyway. I was here on your floor to remind Jeno about an Econ presentation, and Mark texts me and goes, if you’re with Jeno, then remind you—you as in you, you—to come meet me and work.” 

He talks so goddamn fast. “You talk so goddamn fast.”

He just guffaws, high-fiving you again. “Well, you get my point, right? Meet Mark at the cafe and work is all he said to do. If you wanna.” You nod slowly, absorbing his words. “Tell him I’ll be a little late,” you say simply, and as you’re about to shut the door, he talks again, his voice quieter this time. “I know you were hiding behind the curtain.”

You pull the door open again, so fast a minuscule gust of wind washes over both of your faces. “You’re kidding,” you say, “you’re kidding.” You stare at each other for a second before his solem features break into a smile. “I am. Mark spilled everything to me, so I decided to trick you.” Relief and annoyance break over your system as you swat Donghyuck’s shoulder. “You’re a dick,” you spit. “You’re bringing a bad image to Econ majors.”

He merely laughs and closes the door himself, light brown hair fluffing with the severity of his laugh (cackle.) Slightly annoyed, you drag yourself to get dressed, dread building up in your stomach at the prospect of seeing Mark again. Not when your mind conjures up what happened everytime you just see his name. Or the word mark. You’ve been out of it since it happened, not even responding to your usual heated debates with the conservative Trump supporter in class. You suppose the best way to confront it is to simply confront it.

When you get there, though, it’s clear that confrontation would not be an option. Immediately, when you sit, the air shifts into something oddly familiar—the atmosphere between the two of you when you first got partnered up. Except now, Mark won’t even give you a pinch of attention, or banter, instead typing his questions into the document to avoid verbal conversation. (He is a fucking petty bitch, you’ll give him that.)

You stroll over to the counter, pout set on your lips. “Hello,” Chan says politely, and you just smile half-heartedly. “Lover’s quarrel?” He teases, and you roll your eyes. “He’s ignoring me,” you respond, watching him make you a latte. “And we’re not dating. We never were.”

“Mm, right,” he says, finishing and setting your drink in front of you. You laugh a little, taking it. “No. We weren’t. But I’ll update you.”

When you return, Mark’s looking at you, quiet as ever. You break his gaze and continue working, working and working until the sun sets, nestled deep behind the horizon. When you look up again, the sky is already dark, city lights providing solace to the place. You look at Mark quizzically, as if to ask him what time you should both leave, but he just shrugs. “Any time,” he states plainly, and huffing, you get up.

“I’ll go right ahead then,” you say, trying your best to sound annoyed and get your message across. He says nothing, watching you pack up your stuff and sling your bag over your shoulder, and then eventually, leave.

Daniel is the first to see you in your raged, annoyed state—you meet him in the elevator of the lobby, your blood boiling and your fists balled. Knowing you’re headed to the same floor, he presses the button, ruffles his hair, and then lets the silence take over. And then, “What’s going on?” You breathe deeply, turning to him with a tired look on your face. “Mark’s going on,” you mumble, “he was ignoring me the entire time. And to think he was the one who requested my presence! It makes no sense. Why would he ignore me when we can just talk about it?”

“About what?”

It suddenly occurs to you that Daniel knows about your weird feelings for Mark, but not how they culminated. You splutter. “Um, about us. Everything.” Daniel looks amused, but the doors open, and you thank them for the temporary exit from the topic. He stops you right outside, though, and pulls out two ticket, card-looking things. “Wait, um. Listen, Lia and I are going to reach our seven-month…anniversary, I guess, of, y’know, being a thing. I know it seems really small, but I want to give her a little something out of appreciation, so I got us a room at this ski lodge outside the city.”

“That’s so sweet,” you say honestly, “but I must admit, it comes on sort of stalker-y. Like you’re whisking her off out of the city.”

He beams even louder. “That’s why you’re coming. With Mark!”

You gape back at him. “Did you miss the whole I-hate-him thing that happened in there?” You jab your finger towards the closed elevator doors, disbelief written across your face. He laughs. “Sometimes you can’t keep hiding behind”—he begins walking to your room, and you follow suit—“emotions, like anger. When I liked Lia, there was a point where I was just pretending to alienate her so I wouldn’t have to face that I was starting to love her. Like her. And you know, she did it right back.” 

“Oh, quit it,” you scoff, insistent. “You’re lecturing me like you’ve been married a decade.”

“That’s what I want,” he says, and you gag. “The first step to that would be ski lodge trip, so you’re coming!”

You’re in front of your room now, and you pinch his wrist as he reaches for the handle, gaining his full attention. “I’ll gladly go,” you whisper, “if Mark’s out.” Daniel just laughs, shaking his head. “No, no. An overnight trip would delay your paper severely. Plus, they have two beds per room.”

“We’ll be staying in the same roo—hey, Li,” you say, quickly cutting your angry rant off when she opens the door, her face confused (to say the least.) 

“Mm, hey,” she says, ushering the two of you in. “How long were you two out there?” Daniel shrugs, ruffling his hair and then pressing a kiss on Lia’s forehead. You boo from your place on your bed, buried under your duvet. “You both suck,” you holler, “always sexing it up in a sacred space. AKA my room.” Lia just grins and jumps on top of you, drawing grunts from you both. Daniel seats himself on the floor and busies himself with his phone. “How was Mark,” she whispers into your hair, and you groan.

“Bad,” you respond, “I’m so annoyed. We’re back to square one.” She makes an apologetic noise and gets up with a sigh, adjusting the strings of her pullover and then hugging Daniel. You watch them. You want to kiss Mark again. Life sucks that way.

—

Predictably, Mark turns down the offer of the ski lodge. He’s polite about it, too, especially since he and Daniel have grown a little bit closer since the start of your project. Daniel is, by no means, a “Mark anti”, but he would participate in the ribbing sometimes. Still, he’s insistent on the trip, saying it’s the best way to welcome December and that the forecast predicts a nice, thick layer of snow. It takes a week and two coffees everyday for Mark to give in, under the condition that he buy his own room when you get there.

Which, honestly, really, you have no problem with. Really, you think to yourself as you unceremoniously shove a knitted sweater into your bag. Really. Lia, who had graciously accepted the surprise, watches you abuse your bag, shoving sweater and scarf inside like they want to murder you. “Relax,” she says after a while. You laugh, playing it off (not so) casually.

The drive up there, courtesy of Daniel and a borrowed Prius, is fun, and cramped, but still decent, considering it was just an hour long. You’re in the back with Lia, and Mark is in charge of the AUX, which, of course, comes with its own bout of jokes. You even find the heart to participate and laugh in a few, not daring to meet his eyes. But all his songs are so fucking good. Frank Ocean, Jhene Aiko, SZA, and smaller indie artists flow from the speaker under his phone. The car ride has its share of epic karaoke moments—Mark plays ABBA, and Queen, solely to make sure everybody is belting out to the high heavens.

You get there when the sky’s purple and orange and there are some skiiers scattered around, though, since it’s not the proper holiday period, not too much. You trek over to the main lodge and that’s where Daniel pays for his reservations, and he and Lia retire to their room and promise to get up for dinner. You’re, again, alone with Mark in the lobby as you both stare at each other, willing the other to get up first. He does, to buy his own room like he said he would, and you can faintly hear the exchange from your seat on their nice, fluffy couch.

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re renovating a majority of the rooms for the holidays. That’s why reservations were a prerequisite for staying here.”

Mark sighs. “Okay, right. I’m so sorry. Um”—it’s at this point that you go up next to him, polite smile on your face, ready to take the room key and fuck off—“could we just get an extra blanket, please? For one of the beds.” The receptionist gives a curt smile, handing over the keycard and nodding. “That’ll be one queen-sized warm blanket, then,” she hums, typing away. The receptionist beside her goes to the back, presumably to get the blanket. Mark nods, smiling. “For two queen-sized beds, it must be a big room for both of them to fit comfortably,” he comments offhandedly, fiddling with the card.

The receptionist chuckles. “There is only one bed, sir.”

Oh, God. “Oh, God,” you whisper. “One bed?” She nods with an eye-crinkling smile, like her words have not just rained hell upon the two people across her. “One bed and a sofa,” she corrects herself, reading the information on the computer by the desk. Not wanting to risk your last shred of sanity, you smile profusely, walking quickly towards your room which, thankfully, is on the same floor, at the end of the hall. It’s a small, quaint place that would be honest-to-God perfect if not for the fact that—

“There’s one bed,” Mark sighs, the truth clicking into place. “Daniel is a fucking shithead.” You drop your bag onto the carpeted floor, surveying the room with a scrutinizing gaze. It’s sizable—a bed, a couch, a window. There’s a small wooden desk that looks like its legs can barely hold its weight, and then another door, leading to the bathroom. It’s not bad at all. But you’re exhausted, the sun’s long gone, and your resolve is shredding away as the seconds tick by. “Take the couch,” you say dismissively, “or the carpet.” You make a beeline for the bed, but Mark’s arm wraps around your waist, effectively stopping you.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod “Shut up and let go of me, dick,” you stutter out. Mark loosens his grip and you shove him off, glaring at him. He gazes back down at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “We can’t just make up terms without negotiation,” he says matter-of-factly, and you blow a raspberry. “Fine. Let’s negotiate then. I’m a girl and that puts me above you because chivalry isn’t dead, thus, boom, I get the bed.”

“I was in the uncomfortable passenger seat all day and my lower back hurts,” he counters.

“My legs are wobbly.”

“Bullshit. My back aches.”

“You already said that, it’s invalid.”

The back and forth only intensifies, your arguments growing more and more bizarre, until finally, your volume is so high Lia says she can hear it faintly, four doors down. 

“The couch looks comfy,” you try, but Mark stands firm. 

“Do you know what? The bed is big. It’s a big bed. And we’re not going to take up much space. If we divide the bed with the sofa pillows…” you pick up the cushions and line them up neatly along the middle, “…then we can sleep beside each other without having to make contact with each other.” He seems convinced, stepping closer to the bed and nodding. “Okay. I get first dibs on the shower.”

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you let him anyway. You’ve unpacked nearly all your things and he isn’t done yet, so you’ve resorted to scrolling mindlessly through Tiktok and laughing at just about everyone that pops up on screen. Mark finally exits after what feels like forever, and you keep your eyes trained on your screen to avoid looking at him. From your peripheral vision, he is very much shirtless. There are no words exchanged, the thickness in the air only building bit by bit.

—

Three hours later, post-dinner, post-abandoning the thought of working on your paper, you’re stumbling into your room after helping the very tipsy couple of the night into theirs. You’re beyond tired now, and you can tell Mark is, too, despite the lack of eye contact or communication between you. You don’t even look at him, brushing your teeth and removing your makeup and clipping your hair up into a bun. It’s when he does the same, and you’re both in bed, using your phones, that he finally breaks the silence.

“I’m not mad,” he says. His voice is even and calm, and you quickly shut your phone off and sit up, peering over the pillow boundary you had created. You look at him expectantly before he sighs and continues. “Why did you leave?”

You stand up, getting out, trying to increase distance. You’ve never really liked confrontation. “I was weirded out,” you spill, “and scared…? I guess with the nearness of being caught, and with all the lights on, I was just shocked back to reality.”

He sits up. “What’s reality?”

“I don’t—know,” you splutter, getting back on the bed. “Not kissing you?”

He laughs, and then it becomes silent. “Right. Let’s sleep, then.” Without another word, he pulls his lamp off, and only the white moonlight is left illuminating the both of you. Shucking yourself under the covers, feeling your heart practically thump out of your chest. You honestly think he can hear it, or at least feel it. Suddenly the boundary doesn’t do much. You turn away from him, nervous, and you can faintly hear his breathing even out. You shut your eyes for a second. When you open them again, he’s looking right at you. “Just checking to see if you’re asleep,” he says quietly. You nod. And then you lean upwards, just a touch, so your lips nearly brush slightly. “Night,” you say, before turning to sleep for real.

You’re not sure when. And how. Sure, you faintly remember digging your legs sleepily through the sheets to find warmth and tangling Mark’s in your own. But still—when you’re up, the pillow fort is at your feet, hanging precariously off the four post bed, and your back is against Mark’s chest. His breath fans lightly over your hair and you blearily register what happened overnight. His arm is slung over your middle, it’s quiet, and oh Christ, he is hard.

It’s fairly late. He’s hard. The antique clock mounted up on the wall tells you it’s around nine, which essentially gave you seven hours of sleep. He’s hard. You bask in the warmth of Mark for a while before your resolve solidifies and you gently push his arm off from its position on your hips. He only comes on stronger, wrapping fully around your waist, mumbling incoherence into your hair. He’s hard. You squeeze your eyes shut, summoning sleep to overcome you quickly, but it never does. Dread overcomes you as you feel your underwear grow damp.

“Mm,” Mark grunts, his hand around your waist loosening. You move away but his head suddenly lolls into the crook of your neck, his lips touching the side of it. You whimper. He’s a fucking asshole, even when he’s asleep. You pinch his arm, jolting him to half-awakeness, and you roll away, despite your body’s protests.

He blinks his eyes open. “Sorry, shit,” he says, voice deep and ridden with sleep. You’re fucked.

“It’s okay,” you splutter instead. “Just go back to sleep.” You faintly register that you sound just as exhausted as he does, and you bury your head back into the covers. Everything, plus the sound of his voice, has you dripping, and you breathe in deeply to poorly disguise a whimper. He chuckles, already half-asleep, from where he is, and it’s quiet for a few minutes before you realize he’s fallen asleep. Knowing Lia and Daniel will be busy for a while, you pull a spare pillow over your head and chant to yourself before falling back asleep, too.

When you awaken, the bed is cold and empty, and the shower’s running. You check the time to find only an hour has passed, but you’re much more awake now, getting up and knocking incessantly on the bathroom door. “Hurry,” you demand hoarsely, “I want to go skiing.” You hear a muffled okay and scurry over to your bag to find the pair of leggings you had packed for this. You also find your parka, and you pull off your shirt to clasp on a bra.

“Not that I don’t mind,” Mark says, eliciting a yelp from you as you tug a sweater on at record speed, “but generally, that kind of thing only goes unnoticed in nudist colonies. I could research some for you, if you’d—ow! I was joking, God!” You bonk him twice over the head with the Bible on the bedside table, your brows furrowed angrily. “You looked, asshat,” you say, collecting your things and locking yourself in the bathroom.

When it becomes increasingly evident that Lia and Daniel have no plans of exiting their room, you grumble and resort to skiing alone. But as you’re shuffling out, bundled up, you spot Mark leaning against the exit waiting for you. He looks up and tsks. “About fucking time,” he says, holding the door open for you. It’s not that cold out—maybe you’re just used to having snow and chilly weather, and so is Mark—so you barely shiver, walking around and looking for a good place to ski.

“Forget skiing,” Mark says after a few rounds. “Let’s go sledding. I have a thing.”

“A toboggan, you mean.”

“A funny word. Really, just say sled.”

You let up, anyway, the bright sky and cold ground sending serotonin right into you. Sure enough, Mark does have a nice, blue sled that he lets you on, and then the two of you are bolting down the hill at breakneck speed, laughing all the way. It’s quite a long ride, and you’re smiling and yelping so much the cloth you’ve used to cover your neck has ridden down, the cold air hitting your face harshly.

You land very ungracefully—the toboggan hits a small tree and sends you and Mark catapulting in the same direction, your hands clawing at the air for expense. You find Mark’s arm and cling onto it in the split second you’re in the air, landing on a clearing of thick snow. The arm you’ve clung onto pulls you closer, Mark grunting “be careful,” and when the whole fiasco’s over, you’re smiling like an idiot, and you’re right on top of Mark.

You’re not straddling him or anything, but you’ve just happened to land with your face a little above his. You can’t stop laughing, your face flushed and red with the cold air hitting your face. So you laugh. Why wouldn’t you laugh? It was a good day. A good ride down the hill. So you keep laughing until they’re reduced to giggles, Mark laughing right along as you pull down the covering of his mouth and tug his beanie off, ruffling your hands in his hair and dipping down to kiss him.

He kisses you right back, his lips cold but quickly growing warm with the friction. You smile into the kiss, your hands roaming all over his pink face. The kiss is giggly and light, your hands all over each other as the sunlight filters in through the thick trees overhead.

You pull away after a while. “I hate you,” you whisper. He presses a kiss to your jawline and lets it linger there. “You think I don’t?”

—

Stage 3: Bargaining, Depression|

You’ve begun to type the structure out when Lia tugs on your pajamas, her tone insistent and curious. “What’s up with you and Mark?” she presses, her cheek pressed to your stomach. You fervently hope she doesnt notice how your breathing quickens, and, keeping your voice even, you answer. “We’re…thinking about things.”

Which—you were thinking about things, to be fair. There were things to be thought and you had to think about them. It was a broad half-truth. It had been two weeks since the ski lodge thing, and you and Mark had decided it was probably best to shut the fuck up about everything you had done. (Everything meaning a few kisses here and there, and maybe a little more under the covers.) You’d hated yourself for hiding it from Lia, but you and Mark were actually feeling hesitant about moving forward with whatever you were. There was a lot of ambiguity and questions, and until you could clear it up yourself, you knew you weren’t ready to tell anybody else. You had talked about it already—clearly, the two of you were beyond jumping straight into a relationship after not liking each other that much and then becoming hesitant friends.

But it was, if you had to admit it to yourself, nice having that little secret.

“I’d want to tell Lia soon,” you tease, walking steadily beside Mark. The afternoon sun is warm on your heads, the snow falling intermittently. He turns with a small smile. “I’d want to tell Hyuck, too.” You scoff, burying your head in his chest. You probably look fucking disgusting. Around you, Washington Square Park is full of natives and tourists, and college students like you, all scurrying around and giving you that very much holiday feel.

He buys you a hot cocoa and hands it to you. “Are you heading home soon?”

You take a sip, your tongue hot. “If my ratty dorm counts as home, then yes.”

“Home is a feeling, not a place. Does your ratty dorm feel like home?”

“Kind of. Lia’s there. And so is the rat infestation in the ceiling.”

Mark nearly chokes on his cocoa. “You’re gross as fuck.”

You let out a loud laugh, your beanie nearly falling off with the bounciness of it. Mark reaches behind you to catch it, pressing a kiss to your lips in the process, soft and light and God, you like it. A lot. “Clumsy,” he remarks, pulling it back on and dragging a generous amount of your hair in front of your eyes as he does it. “It’s gonna be Christmas soon, and thank God we’re nearly done with this paper.”

“It was my genius idea to combine bargaining and depression,” you quip. “That’s my gift to you. Merry Christmas, Mark Lee.” He laughs at that. His laugh, you’ve noticed, is goddamn loud, and it’s a literal cackle, but he always looks so happy when he laughs. And buoyant. “You look stupid,” you say, but the smile on your face is undeniable. He glares playfully at you, taking your hand and walking you both in the direction of your building.

“New York in the snow,” he hums. “Always a great place.”

“It’s full of tourists,” you counter. Always disagreeing.

He chuckles and then, like clockwork—like how you’ve done it for the past six dates—you separate when you’re just shy of a meter away from the lobby entrance. Your fingers curl in search of his, and you jog up the steps, eager to get into the warmth of the building. The lobby’s pretty empty, save for a couple of students. Mark’s ahead of you, already pressing the elevator button and waiting impatiently. 

“We’re alone,” he sing-songs, his eyebrows wiggling. The doors open right as you take Mark’s hand, and you look up to meet Daniel’s wide eyes. Then you look to the right to meet Lia’s.

Despite your inner turmoil, you remain nonchalant, pinching Mark’s wrist instead of holding it like you’d planned. “That’s why our professor fucking hates you,” you say, narrowing your eyes. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, but you muster a neutral expression, shoving your hands back into your pockets. Lia knows you, though, and her furrowed eyebrows and parted lips say everything—but you just shrug, playing off what they could have caught you doing. “Hey,” you say, walking into the elevator with Mark. It all blows over.

AKA: Daniel has to drag a curious Lia away from you, with a promise that you would converse later. You and Mark are alone again, in the elevator, your hands barely touching, laughs loud. It’s all blurry after that. You’re high on a laugh and the thought of a kiss—you drag him over to your room, hands in his hair, breathless, loose kisses. You’re both so exhausted, though, that all you manage to extend your energy to is taking your tops off and making out lazily to the songs you’d recommended to each other.

“Mm,” he says when one of your songs starts playing. “It’s a nice song.” You nod with a smile. “I know it is, it’s one of my recommendations. It’s called Softly.” He plays with the strap of your bra. “I’ll give it more of a listen, then. Also, a red bra to school? Whatever will the professors think,” he jokes lightly, pressing insistent, but soft kisses on your shoulder. You laugh, pinching the inner part of his arm and eliciting a swear from him. “I was joking! I know you wore this for me, stupid.” The wind whistles outside, barely audible from the half-open window across the room, overlapping with the music.

This all feels too real, now.

You pout lazily against his bare chest. “Get off before Lia gets in,” you mumble, your heart beginning to race. He does, for what it’s worth, rolling off your bed with a loud thump and tugging his shirt and sweater back on. You watch him (fondly) annoyedly, your hair draping over you as you get up to properly shove him out. “Out, out,” you chant, laughing, and he giggles, turning abruptly to poke at your waist.

“Shut up,” you groan, a smile on your face. There’s a beat, then he pulls you close and kisses you, running outside right after with a literal guffaw. You watch him, wrapping your fleece blanket around your frame as he runs to the elevator, sweater backwards and hair messy.

—

Doubts are normal. This you’re assured of, but your head pounds with the sheer amount of things you’re cramming into it. You squint impossibly harder, trying to get the nail polish into the crook of Lia’s nail. You’ve probably overdone it, judging by the way she jabs her knuckle in between your eyebrows, her face contorted in worry. “Are you…okay?”

You narrow your eyes, the inner debate of telling her raging on and on. The nail polish drips onto her fingernail, rolling onto her pant leg, and she yelps, but her eyes are still on you. “You can tell me anything,” she says, softer this time. You know she’s serious—you know you can. You always have. You told her about every fling, one night stand, pregnancy scare, bad grade, hot professor, and spoiled deli food you’d encountered since you ever became friends. She knew you. And you were so sure she knew what you were about to say.

Except you didn’t know what you wanted to say. Your feelings were a mess, and you wanted one thing as much as you wanted the other. You couldn’t place what you wanted, and if you had to narrow it down, you’d realize that you were scared of what you wanted. You were never really one for commitment, or a relationship, or really anything, for that matter. And the fact that you were so hung up on thinking about what you and Mark would become—Mark? It all seemed so dystopian, almost. Like you’d never expected it. Your friendship was a childhood bubble that popped in the span of your first high school semester, and that was that. But just two days ago you were being kissed all over by the same guy you’d had a cutthroat student council president competition with.

It seemed so absurd? Crazy? Those adjectives were a little over the top. Deep down, if you dug deep enough into the parts you didn’t even tell yourself, you knew what you were. And if anybody else were to know, it would be Lia.

“I’m scared,” you choke out, your voice shaky. “I’m scared and sad, and happy and angry, and I want this but I don’t.” You cover the nail polish, shaking your head. “This is all so new to me. I hate how much I feel, especially because it feels so wrong. You know me—relationships are just not cut out for me. They’re scary and new. And people in relationships turn all gooey. I’m scared that this won’t last, but I’m scared that it will, and I’ll be doomed to an eternity of bland, padlocked relationships. It’s weird. I could be feeling this way for anyone, but it had to be Mark? If only I didn’t hate him, then maybe we could’ve gone off on a better foot. If only this whole thing never fucking happened, right?”

“It’s okay,” Lia cuts in. “Being scared is okay. It’s part of the whole process. And nobody said you had to get along like conjoined twins in a relationship. They just go when they go and end when they end. Not every relationship starts as a high school sweetheart thing and ends with three kids and a picket fence. And I’m so sure Mark would be so understanding if you didn’t like him or if you chose not to continue.”

“You knew?”

She laughs. “Of course I knew. I know a post-sex glow when I see one, and I was blinded that morning at the ski lodge.” You groan, pinching her indignantly, hiding your face in your hands as she laughs out of view. “Okay. Take some time and think about it, but for now, I want to get my nails done, so.” 

—

It’ll be a week before you come up with what you want, and the whole time you generally avoid talking about solemn topics with him in person. 

It’ll be another few days before you finally talk to him personally—with your paper nearly finished, you suggest a meeting at the library. It’s just two days before Christmas Eve, and you know Mark’s going to be driving to Canada, so you want to snatch him away for your own personal time for just a second. The snow has all but thickened as you meet outside the building, the silence deafening.

“Hi,” he says, smiling. You know he’s probably picked up on your erratic, quieter behavior in the past several days, but you gulp and lead him inside anyways, to your favorite section. “It’s almost Christmas Eve,” he says, watching you stall, surrounded by Philosophy books from just about every century. “I know,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too nervous.

“You sound nervous,” he says.

“Do I?” you ask shakily, your voice taking on an unnaturally high pitch. “I mean, er. I guess I sort of am. I guess I’ve been thinking about everything lately—about you and me and everything that just happened so suddenly. Because—because it did happen so suddenly. I just…needed time? Yeah, time. To think about everything. Because it all happened so quickly, I…” you stutter. “I’m scared of these things. I’m not used to them. Relationships? Things that last longer than a couple weeks? I don’t like these. 

I have something bigger I want to focus on and anybody who gets in the way just isn’t worth it. And it’s so weird how it was you out of all people I started thinking about it with. Usually I just have the rare fling and then they’re gone, and I’m not even mad. But you’re different. And I like it. 

But I just needed time to find out if I really liked it. If I really wanted to try. I know it’s only been a few weeks, and I probably sound really fucking stupid, but you get me—you get me, right? And that’s how I realized—if it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I don’t know why I overthought it. I mean, it’s a good thing and a bad thing that I did. Like, on one hand, I got to really think about how this would play out, and on the other, I’d just end up spiraling. And it’s just weird. I hope you don’t know I hated you. Hate you? Hated you. I was just—it was all so juvenile. Everything just stemmed from that one awfully dumb high school rivalry. But other than that, you were always a cool…see what I mean? I’m kind of rambling—even if I thought I had planned this out. And. Yeah. I dunno. I fucking…I hate you, stop laughing.”

Mark smiles down at you—you’re busy pretending to read a Sartre book to look unfazed, but your flickering gaze says it all. 

“Okay, stupid,” he says, bordering onto a laugh. “If that’s your way of saying you’re willing to give this a try, then I graciously accept. Should I be saying something equally long? I—is that how this works?”

You roll your eyes and kiss him instead, pulling him close, Sartre’s postulates dropping to the floor alongside your tiptoes.

—

Stage 4: Acceptance|

“Acceptance is just that. Just accepting that you love that person after weeks or months of all the other stages. With her, it was. Like. It’s the whole sitting down after silence, having some time for the revelation to set in before you realize you love them. Or like them? Well, love them, I guess. But I don’t know why you would be asking me this.”

You bury your head further into Mark’s shoulder, your eyes strained from how long they’d been trained onto your screen. You smile up at Daniel, thanking him for the input and beginning to type it in, watching Lia doze off on his shoulder. “We’re asking because we’re not quite there yet,” Mark hums, “it’s just February. It’s barely been two months.” You nod, watching Mark type where you left off on the document. Daniel snorts from across you. “You’re just about, I guess.” Mark chuckles, shrugging so your head bounces off his shoulder unceremoniously.

“Like I’d ever fall in love with that shitstorm,” he says pointedly.

“Oh, and I’d fall in love with this dickwad?”

“You’re perfect for each other. Bullying, but we all know Mark brought back gifts from Canada and that you stitched an initial onto his sweater.”

“To practice my embroidery. Also, I stitched Mark’s initial. M. Asshole.”

“Okay,” whistles Daniel, his hand unconsciously coming up to make sure Lia doesn’t fall off his shoulder. “But hey, you’re just about to submit this paper and I’m fondly remembering all the times you despised each other. And when you”—he points at you, devilish grin on his face—“started gushing to Lia about how he”—he then turns to Mark—“kissed you at Johnny’s party.”

“God, it’s not the time for that yet, we’re still a fresh couple,” you groan, burying your head in your hands. “You have so much dirt on me, Choi.” Mark just laughs, though, loudly, bringing the other cafe-goers’ attention to yours. He bites your shoulder to stifle it, eliciting a laugh from you. “I agree, there should be a certain time requirement for pre-relationship embarrassing stories,” Mark says, closing his laptop. Lia gets up at that point, already half-awake from the ruckus (AKA Mark’s laugh), pulling on Daniel’s sleeve. “Alright, and that’s my cue to get this girl some more coffee and then go.”

“Mm, I’ll come with,” you say, “I need a refresher before we leave soon, anyway.”

You walk in between them, your fingers laced in Lia’s as she squeezes them sleepily. They order first and then they’re off with a smile and a polite goodbye, leaving you to order your drink. You gaze up at the menu, and then down at—

“Long time no see,” Chan says with a knowing beam. “How is your not boyfriend boyfriend?”

“Well, he’s my boyfriend now.”

“See, I always know. What do you want?”

“An iced ca—how did you know?” You ask, tempted.

“It’s just…the energy? It was a hit or miss, but I kinda got that feeling that something was going to happen.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “An iced caramel then.”

“And a black coffee for her best friend!” Hollers a new voice that you could never miss, turning slowly towards the entrance to meet Donghyuck’s crazy eyes. He’s in a suit, which isn’t unusual given the sheer amount of presentations he’s had to do since the new year started. You roll your eyes but put in the extra cash anyway, much to Chan’s amusement. Hyuck nears you with a sly grin. “I hear you’ll be submitting your paper soon. I just want my name in there so I’m in your professor’s good graces.”

“She’s not even going to be your professor, Hyuck,” you say, taking your drink and smiling at Chan. You and Donghyuck both walk back to where Mark’s sitting, you beside him and Hyuck across the both of you. “Yes, but it pays to be in somebody’s good graces, I swear. See what happened? I got you two together. I orchestrated your entire love st—”

“Okay, now you’re just lying, Hyuck,” Mark says with a laugh, finishing up the first few paragraphs and closing his laptop. “We’re not even in love.” But his friend lets out a teasing smile, his eyes narrowed, and he gets up with a loud farewell and alibi about “being needed by my better friends.” You assume he’s talking about Jeno.

—

You walk to Mark’s room alongside him, thanks to the promise of his roommate, Jaemin, sleeping at a friend’s. Your fingers are intertwined loosely. The sun’s setting and Mark’s room is sheathed in beautiful shades of orange and pink, a vast array of dusk settling over the space. It happens quietly, but full of laughs, which is how it happens when you’re both tired and/or shitfaced. You do this a lot—a routine of sharing new songs or books you’d picked up over the week and then making out while they play in the background or while one of you read. It’s awfully, horribly, terribly fucking intimate. 

“Your bra sucks,” he jokes.

You love it.

“Get better abs and we can talk about it,” you counter, poking his toned stomach. He really, fully guffaws at that, pulling you onto his lap and then tugging his guitar out from where it stands at the corner. You flop back onto his bed, watching him play—and then registering the familiar opening of the Jonas Brothers song you used to request nearly everyday. “Lovebug,” you muse with a smile, singing along to his voice, carried away. You’re sleepy and light, and you know deep down—in that space of yourself where you’re all but honest—that you were going to fall in love with him someday.

Later, when all you’re doing is hugging him as he reads your latest Philosophy requirement to you, he pauses.

“Is this the 21st century idea of love?” He asks idly, unclasping your bra and connecting the moles on your shoulder. You hum. 

“It’s the Gen Z idea,” you say, connecting the ones on his bare back. “And this isn’t love.”

“Corny.” he smiles against your collarbones. You kiss his neck. It’s all very gradual.

—

hope you liked it :) drop an ask! I absolutely love all types of feedback 

[pretend-writer]

Better Than Revenge (Hargreeves x sibling!reader)

Summary: Y/N’s boyfriend broke up with her unexpectedly and the Hargreeves goes and finds out the truth. 

Pairing: Hargreeves x sibling!reader

Title Reference: Better Than Revenge x Taylor Swift

Word Count: 2.1k words

Warning: swearing, violence

✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤

It was all so sudden, I thought that me and him were alright. We've just got back from a trip couple of days ago, taking cute couple pictures and posting it on social media.

Every night, he told me that he loved me and he would never let me go. It took us hours to even hop out of the hotel bed because he would want to cuddle with me all morning. All the love he shared that I thought was genuine didn't mean anything to him.

Was a blind? Was I too naive? Should I have known me and him were in a fake relationship this whole time? Did I waste a year and a half of my life thinking that he loved me? I didn't know what was real anymore.

The only truth that came out of this was that my boyfriend and I were over with. Everything else was a blur.

'Y/N?' Allison tapped me on my shoulder. 'Are you coming inside?'

I've been in my head all day since I got the breakup text from my boyfriend, I totally forgot that I was outside sitting next to Ben's memorial statue.

As I continued to stare at the ground, I shook my head. 'No, thanks.'

'It's about to rain, you should come inside.' Allison still sat beside me even with the complicated weather outside, concerned as she knew something was wrong with her sister. 'What's wrong?'

'You know the best days of my life was supposed to be this trip with my boyfriend?' I slightly chuckled, feeling stupid about myself as I said those words at loud. 'Turns out I was wrong.'

'What did John do?'

I bit my lips and sighed; I couldn't even blame him really. 'It's all my fault. For believing that this was all true, for thinking that he was happy with the relationship. I'm so fucking stupid.'

'What did he say to you?'

'He said enough.'

Allison quickly stood up and left my side. 'I'll be inside, come join me soon okay?'

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Allison POV; 

The things that Y/N said hit a nerve. I already knew something was not right with the relationship. There was always something off with John but I figured if Y/N trusted him, I should too.

I've should've trusted my guts.

It was one thing to hurt my sister's feelings but to make Y/N sad to a point where she sat in the rain made me very upset and angry.

Y/N was the cheeriest one out of the bunch, constantly making us smile when we're down. Her smile was how we all got through the day, especially during our childhood with our so-called father.

It always took a lot for her to get mad or upset about anything. This already proved that John had something to hide and I would do anything to find out what was going on with his life.

I didn't want to leave Y/N alone under the dark, gray clouds but she seemed as though she was not going anywhere at all. I gave a kiss on the top of head before I walked back into the building.

'What's wrong with her?' Diego peeked through the window, watching Y/N leaning next to Ben's statue.

'John broke up with her and I'm going to find out exactly why.' I flared my nose, infuriated about this situation between my sister and her ex-boyfriend.

Diego furrowed his eyebrows, confused about everything. 'W-wait, John and her broke up? Didn't they just come back from their cute little trip?'

'He's a fucking liar is what it is. I swe-'

'Allison, are you sure he's a prick?' Diego tried to be civil which I completely understood but something about my instincts told me otherwise. 'We have zero proof of why this man broke up with Y/N.'

'That's what I'm trying to find out. I just don't trust him. It doesn't make any sense at all.' I rolled my eyes, taking a deep breath. 'You can watch Y/N while I go do some digging.'

Diego chuckled, 'Are you kidding me? I'm coming with you. Let's expose this man.'

✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤

Diego POV;

Luther, Vanya and Five were left with Y/N at home to make sure she was comfortable and feeling better. We also had to be extra careful about Y/N finding out about us stalking her old boyfriend.

If Y/N even got a hint about me, Klaus and Allison's whereabouts, her emotions will get the best of her and she will not hesitate to use her ultrasonic scream to try to get to us.

Y/N was the most level headed out of all the Hargreeves but her number one pet peeve was people digging through private lives. Her finding out the truth especially in the fragile state she was in would ruin us.

And seeing her hatred towards paparazzi and the way she fought them off on her off days as Number Eight, I would never want to be Y/N's enemy.

Which was why Allison, Klaus and I, the mouthy triggering siblings had to leave the house. Klaus and I privately argued that Five should've been with us but with his smart mouth, we knew he was going to use his "genius brain" as an excuse to stay and distract Y/N.

Klaus didn't like that, given the fact that Y/N and him were tight like glue. But everyone knew that Klaus was the number one person that needed to leave the house.

'Why can't I stay with Y/N?' Klaus whined, 'You know I suck at these investigating type missions. I could be a great caregiver to our sweet sister. I would give her some warm tea-'

'We haven't even pulled over to John's house and you're already running your mouth. That's why.' I turned around toward Klaus who was laying down in the back of the car as Allison drove my car. 'You'd be the first one to tell Y/N our secret and we can't risk that, dude.'

Allison looked at our brother from the mirror, smiling. 'Don't worry Klaus, she will be fine. I promise.'

✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤

Klaus POV;

The car suddenly stopped moving, Allison and Diego unbuckled their seatbelts. Ben, who was squished to the side where my legs rested rolled his eyes. 'You could've saved me some space for me to sit.'

'You're a ghost, why does it matter?' I replied back to him, I didn't think that he'd cramp up while I laid down in the back. 'Besides, my legs were on your lap so you should be fine.'

'Who are you talking to?' Diego asked me as he watched me get out of the car.

'Nobody.'

Ben yelled, just like he always does whenever I claim that I talk to myself. He had to realize we were here for Y/N, Ben can have his moment to shine some other time.

Diego, Ben and I followed Allison into John's house. Y/N used to bring Allison and I here often to hang out with John, we knew where he hid his spare key.

'Let's split up and look for some clues. It's got to be in here somewhere.' Allison mumbled, walking upstairs.

'Psst, Klaus!' Diego pointed behind him, 'You want to partner up? Maybe if we do it together it'll be faster.'

'Why are you whispering? The man isn't even here.' I chuckled at my brother, 'I think working together would take more time.'

Diego hissed, 'Fine! Be that way and go with your imaginary friend.'

'Why are you so upset? You really love me, don't you Diego?'

He pulled out his knife, looking at me intensely without saying any word. I knew Diego was sensitive but I didn't think that would trigger him to throw a knife at my face.

'I'm sorr-' before I was able to finish my apology, Diego struck his knife next to my head, hearing a loud groan from behind.

'Allison! I got him!' Diego shouted as he quickly got up and ran past me. I turned around and saw John lying on the ground, holding his shoulder in pain.

'What are you crazy fuckers doing here.' John winched.

Diego pulled the knife out of him, wiping the blood off with John's shirt before he put it back on his harness. 'Given the circumstances, I do not appreciate your tone dude.'

'See, I knew you Hargreeves were crazy. I don't know how I put up with you and your sister for nearly two years.'

'Now that's when you stop talking.' Diego stuck his finger into his knife wound, making John scream louder than he was before. 'I'm telling you, shut the fuck up before we do more harm.'

'Okay, okay!' John yelled, still grabbing onto his shoulder. All I could think about was how infected his shoulder was going to be after all this mess.

As I stared at John's wound, I went back to thinking about my poor sister. 'Why did you break up with Y/N?'

✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤

Y/N’s POV; 

'Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.' Luther and Vanya said in sync. They have been at it for about an hour now, I've never seen two human beings intrigued in this boring game before.

Five just stared at them with an angry face like always, all he has been doing was mumbling to himself and complaining about something I couldn't hear from here.

'What are you guys doing exactly?' I questioned my brothers and sister that has been in the living room with me for over an hour doing nothing.

At first it was odd that they were sitting with me, quiet and not saying a word but I didn't question anything. Now it was weird of them to be here as if they were keeping an eye on me.

'Just keeping you company.' Luther grinned, 'Do you need anything?'

'No, thanks.' I gave him a soft smile, asking an additional question. 'Did Allison say anything to you guys?'

I was in such an emotional state, I blurted the end of my relationship to Allison without thinking of anything. What happened between me and John was over, clearly over and if he wanted that I couldn't say no.

Knowing how overprotective Allison can get of me, I was worried what trouble she got herself into. I hoped she wasn't doing what I thought she might be doing.

'Nope, nothing.' Five, Luther and Vanya all said in the same tone.

'Y/N!' I heard Klaus screaming from the front door, rushing inside to come see me. 'He's a fucking dickhead!'

'Who?' I asked Klaus as he was trying to catch a breath, leaning into the couch to rest.

'Your fucking boyfriend, that's who.' Diego walked in right behind Klaus, anger flushed all over his face.

Allison rolled her eyes, hitting Diego's shoulder while standing next to him. 'You don't have to say it like that, geez.'

'What did you guys find at his house?' Luther asked.

'At his hou-' I looked at the three of them, confused. 'What did you guys do?'

'While Vanya, Luther and I were here distracting you Klaus, Allison and Diego went to John's house to find clues as to why he broke up with you.' Five summarized, with a big smirk on his face.

My eye shifted towards Allison, slowly shaking my head. 'You know how I feel about this.'

'Hear me out, okay? He-'

Diego cut Allison off, 'He had a ultrasound picture in his hand Y/N. John is a fucking asshole and I was so close to punchin-'

'He what?' Luther yelled, immediately standing up and towering over everybody. 'Where is he right now?'

'Laying down on his living room floor because Diego threw a knife through his shoulder.' Klaus added.

'Y/N, I'm so sorry okay? But I had to go see for myself and you being sad is the last thing I want to see.' Allison took a step closer to me. 'You we're blaming yourself about this breakup and I didn't want you to do that. That's why I went.'

There were no words left to say; I felt angry, sad, disappointed that my boyfriend of almost two years had a different girl the whole time. John was even about to have a family with some other woman.

I clenched my first as I thought about John, the more flashbacks I had of our "happy times" the angrier I got.

My siblings started to notice the change of my expressions. Klaus' eyes widened, 'Are you okay Y/N?'

'Come on guys, let's go get him.' I took my jacket from the couch, quickly putting them on as I walked towards the front door. All my siblings started to cheer as they walked next to me, Diego and Klaus hugging me from each side.

'Let's get this son of a bitch!' Diego screamed with his fist in the air.

[lochnessies]

ok here’s a dissection of a post an anon sent me the link to and bc i have the worst time management possible and i completely forgot i had it lol so sorry anon here you go ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

I am constantly thinking about how Edelgard just doesn’t seem designed to appeal to cishet men.

i hate to be the one to break this news to you op but just because a character doesn’t show skin like charlotte fire emblem doesn’t mean she isn’t designed to pander to men. she’s very much designed to pander to the (majority straight male) player base with her ‘uwu i only trust you professor omg did u see that rat? pls don’t look at my painting of you uwu’.

then there’s the whole edelgard c support in japanese where byleth makes reference to having come to her room for ‘yobi’ which is

there’s also the scene where byleth can make an unsolicited comment about edelgard’s breast size. which is… uhh… gross.

edelgard also has cipher cards that go from slightly fanserviceie to full on suggestive

and also her breast armor that my sister relentlessly mocked lol

and here’s a chart from the 3h subreddit about gender/sexually in regards to edelgard and edeleth. it’s extremely straight male. op might have just overlooked this since they probably don’t go on reddit and stay on tumblr (which unlike reddit is mostly female and has a high lgbt demographic).

Like the joke is that Bleagles is the Gay House, but everything about her feels deliberately non-hetero.

i don’t like where this is going…

She’s dressed in sharp outfits covering her upper body, with proportions that don’t seem exaggerated.

so women who cover up must be lgbt because straight women are naturally more revealing? oh y i k e s

Her poise and the way she effortlessly flourishes her axe exhibits an air of coolness. While titties out =/= character of no substance, Edelgard being dressed more modestly suggests that she wasn’t designed with male-centred fanservice in mind.

“titties don’t equal no substance but here’s my post on how she has more substance because she doesn’t show titties” ok

And she still looks absolutely stunning in her more modest attire (like seriously, I haven’t felt the need to return to cosplay in years but I want to do her academy look so bad). 

yes she does. amazing design 10/10. i have a feeling this is the only part i’m going to agree with

Edelgard is intense. She does not mince her words and she is constantly evaluating you. Though she tries, she has a difficult time understanding her peers initially. Early on, she talks about how she would sacrifice herself and others in the name of some greater good. She is terrible at communicating with her peers. She has to be seen as infallible. Her heart has been hardened for years and she assumes she has to stay that way. She also assumes everyone mourns the same way she does - which is why she (kind of insensitively) insists you move on when Jeralt dies. Because to her, grief has to be channeled towards action, or else you’ll get lost in it. This attitude is demonstrated time and time again as she presses on. It can make her come off as cold and unfeeling - but look closer, and she’s anything but.

don’t really have anything to say at this part. it is pretty on the nose though i would slightly disagree with that last sentence a bit. i wouldn’t say she’s as i feeling as hubert is but all of her talks of the war boil down to how she feels and never her victims.

Her story is ultimately about her realizing that to achieve her goals, she needs to let people in and allow herself to want things like cakes and tea parties and lazy days in peace. 

????? what ????? her goals include imperialism, ethnic and religious targeting. her story is about having a set of beliefs and mowing down anybody who stands in her way. that has nothing to do with tea, friends, and lazy days. also am i supposed to be sad that she has to get up everyday and work? i do that and i didn’t start a war and only throw a pity party for myself

The game leaves the player guessing as to how involved the Flame Emperor was in each Part I event, makes you feel hurt by her betrayal, and leaves you with a choice: do you follow the orders of the woman who tried to make you a god without your consent, or a young girl with questionable morals about to throw the world into upheaval?

this isn’t an ideal situation but i think i’m going to stick with the woman who tried to make me a god since i’m not selfish and i know it’s not only my desires and life at stake here. plus the green hair slaps ngl

Choosing her of your own volition (not for completionist reasons) requires the basic ability to sympathize with a woman’s pain. It also requires the player to read beyond her unwavering will and dubious methods to get a sense of how deep that pain goes and how the theme of humanity relates to her differently in each route.

i’m not going to touch this since @nilsh13 made a post on it that i’ll link here. i agree with everything he said so to repeat it would be redundant.

The player must be able to see a young woman’s desperate resolve to change the world so it stops exploiting people and ruining lives. They must be able to accept the fact that women can make the same morally wrong and ambivalent decisions that complicated male characters get to make all the time and still be the one to root for.

literally the same reason i love rhea lol her goddess experiments are dubious at best but her reasons are the same you mentioned. i would say that i like this quality in edelgard too if her ending, while bloody, actually ended in a good outcome for fodlan.

This is not unique to LGBT+ people, but this population is likely to understand why Edelgard feels so strongly about why she has to change the system. 

i understand wanting to change a system, i really do. like edelgard, i’m an opinionated bisexual woman (who’s also physically disabled) so yeah i get it. and change can be good but it can also be terrible. even if the church was the boogeyman edelgard treats it as she still replaces it with her own shit regime. so it’s the same circus just with a new conductor.

I don’t think “Edelgard gets undue criticism because she’s a woman” captures the full picture. An important aspect of her treatment by certain parts of the fandom is that she’s a radical woman.

or maybe she does some pretty fucked up shit and it goes unacknowledged in her own route. and yeah she’s radical but in all the worst ways.

Her hatred of the Church and the Crest system resonates way harder with people who have been hurt by institutions that are deeply engrained in our society. 

and what about people who have been hurt by systems where their ‘merit’ didn’t measure up and they were left behind? what about people from nations that experienced imperialism?

Siding with her means siding against the Church - which, while different from real world religious institutions, still invokes language about “sin” and “punishment.

yeah the ‘sins’ and ��punishments’ are used in relation to attempted murders which i think everybody can agree is a bad thing that needs to be condemned.

Choosing Edelgard will likely hit different if homophobic and transphobic Christians used that rhetoric against you.

it has literally nothing to do with ‘sins’ and ‘punishments’ in regards to being gay or trans. that’s you projecting. especially since the church has 2 canon gay characters and two coded ones.

like i can understand why having a church condemn you can be uncomfortable but i’m begging you to please look at the context of what’s happening.

I’m willing to go out on a limb and say that the reason F/F Edeleth is the more popular iteration of that ship because most people who would choose to S-support Edelgard are LGBT+ themselves. This is not a revelation. To anyone in the community, it’s fairly obvious. 

i was talking to nilish and he said

so yeah… while there is definitely sapphic femleth shippers out there, there’s still a whole lot of weird fetishizing going on from straight men about edelgard.

Crimson Flower was my first route. I went into the game knowing absolutely nothing. I played it during the last week of 2020 and hoo boy was it cathartic. 

i can tell. this wasn’t supposed to be a dig but it came out that way and i’m not taking it out.

I felt like I was living out a gay revolution power fantasy, where I could truly change systems of oppression while fighting alongside a group of troubled students I’d shaped the lives of.

so a gay revolution power fantasy (cringe) goes hand in hand with imperialism and installing a dictatorship? also the war had nothing to do with sexuality.

Through your unwavering support, Edelgard learns that she needs to be human, that she must listen to her friends, and that she’s allowed to enjoy the world she’s creating.

edelgard gets to learn how to be human all while hunting those who don’t. and she doesn’t listen fo her friends. she doesn’t even trust them. she’s willing to talk to byleth but keep the people who’s been by her side for five years in the dark about everything. and yeah she gets to enjoy her new words since she’s on top. hate to be a commoner under her rule after she burned down my village in her war.

I love this character so much.

clearly. and i honestly don’t care if somebody likes her. i do as well even if my sometimes scathing words can make it seem otherwise.

It has been six months since I first played and I am still analyzing her,

me too. please help me escape i’m losing my mind

because there’s so much depth. Yet so many people fail to see that depth and dismiss her as evil,

i mean, she does some fucked up shit that goes beyond any of the less than desirable actions of the other main characters and does an extremely poor job in trying to make herself seem innocent. i personally don’t think she’s pure evil but i completely understand where the people who say she is are coming from.

because they never had the will to understand complicated women in the first place. 

that’s big talk from somebody who implies that a gay pope is comparable to homophobic and transphobic irl religions and that leads an oppressive regime all because she uses the vague terms of sin and punishments that you have to gay power fantasy your way out of

[luxekook]

ego | jjk | harry potter au

⇥ pairing: gryffindor jeongukk x hufflepuff reader

⇥ genre: harry potter AU, smut, fluff, angst

⇥ summary: in which jeongguk is a cocky lil shit and the reader has to take him down a few pegs 

⇥ warnings: 18+, dirty talk, light smut, cursing

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

The wind whirled around me as I careened towards the glistening goal posts, imagining the opposing team’s Keeper darting back and forth in hopes of blocking the Quaffle that was currently tucked under my arm. I feigned left and the imaginary keeper followed suit. I threw right – Quaffle sailing through the rightmost gold hoop.

I smiled and dove down past the posts to catch up with my own throw. Even though it was still the first week of the new term, I was determined to prove my newly acquired captain-status. Hufflepuff hadn’t had a female captain in ages; and, paired with that, I was only a 6th year.

Luckily, I had a strong team behind me with mostly returning players who I knew would fiercely support me. Us Puffs stuck together. It was inherently in our blood to be loyal as hell to our own, and I thanked Merlin for that every day since receiving the captain’s badge.

As soon as I had hopped on the Hogwarts’ Express a few days prior, I had immediately been swept up in a giant bear hug by Jeong Yunho, one of the Hufflepuff beaters.

“Oh, captain! My captain!” he had dramatically cried, spinning me around. His Dead Poet’s Society reference was not lost on me since I had a muggle parent with excellent taste in movies. Similar reactions from the rest of the team followed suit over the course of the train ride and the Welcoming Feast.

Trials for our only open position of Seeker would take place this weekend with practices immediately starting Monday. We had high hopes for redemption this season after being crushed by Slytherin’s team of goons early on in the Cup tournament.

The Slytherin team’s head hooligan Kang Dokyun led his team with a nasty blend of intimidation and violent tactics. I was convinced that Slytherin didn’t even hold trials and that they just lined up the Slytherin boys, picking out the biggest of the lot. Basically, Slytherin was strong, but slow and slightly uncoordinated. We could beat them by exploiting their weaknesses – of that I was certain.

Ravenclaw would be a bit harder to conquer. Their team played with a level of elegance and intelligence that was so utterly Ravenclaw that even us Puffs got annoyed. Ravenclaw’s captain Yoon Jisoo constructed tactical plays so tricky that she was already recruited to play for Puddlemore next year. Their team was smart, but not completely unbeatable. The Ravenclaws sometimes got so ingrained in their methodical maneuvers that they failed to notice some of their opponents’ counterattacks. That was how they lost the Cup last term to Gryffindor.

Gryffindor was our toughest competition. Winning the Cup last term, the Gryffindor team was a nauseatingly perfect balance between brains and brawn. Their captain Jeon Jeongguk, now a 7th year, was renowned for his tyrannical practice regime that he put his team through. We’d only played Gryffindor once in the regular season last year, and we had held our own for a while until we started getting tired and they didn’t. Seems like Jeongguk knew his shit when it came to conditioning. Something that I was determined to emulate with my own team.

Jeongguk was also the best damn Keeper that Hogwarts had seen in a long time, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by the looks of the professional Quidditch scouts that avidly attended his matches. He was way bigger than a typical Keeper – extremely tall with broad shoulders and giant paws for hands. However, the only thing bigger than his stature and talent was his fucking ego.

He carried himself like he was the king of the school, and, unfortunately, most people treated him like it. Girls especially flocked to him – mainly for two reasons: 1) Jeongguk was undoubtedly hot, and 2) he held the promise of a rich future. Personally, I cared for neither of those traits considering his appalling personality and pride.

That damned ego would be his downfall this season. I would make sure of it, I thought as I circled around the stadium and then landed to get a drink.

I was definitely above average on the Quidditch talent scale. Holding the current school record for most assists in a season, I considered myself the glue of the Hufflepuff team – a fact that our Head of House obviously agreed with. However, no one really talked about the glue of a team, they talked about the flashy glitter and the gold stars. I was fine with that. Being the underdog was nothing new to a Hufflepuff, and I planned on using that to our advantage this season. Who said Puffs couldn’t be a little devious?

I smirked to myself as I grabbed my broom, ready to get back to practicing. This would be our fucking year.

“Hey,” a deceptively sweet voice rang out from above me, “You mind sharing the pitch? I need to practice.”

My mood soured. I knew who that was. Kicking off the ground, I flew to face him, “Sure thing, Jeon, just stay out of my way.”

It was almost as if I’d slapped him across the face, “Excuse me?” he choked out, “Do I know you?”

Unbelievable. Jeongguk’s head was evidently so far up his own ass he couldn’t recognize opponents he’d been playing for years. “I guess not,” I countered. And with a flick of my ponytail, I took off towards the opposite end of the pitch.

Unfortunately, he followed, “Are you a Gryffindor? If so, you should come to tryouts tomorrow. You’re pretty fast and we need a new Chaser.”

“Not a Gryffindor,” I called out, dipping low to the ground to scoop up my old practice Quaffle, “But I am a Chaser.”

Jeongguk was still tailing me, and I pulled to a stop to face him, “I thought you had to practice?”

He mirrored my position and crossed his arms. I tried (and failed) to stop myself from noticing how his biceps flexed and how a hint of his famed phoenix tattoo curled up his neck. Merlin, even I couldn’t deny he was hot as fuck. The recent summer months seemed to have blessed his skin with a glowing tan that accentuated the warmth of his dark eyes. It also seemed like he forgot what a haircut was as I watched the wind tousle his slightly curling hair.

“I do,” his eyes were narrowed as he cleared his throat, “I just have to make sure you’re not spying for another team.”

All thoughts of him being fine flew out the Owlery as I scowled. I refused to be intimidated by some arrogant asshole, “Did you not hear me when I said to stay on the opposite end of the pitch, Jeon? What kind of self-respecting spy would ask that?”

“You’re a Slytherin,” Jeongguk declared, his tone too sure for my liking.

He was really aggravating me now, and it took a lot for a Puff to get pissed off, “So, just because I have a semblance of a backbone, I’m a Slytherin? You need to brush up on your House knowledge.”

He was quiet, his expression contemplative, his jaw clenched. His eyes were scanning me with an intensity I was not sure I liked. And then he did something I liked even less: “I propose a game,” his mouth twisted upwards in a smirk, “You say you’re a Chaser?”

I gave a slight tilt of my chin in affirmation. He resumed, “Well, then you must know I’m a Keeper.” He paused, grinning wickedly, waiting for me to react to the double entendre. Eyebrows raised at my pointed silence, he continued, “And we both need to practice… So how ‘bout you try to score on me and for every shot I block you have to answer one of my questions.”

This motherfucker right here. I summoned my inner Helga to give me the strength to deal with this Gryffindor prick, “Say I was to agree to this, what would I get if I score on you?”

The laugh I got in response made all thoughts of remaining a kind and patient Puff evaporate faster than a weak Patronus.

He was still laughing when he noticed I looked ready to Avada him wandless, “Okay, okay. What do you want if you score?” He barely got the words out in between chuckles.

“To come to a Gryffindor practice.”

That shut him up real fast, “No fucking way. I don’t need you distracting my players.”

My nose crinkled, “Distracting? I would just be sitting in the stands, you prick.”

His jaw ticked as he rolled his eyes, “You could be on the furthest corner of the pitch and you’d still distract them, jagi.”

“Don’t call me that. And, pray tell, why I would distract them?” Our brooms were now practically touching as we had instinctively moved closer to one another. I could see the sweat glistening on his brow and the shadow of stubble on his jaw. Merlin, he was potent.

“Because,” Jeongguk paused, acting like this was the most obvious answer in the world, “You’re hot.”

I blinked. And blinked again, “Are you serious?” He opened his mouth to respond. “Nope, don’t answer that, Jeon,” I brushed right over his attempt to answer my rhetorical question, “So, do we have a deal or not? If you’re the esteemed Keeper that you clearly think you are, it shouldn’t be a problem for you to block all my shots, should it?”

My words echoed around us. He looked conflicted, but I knew his ego would not let my challenge go, “Deal. Five shots from the penalty mark.”

He flew towards the goal posts, “Looking forward to getting my questions answered, love,” he bellowed back at me.

I mentally flipped him off as I took off after him, clutching my Quaffle.

Sending out a plea to Merlin, Helga and everyone in between, I pulled to a stop at the penalty mark and pondered how I wanted to play this. He obviously thought he would save all five attempts. I spared him a glance and glower as I notice he was slouching on his broom with a lazy smirk, clearly not taking me as a serious threat.

Fine, I would just have to hustle him. He was asking for it at this point.

I got into formation. As much as it would pain me to mess up this shot on purpose, I knew that I had to in order to make my plan work.

Taking off towards the posts, my movement caused Jeongguk to finally move into a somewhat defensive position. I feigned right, doing so in a way too obvious manner. Hurling the Quaffle towards the top hoop, I watched expectantly as he deflected it with just a slight flick of his hand.

“Come on,” Jeongguk laughed, “You can do better than that, jagi.” He flew over to me and when I stretched to take back the Quaffle he now held in his hand, he shifted it out of reach, “Uh-uh, nope. It’s question time. What’s your name?”

How predictable. “It’s (y/n). Now give me the Quaffle.”

“Last name?” Jeongguk kept the Quaffle out of my hands.

“That’s a separate question, Jeon. You never specified that I give you my full name.” It was my turn to smirk as he threw the Quaffle back at me and headed back to the posts mumbling about loopholes and how I must’ve been a Ravenclaw.

I lined back up for the second shot. I had to make this one a little bit better than the last to show that I was trying, but not too much better that he’d be prepared for my final shots.

I ducked down, twisting around to head towards the right post with my full focus on the hoop. I launched the Quaffle. Jeongguk swooped up to catch it in a way that was entirely too elaborate for such a lame throw. He was clearly showing off – an action that I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the meaning behind.

Jeongguk made his way over to me, grinning, “Second question, jagi. Full name, please.”

“(y/f/n) (y/l/n),” I muttered, eyes scanning his face for signs of recognition and hands grabbing the Quaffle away from him.

He looked puzzled, “(y/l/n)? Why does that sound so familiar?”

Before he could think on it further, I pushed his shoulder, “Back to the posts. You got your answer.”

Well, I had attempted to push his shoulder. He didn’t even flinch at my shove. His eyes darted to where my hand now laid on his chest. I removed it faster than a Wronski Feint, trying to ignore the tingles that shot up my arm.

Our eyes connected and his were blazing as his mouth crept into a slow smile, “Like your hands on me.” Before I could formulate a reply, he flew off and I resolved that I would make this next shot as if my life depended on it.

We faced each other. I shifted the Quaffle from hand to hand and took off towards him. I gave him no tells, no feints, nothing. This seemed to throw him off for a split second, but that second was all I needed to send the Quaffle sailing through the bottom hoop.

“What the fuck was that?” Jeongguk yelled as he got all up in my face.

I bit back a smile. “Beginner’s luck?” I quipped, loving how his face had darkened perceptibly, “Don’t worry. I’m sure I can pick up some more tips at your practice.”

Unable to keep my grin in check any longer, I smile widely as he lets out a stream of curses that would make even my old crotchety aunt blush.

We resumed our positions. This time he seemed more alert and watchful. He was getting wary of me, despite my claim that it was just luck. Maybe he knew better after all…

“That won’t happen again, (y/n). Don’t get used to it!” he shouted from the posts.

…Or not.

I took off. Luck be damned. I zigzagged back and forth towards him. Throwing the Quaffle up in the air, I quickly rolled off my broom, sharply grabbing its end and swinging it up to hit the Quaffle mid-air through the center goalpost. A perfectly executed Finbourgh Flick. Regaining my seat on my broom I sailed back to the penalty line and turned back to face Jeongguk.

He looked utterly gobsmacked, “Beginner’s luck? Beginner’s fucking luck? Who the fuck are you?”

I grinned victoriously at his wounded ego, “You know my name, Jeon. Now you can use it at two practices.”

“(y/f/n) (y/l/n), (y/f/n) (y/l/n)… fucking hell,  you’re the new Hufflepuff captain,” he gawked at me.

“Bingo, Gryff,” I laughed, “Took you long enough.”

“Why did I think you were a bloke? I would have remembered such a—” he cut himself off, “You hustled me! There is no way I’m letting you into my practices now.”

We were nose to nose now as I responded, “A deal’s a deal. I thought you Gryffindors were all about honor.”

His face was thunderous, “And I thought you Hufflepuffs were all about fairness.”

“We are,” I said plainly, “We just don’t take lightly to intimidation. Now come on, we’ve got one round left.”

A range of emotions moved across his face to settle in a heated look that I couldn’t quite decipher, “Fine, jagi,” his molten gaze darted to my mouth, “Give it your best shot.”

Swallowing hard, I shook my head, trying to clear my brain of entirely too inappropriate thoughts of me and Jeongguk. As much as I attempted to refocus on making my final shot, my attention wasn’t fully there.

And I fucked it up. Jeongguk dove to catch my throw mid-air, and he sped towards me triumphantly, “Slipping already? What was that?”

I blushed. He noticed.

“Come on,” he said, “I need a drink and then you need to answer my last question.”

I followed him to the ground, cursing my treacherous body for reacting so obviously. My subconscious battled:

‘He’s a player!’ the imaginary Dumbledore on my right shoulder boomed.

‘Kiss him. Now!’ hissed the fictitious Voldemort from the other side.

However, all thoughts evacuated my brain at the sight of Jeongguk peeling off his shirt and taking a long sip from his water bottle. My traitorous eyes flew over his torso. I took in his defined abs, his chiseled arms and his fucking beautiful phoenix tattoo that spanned the entirety of his left shoulder, left upper back, and a portion of his neck.

Then I noticed his eyes were watching me right back. And they were all to amused to be innocent… “Are you seducing me?”

He spit out his mouthful of water, laughing, “Why? Is this working for you?”

My eyes now resembled slits as I glared at him, “Is that your last question?”

“No!” His response came so fast I jolted back on impulse, “No, it’s not…”

He trailed off as he prowled towards me. I stepped back. He kept coming. I stepped back further.

“Why are you running, jagi?” his words were too soft and too intense for my liking. I took another step back and bumped up against the stands. His grin in response was predatory as he caged me in between the stands and his body, his arms on either side of my head.

“Nowhere to run now, little Hufflepuff…” he dragged a finger along the hollows of my throat. He definitely felt the rapid pounding of my pulse, his eyes darkening to the point that they almost seemed black.

I glared defiantly at him, refusing to be daunted by his size or his words. He smirked, “Your last question: do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?”

I stopped breathing. He waited, a look of uncertainty flickered on his face so briefly I almost thought I’d imagined it.

That little flare of vulnerability – that should not have been as appealing to me as it was – helped me to regain some of my bearings, “And how much do you want to kiss me? I need a scale of reference.”

He smiled crookedly as he leaned in even further, lips brushing against me as he whispered into my neck, “So fucking bad.”

His tongue darted across my skin as he dragged it up towards my ear. Biting it softly, he murmured, “Well?”

Fuck it all.

My hands latched onto his shoulders and his head snapped up. Raising to my tiptoes, I kissed him. He let out a rough groan, sounding like I was killing him. His hands slid down my body to squeeze my ass before hoisting me up. My legs circled his lean hips as his teeth caught my bottom lip in a faint bite. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling slightly. His hips pressed into mine, drawing a moan from my lips. He smiled against my mouth.

I nipped his lip now in retribution, but it seemed to only urge him on. One hand came up to remove my hair-tie, flinging it over his shoulder. I made a noise of protest, but he just kissed me harder.

How the fuck was he holding me up with one hand?

I prided myself on being a pretty thick bitch, and he was over here acting like I weighed nothing. My fingernails slid down his back, raking over the hard muscles and feeling how they flexed and shifted under my touch.

I don’t know how long we spent making out against the stands, but soon enough we heard voices coming from around the corner. Ripping my mouth away from his, I jumped out of his embrace, landing on shaky legs.

His arm wrapped around my waist as he steadies me. He was breathing just as hard as me and I could feel his heartbeat racing. I tugged away from him to retrieve my hair-tie from the ground and put my now wild hair back into its ponytail.

I could feel Jeongguk’s eyes on me all the while. I looked at him. His lips were swollen, his hair was a disheveled mess, his neck was displaying a rather nice hickey that I was sure was mirrored several times over on my own neck. A rare feeling of pride shot through me, and as he opened his mouth to say something, I shook my head and placed a finger over his lips.

“I’ll see you at your practice, Jeon.” I placed a quick kiss on his cheek, grabbed my broom and walked off.

As I strode away, I heard him grumbling under his breath: “Everybody warns you about the Slytherins. Nobody fucking warns you about the Hufflepuffs. Fucking hell…”

I smiled all the way back to the Common Room.

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

@lavstar i was so incredibly stupid and i deleted your ask while i was drafting it… i swear i didn’t forget to do it 😭 anyway i’ve FINALLY finished it so let’s jump into the compilation of the most planes i have ever brainrot ❤️ because no ❤️ you cannot expect me to pick one ❤️ it is impossible ❤️

two airbus A320s taking off from parallel runways, five nautical miles apart ‘cause they’re not gay!

btw i genuinely do not care about military aircraft (never have, prob never will) so these are all to do with civil aviation. also huge disclaimer i did all the commentary off the top of my head (i did have to wikipedia some of the stats im not martin fucking crieff) so if i mess up a term or something that’s on me

of course no post about my favorite planes cannot leave out the OG. my first love, the most plane i have ever ridden; the one, the only, the increasingly irrelevant due to industry shifts, the beloved Airbus A380.

(L) just look at this big beautiful girl! + (R) a view of i believe scotland? as approached from the north

i don’t know why i love this plane so much, because lots of other people certainly don’t for a lot of reasons. her size makes her the main character out of necessity at every airport she comes across, and she’s an inconvenience for air traffic controllers for that reason. her origin story is [twitter stan account voice] a bit problematic. given changes in industry trends, she is also quickly becoming irrelevant. airbus my beloved please just admit that the four engines thing was nostalgia and go. she’s a marvel of engineering sure, but when all is said and done…the B747 came, she served cunt, and then she got phased out. the A380 was made with the intention of doing the same…unfortunately, she didn’t really complete the second step.

wait holy shit. i know why i love this plane so much. it’s because this plane…is me ❤️

—

and now for thee og in terms of famous big-ass planes that everyone loves: the B747. everyone loves the 747. even if they say they’re not into planes, they are. for me, not gonna lie: a very big reason for why i love the Queen of the Skies so much is mark vanhoenacker’s book, skyfaring. he flew the 747 for bri’ish airways (when they still had them) and loved that plane so much and man who am i to blame him.

(L) i think i teared up when i saw her through the big windows for the first time bc i was like oh my god. i am going to be on her. this icon of aviation, the arguable symbol of commercial aviation. so much history, so much significance… + (R) the past, the present, and the future of british airways in one image 🥺

i was on a 747 twice in my life. once on a cathay pacific flight to the philippines, and on my last flight abroad, on a british airways flight to heathrow. little did i know i was flying one of the last of their 747 flights—they phased them out completely the following year, a bit earlier than anticipated due to the pandemic.

as enzo ferrari once probably said, “ask a child to draw a plane, and certainly he will put a hump and four engines on it.” in terms of sheer iconic power and energy, the Queen (and she is the only earthly being to whom I shall ever refer as such) would far and away be the top on anyone’s list, save for the fact that i don’t have a top to this list and i have other planes to get to dear god this is getting long do you know what you’ve got yourself into!! the Queen really said “flight belongs to the people now” and the airlines just had to shut up and listen!! she is truly the main character!!!

genuinely don’t remember what river this is except that it’s in the UK… 🙈

i feel like everything else i say about her is just going to be a pale imitation of how evocative skyfaring was, so honestly i really recommend the book it’s so good and it’s one of my favorites. my copy is sort of falling apart now bc i kept bringing it around to places 😭 anyway, the number of airlines using her for passengers is decreasing, but you know who still use converted versions of her as well as purpose-built models? cargo airlines! anyway, ups and their brown planes my beloved 🤎

—

this slot was going to go to the B767 and 757, and i was going to rhapsodize about how aesthetically the 767 looks like a nicer plane to me because of Chonk, but the 757 is really endearing because it’s a narrowbody jet and it’s got landing gear that is long in a useful but unusual-looking way, which in essence what i’m trying to say is that if the 757 were a person, it would be esteban ocon.

so i was getting ready to write all of this down in much more words than i needed, but i remembered suddenly the very reason i was making this post in the first place. and that, my friends, is the B777.

honestly you don’t fully understand how big the 777 is until you see it in person. because we are all acclimated to think of like the 747 when we think of ‘big plane.’ but the 777 is massive. even i forgot about it when i wrote That Fanfic.

the 777 and 787 are the future of long-haul commercial aviation (and i say this as an A380 stannie). widebody jets with 2 big-ass engines are most likely what we’re going to see in the sky going forward when it comes to long-distance travel, and the pandemic pretty much confirmed that.

that aside, i love the 777. so much that i wrote a whole fanfic around one making an emergency landing ❤️ i really pretended ETOPS (the thing where a plane can fly for a long time on one engine) did not exist for six chapters and an alternate ending and i think that’s just very quirky of me aha 🤪

dear god do not mind my hat i literally bought it because of fred fucking thursday of endeavour… what the FUCK was teenage me on 😭

the 777 was supposed to be a trijet (one with three engines, two under each wing and one built into the vertical stabilizer) but as the mcdonnell douglas and lockheed martin trijets (cba to look up the numbers) were not projected to continue to be successful, they got rid of the trijet 777 idea and instead made it have two engines. another thing i think is neat is that all the examples of the 777 that you will see in the wild right now don’t have winglets bc the wings themselves are so long and raked back that they’re not necessary. which would be a weird thing for me in particular to find neat, because if you know me well you know i have a thing for winglets. (the 2022 f1 car’s front wing my BELOVED WAKSKDKSJSJ!!!!!) i also think the way the wingtip lights are incorporated into the wings are so neat. the upgraded version they’re trying to make now, the 777X, will have foldy wingtips so you can DIY your own winglets and i think that’s hilarious (and also cool).

—

genuinely i think i’m the only plane person that likes this last aircraft: the Embraer ERJ-175. i like her for purely nostalgic reasons. she reminds me of how i returned to my roots and decided to pursue engineering.

so okay this is going to have nothing to do with the plane, but i was lucky enough to be given a visit to the flightdeck after landing back home from a weekend trip. i was so excited to be allowed to sit in the first officer’s seat, and got to poke around the flightdeck for like ten minutes. which was cool, but all this was with the sinking realization that even operating a regional jet might be too physically demanding (read: unsafe) for someone of my… [exhales knowing EXACTLY what i’m about to walk into] height.

that is one fully glass cockpit. also those yokes are specific to embraer, boeing’s look more like f1 steering wheels with stuff cut out of them i think, and airbus’s are operated by side stick. it’s almost funny especially when watching flightdeck videos of the a380 cause it’s like… you’re doing All That *gestures vaguely at plane* with THAT *gestures at thing that looks like a chicken drumstick with semiconductors implanted in it*

so that was piloting as a career done with for me (much to my family’s relief.) and then i thought “hm i don’t have to be flying planes all the time to be working around them…why don’t i work on developing them instead?” and i was passively interested in matsci already, so that’s how and when i decided to pursue engineering, with hopes of working for airbus or boeing and in civil aviation.

we’ll see how that pans out, i say as i side-eye the exponential growth of my interest in motorsport.

thanks for the ask! i’m so sorry i was stupid and deleted it but i hope you like this very long, drawn out, and frankly deranged response 💚

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

Top 5 Character Deaths That Made Me Side-Eye the Writers

There are a lot of character deaths in TWDG... obviously. It a series about the literal dead walkin’ around and eating people, so as you’re playing, one of your favorite characters is bound to meet such a fate. To give this series credit, it does have quite a few well-executed deaths that, while I hate them, they have a purpose in the story that works. 

The best example of this is Lee’s death-- we all hate that Lee dies, but it’s well-done. It serves its purpose, it acted as both a shock and a slow-burn for the player, and left us all an emotional mess. 

However, we’re not talking about the “good” deaths today. No, we’re talking about the character deaths that are poorly executed, cheap, lazy, and just plain dumb... they’re the deaths that make me side-eye the writing team and wonder what the fuck happened there. 

By the way, it was reeeeeeal fun narrowing it down to only five deaths, because it seems like for every great death, there’s at least two bad ones.

5. Mariana and her death that ruined ANF’s potential story

I’ve talked at length about Mariana’s death and how much I hate it. Like, I get it TWDG... you love your sudden deaths and you’re so edgy for killing off a child character because you’ve never done that before... but maybe consider things a little further before pulling the trigger?

Yeah, killing off Mariana the way they did got a reaction outta people when it happened, and we got the burial scene if you stayed with Clementine... but you didn’t consider the future of this storyline? You pretend you did by name dropping Mari when it’s convenient, but then throw it out the window when it comes to characters like David or Gabe.

Listen, I know that ANF is a mess and what’s the point in telling the mess that it’s a mess? Well, I’m still annoyed at the writers for wasting the biggest opportunity for this game’s story, something that could’ve saved it from being a mess.

And I get it, you gotta make a death quota, so instead of killing Mariana off... why not kill Kate off instead? Oh no? We don’t get the stupid love triangle that no one actually enjoys or is engaged in?

Instead of this dumb story about Javi falling in love with his sister-in-law but oh no David’s back.... we could’ve had a story about Javi losing Kate and being left to care for two children by himself. Mariana and Gabe are all he has left, and he going to do whatever he can to keep them safe all while the three of them are mourning Kate.

Then David comes back, and he immediately takes these kids away from Javi.

There is no stupid storyline with Kate, but an actual conflict between two brothers who were never on the same page and two kids caught in the middle.

Plus, Mariana herself as a character really could’ve brought something to the table. She could’ve brought out a lot in David’s character since she seems to be more like Javi.

Her death is just... annoying. It’s frustrating when you know they could’ve told a better story with her alive, something ANF desperately needed.

My side-eye is one of disappointment and annoyance.

4.Luke and his easily preventable drowning

Ugh.... where to even begin? 

Luke really just gets butchered as a character throughout the second half of S2, and the writers end up demolishing the set up they placed at the beginning of the season for a Luke vs Kenny thing. 

Why? Well, Luke vs Kenny was the initial ending they were gonna go with, but because this season went through all kinds of bullshit, they scrapped that and replaced Luke with Jane... and it’s so dumb.

Hell, it kind of ruins a lot. Not only did it ruin Luke, a character that many players loved, but it forces the new character of Jane, who we only get two episodes to get to know, so they can fade Luke out. 

But that’s not all. 

His death is so... ugh. It’s stupid, okay? Stupid and easily preventable, but noooo... we gotta kill Luke off for reasons because all we know is that S1 killed off a lot of characters and we’re gonna do that again but worse because we failed to understand what made those deaths impactful in the first place. 

Lots of character death and despair = good game. 

Yep, uh-huh. Okay. 

So we all know that Luke’s leg is hurt, yeah? Great, so you’d think that the group that has an injured man and a new born baby would be extra cautious and go around the frozen lake. Yeah, Arvo says that it’s safe but let’s not take any chances. 

But no. We gotta go across like a group of dingdongs and whattya know-- the ice begins to crack beneath Luke’s feet. Now, even here, we coulda got him outta there safely... if Bonnie wasn’t a dingus. 

Think about it. If we shot the walkers who were coming towards Luke with all their weight, he could’ve slowly scooted away, even if he’s already fallen through. BUT NO. Bonnie either guilts Clementine into going towards him, adding more weight to the already fragile ice as Luke tells her to stop, or Bonnie will go over there herself... and she’s a full grown woman soooo her weight breaks the ice. 

Good job, you dipsticks. 

When you have to make your characters into morons in order to move the plot along and kill off characters....maybe do some rethinking, yeah? 

 3. Mitch and his shock-value death

This death is so dumb... so incredibly, dumb. Even now, I can’t help but give full side-eye to the writers every time one of them tries to justify this death. 

I’m sorry, but this death didn’t have the impact you wanted it to have. And because there’s always someone who says, “Mitch didn’t die for shock value, you just can’t tell the difference between a good and bad death” lemme tell you a thing. 

What was the point of killing of Mitch? Well, according to those who worked on TFS, it was to show that Lilly and the delta are serious. This is when shit gets real, and when Lilly is established as a bad bitch who will do whatever it takes to get what she wants. We should be scared of her now. 

Except no. 

This scene doesn’t tell me that Lilly is a bad bitch. It tells me that she has good reflexes, and going off her reaction after killing Mitch.... I’m not fucking scared of this dumbass. If anything, this scene says more about Mitch than it does Lilly. It says that Mitch is also a dumbass for running at her like he did. 

Y’know what would’ve been more impactful? If Mitch didn’t immediately get stabbed in the throat, but instead, actually got her on the ground and struggled with Lilly. Then, Lilly gets the upper hand and when you think she’s about to send Mitch to the cart, she fucking murders him in front of everyone to prove a point. 

There’s no remorse, it’s slow enough for Lilly to actually process what’s happening and show that she does know what she’s doing. That would scare me. That would show me that these people aren’t fucking around and they’re willing to kill some of them if that means getting the rest for their army. 

You still get your shock value death but it actually does something other than kill a character off. 

I’m really supposed to believe this is the same Lilly who can order to have Louis’ tongue cut off? 

But it doesn’t end there. No, no... there’s another part to Mitch’s death that annoys me, and it’s how insistent everyone was that his death is going to have a greater impact on the second half of the story. It had a purpose within the story, we did it for a reason.

...I mean, it has an impact on Willy and his arc for the second half. 

But that’s it. 

Oh... oh, what’s that? Oh, you were referring to those throwaway lines about Tenn? “He was screwing up again, just like when he got Mitch killed.”

OOOOOH.... I see, that’s what Mitch’s death was really amounting to... some lines dealing with whether or not AJ shot Tenn. Well, I guess I was wrong. Mitch’s death wasn’t just shock value. It really had a big purpose. In fact, Mitch’s death has the biggest impact on the series. Fuck Marlon and Brody’s deaths, and Lilly and James, and hell, fuck Tenn’s death, too. They’re meaningless compared to Mitch’s death. You did it, guys. You really did it. 

....Okay, I’m done. I’m just... salty, I fully admit. 

Being serious again, Mitch’s death is probably the worst in TFS as far as unpreventable deaths go and the real reason I side-eye the writers is because they tried to tell us it was going to have this huge impact in the future and it just... didn’t. 

2. Nick and his offscreen death.

I’m sorry, but what the fuck happened here? Why- what are you- how the hell did this happen??

I’m actually baffled. 

Someone wrote this. 

They set up at the end of ep3 that Nick is shot.... then ep4 comes and we find him like this. I just... did someone on the writing staff not wanna do their job that day? Someone was working on the story and at the last minute forgot Nick was a character, so they were like “Eh, he’s not important anyway, and it adds to the shittiness of everything so we’ll pretend this was 100% intentional.” 

Nick was one of your more interesting characters and you really thought killing him off like this was the way to go, huh? 

Like, his first death is shitty, but in the very least it kind of makes sense. 

But this? 

This is horrible. If I wrote this, I’d be embarrassed. 

I just... I’m so tired of S2 right now. 

This is at #2 because it’s just lazy, bad writing. At least with Luke, Mitch, and Mariana, we got to see their deaths and they had some, even if just a little, impact on the story afterward. 

But Nick? 

Nothin’.

Even Luke, who is the closest person to Nick, name drops him maybe twice? It’s just.... nothing. 

And yeah, you can come at me with the “oh well not every death has to have meaning!” 

This is a story, okay? This is a story crafted with characters who have arcs by people who wanted it to be a success, and usually that means having satisfying conclusions.... or, intentionally unsatisfying if that acts as a natural conclusion to their story or is a reoccurring theme. 

Nick’s death is just the writers falling flat on their faces and hoping no one would notice. 

1. Sarah and both of her shitty deaths. 

Ugh. UGH.

Okay. 

I’m not even side-eyeing anymore-- I’m fully glaring.

I don’t have to tell you how shitty both of Sarah’s deaths are. We all played S2, we all know that no matter what you do, Sarah dies in ep4. You can try to save her, she lives a little bit longer, and then falls to her death... and both deaths have her being devoured alive by walkers. 

Now, this is enough to annoy me. First off, I guess my choices don’t really matter. Sure, you can justify this as one of those “sometimes you can’t save someone, no matter how hard you try” ...and fine. Sure, if they had bothered to execute that point well, then great. 

But I disagree that the writers had that in mind when they were killing Sarah off. 

In fact, I know what what going on in their brains-- “God, can’t wait to kill Sarah off! Give us any reason to do it! She’s so damn annoying!”

The writers have openly admitted that a lot of the team were just waiting to kill Sarah off, waiting for any reason, so when the major part of the community who take everything at surface level because why think? kept complaining about Sarah, they jumped on the opportunity to kill her off.... but the deaths are dumb.

Listen, this isn’t like when the writers planned on killing Lee off. You can plan a death and even be excited about it because you’re excited about the story and execution of it all. You can be excited to see the heartbreaking end of this character’s story that you crafted because you know you put everything you had into it.

These deaths were lazy and the product of a team who didn’t care about the character. Sarah dies and no one cares. 

Sure, you leave her to die the first time and Jane does her thing about how you can’t save everyone, she talks about Jaime, and then Luke exposes himself as the fake Luke by agreeing that leaving Sarah behind was probably the right thing. Like what?

Now as much as I hate that first one, the second one is even worse. 

For some reason, Sarah is standing in the corner while they’re trying to fight off the walkers instead of being inside with Rebecca... y’know, where she would be if this was logical. 

Then the deck breaks and Sarah falls, trapped under a pile of wood. Jane, despite being the one who sees Sarah as a liability, goes down there to try and help her after Clementine begs her to. 

But because the writers don’t know what they’re doing, Jane gets hit by a random piece of wood and can’t get Sarah out in time, leaving her to be eaten alive by walkers. 

Then AJ is born and no one cares about Sarah ever again. 

I just.... 

Could’ve had an interesting story arc with a character who just lost her father in such a gruesome way, a character that already deals with anxiety and other problems that you never bothered to explain other than “she isn’t like Clementine” and you could’ve had her grow. 

But I guess that would’ve taken effort.... and screen time away from Kenny, and god forbid we ever do that. 

---

Honorable Mentions

-Ava falling to her death in the most comedic way possible, made even more hilarious by David’s two seconds of mourning. -Omid.... because hope is dead. Do you get it? Hope? is dead? Because Omid means hope? Do you get it?? -Honestly you could put most of S2′s deaths on this list because oh my god. -Ben because I’m still a salty bitch.  -I also wanna add Louis and Violet’s deaths on the bridge mostly because they die, Clem is sad for two seconds, Tenn says sorry, and then no one cares. Yeah, yeah, they mourned off screen and I call that lazy bullshit. -Hell, throw Tenn’s death on here, too, for similar reasons-- no one but Louis/Violet and AJ seem to care. Even Clementine is like “whatever” after it happens. 

---

Y’know, picking this one seemed like a good idea at the time, but by now I’m just annoyed by all these dumb deaths. So, what are your thoughts? Are there any deaths that make you question the writers that didn’t end up on the list? Do you agree or disagree with my list? Lemme know, we can have a friendly discussion about it. 

Have any suggestions for future T5F’s? Feel free to send ‘em in! :D

---

Next week’s T5F Top 5 Favorite Louis Moments

[sassy-pelican]

Such Beef, Much Thigh

Pairing: beefy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Prompt: Thigh Riding (day 3)

Warning: thigh riding and everything that comes with that wonderful thing, language, um … references to a mission? Defo cuteness and fluff. I don’t really know. 

A/N: So I’m tired and I forgot about day 3, which is a tragedy. How could I ever let myself forget about riding thighs. Ugh, very disappointed in myself. Anyway … there is a super cute surprise. I also didn’t mean for the ending to get that mushy, it just did. Short and sweet y’all.

written for @jbbuckybarnes​ Kinktober challange.

gif credit

Four hours. That’s how late Bucky was. You knew he was fine, he called and said so himself. He told you that the debrief should be done before ten. Well, it’s two a.m. and still no Bucky. 

You love your husband, truly, but you also love your sleep. And after days of almost none, your eyes are drooping and your conherency is laughable at best. 

Maybe it’s the sleep depravity, or maybe it’s your false - well not completely but Bucky would get mad - of security but before you know you are in dreamland, the front door unlocked. 

“Doll,” Bucky calls from the door, “I’m home!” The door unlocked didn’t worry him, you left it unlocked every time you stayed up waiting for him. He felt terrible. Sam and Steve kept everyone over, way over, the time allotted. He half expected for the door to be locked and for you to be in bed. Four hours is a long time to wait. 

When you don’t answer him is when he gets worried. You always answer him when he comes home. “Y/N?” Bucky yells. 

As he turns the corner he’s met with your soft snores, snores he is ashamed to say he missed when he came home because he was tired. 

A hand on your shoulder is all it takes before you’re tackling him to the ground, protective instincts kicking in. With a knee against Bucky’s neck you finally come to, realizing that you just incapastated your husband, who just got home from a mission. 

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, pulling yourself off him. “You were late and I guess I fell asleep.”

“You should’ve locked the door,” Bucky says. Your mind is already wandering, looking at the thighs you’re so wonderfully sitting on. 

“Such beef,” you whisper, hands running up the length of his thighs. “Much thigh.”

Bucky stops mid sentence, realizing you haven’t heard a word he said. His own mind just recognizing what you said. “W-What?”

“Huh?”

“What did you say?” he asks. 

“I didn’t say anything,” you reply, grinding your hips unconsciously down on the fabric of his tac pants. The rough material creating glorious friction, even through your old panties. 

“You said ‘such beef, much thigh’ dear,” he laughs, flexing the muscle in his leg and your breath hitches. 

“I said that outloud?”

“‘Fraid so darlin’,” Bucky says. 

His hands grasp your hips and move you back and forth slowly. You hold back moans as you start rocking your hips with him, your clit rubbing against the fabric of your panties. “God Bucky,” you moan, throwing your head back. 

“Fuck yourself on my thigh,” he whispers, sitting up and crushing you to his chest as you continue to rub yourself like a cat in heat against him. 

Minutes pass like that, breathing harshly in each other's mouths as you separate your lips only long enough to breathe. Moans aer caught in throats and muffled with tongues as you claw at his back, desperate to get his gear off and also too exhausted to actually try and get it off. 

“Feels so good,” you moan. Just as you start to climb, climax fast approaching Bucky claims your mouth. 

The scream of pleasure from you is muffled by his mouth. He lets you ride out your orgasm, slowly, panting and running your fingers through his hair. 

“I take it you’re glad I’m home?” he asks. 

“Definitely not,” you joke. 

“I suppose I could go back to the Compound,” he teases. 

“I’ll castrate you,” you deadpan. 

A cry, loud and high pitched comes from the baby monitor on the coffee table, now just inches from your ear. You wince. “I’ve got her,” Bucky says, picking you up and putting you on the couch. 

“She’s been driving me crazy for days,” you say. “She wants you.”

“I could make a really inappropriate joke right now,” he says, “but given the fact that you’ve been alone with Becca for five days, I won’t.”

“Thank you,” you say. Bucky bends down and kisses you, much sweeter and without the passion of before. 

“I love you,” he says, already peeling off his gear. He never let’s Becca seeh him with his gear on, he’s too scared that it’ll scare her. You’re of firm opinion that nothing scares your daughter except when he leaves. 

“Love you too,” you say, watching as he starts out the room. “Your sweats are on the bed,” you call after him. 

“Thanks.”

And suddenly, you aren’t so tired, so fed up with a baby that wanted to cry for her dad twenty-four-seven. You’re still sleep deprived, and delirious as hell, but you’re also smiling. Dysfunctional as it may be, unconventional as all get out, but the family you and Bucky carved out for yourself in the hellscape that is earth, is perfect. 

[lovelyirony]

morgan doesn’t have to be a hero. she just has to know the family that was. 

(or me ignoring everything about infinity war and endgame) 

Thinking about how Tony doesn’t tell Morgan everything about Iron Man. There are books, of course. A couple of children’s authors and illustrators thought it would be nice if the kids could see heroes on something else other than a news source that also talks about casualties and how much they actually lost. 

It’s nice for Tony, too. 

No one saw the wormhole. No one illustrates him falling out of the sky, body plummeting and seeing what the future would be. 

It’s Morgan’s favorite book, seeing the team defeat the “mean aliens.” Her eyes follow each hero. She likes Hulk the best. She likes tracing along the pages, asking “whozat” every two minutes or so. 

She finds the old armor in the garage when she’s in her “investigation” phase, and correlates it to the book. 

She doesn’t think that Iron Man is that cool. She wants the armor to be pink and green, so dad loses out on “cool points.” 

She finds the armor that he’s building for Pepper, because he’s still paranoid and worried and he wants her to be safe. 

He survived one house of his falling, and he’s not sure he’ll survive another one. 

Morgan asks about the picture at the kitchen, the one where Tony and Peter are posing for Peter’s official internship. 

“That’s...that’s your family,” Tony says, because he can just picture how excited Peter would be at having a little Morgan around, crawling everywhere. “His name is Peter.” 

He never refers to Peter in the past tense. He doesn’t know if it’s for Morgan’s benefit or his own. 

He tells her all about Spider-Man. “Spidey” becomes easier to pronounce, so they go with that. 

Sometimes mom finishes those stories while dad goes to get juice pops. 

(And look at the photo for a bit too long.) 

Morgan asks him where Spidey is, once. More than once. But the first time it was...it was painful. 

“Where is he?” Morgan asks. 

“He’s...” 

Tony doesn’t know what to say. He’s not gone. No, fuck that. Peter isn’t gone. But he’s not here, and Tony doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know where anyone is. 

“He lives far away, so he would have to take a long time to get here,” Pepper says, smiling. “But now, we are going to travel for the kitchen for lunch! The menu today is carrots and celery with hummus, and some fresh fruit and a sandwich. What do we think?” 

“Is the fruit seasonal?” Tony asks, voice thready. “Points off if it’s out.” 

“You’re a nerd,” Pepper says. “Yes, it’s in season. Would you mind turning the washer on? I forgot to.” 

Tony nods, and Pepper grabs his hand, squeezing. 

He was so lucky to have her in his life. 

- 

And then the Avengers are reforming. Scott Lang, aka Ant-Man, aka the weirdest superhero name he’s ever heard, has a theory. 

About time travel. 

He said he didn’t Back to the Future think about it, but he totally Back to the Future thought about it. 

The problem is that it works. 

That’s not the real problem. No, it’s not a real problem at all. He thinks about everyone returning and it’s happy and good again, and- 

He’ll have to leave. 

He hasn’t forgotten Strange’s statement. 

Only one situation where this doesn’t fail. Where we don’t fail. 

And it has to be him. 

You don’t come back from something like that. 

Usually, anyway. 

Tony’s determined that he’s coming back. That everyone is coming back. 

The whole plot of Back to the Future goes as such: Marty’s life sucks, his parents’ lives are boring, and they’re not supposed to change the future. 

They do anyways. 

And it works. That’s the thing. Out of every single “time travel is dangerous” trope, Back to the Future still shows that sometimes some changes don’t affect the future badly, it just changes it. 

Tony knows that that can be done. It has to be done, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to leave Morgan. He already pinky-promised her that they’d make a picnic for her fifth birthday, and pinky-promises are the most binding contract he’s ever been a part of so far. 

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if it can’t be done. 

- 

He has to go with Steve to get a stone. He doesn’t necessarily like that because neither of them are subtle and they’re going to see his dad. 

Which is just gonna be a ball of a time. And Tony looks like Howard, just a few slight changes, but it’s undeniable. 

As long as no one connects the dots, he’ll be fine. 

They’re both like bulls in china shops. Neither has ever been out of the spotlight, and neither have been trained very well in the art of subterfuge. 

“What, SHIELD just decide to set you loose?” Tony hisses as they’re making an escape. 

“Oh and you didn’t have any time to learn?” Steve snaps back. “Let’s go.” 

- 

Natasha almost doesn’t return. Almost. Tony’s terrified to think of what would have been happened had she still been there. 

“Dumbass,” Clint mutters. “Thinking you could jump and we wouldn’t have done shit about it. You’re stupid.” 

Natasha just has a graceful smile on. 

“You’re not allowed to be the stupid Avenger all the time, Clint.” 

“Okay I accidentally blew up a microwave one time and suddenly-” 

Tony laughs. 

Genuinely laughs. 

It’s been a while since they’ve functioned like a team. Been a longer time since they’ve been one. 

- 

They get the stones. 

Hulk gets everyone back. Bruce gets everyone back. 

He’s confusing. 

But there he is, Peter. 

Tony hugs him, and he tears up, and god he’s so glad that Peter’s back. That everyone is back. 

It feels nice. 

But they still have a fight to finish and a glove to play hot potato with. 

- 

Thanos is still formidable. He’s still skilled, still has an entire army. 

Well...they’re not outmatched for long. 

Dr. Strange opens portals, leading a whole new mass of people to help. And Tony sees Danvers, which he has yet to talk to Rhodey about. God, Rhodey had been right about her being alive. 

But that’s not important. 

- 

He’s fighting one-on-one. 

Thanos is confident that he’s going to win. 

See, that’s the thing about Tony: he may not have been trained in subterfuge, but he knows all about flouting expectations. He knows that everyone had expected so many things of him that when he did anything out of the ordinary, no one paid attention. 

This is just like that. 

Thanos snaps, only it’s not enough this time. 

It’s not going to be like last time, with Peter panicking and people screaming and tragedy lining the news for years. 

No this time? It won’t work. 

Because this is the time where the hero wins against all odds and there’s a happy ending. He’s going to make it so, no matter how much of a toll this takes. He’s getting back to Morgan and Pepper no matter what it fucking takes. 

- 

Thanos is gone. His army dissolved. 

And he is satisfied. He’s tired, but happy. And he’s fairly sure that the glove has taken its toll on his body, but he hopes to god that he’ll be okay. 

Pepper is running her hands through his hair, telling him it’ll be okay, and asking anyone for help with transportation. 

There’s one person important that didn’t get blipped, and luckily, she’s a personal friend: Helen Cho. 

Sure, it’s time-intensive. 

Yes, Morgan is mad that daddy can’t read her a bedtime story. 

But...she gets to meet Peter, torture him with forty questions a minute, and Tony gets the use of his arm back. 

So it equals itself out. 

- 

The world, for now, doesn’t need a lot of superheroes. Everyone’s still settling down, no one wants anything but normal. 

This means a lot of superheroes have no idea what to do. 

But Morgan does. 

When dad gets back and is up for playing again (which took forever), Morgan asks to see the team. 

If dad is Iron Man, then it only makes sense that he knows all the other ones. And she has a lot of questions. 

The Avengers are a...a team. God, that’s about the only thing they can call themselves now. They used to be a family but everything’s changed and stilted and awkward. 

Morgan knows none of this. 

So ergo, she decides the most amazing thing ever for her fifth birthday party is to have a picnic with the whole team. Writes them invitations and everything, makes her mom trace out the words she wants to write so that it looks “extra fancy.” 

Tony’s never been one to deny Morgan something she really wants. 

“You sure you wanna handle this? You and Steve aren’t exactly on the best of terms, and I don’t think the team has actually talked.” 

“Well, no time like a five year old’s birthday party to get to catching up.” 

- 

It’s...something. 

Morgan is blissfully unaware and everyone makes so that she stays unaware. 

This involves some...awkward conversations. 

But mostly just making peace with the fact that life happened. 

And Natasha finally has another niece, even if she’s not named after her. 

“You still should’ve,” she jokes. 

“We were thinking about it, honest,” Pepper remarks dryly. “But hey, thanks for coming. Morgan’s very excited to learn how to ‘be a spy’ in her words.” 

Natasha grins. 

“I’ll have her taking out government officials in no time.” 

“Or just teaching her how to disarm dangerous people, thank you very much,” Tony says hurriedly. 

“Didn’t peg you to be the helicopter parent, Stark,” Clint says. 

“Oh trust me, he barely left the house when she was born,” Pepper says with a laugh. “And he would check everything. I had to convince him that Morgan did actually need to sleep in her crib.” 

“She would’ve been fine by us!” Tony defends weakly. “And besides, you said you did want an office space!” 

“Working in the sunroom is fine enough,” Pepper says. “And you forget that you offered to build me one, which is an offer you still haven’t done.” 

“I saved the world, you know.” 

“Oh, did you?” 

Tony grins, popping a grape into his mouth as he sees the scene unfold. 

Morgan’s having great fun showing everyone her little hideout, and where she goes on walks. 

She’s made friends with Peter and introducing him to her stuffed animals. 

Yeah. 

Life is good.