#also my cousins were beating each other up and one of them broke their glasses???

[teacup789]

HOWDY HELLO AND GREETINGS TO ALL

Family Christmas is something for sure, I live for cousin gossip time

Anyways I drew MePhone4

He’s pink because he can be

[sharmelasworld]

Happy New Year

"5, 4, 3, 2, 1 HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

It's 2025, a new year has come, and I'm wrapped up in an intense kiss with Joe, also known as Roman Reigns.

Roman Reigns is one of the most popular wrestlers in the WWE. He is always busy, so sometimes, we go weeks without seeing each other. It's been hard not always to see my man, but I know he's working to support his family, and I can't fault him for that. So when he called me and told me he would be home for the holidays, to say I was excited was an understatement.

Joe broke the intense kiss and looked me in the eyes, his dark brown eyes looking at me lustfully.

"Happy New Year," Joe whispered in my ear. "Happy New Year…" I said as my heart skipped a beat.

Joe and I sipped champagne in our glasses and looked around the room. Joe's cousins Jimmy and Jey were with their girls in either corner of the room.

"Let's sneak away… No one will notice." Joe said, licking his lips. "We can't leave everyone…" I said, protesting his offer. "Girl, look at Jon and Joe locking lips with Tonya and Trinity. I promise you they will not notice we are gone," Joe replied, pulling me towards the stairs leading to our bedroom.

Joe led me to the bedroom; Joe pushed the door open and pulled me into the bedroom. I closed the door and turned to Joe, standing in the middle of the room.

"Come here, beautiful," Joe said, motioning me to the window.

I walked over to Roman and stood in front of him. Joe grabbed my waist and nuzzled his face into my neck. The warmth of his breath on my neck made chills run down my spine.

"Baby, let's start the new year right," Joe said in my ear.

I smiled and turned around to face Joe. I reached up and wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him down to connect our lips. Joe's arms moved down to my hips as he held me as we kissed feverishly.

"Joe, take me now…" I said, breaking the kiss and trying to catch my breath. "You don't have to ask me twice!" Joe exclaimed as he picked me up and carried me to our shared bed. Joe put me down by the foot of the bed, never taking his eyes off me. Joe came to me and reached for the hem of my dress, pulling it over my head and throwing it on the floor. The cold air in the room made me shiver.

"Are you okay?" Joe asked "Yeah, just a little chilly in here," I replied. "Oh, okay. It's about to heat up in a minute," Joe said with a sly smirk.

Joe pulled me close to him, our bodies pressed against each other, and with one hand, Joe reached around me and unhooked my bra, letting it fall on the floor. Then Joe reached down and pulled my underwear down, exposing me to the cold air in the room. I stepped out of them and pushed them to the side with my feet.

"You look so sexy without your clothes," Joe said, licking his lips.

I did not say anything; I just reached up and unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall off his board shoulders. Next, I reached for his belt, took it off, and threw it to the other side of the room. Finally, I unbutton his pants, pulling them down with his under. His pants dropped down to his ankles, and he stepped out of them and kicked them to the other side of the room.

Joe pushed me down on the bed and laid on top of me, not putting all his weight on me.

"Baby, are you okay?" Joe asked "Yeah, I'm good. The weight of Joe's body pressed on mine made my skin warm.

I jumped when I felt Joe's soft lips on my neck. I heard a little chuckle from him as he continued to kiss my neck. I bit my bottom lip and closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of his lips on my tender skin. A few seconds later, I felt Joe's lips travel down my chest and land on my left breast. Joe took my left nipple in his mouth, causing me to moan out loud.

"I love the sounds of your moans," Joe said seductively.

Joe trailed down my chubby stomach and came face to face with my vagina.

"Are you ready?" Joe asked me, kissing my inner thighs. "Hmmm," was all I could hum through my gritted teeth.

Joe reached down and spread my legs, positioning himself between them. I took a deep breath when I felt his thick fingers roam around my folds. Joe parted my lips and started playing with my nerves. I released a sharp breath as his tongue replaced his fingers.

"Damn, shit, fuck." I screamed, unable to make a coherent sentence.

Joe picked up the speed he was using to eat me out, causing me to arch my back into him and moan out loud. Joe came up for air long enough to give me a passionate kiss on my lips. Joe got back between my legs and put the tip of his hard penis into my entrance, inhaling a deep breath. Joe kept teasing me, and I started to go crazy.

"Joe," I said in a breathless tone. "Hurry up."

Joe pushed the entire length of his penis into me, causing me to scream out loud. I moved my hips to match his movements.

"I love this," Joe said as he bit down on his bottom lip.

Joe moved steadily, filling me up with every inch of him. For what seemed like forever, I felt that knot in the pit of my stomach. My body stiffened under Joe. Joe smiled as he increased his speed.

"Baby, I'm about to come…" I moaned. "Let it go, baby. I need you to let it go." Joe said hoarsely.

Joe picked up his speed, and I dug my nails into his tanned shoulders.

"AHH," I screamed as I climaxed on his penis.

As my muscles spazzed around Joe's penis, I could feel his body get stiff above mine, which only meant he was about to reach his climax.

"Baby…" Joe moaned as he grabbed my hips tighter. Come for me, daddy…" I said as I rubbed my hands up and down his bare chest.

Joe trusted me harder and faster until his body stiffened and he grunted over me. Joe unloaded his penis into me and collapsed on top of me. We both tried to regulate our breathing. Joe rolled over and lay next to me.

"Happy New Year," Joe said, leaning over and kissing me on my temple.

[deliriousgeek]

Thomas Shelby x Wife Reader

Summary: A quiet evening meant for celebration is thrown into chaos. Y/n wills herself to play into the daunting role that comes with being Thomas Shelby’s wife, because it might be the only thing keeping her alive. 

Masterlist

Tommy lowkey feels very oc so idk how to feel about that. im not good at writing suspense...its also very long. ha :,)

Warning: blood, guns, knives, fights, usual peaky blinder violence

If anyone knew Y/n Shelby, then they would know that she can’t stand seeing dead bodies. Although in her case, having that reaction would seem ironic, considering her husband was Thomas Shelby. 

It was around 9pm when Y/n slipped her night robe off and lay back on her bed. Her night was just winding down and she was waiting for Thomas to get back. He said he would try to be home around midnight, and to not wait up. He and his brothers would be at the Garrison, celebrating Arthur’s return from prison and discussing what was to be done with the Jews and Italians next. 

Y/n knew it would be a couple hours for Tommy to be home, so she settled onto their bed and grabbed a book off her night stand. 

The room was bathed in a warm, orange and yellow light— the type of light candles can give. When she was home alone, Y/n liked to use candle light. It reminded her of a time before the war and before this gang business, when all she and Tommy had to worry about was getting enough candles to light up the dinner table. 

Half an hour had passed and Y/n had gotten through a decent number of pages in her book. She felt her eyes drooping and decided it was time to call it a night. She stretched and cracked her neck before turning to place her book on the nightstand. Just as she was about to place the book down, she heard a creak downstairs. 

She froze.

Tommy wasn’t supposed to be back until midnight and none of the Shelby family would come over this late without a call, that was their safety protocol. 

She listened for more creaking. 

After Tommy had bought their house he had insisted on replacing the creaky floor boards, but decided to keep a few. In certain spots, that could be easily avoided if one knew where to walk, the floor would still creak. It was a safety thing that Tommy and Y/n agreed would be good to have. If the floorboards downstairs still creaked after the first step, it wasn’t one of them. 

Creak...creak...creak...

That wasn’t Tommy. 

Y/n took in a deep breath as she put herself back into a sitting position on the bed. An intruder was in her house. At the moment, the Peaky Blinders had a lot of enemies. It could be anyone. Mostly, someone with a gun. 

She listened as the person made their way upstairs. She could hear them passing Tommy’s office, and the guest bedroom. This person knew where their room was, and she could only deduce from their movement’s that they were coming for her. 

Y/n was scared. She knew how to defend herself, but didn’t like doing it if she didn’t have to. Rolling her shoulders, she prepared herself for the inevitable. She’d have to fight tonight. 

To be clear, Y/n Shelby wasn’t unable to fight. She was a pro at throwing knives, which she preferred to guns; much to Tommy’s dismay. She knew how to shoot a gun and could decently fare in hand to hand combat, but she was still scared. Her heart beat in her chest quickly and anxiety bubbled to the surface. A normal reaction to knowing someone broke into your house to hurt you, or worse. Y/n assumed it was the latter. However, instead of letting her fear show, she turned on her fake calmness. A trick she forced herself to learn as Thomas Shelby’s wife. The alarm that was spread across her face vanished, instead being replaced with an eerily calm facade.

There was no point in locking the door. The person knew how to get past those if he made it into their living room. She heard their steps stop at the front of her door, she raised her book to her face, pretending like she was reading.

Act calm. She told herself.

Then, the door burst open.

Back at the pub, the Shelby brothers  were sitting around the table in the snug. Sharing laughs and taking on their third round of Whiskey.

“Alright boys,” Tommy began, placing his glass down and looking around the table. “We’ve had our fun, business begins now.” His content expression turned serious. 

His other brothers, and cousin Michael, cleared their throats and straightened up. 

“As you know, taking Arthur out of prison is a direct threat to the Sabini’s. It shows that even in London we have enough influence to get our own men out, if needed.”

The brothers nodded, and shared looks.

Tommy continued, “Getting Arthur out was our first move. Now it’s the Italian’s and the Jew’s turn but we don’t know when their next strike will be. So, from this moment on we have to be aware, alert, and ready for every—”

The door flew open.

Sir!” Out of breath, Isaiah stood with one hand on the door knob, looking at Tommy. 

“Oi!” Arthur shouted. “You know better than to interrupt!” 

Tommy nodded his head at Arthur, then turned to Isaiah. “What is it, lad.”

“Better be important,” John added. 

“Sir, the Italians are here. My dad spotted them making their way down the lane. They got a group with guns and a car. We best hurry.” Isaiah said in a rushed voice.

With that all the Shelby men stood and placed their caps on, rushing out of the snug. 

Upon noticing the urgency in which the brothers exited, the rest of the Peaky Blinders in the pub were at full alert, waiting for Tom’s next words. The crowd silenced as the brothers stood at the snug doors, facing the onlookers. 

“If you aren’t a Peaky Blinder,” Tom eyed the crowd, “leave.” 

Noise filled the bar again as chairs shuffled, cups were placed on tables, and the front doors opened and closed.

Tom didn’t speak again until there were only Peaky Blinders left. He pulled out his revolver and checked it, making sure there were bullets, before looking up again. 

“Battle formation, men. The Italians are here.” 

Then in a flurry of peaky hats and over coats, the rest of the men got into their positions. Some ran up the stairs to get the extra cases of shotguns and revolvers. Others pulled out their own handguns and checked them as well. The Shelby boys looked at each other, a silent way of saying ‘good luck’. 

Once Tommy deemed every one armed, he nodded to Arthur, who shouted to move out. 

The Shelbies were at the front, while everyone fell behind them in triangle formation. As they marched outside, they could see the group of Italians rounding the corner. 

It was rather intimidating. An outline of men and guns on shoulders, a rather sizable group at that, illuminated by the truck headlights that followed behind. It was a sight to see.

Darby Sabini stood at the front, a shotgun slung over his shoulder.

As the groups marched towards each other and came to a stop, a man behind Thomas called out to the front. “At your command Sergeant Major.”

A hushed tone of agreement spread throughout the group.

Darby stepped forward. “Thought you could come on our turf and get away with it, aye?” 

Tommy stepped forward as well, hands in his pockets. “It was meant as a friendly gesture, but I don’t think you have enough friends to know what that means.”

A small smirk made its way onto Tommy’s face as he stared Darby down. 

Darby narrowed his eyes, irritated at that remark. “I’ll show you what friendly means. Now!”

A hail of gunfire began and the sound of shots being fired filled the lane. It was chaos. Bullets flew and body’s fell. Punches were thrown and blood was spread. More men jumped out of the covered truck and ran to beat down the men on the other side. 

Tommy ducked and punched, kicked and shot. In the middle of punching a man in the gut he yelled, “Leave Darby for me!”

His men did just that. 

Thomas fought his way to the center of the fight, where Darby had just knocked out a Peaky Blinder. Tommy aimed his gun and walked forward, aiming at Darby. The fighting on both sides ceased.

“I didn’t bring a battalion to your town.” Tommy spoke clearly, in a raised voice. 

Darby aimed his gun as well. The two circled each other as men on both sides stopped to observe the interaction. They watched Tommy and Darby tread carefully, like two tentative predators waiting for their opposer to falter.

“You still showed up. That was enough.”

The two men were breathing heavily, a result from the brawls they just finished.

“What’s your purpose for being here, Sabini?” Thomas stopped pacing, his gun still firmly held up. 

Darby stopped as well. An obnoxious laugh left his lips. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Tommy didn’t move. He held a blank face, but his eyes still watched Darby with intensity. 

Not waiting for a response Darby continued, “I’m reminding you that I can take away everything you have in an instant. I already put your brother in jail, which it seems wasn’t a good enough warning for you, since you stupidly had him released so quickly.”

Darby took a couple steps toward Thomas, gun raised. 

“Killing me won’t do anything. I got people in place to still ruin you.” Thomas stated, his tone flat. 

Darby lowered his gun, a sickly calm smile spread across his face. It was an unsettling sight that made Tommy begin to think something was off.

“Oh Tommy boy, I’m just the distraction,” Darby’s eyes noticeably darkened, “How’s your wife these days?”

Tommy’s eyes widened and his finger pulled the trigger.

Darby fell to the ground dead, a bullet was lodged in the center of his forehead. 

Then like a wave, the fighting began again.

As soon as the gunshot rang, Tommy saw red. He shot, punched, kicked or swung at anyone in his way as he fought to get out of the crowd. He didn’t bother shouting an explanation to his brothers as he ran to his car. 

Tommy shoved his keys into the ignition and started the car. Tommy slammed his foot on the gas as soon as the engine roared to life. The car’s lights illuminated the carnage left from the battle. The Peaky Blinders were the last ones standing, as Tommy expected, but paid no mind to. His thoughts too consumed with conjuring the hundreds of horrible possibilities he might see upon arriving home, all ending with a bloodied image of Y/n.

John and Arthur ran towards the car, causing Thomas to slam on the breaks. 

“Where are you going?” John asked urgently. 

“They’re going for Y/n.” Thomas hastily replied.

John and Arthur jumped on the side of the car just in time before Tommy could speed up again. 

Michael and Finn watched as the older Shelby boys passed them. 

“Great. So we’re left to clean up the mess.”

At the house, Y/n held her book to her face as the door burst open. She turned her head and was met with the sight of a man pointing a gun at her. His clothes were clean and he looked very young. Her eyes flitted from the gun to his shoes, then to his eyes, then back to the gun. 

“On your feet.” He demanded. 

“What?” Y/n feigned innocence, despite her struggle to keep calm.

The man, gun still held towards her, trudged over and ripped the book from her hands, throwing it onto the floor. 

“I said on your feet!” He yelled in her face, backing away so he was a few feet from the bed.

She stared into his eyes, an impassive look on her face. Y/n looked back down at the gun. 

With a purse of her lips and a shrug she stated, “I’d rather not.”

The man’s soldier esc demeanor nearly slipped at her blatant defiance of his orders. “It’s not an option lady! Get up.”

She chuckled. “Y’see, lad. I’ve been on my feet all day. Have you ever worn heels for over six hours? Rather painful you know.”

Her cocky attitude betrayed her quickly beating heart that was full of adrenaline.

In an effort to scare her, he menacingly stepped forward. “I ain’t afraid to hurt you lady, but the boss wants you alive. If you keep disobeying me, I'm allowed to use force.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh really, and who is your boss? I must thank him for not wanting me dead.” 

She knew she was playing with her life, but if this boy was as inexperienced as he looked, she would get the information she needed to warn Tommy. Granted, if she got out of this situation. 

“Sabini.” The man bluntly answered. 

Y/n swallowed. This wasn’t good. If Sabini’s men were here and not in London, she needed to warn Thomas immediately. Her heart pumped faster than she thought possible and every nerve in her body was on the verge of trembling from fear.

“I see.” Y/n turned her head to the foot of the bed. “Well, like I said, I’d rather not get up. Matter of fact, I’d rather keep reading. So be a dear and hand me my book, would ya?” She was stalling.

“C’mon lady, stop being stubborn. You don't even got a weapon to be making these demands.” The man sneered.

Y/n slowly adjusted herself so that she scooted away from the pillows that propped her up. She straightened her legs on the bed, her left crossed over her right. Then she leaned back on her arms, purposely pushing up her chest to show off her unbinded chest. Hopefully, he’d be dumb enough to look at her distraction, and he was. 

“Ah, well. It was worth a shot. I can tell that you're new to this whole— kidnapping thing. If you want to get better at it then you should learn this.” She paused before looking back at the man, “Always do research on your target.”

The young man’s brows furrowed, obviously confused. 

“If you did your research, like a good little gangster,” She began as she slid her left leg up off her right, causing her silk nightgown to slowly expose her leg. The man’s eyes roamed her leg once she stopped moving, leaving her left leg in a bent position. She reached for the hem of the dress and raised it further up her left leg, stopping until it got to her mid thigh, “Then you would know, that I’m always armed.”

In a swift and well practiced motion, Y/n grabbed the sharp, throwing knife from her thigh holster, and threw. The knife landed in the man’s chest, in his heart. Looking down at the knife, the man stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and falling onto his back. Blood quickly formed a growing splotch of red on his shirt. Y/n quickly stood from the bed to remove the gun from the man’s hand, she then crouched over him. 

She placed her hand on the knife handle, “It was a shame you didn’t do your research.” Then she pushed the knife forward, until she felt through the blade that it had really punctured his heart.

Y/n stood over the man’s body, gun in her hand, and watched the blood puddle grow. She backed away until her knees hit the bed and gave way. Letting out a shaky breath, she sat with the gun in her lap. In an attempt to avoid looking at the body laid in front of her, Y/n stared at the ceiling. 

The adrenaline began to wear off, and the reality of the situation dawned on her. She could have died, quite easily too. If her attacker had not been so inexperienced and if she wasn’t wanted brought back alive, she could have died. Then, she thought of her husband.

Tommy. 

Had the man lying dead on her carpet opened the door and shot, Tommy would have had to come home to her dead body instead. The thought of Tommy finding her body, cold and bloody, scared her more than death. She couldn’t imagine the pain of him being alone. He would blame himself for her death. He would say he couldn’t protect her, and he would loathe himself for the rest of his life. Tears began to prick her eyes and her throat tightened. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to go away and for her erratic heart beat to calm down. 

She killed a man.

That’s the only thought she could process. Her emotions muddled her thinking. Never before had she used her knives to kill. She used guns, from far away. She used punches to knock people out. She used her knives to injure, but never before had she needed them to kill. She was slightly glad for the memory of Tommy coming back home from an errand, returning with the thin knife holster that he insisted she wear when he wasn’t home. She was also glad that she made it a rule for herself to never take it off unless Tommy was home with her. 

Then, the silence of the house was broken again. She flinched. This time, the sound came from the front door slamming open and muffled shouts that she could only register as her name. 

“Y/n! Y/n where are you?” The voice shouted.

She couldn’t pinpoint who it was, not in her boggled state of mind, but she knew it was safe. So she answered. 

“In the bedroom.” 

Her eyes were still shut and her head faced the ceiling when Tommy rushed in.

“Y/n.” His voice was slightly breathless as he took in the sight before him. 

The room was covered in warm, candle light, giving a complete opposite tone to the tense atmosphere. His wife sat on the bed with a gun in her lap. A man, with his wife’s knife in his chest, laid dead on the ground and a puddle of blood surrounded his wound. 

Y/n opened her eyes and looked at her husband. She could see the fear and worry that filled his eyes, his face in slight shock.

Thomas was relieved to see his wife unharmed, but he could see the tears that were threatening to fall. Her slumped shoulders were signs of exhaustion. The way her chest moved up and down with heavy breathes told him she was on the verge of holding herself together. 

Arthur and John came bounding up the stairs next, and found their places on either side of Thomas. 

Y/n’s voice came out void of emotion, but her teary eyes said it all. “One of Sabini’s men.” She stated before turning her eyes to the ceiling once more, trying to blink away tears. “Please get him out of my sight.” The growing puddle of blood made her want to throw up. 

“You heard her,” Thomas said in a low tone, staring at his wife with concerned eyes. “Get rid of ‘em.” His voice was just above a whisper.

Arthur and John stepped forward, grabbing the man by his arms and lugged him out of the room. Only once the man had been removed did Thomas walk towards his wife. Only when he wrapped his arms around her did she let herself cry. She let herself sob and express how truly scared she was when the man burst into her room, and pointed a gun to her head. 

Thomas held her close and kissed her head. He whispered in her ear that she was okay, and that she did what she needed to do. Holding her close, he told her he loved her, and promised to never let anything like that happen to her again. 

Masterlist

well I tried

Edit: Bro this blew up in less than a day with 41 notes. Thank you♡

[postalenha]

on and off % jake

pairing: playboybf!jake x reader genre: angst, fluff, lovers to exes, exes to lovers idek word count: 1.89k words requested: yes / prompt 14, “we called it off again last night.” / 18, “it’s been you all along.” / 19, “for the first time, i had something to lose.” synopsis: immaturity isn't needed in a relationship, but that seems to be jake's and your's specialty. warnings: curse words, mentions of drinking, throwing up, su!cide, toxic relationship, making out

"i thought you're going with jake today?" sunghoon asked as you hop into his car.

you rolled your eyes at the thought of riding in the same vehicle as the boy, "no, we called it off again last night."

"again?!" the boy exclaimed, "y/n, that's probably the nth time you guys called it off." he sighed in disbelief, "that's not how relationships work." he commented.

judgingly looking at his way, "yeah? like you know any better?"

"shut up." he started the engine, "this isn't about my love life."

"whatever." you blurt out, "i guess being bad at handling relationship runs in our blood." you jokingly said, as your cousin laugh.

he tilt his head smiling, "damn, of all things that can be passed down, that's what we got."

"well, at least we got good looks. that works as a payoff." he added. you agreed at him with a nod, "anyway." you changed the subject.

"i'm planning on ending it with jake." you stated. he looked at you, "no shit, you sure?" he assured, "to be honest, whatever makes you happy." he added, looking like he wanted to say something but he decided not to.

"don't apologize." you led before he could even say sorry for insisting that you should date his best friend, sim jaeyun.

"i'm not- okay whatever." he almost want to deny the urge but he saw you looking at him with a teasing face, "i just feel a little responsible for all the stress this relationship have caused you." he scratch the back of his head, as you slap his arm.

"shut up, dating him was my decision. you don't have to blame yourself for all the bad decisions i made for myself. i'm an adult now." you told him.

parking his car he nod his head, "okay. just remember i'm here if things are bad, okay?"

"okay." you said, before going out of his car. walking at the corridor of your building, trying to see if jake arrived earlier than you today.

and he certainly did. there he is on his designated seat beside the window, silently watching as the wilted leaves fall down from the tree.

the clock ticks time faster than you expected and your professor came in, not able to call out for jake's name to even talk to him.

sitting down to a chair, you told yourself that you'll talk to him later. and here you are, in front of jake sim at the rooftop of your university's main building.

it might be your lucky day for no one else is here but the two of you. this place is usually cramped with so many people and miraculously today isn't one of those days.

this may be one of the many signs sent from above that this relationship should end as it wasn't right from the beginning.

your blood boils as your cousin sunghoon pushes you into the table of his friend group, "come on! you wouldn't lose anything! he just want to talk to you." he shouts.

"then tell him i don't want to!" you shout back a little annoyed. the last thing you want to do tonight is talk to the famous serial dater, jake sim. "for i know, he just wants the best out of me!"

"come on! jake's not like that!" he defended his friend. to be honest, sunghoon is the last person you should be ranting to. for he is just like his friend, they play with girl's hearts for fun.

you rolled your eyes as you reach the table of ego. the decision of naming that wasn't yours, but the other students. they called this the table of ego because everyone in here got some solid ego. heeseung, jay, sunghoon, jake. all of them.

"y/n! you actually came!" heeseung cheered as soon as he saw you, he scooted a little bit on his right to leave some space between him and jake, "come sit!"

sitting beside him was probably one of the decisions you will forever regret in your life. the memory of that night was a blur. you barely recall anything that happened then.

the only thing that you remember was when jake was reaching for a kiss, you accidentally threw up on him before passing out.

the next day, he told you to be his girlfriend to compensate with the mess you gave his brand new shirt. you said yes just so he could shut up, telling yourself you'll break up with him after a day or two.

two months then passed and you are just breaking everything now. well, it's better late than never. you just didn't expect that he would actually be a good boyfriend.

he's mostly good, not until everything gets complicated even with nothing. you fight over the smallest thing like, not being able to respond to each other's text to someone getting jealous.

it wasn't the best relationship you've been in but it was a good experience. you learned so much and now, it's time to move on.

"what is it that you wanted to say?" jake impatiently snapped you back into reality. you swallowed a good amount of saliva before saying, "let's break up."

it was better to say it forward than beating around the bush. with this, more time and energy will be saved. because even if you give him an explanation he probably won't listen.

he slowly blinked and sighed, looking away he said "okay. if that's what you want." see. he wouldn't even bother asking you why.

well, if you get things easy. they would also go easily, "okay. it was fun meeting you." you head out, leaving him there.

he most probably would not be so upset that he might think of jumping off the building, but you still prayed that he wont.

and he didn't. you can guarantee that as you see that three weeks later jake sim is with a woman walking the same isle as you are. the chances of you seeing him here at this huge mall was small, but never impossible.

you grabbed your friend's hand trying to hide from the sight of the man, "what are you doing-"

"shut up, jake is here." you told here looking at their way, walking into a clothing store. you hurriedly go and sit at a restaurant far from them and ordered food when your friend speak up.

"y/n, what's the point of hiding now when you guys already broke up?" she patheticly looked at you who's trying to hide from a menu list.

putting the menu list down on the table, you crossed your arms, "i am not hiding from him. i simply don't want to involve myself with anything that has to do with him."

"yeah, like seeing him in a shopping mall involves you with him." she said with full sarcasm. "you have no idea how pathetic that sounded."

not listening to anything she said, you started eating your pasta. almost choking when you saw a familliar figure walk in the restaurant.

trying your best to lean down and not get noticed you hear your friend call, "jake!" you kick her feet under the table as you see jake wave back and walks closer.

"what the fuck did you just do?" you whispered at her, she just smiles like an idiot as jake reach your table.

"hello, jia." he greeted your friend, "hi, y'n."

flashing a fake smile, you said "hi." satisfied with how annoyed you are, jia announced "you guys can join us! we got two extra seats here."

"we don't want to intrude-" you cut him off, "yes, there are a lot of vacant tables. they sure can find their own, right?"

serving a glass of wine, a waiter says "oh, we're fully booked, ma'am. so if you want to eat here, you have to wait for another hour or so." he said pouring some on your glass. "if you'll excuse me."

"it would be rude if we don't invite you right? so join!" your friend cheered as the girl jake's with sit next to you.

taking a sip of your wine whenever jake helps the girl cut her steak, you became unaware of how drunk you are. "so, when did you meet jake?" you asked the girl.

to be frank, she was quiet the whole time. just sitting there, not saying a thing but a "thanks." whenever jake helps her with anything.

"you can't answer that? well can you tell me if you are able to use your hands to their purpose? like cutting off a steak or puring your own glass of wine?"

"y/n-" your friend tried to stop you. but you didn't listen. you just continued to blabber nonsense until jake grabbed your wrist to the bathroom.

shaking your hand off his grip you screamed at him asking, "why did you bring me here?!"

"y/n why are you being so rude?" he calmly asked you.

you sarcastically laughed, "i'm being rude? who's more rude when you're out here eating at the same table as your ex-girlfriend and your current girlfriend?"

"current girlfriend- y/n that's my cousin!" he tried to calm himself by breathing slowly, pushing the side of his mouth using his tounge "do you really think i could replace you that fast?"

the sudden question made you feel like someone cut off your tounge. because you mostly have answer for everything but this. his question caught you off guard.

"when you broke up with me, i never asked why. i knew you were tired and i don't want to exhaust you more." you hear his voice shake as he speak. "i was also tired and we both needed a break."

you looked straight at his eyes that are sparkling from moist done by the tears that he have been trying so hard to hold back, "but as time pass by, i felt more and more empty. there is a big mark of you in my heart that ever since you left, no one has ever filled."

"nobody could ever fit in, but you." cupping your face he also wipe your tears away. "i never felt that way before. it's like, for the first time, i had something to lose."

"jake, i-" it was as if you forgot how to compose a word. you never knew he felt the same way you did when you broke up with him.

maybe sunghoon was more of your cousin than he is jake's friend. because if jake only knew how many times you told sunghoon that you miss him, he would've came back faster than this.

he smiled pulling you into a hug, "it's fine if you don't feel the same way anymore. i understand that. but i just want you to know that i am not the douchebag you think i am."

pulling away from the hug, you see his eyes were bloodshot "sorry, the last thing i want to do is make you cry-" you pulled him into a kiss not letting another word out of his mouth.

running out of breath, you seperated his lips from yours. you widely smiled at him, "it’s been you all along."

kissing outside a three star restaurant's restroom isn't as ideal as other comeback stories, but you wouldn't ask for anything else. as long as you have jake in your arms, your heart is content.

[newtonsheffield]

Hiii i absolutely loved the epilogue, sooo cute and funny and the ending 🥺 but now i have this teeny tiny question if you don't mind how do you imagine the night of the Formal if Katie had actually gone with someone else? like I just know jealous baby Anthony will be so funny, sorry i know that would be like an au of an au of an au (lol) but i just loooove fics with dances because i don't get any of those where i am from

I'm so glad you enjoyed the epilogue of A Letter That You Never Read! I really had no idea when I posted that story that people would like it quite so much but... I guess you guys did?

Anyway I would be more than happy to share with you a tiny taste of Jealous teenage Anthony, quietly brooding away in the corner. @missfairygodmother was also interested in seeing Baby Anthony get a little green eyed over Kate

In this AU of an AU of an AU

Anthony had been nervous all afternoon, well, for weeks, months actually, as he'd tried to pluck up the courage to ask Katie Sheffield if she would go to the formal with him. But every time he'd been around her, he just couldn't choke out the words. She always seemed so far above them all, distancing herself from the mundanity of teenage life, sitting in the corner of the cafeteria quietly reading a book while idiots hit each other with the dinner trays around her, her eyes rolling slightly as she walked past them. So he hadn't done it.

But he'd found himself considering what she would like, when he picked out his suit. Her backpack was green, was that her favourite colour? Would she like it if he wore a tie that colour? What flowers would she like to see on his buttonhole? Roses? or tulips or peonies or something else completely?

"Why don't you ask Katie to go with you?" His mother had said gently as they'd stood in the store and the woman taking his measurements had asked what his partner was wearing. "She doesn't want to go with me, Mum." He'd mumbled, more than a little embarrassed, deeply regretting the incidents that had caused her to become aware of his futile crush. "Did you ask her?" He shook his head "She barely says anything to me, Mum. She doesn't like me back." And his cheeks had burned with shame His mother had sighed, "I don't suppose it's occurred to you that she might also be too nervous to say anything?" And while Anthony had scoffed, he'd desperately hoped that she was right, even though he knew the very last word that would ever be used to describe Katie Sheffield was nervous.

Be'd told himself, as he got ready, that when he got there, and he saw her, he'd ask her to dance. He would, he would find the courage somehow. And he would tell her that his heart wanted to beat out of his chest whenever he saw her, that he thought she was beautiful and smart, and funny and he wanted to know her. He'd arrived and loitered nervously in the corner of the school gymnasium and then he saw her, and his heart felt like it had been ripped out of his chest.

Kate had walked in, heartbreakingly beautiful, her hair cascading down her back like a waterfall, just like always, her glasses abandoned for the night, which made Anthony frown a little, but that wasn't why his heart broke. No, she was arm in arm with someone else. She paused at the doorway, listening to something her annoyingly handsome and square jawed partner said, her face breaking into a wide smile as he finished. Anthony felt something white hot rip through his chest seething at the back of the other boy's head as they walked further into the room.

Whoever he was, Anthony had never seen him before, but he looked older, a little more mature, and Anthony hated him. Petulantly despised him, almost as much as he despised himself for not asking her. She already has a boyfriend you idiot, of course she does, because you're a fuckwit and she's incredible.

He stood stock still in the corner jealousy tearing through him for god knows how long, wincing as he saw her boyfriend smile down at her, his fingers lightly brushing the flowers at her wrist. Roses Anthony noted, despising the pink tulips currently on his buttonhole. "You could have just asked her yourself you know. She's here with him because he actually asked her." Simon's voice said gently, as he followed Anthony's line of vision as Katie's boyfriend laughed. "Fuck Off Si." Anthony spat out, hating the truth of it, unable to stand in the room another minute he swept outside ignoring her completely as he past, leaning against the side of the building his chest aching.

"Anthony? Are you okay?" Of course she was here. Standing just a few feet away from him, the green of her dress shining in the soft lighting, an Amy Shark song, Adore playing in the background he realised a little belatedly because of course it was. "Yeah, fine. Why wouldn't I be?" He said, ignoring the lump in his throat. "Are you having a good time? Your boyfriend seems nice." Her brow furrowed just a little, her lower lip caught between her teeth. "You just looked kind of upset." Her voice was so soft, her eyes so concerned that right here, in this moment, it was so easy for him to pretend that she felt the same way he did. But she didn't. "Freddie's nice, we always have a good time together." Katie and Freddie. They even had matching names, his stomach churned while his chest burned with jealousy, and he instantly felt sick because he was making this so much about himself, when he should have been glad to see her happy.

Anthony nodded. "You look really nice tonight, Katie." He couldn't help himself. Her eyes widened for a second before she smiled. "Thanks, it's amazing what happens when a girl takes off her glasses right?" "It doesn't have anything to do with that." Anthony said sharply, his eyes catching hers. Surely she knew how beautiful she was. Silence echoed between them for several moments before "Katie?" A male voice called out softly, Freddie appearing seconds later. Katie smiled at him when he arrived, and Anthony's stomach churned again. He wondered for one wild moment, what it would have been like if she never came, if he never came, then he could have gone on pretending he had a chance forever.

"Sorry, Mate, I don't think we've been introduced, Freddie." He said turning towards Anthony, his hand outstretched. Anthony stared down at it for a second and then gritted his teeth. "Freddie this is Anthony." Katie said lightly and Freddie did the oddest thing, his eyes widened, a smirk on his face as he looked between them. "Anthony, I'm so glad to meet you!" He said, suddenly overflowing with happiness. Anthony felt his brow furrow as Katie ducked her head embarrassed. "Mate, I wonder if you could do me a favour, I hurt my leg at Rugby this week." Of course he's a rugby player, Anthony thought savagely. "And I think someone ought to dance with Katie." Anthony's heart stopped. Katie looked nothing short of aghast. "Freddie!" She hissed angrily, nudging him "Anthony, you don't have to,- I'm not- Freddie I'm telling my Mum on you!" Anthony's brow furrowed again, he was missing something here, something he couldn't quite place but he wasn't going to miss the opportunity. He cut across Freddie's "Please, Auntie's not going to do-" "I want to dance with you!" Katie's head nearly shot off her shoulders as it swivelled towards him. Anthony felt his hand ruffle his hair nervously, cursing himself. "If you want to... dance with me that is." He couldn't breathe as her eyes flicked over his face, more than a little guarded until she said.

"Okay. I'd like that." Anthony felt his face break into a bright smile, his heart pounding in his chest as he tugged her back though the doors, leading her to the dance floor, his heart pounding as she wrapped her arms a little awkwardly around him, standing so lose he could count the tiny line of freckles on her nose. Content silence between them as the music swelled in the background. And then everything came slipping from his chest. She was so close he just couldn't help it.

"I really wanted to ask you to come tonight. And I'm sorry, I know it's not fair because you're with Freddie, but I've liked you for a really long time and I can't let you go away to University thinking don't care about you." He was breathing a little heavily by the end of his speech, the warring emotions that had been playing on him all night finally getting the better of him as Katie stared at him, dumbstruck. Anthony let his hands drop. "And now i've made you uncomfortable, I'm really sorry. Sorry." God he had to get out of here, tears were pushing at the back of his throat, clouding his vision, and then her hand caught his. "Freddie is my cousin!" She said, all in a rush, "Well, my step mum's second cousin's son. But I had to bring him because I didn't have anyone else and I was too nervous to come by myself but I really wanted to see you one last time and-" Anthony couldn't help himself, his heart was beating out of his chest as he leaned towards her, cutting off whatever she'd been about to say with his lips on hers.

Her lips were soft against his, unmoving for a moment, before her hands tugged him more tightly against her, her fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck. There was a small smilie on her lips when Anthony pulled back, a broad grin on his own. " I've wanted to do that for a really long time." "Was it worth the wait do you think?" "Abso-fucking-lutely." Their lips met again with a small giggle, and even though Anthony had just said the most embarrassing thing he possibly could have said after kissing a girl, he really couldn't bring himself to care.

[insaneasgardian]

Aquariums - Darcy Lewis x Yelena Belova

Alphabet prompt list

A: “Aquariums are great places for first dates, don’t you think?” “I’m sorry… do I know you?” “Nope! Now things are pretty awkward, huh?”

LMAO Idk how Darcy x Yelena hit me, but it did. I hope everyone enjoys! Also, no guarantee that I'll finish the alphabet prompt list because I'm a terrible writer that struggles with inspiration.

It was oddly calming. Watching the stingrays float to and fro, the silver colored fish darting in and out of the artificial coral, and hearing the gentle ripple of water mixed with the light chatter of other guests at the aquarium.

Yelena wondered why she had never been here before. Then she recalled that her life as a normal woman had practically just begun. It was Natasha who had suggested the aquarium, told her to go check it out on a Saturday when she was free.

The memory of her sister promising to escort her to the aquarium, then bailing to go to the Avengers reunion made her scoff. It was pleasant being in the aquarium, but it wasn't something one typically did alone. Yelena had figured that much out when she stepped foot in the building. People had bustled around her in groups, and she noticed that aquariums were generally visited with family, friends, partners. She felt a bit lonely, and somewhat bored.

The blue of the water reflected on Yelena's face, and she smiled as she noticed a baby stingray watching her intently, before floating off somewhere.

"Aquariums are great places for first days, don't you think?" A voice said from behind her. Yelena ignored it, not bothering to turn around, believing it was probably a couple out together for the first time.

It was only when she felt a hand on her shoulder, that she abruptly spun around, startled. She was surprised to see a brunette girl with glasses looking at her, she was alone, much like Yelena was. Her red lips were pulled into a small smile, and her soft blue eyes held a curiosity in them. She was pretty.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Yelena asked after surveying the girl.

"Nope!" the random girl exclaimed, "Now things are pretty awkward, huh?"

A few beats of silence skipped between the two, before a chuckle suddenly escaped Yelena's lips, surprising both of them.

It made the stranger grin even wider, and she stuck out her hand, "Darcy Lewis," she introduced.

Yelena shook her outstretched hand, although she was hesitant, she remembered Natasha's advice about opening up.

"I'm Yelena Belova," she returned, this time with a smile of her own.

Darcy walked forward a few steps to stand next to Yelena and watch the fish in the large tank before them.

"What are you doing at the aquarium alone, Yelena?" Darcy inquired.

"I could ask the same"

"My cousin, Jane, was supposed to come with me. She went with her fiancé to the Avengers reunion instead though," Darcy babbled out, and Yelena looked at her in astonishment.

It was only when Darcy saw the expression of her new acquaintance that she realized context was needed, "My cousin's Jane Foster, you might know her, she's engaged to Thor"

Yelena nodded, "I've met her," she said.

"Oh, are you involved with astrophysics?" Darcy curiously asked.

"Not quite..." Yelena sheepishly responded, not quite sure how this girl she'd just met would react to hearing that she was the Black Widow's sister. Some people still seemed to hold grudges against Natasha for the Sokovia accords.

Thankfully, Darcy sensed that Yelena didn't really want to talk about it, and let it go. They relished in the silence for a few moments, enjoying the view, occasionally of the marine life, occasionally of each other.

"So Yelena, what do you think of you and me heading to the Starbucks in here? I could do with a coffee," Darcy broke the tranquility.

"I'm open to having a coffee with you. I don't know what a 'Starbucks' is though," Yelena replied.

Darcy linked her hand with Yelena's, and the blonde was shocked to find that her body welcomed the warm touch and didn't flinch away.

"Let me introduce you then!" Darcy announced, turning to speed walk out the exhibit to the inbuilt Starbucks, dragging her new friend behind her.

Yelena giggled a bit, and ran to catch up with Darcy. Aquariums are great places for first dates indeed.

[specsforwoo]

Son of Lachesis | Demigod!Jung Jaehyun

Parent Deity: Lachesis (Goddes of the String of Life; the Second Fate)

Allegiance: Hades

Dark Humor was a thing

He probably picked it up from his dad

His dad was this super successful thriller author

So they had this huge penthouse in New York but Jaehyun was your normal edgy emo teenager

He claimed to hate his life, hate his family, hate his friends

But like, his dad wasn’t bothered by it???

At first Jaehyun thought it was because his dad just didn’t care about him

But then he started to realize that his dad was the same way

He would rather disparage himself in the name of humor than anything else

It was more of a coping technique but oh well

And for some reason, Jaehyun’s senior year of highschool, he moved to Korea

Still doesn’t know why tbh

Something about his dad telling him that it was safer for their family to be closer together

But like his family only comprised of himself and his dad

And his beagle Chu-Chu but that’s it

As far as he knew, he didn’t have any family in Korea

But surprisingly, he fit in well

His last year of high school went by quickly

And soon he was accepted into the medical examiner’s program @ KAIST

What?

He felt more comfortable around cadavers than live humans

It wasn’t weird he just had hella social anxiety

He had a real gift for it too

He could just look at a body and be able to tell how they died

He was oddly able to tell how long ago they died too

He was actually starting to get creeped out by it

So he started talking to the only person he could ever confide in

His dad

It was a long weekend off of uni

And the Friday before he got into a huge argument with his toxicology professor about the substance that one man ingested that led to his death

His professor swore it was Croton tiglium

And he doesn’t know why but something in his gut was screaming that the diagnosis was wrong

So what did he do?

He stole the toxicology report to review it

And he barged into his professor’s office claiming it was actually Daphne mezereum

What scared him the most was that he could swear the man who was lying helplessly on the table was the one who told him what the poison was

So back to his dad’s apartment

Jaehyun was in tears explaining what had been going on to his dad

And sure his dad was the one to lighten up any room he could

But his dad just laughed

And for the first time he actually felt like he was going crazy

He thought that if anyone would be able to help him understand it would be his dad

I mean what was that Ph.D in psychology hanging on the wall for then

But his dad placed a hand on his shoulder and talked to him very calmly.

I think it’s time that you met your mother.

Sniffing, he looked up

I thought she had been dead since I was a baby.

Sorta…

How can someone be ‘sorta’ dead?

She’s more like… undead?

Suddenly a gray smoke started swarming around his feet.

And a young woman, dressed in black with a rose in her hair appeared behind his dad

Jaehyun almost screamed

Dear, Many people are in need to relief so why are you calling me up?

She spoke and her voice was as light of as the mist swirling around her feet

She looked up and made eye contact with Jaehyun

Dear, you know how dangerous it is for them to meet their other parents… why is he here?

She didn’t break eye contact with Jaehyun as she spoke to his father

It’s time he knew. Maybe Taeyong or Yuta could help him? They’ve been through this before.

The anxiety and stress was piling up on Jaehyun until he couldn’t stand it anymore

Knew what? Who is this? Why is our apartment filling with smoke? What have Taeyong and Yuta been through before?

You are a demigod Jaehyun. The woman spoke up, inching closer to his side.

My son, the son of Lacheses.

Lacheses…. The goddess of the string of fate.

I’m the son of a death goddess.

He burst out laughing

He couldn’t tell if it was from shock or denial

Everything made sense

His ominous ability to tell how people died

How long they would live for

So you are telling me Taeyong and Yuta are demigods too?

He looked between his mother and father

Yes, sons of Themis and Bia, respectively of course.

So that summer Jaehyun ended up going to camp with Taeyong

He didn’t feel that comfortable in the Hades cabin, and ended up rooming with Sicheng in the Achelios cabin instead

He also tended to help out with medical care when super dangerous competitions were taking place

If he remembered correctly, Sicheng asked him to because your weird ass ability to tell how long people have to live comes in handy so I can override it.

He said it with all smile on his face too, like people thought Jae was creepy

He is still actively attending uni, still the top student is his toxicology class, despite his prof throwing the hardest cases his way

HE EVEN GOT AN INTERNSHIP AT THE POLICE STATION YAY JAEHYUN

But camp is his life now

He never knew what he would have done if he didn’t have the support system that he did because of it

Yuta is his best friend

Partly because they are apparently first cousins

But also because they just mesh really well together

Whenever Yuta is fighting or practicing

He is there to makes sure to call game before anyone gets fatally injured

It actually got close one time

But other than that

His life is really normal

He eats out a lot

He studies a lot less than he should

He has made lasting friendships

And he has the hugest crush in the world that he refuses to reveal

hey , you

Just tell me! You know I can keep a secret from the hyungs!

Cue Jisung pestering him as they run the track at camp

How do I know that?

Taeyong still hasn’t found out that Chenle and I sneak out every Saturday to go to the arcade and that we were the ones who broke his cat mug.

Good Point.

Sooooo?

Still not telling.

Honestly though, not like it wasn’t obvious enough

Sometimes he wonders if everyone is oblivious to him staring at the back of your head while you run rounds for Sicheng

Or how his eyes follow your figure when he spots you in a crowd

Dude has it bad

And might be a little possessive too

He saw Taeil hug you once and he refused to talk to Taeil for a week

Until Kun saw what was going on and forced them to make up

But you

Girl you might have an even bigger crush

Who knew volunteering was so fun when you got to see Jaehyun every day

Highkey only Renjun knows that you both like each other

What? Renjun knows E V E R Y T H I N G

At least he is like ‘passively’ helping Jaehyun score a date with you

And by ‘passively’ I mean he straight up walked over to you and asked you if you would want to grab dinner with Jaehyun on Thursday, something about studying for toxicology finals

And by ‘passively’ I also mean him straight up telling Jaehyun that you were going to be a the hole in the wall diner on 53rd street a 7 o’clock and if he didn’t show up he was going to kick his ass

So you both showed up

You with study materials

And him with flowers

Johnny told him that flowers were always the way to go

And Jaehyun was beyond embarrassed and confused when you looked up and saw him standing there in a button down shirt that definitely wasn’t his holding a bouquet of flowers

And you were sitting there in sweatpants and your glasses falling down the bridge of your nose

So he did what he does best

Laugh it off

Oh, these are to thank you for helping me study.

Of course, you didn’t have to get me anything though.

In his head he is sitting there cussing Renjun out while also trying to create that empathy link with Yuta so he could tell Yuta to go beat his ass

But he brushed it off and starts studying with you

Only after ordering pecan pie and hot chocolate

Because everyone needs snacks for studying

Right

But you suddenly looked up and stared him straight in the eyes

Why do you even need my help? Aren’t you like top of this class, and IDK you can talk to dead people? Just ask them what happened.

Jaehyun is back to being embarrassed and this time he can’t laugh it off

Well– ummm— you see– Renjun— I—-

Oh for Zeus’ sake can’t you just say that little twerp set us up on a date?

Well… yeah, yeah he did.

YoU — umm— you can leave if you want, I understand if you don’t like me

Why would I leave. And you shouldn’t understand because you are a great guy, of course I like you.

You gave off a cheeky smile before stealing a bite of his pie

Y’all started off really casually

Like a group date here and there, nothing alone

Something in Jaehyun told him it wasn’t going to get serious unless he made the first move

Your father was probably to blame

Zeus was known for being a little aloof when it came to love

But Jaehyun

God Jaehyun had no guts whatsoever

Not until his best friend from New York came to town

Jameson had come to visit over his own spring break, claiming he wanted to see why Korea was so special and “Jeff” as he knew him, never returned to the US

And Jaehyun had taken you with him to the airport, better than dragging along Jeno or Jungwoo, who for some reason was terrified of planes themselves, and Yuta was out of town for a competition and Johnny was still passed out from last night’s party

And when Jameson stepped off the plane, he came barrelling towards Jaehyun, screaming JEFFFFFFERRRRRYYYYY as loud as he could and tackled him into a hug.

After that he began speaking in English a mile a minute

To say you were a deer caught in the headlights was an understatement

Jaehyun obviously wasn’t fazed, he was able to talk back to Jameson at the same speed, not even stuttering

So you felt kinda lost, shrinking away from the boistering boys, opting instead to starting rolling his friend’s luggage to the car

Jaehyun caught wind of your suddenly shy personality and cut off his friend to instead walk over to you

In a much calmer voice, and this time in a language you were actually able to understand, Jaehyun asked if you wanted to be introduced to his friend

You nodded and Jaehyun grabbed your wrist before shutting the trunk of the car.

Pulling you back over, Jaehyun spoke in English again

You could barely make out something along the lines of This is my friend, Y/N, daughter of Zeus.

You gave a small wave and bowed, hoping he wouldn’t speak to you directly, prompting you to speak in your broken tongue.

Just a friend, or something more? Jameson smirked at Jaehyun before looking back over at you

A friend that you can’t have. You couldn’t really understand what Jaehyun said but you could tell that whatever was said, he wasn’t happy about his friend’s comment.

After that you all got into the car where Jaehyun made you sit in the front seat, holding your wrist the entire time, in obvious view of Jameson

Things died down for a while and it went back to the usual

You were still on the track team (more like Pegasus Racing team but whatever)

And Jae came to cheer you on at every game

And Jae was still top of his classes @ KAIST

And you came to cheer him up when the workload got to much for him

But it STILL wasn’t serious

So one night

Specifically, Jameson’s last night in Korea

Everyone decided to head out to Hongdae to go club hopping (pls tell me you people know what club hopping is)

And you were all having fun, dancing, most were also drinking, especially Jameson

Jaehyun somehow ended up being DD after a brutal battle of scissors, paper, rock

So he was sitting there on the side lines, nursing straight tonic water watching everyone else get shit-faced drunk

You weren’t any better to be honest

Jameson started having a habit of trying to get you alone or get you to dance with him

So you thought that if you had to deal with that all night you had to have a couple shots in your system.

PSA TIME PEOPLE!!!!!! PSA!!!!! If someone in your group keeps trying to get you alone or get you to dance with them, both men and women, DO NOT I repeat DO NOT resort to drinking to deal with it. If they don’t get the hint by you avoiding them, tell them straight to their face that you don’t want to be with them. If they still don’t get the hint, seriously consider just leaving wherever you are. Under no circumstances is it okay for them do that. PSA OVER!!!!

Jaehyun had been watching you try to avoid Jameson from the bar all night and after Jameson came up behind you and grabbed your waist he was done

The vision of fully sober, properly pissed off, ready to throw punches Jaehyun was not a pretty sight

Thankfully, at the moment he had enough self-control in his system to not deck his friend straight in the throat

He instead opted to grab your wrist, much more forcefully than last time, and drag you out the back door of the club into the alley way

Then, much more gently, backed you into the wall of the club

He was so close that you could feel his breath on your forehead

Muttering to himself in English, you couldn’t understand what he was saying

Suddenly he looked down and his eyes kept snapping from yours to your lips

I’m probably going to do something I regret right now

Poor you couldn’t even understand him because of him still speaking in English

Next thing you know he was kissing you, pushing you up further against the wall, wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer

After he let go, worry flashed across his face, like he finally realized something

Oh my god, did that bastard hurt you?

He started checking your arms and wrists, even running his hands along your waist to make sure there wasn’t bruising there

For once, Jaehyun actually had the guts

He ended up calling everyone rides, and left early with you so he could take you out on an ‘official first date’

To an ice cream shoppe

Mind you average temps in Korea during, let’s say March is still around 28 degrees Fahrenheit @ night

He realized his mistake after seeing you sit there in the booth, shivering as you picked up your ice cream

So he quickly shrugged off his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders and grabbing your hands in his to warm them up

First date was still a success in his mind

And all the dates there after

Renjun takes full credit for your relationship, but so does Sicheng, they actually fight about this

Jameson actually isn’t in Jaehyun’s life anymore

And Jaehyun is madly in love with you

Proposes after he graduates, in front of all of his friends, @ the stupid little hole-in-the-wall diner that he claims was his first real date with you

While they all scream JEFFFERRRRYYYY in the background.

really tho, Yuta has it on tape, along with Doyoung forced feeding Jaehyun wine, and him sleep talking about your first official date, all of which he plays at your guy’s wedding

Good luck having all of these idiots as brother in laws :::)))))

[fishmongeringstudies]

five: the ballad of the goose-girl

once upon a time there was a goose who wanted to become a man. or there was a man who wanted to become a goose. or there were both, or there were none, or there were many of the same spell. once upon a time there were ten thousand geese and they wanted to go south. why? because it was too cold up here, they said. too far from the equator. too lonely.

one of the geese was called jorge. jorge had been assigned the role of miserable family caretaker with an inferiority complex from birth but a brief spell of rebellion in their teenage years led to their official disengagement from the role and subsequently, the adopting of a new one. jorge was a philosopher. their favorite philosopher was kant. they had never read any kant because geese can't read.

dimitri could read. dimitri was a goose but there was, how do you put it, something a little off about her. sometimes dimitri woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, her blankets kicked to the other end of the room, babbling about microeconomics and the supply-demand curve for cross-continental flying gear. dimitri was in a mad, one-sided love that consumed her body and soul, but this wasn't that bad in the broader scheme of things because this gave jorge, who couldn't read, something to do.

sometimes dimitri would read jorge poetry. dimitri had memorized every book of poetry in the main branch of the national library when she made a stopover there in her youth and could now be called upon to recite almost any poem from memory, as long as she didn't hate the poet. for example, dimitri hated sylvia plath. no matter how much jorge begged and pleaded with her as they flew over the skyscrapers of new york, the masses of writhing trees and open fields dotted with cows and sheep and death, she would not change her mind. 'please,' jorge would say while they stopped to rest on the fender of some college student's beat-up honda civic. 'read me a poem. any poem.' 'you mean,' dimitri would say, taking a drag from her cigarette. 'read me a plath poem.' 'that's not what i said,' jorge would respond defensively, because jorge was the kind of goose that assumes the world is out to get them no matter what and sticks their head in the gift-horse's mouth and then screams down its gullet for five minutes. finally, dimitri would laugh. 'that's what you mean.' then the conversation would end.

one day dimitri and jorge got separated from the flock. this was not unprecedented, as dimitri had been lagging behind for a few days now and jorge, being her designated attendant, had stayed with her. but it was just as frightening for jorge as it had been the first time, fifteen years ago when dimitri had pitched out of the sky halfway across philadelphia like an anvil and jorge had found her sprawled on the fender of some sad person's fucked-up lamborghini, looking like an angel in a bad insurance advertisement. it was always the fenders. dimitri had a thing for fenders.

dimitri also had a thing for letting her long, healthy history of communication problems fuck up her relationships with other geese, a habit she had picked up in her youth alongside smoking, lying, and reciting poetry. she was doing all three of the latter as they circled around the deserted shopping complex a fifth time, the sun a blurry white spot a few feet beneath their heads. 'did you know,' said dimitri, a cigarette clamped in her beak.

'no, i don't know,' said jorge.

'asshole. i haven't started speaking yet.'

jorge observed the setting sun with a detached kind of panic. 'yes you have.' they brushed something out of their eye with their wing. the smoke from dimitri's cigarette kept getting into their eyes. it was making it hard to concentrate on not being sad. 'you said 'did you know.''

'that's not the important part.'

'then what is the important part?'

'the important part is-'

south meant many things to many creatures. depending on who you asked and what time of the day it was when you did, you might get anything ranging from 'the southern tip of malaysia' to 'nineteen-seventy-five'. right now, in this particular snapshot of time, south meant the following things. for jorge, it meant freedom. for dimitri, it meant-

'-is that every shopping mall is a little haunted.'

jorge was unimpressed. most things were haunted to some degree or another. it was a very old world and the people that lived in it were all very broken, but that didn't stop the broken things from wanting to hang around, even after their ribs had cracked open and their lungs were smeared with soot. they told dimitri as much.

dimitri cleared her throat, which was hard to do while lying and smoking and flying in a circle around a deserted haunted shopping complex but otherwise feasible for a geese as competent as her. she turned to look at jorge, the trickle of her gaze sliding over their white, wind-tossed body like a cool hand over a flame.

'what i'm saying is let's spend the night there.'

;

once upon a time there was a goose named dimitri who was in a mad, requited love that consumed her body and soul. her partner was a poet, of course, because all geese want to fall in love with a poet, but here's the catch. jie ting never told dimitri which poems were about her. dimitri spent years trying to coax the confessions out of her, making her breakfasts in bed, bringing home cute little mice with their tails tied up in butterfly knots, kissing the spot where her wing met the curve of her body with the kind of reverence worshipers reserve for the day they meet their creator, but jie ting was stubborn and beautiful and kind and dimitri could never bring herself to do the truly horrible thing, to walk into her study and crack open the journals she kept those intimacies in. in spite of this, well, this thing between them, they were happy. they puttered around making cups and plates out of wet clay. they told stories about their cousins who had gotten lost in rain forests in the amazon and streets in taipei. every year they made the long journey down south, and then flew back up in the spring. and then jie ting died, and then there was no one left to coax anything out of.

the doctors said there was nothing dimitri could have done for her. for every million perfectly preventable deaths there are two to three freak accidents, faultless failures, broken vessels. and for every broken body on the pavement, trampled by cars bigger than the both of them combined, there was a broken heart.

dimitri closed up their old haunt in the woods. she broke all the mugs and gave all the bones back to their grieving micey relatives, who were horrified, and then angry, and then sad. then she flew all the way down to singapore and learned every poem in every poetry book they had in the national library, a looming glass building in the heart of the business district, and dragged her battered body all the way back up north, through miles and miles of snow-kissed nothing, and then jorge returned home in the spring with the rest of the good ones, the ones who weren't fucked in the head, who still had hope to speak of.

she can teach me poetry, thought jorge.

they definitely went to a liberal arts college, thought dimitri.

neither of these things are true. but neither are the stories that led them to each other. a lie canceled out a lie and after the dust had settled and dimitri had recovered from the ghost of death on her shoulder, they found each other standing right where they had started out, on opposite ends of the same crooked street.

;

the perfume store smelled like sixteen layers of hell distilled into a single bottle of wine that had been left to ferment for a few millennia and then smashed in a pool of vomit but it was the only place that wasn't so overgrown with vines that jorge could clear out a place for dimitri to lie down. they did so with an efficiency that startled even themselves, brushing dust and old receipts aside with one wing and spritzing the whole place clean with the other. dimitri was then coerced into the little sacred spot, though she was deeply reluctant and jorge was deeply embarrassed about the whole thing. desperate times call for desperate measures. when there are two geese and one perfume store and nineteen shades of bergamot and lavender, one learns to quieten their demons.

the funny thing about geese is that they are about sixty-percent neck and forty-percent everything else and yet a goose lying sideways occupies two hundred percent of the previous amount because geese are conceited like that. dimitri took up more than enough space on the shelf in the perfume store from hell, but with a little maneuvering she was able to make enough space to pull jorge down beside her. the funny thing about geese is they have very big egos, and very small dreams.

'imagine i am your mother,' said dimitri, waving one wing idly in the dark. 'singing you a lullaby as you drift off, packing your lunchbox for school, turning out the light in your bedroom.'

jorge's eye twitched. 'huh? i will not,' they said. 'that's disgusting.'

'oh. you think i'm disgusting?'

'no, that's not what i mean-'

'-but that's what you said.'

'-i said the idea of you as my mother is disgusting.' jorge hid their face in their feathers but their beak was too long and stuck out in a highly noticeable manner, therefore ruining the effect altogether. they grumbled to themselves, then spent a few minutes contemplating the fifteen feet of nothing that lay before them. a field of snow, ash, or flowers. darkness could be whatever you wanted it to be. that was part of the appeal of closing your eyes.

'hey,' they said.

'mm?'

'why won't you recite a plath poem?'

the sound of something soft against the wall. dimitri was brushing the flat of her wing along the wall behind her, over the faded labels and the peeling tiffany blue paint. 'because i can't.'

'but you know them, don't you,' jorge pressed.

'i do.'

'then?'

'how old are you this year, jorge?'

'old enough to read depressing poetry.'

'but not old enough to have fallen in love.' she withdrew her wing from the wall. it came away caked in dust and old memories. rich, gold-kissed families with kids in little bow-ties, babies forgotten in well-lit dressing rooms, the occasional stabbing. 'am i wrong?'

jorge bristled behind her. 'what does love have to do with this?'

'because,' dimitri mused, and jorge felt every sound that she made in their chest, where the heart was working furiously to keep blood circulating without end. 'all poems are love poems.'

'you know,' said jorge.

'i don't know.'

'good. you shouldn't.' jorge curled themselves tighter, so the two hundred percent became a hundred and ninety-five. 'i'm going to sleep. good night.'

;

once upon a time there was a goose who would do anything for her lover and then that lover died. once upon a time there was a goose who was really good at literary analysis, so good she could have taught at harvard if she hadn't wanted to be closer to her lover, who worked in non-profit and spent most of her time abroad, and then her lover died. once upon a time there was a goose. and she knew a lot of poetry. it was the last thing she did for jie ting, with the gray-dusted coat and the heather eyes. do geese have heather eyes? fuck it. this one did.

once upon a time there was a goose who really wanted to go to a liberal arts college, but their dad gambled all their savings away on a business venture which went bust moments before the big cash-out and so the college fund became a college black hole, a college financial aid form which procured miserably few sympathies from the financial aid office, a college nothing. this goose was really quite smart, though they couldn't prove it to save their life. but the other goose knew. the other goose wasn't as smart. she'd just had more money. and worse luck.

this isn't a love story. in this story there are no love stories because in some languages every story is a love story, and if everything is something then there is really nothing, no takeaway at the end of the parable, no shard of glass in the sand. imagine you're walking along the coastline in a white dress made from diamonds and you step on that shard of glass. there goes your foot. what will you do? the world is ending.

in the morning dimitri wakes up first. she touches jorge's forehead with the tip of one wing, then the flat of it, then the side. there's a bar of sunlight coming in through a gap in the moth-bitten blinds and it falls across jorge's face in rivulets of gold-leaf, liquid wonder. she watches them sleep for a few minutes, their chest rising and falling and trembling with all that infallible youth, with the faithless determination of someone whose body has grown older but whose soul has stayed as faultless, as clueless, as divine. if god were a goose it would be jorge. says who? says dimitri, who has god's number saved on her phone.

once, a few months ago, she wrote a poem. this she read out to jorge, while they were flying over the rooftops of san diego, each word falling out of her mouth like stars, like things she should have really kept to herself and in the safety of untouchable darkness and yet jorge was looking at her. she was reading this poem and jorge was looking at her and it wasn't the kind of look you gave someone you found by the side of the road, someone who had helped you with your college apps and tied your tie on prom night. it was the kind of look you gave an angel you wanted to pin to the sheets.

'is this poem about someone?' asked jorge, who was for all their cluelessness and cruelty, quite terribly perceptive when one wanted them least to be.

panicking, dimitry dropped her cigarette. she shook her head. 'no.' she shook her head again, for emphasis.

once, dimitri had a fit of coughs so bad she passed out right there in the lobby of that high school. the doctors said it was her lungs. her friends said it was the cigarettes. jie ting, who was long dead by then, said it was the heartbreak. put it back together, said the ghost of her dead lover. you can put yourself back together. maybe i don't want to, dimitri said, a sheaf of papers falling out of the pocket of her coat.

once, she didn't go south. she went up north in search of forgiveness, and when jorge arrived in the spring, they were as lovely as she remembered them being while she had gotten nowhere. still stuck in place, spinning in slow circles, watching god die on a white-gold stage. still mourning.

'i'll write you a poem,' jorge said the other day. 'to thank you.' for being the first person. for being the first person ever.

'don't bother,' she told them.

'i'll do it anyway.'

'i won't read it.'

'you will.'

once there was a goose and another goose and they were all lovely and sad with long, elegant necks and hard, sharp beaks for cracking things open but all they ever did was crack themselves open, like if you hurt yourself enough times you could make the world give you back what it had taken away. but that's not how it works. you know this. you know this, don't you? dimitri? dimitri?

dimitri's still in that old perfume store. she's leaning closer and closer to sleeping beauty, with the lanky limbs and the merry-go-round smile, and she's whispering something, though she'll never tell you what and you'll never get the chance to ask, she's breathing like the air's made of glass. sea-glass. have you ever seen the ocean? she'll take you one day. your name is jorge and you're asleep. you're being kissed on the mouth by a very beautiful person. she's going to die.

but all living things die eventually, you counter. you don't get it. you are missing the point.

that's fine. miss the point. keep sleeping. the moon pulls away from you the way some people pull knives out of bodies, like she can feel every inch of distance she puts between yourselves in her chest, where the heart is working furiously to keep life alive. she pulls away and it hurts her, you know. did you know? you can fall in love twice. you can fuck yourself up twice. there's always room in the cupboard for more ceramic mugs. she made you one. she'll never give it to you. you never asked.

that's your first kiss. and your second, and your third, and as you grow older the kisses will meld together into this looming memory of touch, sensation, heat, softness, girls, girls, girl. girl with the cigarette between her teeth. girl with the sharpshooter eyes, the gunmetal laugh. girl walking you home, girl flying you across the starless city, girl singing you a lullaby when you're eighteen and the world hates people like you who give life everything you've got and have the audacity to think it'll listen.

girl walking out of the perfume store. girl stepping into the half-light. girl leaving you behind.

or maybe it's the other way around. this way you will be able to catch up to the rest of the flock, this way you will make it to the other side of the world before winter gets its hands around your ankles. she's giving you an opportunity. take it. i said take it.

south means a lot of things depending on who you ask. for jorge, it's freedom, new skies, sunsets drenched in whiskey. for jorge it's the second best thing about being alive. for dimitri, it's death.

once upon a time there was a goose and their name was jorge. once upon a time there was a goose and her name was dimitri. in another version of this story they meet each other before the accident and the hospitals and the house in the woods, the financial crash, the long, cruel winter. in another version they kiss with their eyes open, their hearts unspooling around the confession, the truth, the sacred thing that lets people be happy with each other. in another version of this story jorge says read me a poem and dimitri says i'll read you something sweeter, and then she reads them a love poem.

in this one, one goose dies, and the other keeps flying.

A smile fell in the grass. Irretrievable! And how will your night dances Lose themselves. In mathematics? Such pure leaps and spirals - Surely they travel The world forever, I shall not entirely Sit emptied of beauties, the gift Of your small breath, the drenched grass Smell of your sleeps, lilies, lilies. Their flesh bears no relation. Cold folds of ego, the calla, And the tiger, embellishing itself - Spots, and a spread of hot petals. The comets Have such a space to cross, Such coldness, forgetfulness. So your gestures flake off - Warm and human, then their pink light Bleeding and peeling Through the black amnesias of heaven. Why am I given These lamps, these planets Falling like blessings, like flakes Six sided, white On my eyes, my lips, my hair Touching and melting. Nowhere.

05.25.21

[bumbershots]

THE AGE OF THE UNDERSTATEMENT

Author’s note: Hello! So last winter I spent it binge watching so many Mexican soap operas, A LOT of old winter Olympics footage, and Harry Styles music videos so I came up with this idea, but didn’t really did anything until I was writing the one shot for the playlist challenge and the characters sort of came to life. I wrote the whole idea for every chapter so I don’t slack (like with my other story lol) anyway. Here’s the result. Enjoy! (:

Story page ★ Word count: 2.6K

Chapter one: Time

It’s snowing outside. Small, thin flakes that can be easily mistaken for hail, until they stick to the window and melt into the glass. Selena wants nothing more than to track the damp streak with one of her fingers, a bad habit she keeps from when she was a kid —one of many. She refrains from doing so because duty calls, there are a minimum of ten things that she was asked to help with right now. She makes her rounds across the wedding venue, instructing the string quartet where to place the chairs, confirming for the hundredth time that the bride’s father is not sneaking cupcakes out of the catering team or trying to have one last pre-wedding conversation with her fiancé.

In another situation she would’ve delegated the tasks to Minako and Paloma or any of the other bridesmaids. But Selena needed to stay busy, just so her thoughts don’t draw a mindmap, a list of everything that went wrong in her life for the past three weeks. A complete disaster, one bad choice after another one. A mistake on her side, a mistake on his, all of them domino-stumbling into each other, where the only possible outcome was to try to go back to how things were before she committed the first fault.

The good and bad thing about Selena, is that she’s also very efficient, fifteen minutes later she is done with her duties and is dismissed by Maki, the bride herself. But this free time more than a blessing is a curse that leaves her dwelling and all of a sudden she is aware of how alone she is feeling. Selena is alone, literally and figuratively, she is so unused to it. For someone who grew up in a big family, surrounded by aunts, grandmothers, cousins, nieces and nephews —some of them not even related by blood. She used to be so comfortable in her solitude, when she first moved to Tokyo. But it somehow feels weird when it is not self-inflicted. She stands in the empty corridor, feeling lost, before she decides to find the only person who won’t make her feel alone, whose presence is always a silver lining in her life, and who is apparently the only person that she will keep coming back to over and over again.

She finds Viktor going over his speech in the car park, he is leaning against his car, his brow knitting deep in thought, eyes scanning quickly the paper before him. He looks seconds away from giving up his task —or the wedding altogether. But he won’t actually leave, because he cares about Maki too much, just like all the other guests. Selena knows that although Viktor is not a very romantic person, he will at some point in his lecture, make the bride cry with whatever unexpected analogy he’d come up with.

It’s freezing, colder than the usual, even for a December morning. Selena pulls her coat closer to her body and rubs her hands together, another poor attempt to channel her anxiety to another part of her body.

Her companion doesn’t miss it, but all he says, after folding the paper he had in half and a long exhale, is, “I’ve always wanted to attend a summer wedding, right before the sunset and as the ceremony takes place so does the sun in the horizon… and the twilight comes in view and seals the couple’s love with its last beaming rays.” Viktor lends his scarf to a now shivering Selena. “When it’s your turn, promise me you’ll have a summer wedding, at the end of June?”

Selena’s first thought in response to this is not the discomfort she was expecting, but actually a quick flash of what her long time friend just described, it seems ridiculous when she is too certain that something like that will never happen in her life. Not when she doesn’t even have anything close to a stable relationship in her present.

“Why would you bestow upon me such expectation or needing to marry a man… someone, anyone, if ever. It is very sexist of you—”

“Please, shut the hell up.” Viktor unbuttons his coat, completely unbothered by this weather, a mark of the Russians.

Weirdly enough, Selena does shut the hell up. Something so rare that has Viktor going still. From her periphery, Selena sees her friend stay quiet, probably pondering what he is about to ask next, because he knows that he only has one chance to do it right, that’s how Selena is about things that bother her. If you are unable to articulate the appropriate question, she won’t say anything.

“Where’s Harry?” says Viktor. “Is he charming the string quartet already?”

“We had a fight.” Selena breathes out, glad to get that off her chest, the mist from her breath curls upwards until it’s undistinguishable. “I don’t think he will come.”

“Why?”

Because it was a big fight, an ugly one. She thinks but doesn’t say, still Viktor can tell and he scoffs.

“God what a dick.”

Supposedly Viktor was friends with both Harry and Selena, but it doesn’t really feel like that for him, not after the incident last week. Not when Harry was acting jealous every time Viktor was around. He is not one to romanticise that behaviour and call it love. He sees it as a red flag, one that he would immediately discuss with Selena, but not now when she looks like she’s attending a funeral and not a wedding. Viktor and Selena share a lot of things and they have planted plenty of questionable habits on each other, but beating around the bush was not one of them. But her vulnerability can be felt in the freezing air, in every misshaped snowflake and Viktor studies her, not liking the apprehension on her face.

“But he will come,” says Viktor.

Selena lets out a bitter laugh, refusing to look up. “Why would he? He doesn’t even know the bride or groom.”

Viktor leans away from his car, before he slips out of his coat.

“I would,” he says, wrapping her in the garment carefully, “because of the cute girl who asked me to, and the free food.”

◇

All flights were postponed due to the snow. Harry laughs, knowing it is completely ridiculous that the moment he is looking to get out of Japan, a blizzard comes out of nowhere to prevent it. As if there’s someone up above, directing his acts, trying to get him to attend the wedding he was dressed up for and invited to only a couple of days ago. It’s unfair, and he feels uncomfortable to be stranded at the airport. Harry is tempted to call Selena, knowing that she won’t deny him the chance to stay at her place until his flight can take off the next morning.

There’s no way he is calling her, not after the fight from the other day. All the things she said filled his head to the brim and it had been constantly dripping unkind thoughts about her. He decides to just wait at the airport, a bench can’t be the worst place to sleep tonight.

But a tap on his shoulder saved him from what would’ve been a really dreadful day and night. Harry finds himself face to face with the last person he expected to see today in Japan.

“I’m going to give you a moment alone, so you can sit with what you’re feeling. When I return we will talk about it.”

There’s a knot on his chest, but he nods. “Yes, thank you Sam.”

As soon as Sam has disappeared upstairs, Harry goes to stand by the window, and stares at what is probably one of the nicest views of Tokyo. He wanted to yell, cry until his voice ran out and his eyes were so swollen that he would have trouble opening them for the next few days. He could scream and Sam wouldn’t hold it against him, but just one look at the city before him was a reminder that he was not home. It’s one thing to have a much needed breakdown in his own flat under the watchful eye of his friend and bandmate Mitch and another to disrupt the peace of Sam’s loft. It’s one and a half floors that Harry has associated with calm and security from the moment he first stepped into it three weeks ago, and while he had never played any part to this, he’d rather have a crisis at the airport where everyone can see and judge him than to threaten the tranquility so shamelessly.

He rests his forehead on the window and breathes like that, counting and counting until he hears Sam return. He expects her to join him but she continues to the kitchen and Harry just follows with his gaze.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Sam asks, tying up a black apron, standing in her pristine white kitchen. Harry wants to tell her that nothing too fancy, that he’s not even hungry. But he can’t say anything.

It all feels so foreign, watching Sam cook him breakfast, fighting with Selena, being in Japan. It all piled up on Harry’s shoulders until he couldn’t carry it any longer. It dawns on him that he doesn’t know what he really wants.

“I’ll make an omelette.” She concludes after his silence.

If Harry believed more in the strengths of his relationships, he would say that they both find comfort in each other. Sam being the only person who didn’t get invited to the wedding and Harry being the only one that shouldn’t have. But he doesn’t know her that well, all he knows is what Selena told him that night before they arrived at her place for dinner.

Well she was dating Maki last year, but they broke up. She had carelessly said and for a moment it unsettled Harry, how little she cared about her friend’s feelings. They don’t like to talk about it, so we don’t. Boundaries, something that everyone in their circle seemed to have. It’s the reason why he was so surprised at Sam’s offer to stay at her place until his flight is rescheduled.

Ten minutes later, he is summoned to the living room area. “I was debating whether to ask why you are dressed for a funeral,” says Sam, walking back to the kitchen counter to retrieve their mugs. It’s almost lunch time, but she leaves a mug of steaming black coffee in front of Harry. Then she nods at where Harry left the black jacket of his two-piece suit draped over the arm of the sofa. “But I remembered about the winter wonderland wedding you’ll both be attending.”

Both.

Harry sits up over the old peeling couch, he crosses his legs under him and Sam takes the one-seater to his left, eyes sharp on how Harry crinkles his pants.

“We don’t have to talk about the wedding.”

“You seem to be under the impression that you talking about the wedding will unsettle me but I can assure you that is not the case.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “No, no,” he says. “It just seems unnecessary, whatever issue I have is not related to the wedding.”

Sam levels him a flat look. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Harry. But you’re terrible at explaining what bothers you.”

“Yeah, that is true.” Harry takes a big chunk of omelette and stuffs it into his mouth. A childhood habit to keep his mouth shut. He watches Sam take a spreader knife to push some jam across the fresh loaf of bread she stopped to get on her way home. “I just wanted to avoid talking about the wedding, the attendees, what happens after the wedding.”

“Just to spare my feelings?”

“Yes, because I know I would feel uncomfortable upon hearing how my ex is getting married this afternoon—”

“Harry,” says Sam. “I don’t feel uncomfortable.”

How can you not? He thinks. Having finished almost all of the omelette, Harry resorts to spreading two thick layers of jam onto an open-faced slice of bread, before folding it in half and shoves it into his mouth. “I can’t look at Selena in the eye ever again anyway.” He said, as he chewed.

“Why?” She is slower in her rituals, more careful as she spreads jam to the very tips of her slice.

“I just can’t.” Harry swallows. The bread is soft and fluffy, the jam has the perfect balance of sweet and citrusy but it still doesn’t go down as easily. “Because it’s such a mess, I feel terrible about everything right now and there’s a chance I go and pass on my bad mood to the attendants. Why would I turn a wedding into a funeral? I can’t get away with that, I’m no Hugh Grant. I don’t know if I can look at Selena in the eye and she’s the reason I was invited. She probably doesn’t even want me there or anywhere anymore. And it’s fine that she doesn’t. It’s her brother’s wedding who also might not want me there. I just don’t even know how to exist anymore. I don’t want to carry all the feelings I have for her back to England where they will surely rot along what’s left of my heart. I wish I was dressed for a funeral, mine if possible. I spent all fucking morning tying up this tie—”

“Breathe,” says Sam. Her knife is hesitant, waiting for Harry to actually breathe, before it is back to sliding smoothly across the bread. Harry knows she’s studying him, trying to ask him about the argument he had with Selena, most likely preparing a speech about why Maki or anyone in that family would want him there. “Have another slice of bread.” Sam doesn’t push him to talk about that or anything, they finish their meal in silence and it gives Harry some time to collect his thoughts for the first time today.

He helps with the washing up because however far away from home, he can’t shake off the manners his mother taught him. As he finishes, the clock by the wall announces that the time to make a choice is running out. Harry can stay here and wait for an update on his flight. He can go to a hotel and thank Sam for her kindness. He can leave his stuff here and figure out how to get to the wedding by train, bus or even scooter. He has time to decide and it occurs to him that it doesn’t apply just for today but any other for that matter.

It’s strange how for the past couple of weeks he felt like he was living towards a deadline, that any minute he spent was some sort of borrowed time. Harry doesn’t feel any of that frustration as Sam wipes clean the coffee table, who’s methodical about even this, each movement measured and easy to follow.

The loft is quiet, nothing but Harry’s level, unhurried breathing in the space around them. Sam finishes her task and focuses her gaze on him, unfaltering for a second before she turns away.

“Grab your jacket. We’re heading out.”

“What?” Harry is surprised, but he goes to do as he’s told, frowning at his luggage by the door.

“You can leave that in here.” Sam slips on her jacket in one smooth motion, shoes slipping on her feet easily. “We’re going for a drive.”

Harry fixes the collar of his shirt. “Where to?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On the things you choose to tell me during the drive.” Sam props open the front door and Harry follows right behind.

But he is not rushing this time, whatever choices he does make today will be the right ones, whether he regrets them or not will be something to look back on, years from now. But as he climbs into the passenger seat of Sam’s black convertible, the city passes by his side. Harry is sure that for now, he has all the time in the world.

△△△

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[ansxit]

Vive La Revolution

"ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ. ɪf ᴡᴇ ɢᴇᴛ ɴᴏ ʀᴇᴠᴏʟᴜᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ. ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴅɪᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ɢɪᴠᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴏɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴋɪɴɢᴅᴏᴍ."

(Y/n) was always loyal to Essemp. For clarification, She is the cousin to the young ruler of their nation, Clay. He wasn't the fairest ruler, but he still cherished his land and his friends. (Y/n) would always stand by her cousin's side whenever skirmishes and war broke throughout the kingdom.

Until she happened to fall for the leader of a revolution.

—

03 - Spionage

When you awoke, you were startled to find yourself under the soft sheets of your bed. Bright beams of sunlight shown through the open windows and your curtains drifted lazily through the breeze. You slowly got up, noticing you were still dressed in your blue gown from the night before.

On your bedside table sat a letter, followed by a petal of your favorite flower. You smiled and picked up the parchment, immediately recognizing Wilbur's messy handwriting. The ink was splotched in a few places, probably from having to write in candlelight.

"Y/n," the note read.

"I believe you owe me twice now, seeing as I had to carry you down three flights of stairs, it was rather tiring and I expect to be showered with total admiration and half of your plate at breakfast later this morning.

With care, Wilbur"

You smiled at his request and opened up the drawer. Inside were many different letters, organized by person and importance. You nearly folded the note and placed it with the rest of the messages Wilbur has sent to you. You also grabbed the petal of (f/f), and placed it in an empty jar sitting off to the side. A light knock on the door caught your attention, and one of your handmaidens walked in.

"Princess Y/n," she greeted with a curtsy. "King Dream has requested that you make your way down for breakfast."

You've always thought the name to be ridiculous. The name "Dream" doesn't really strike fear into anyone's hearts. It was a stupid nickname given to him since childhood because Clay always had his head stuck in the clouds. He was imaginative, creating stories to tell to You, Nick, and George.

"Of course, thank you," You smiled at the handmaiden and she backed out of your room. You made your way to the wardrobe and grabbed a forest green blouse and chestnut brown trousers. Once you were finished getting dressed, you started making your way down to the dining hall.

The suite halls were unusually empty, they're usually bustling with activity. Disturbed by the quiet, you looked around to see where your handmaiden went. Luck wasn't on your side this morning however, because she was nowhere to be found.

With a shrug, you started to head down to the dining hall, your footsteps echoing as you went.

*

The red seats in the hall were filled with lords and high ranked soldiers, all of who were laughing and joyously eating their meals. Plates and platters of food covered every square inch of the mahogany table as the bright sunlight filtered through the glass windows.

Clay was nowhere to be found at the table, and neither were George or Nick. It wasn't often that Clay chose to skip meals, especially with the room so full, but it wasn't entirely out of the ordinary for him.

You recognized some soldiers from your battalion, the ones who didn't need any immediate care, sitting along the table. Some gorging themselves on food, others sharing laughs with their comrades, and some both. As you passed many of them started clapping and cheering, but it was just swept into the sea of other voices. All clamoring over each other, like an arrangement of which could be the loudest and prominent.

In the far back of the room to the left of your empty seat, you could spot Wilbur lounging around with a bored expression. He was dressed in a white collared shirt with the first three buttons unbuttoned, and had his left arm hooked around the chair. His right hand was fiddling with the silverware, as he just stared at the mahogany table.

A lord to his right, dressed in a black admiral jacket with yellow decor, made eye contact with you heartily nudged his shoulder. Wilbur barely looked over at him and gave the brunet a half smile before turning back to his plate. The lord, Ponk, you recognized, shoved Wilbur again and threw his head in your direction. The brunet snapped his gaze towards you and a goofy run spread across his face almost instantly.

You picked up the pace a bit as you neared the end of table. Usually you could hear the drag of wood against wood, the echoing sound followed by the kings voice allowing people to begin eating. But instead laughter filled the joyous hall and the wooden noise was lost. Wilbur had tried to hide his goofy grin by a smug one.

"Y/n," he chastised, "I'm disappointed, truly, it isn't much like you to wake up so late is it? Especially since today is such an important day." The stupidly cute grin on his face told you he was just teasing, and it couldn't help but make you smile back.

"Oh I'm terribly sorry your grace," You bowed your head in a mock-apology. "I was up all night because a devilishly attractive bard snuck into my quarters and, well we had a lovely chat together." The tips of Wilbur's ears flushed pink and he hmmed while looking back at his empty plate. "You mentioned today was important, pray tell what for?"

"Well, if you can recall, Clay wanted to throw a banquet in celebration of capturing the leader of the revolts," Wilbur lazily fiddled with one of the many spoons at the table. "He told me last night 'bout it and we have that to deal with by the next week."

"It's just a party though," You grabbed one of the many bread rolls out of a wicker basket. "How does that make today special?" Wilbur gave a forced grin at you while you stuffed a roll in your mouth.

"That part isn't what's special, Y/n," Wilbur's usual mischievousness had returned and he grabbed your hand from across the table. "The exciting part is we get to finally continue with the Spionage."

Your heart skipped several beats. The Spionage was a passion project you and Wilbur had been working on for as long as you two had been friends. It was an elite group of soldiers picked out from just about anywhere that would be another inner circle to protect the crown. Clay had been putting multiple pauses on the plans, obsessively picking out every flaw. The revolts didn't help either, and it had been nearly half a year since you were able to work on it.

But the last time you had the chance, Clay finally gave it his approval: All that was needed left was the people to vigorously train for it. Wilbur said he already had some soldiers in mind; he was more in on the people finding than you- You were the strategic designer and executioner, not a social keeper.

"I already have the potentials waiting in the training yard." Wilbur's nonstop smile was mirroring your own now. "They're just waiting for us."

You quickly stood up from the dining chair, not bothering to tidy the silverware. "Lets go then," You had to restrain yourself from shouting in joy. "C'mon, hurry, hurry, hurry!" Wilbur reflected the growing excitement and you both took off towards the training grounds.

The guards in the far back of the room opened the doors for you both as you passed, giving their respective, yet hesitant bows. It appears seeing the stoic Princess and her closest friend running through the castle was a foreign event.

The halls were quiet again once the doors had closed, the laughter and chatter amongst people had faded out. All you could hear was the birds chirping outside and the sound of footsteps against the marble floors. The dining hall was only a few halls away from the training grounds, hidden in the far back of the palace. It resembled a Colosseum in a way, where observers could watch the knights train and place bets on the best knight there.

When You were younger, you were known as one of the best fighters in the land. Having bested both Clay and the Prince of an old neighboring kingdom in hand-to-hand combat and sword fighting. When you were in your early teens and met Wilbur, he was one of the first people to be able to disarm you in a fight. Although technically he cheated his way through by distracting you, but he would argue he never did such a thing in the fight.

After the day was over, you instantly recruited him in your ranks and the rest was self explanatory. You worked with each other for years in end, building friendships and being in charge of Essemp's strongest military. Which is why Spionage was so important; Essemp had many soldiers willing to sacrifice themselves for the kingdom but in the palace, knights like Schlatt, assassins, double-crossers could sneak in and murder the royal family without notice. The castle- no,You needed people who were headstrong, willing to take what they wanted, and also a great leader and comrade. People who are able to work together and someone who you could trust with your life. You needed more people like,

"Wilbur?" Your voice rang though the empty halls. You two had slowed to a walk, your hands still linked together.

"Yeah?" Wilbur glanced at you from the side, his grip on your fingers tightening just slightly.

"The revolution, Schlatt, they gave up too easily. Don't you think?" You felt a cold chill down your spine when remembering how the very man you're talking about was a few thousand feet below you. The catacombs ran deep under the kingdom, built upon an old structure to another realm. "I mean, all this buildup to our meeting with them, and for it to be over so quick- it doesn't feel right."

"Y/n," Wilbur had stopped and placed a warm hand on your shoulder. "You don't need to worry about these things, we captured their leader and the majority of their troops. There's not much else they can do." His brown eyes that were usually full of mischief had hints of regret in them, like he was holding something back from you. "We can rest easy, especially once we finish Spionage, we'll never have to feel threatened again." He gave a reassuring smile but it still didn't quite reach his eyes.

"How can you be certain?" You held his gaze for a minute longer before dropping your head. He didn't respond, and interlocked your hands again. You knew you wouldn't get any sure answer from him, so you both continued through the halls to the soldiers grounds. "I suppose your right, but I think the only thing I have to worry about is your judge of character." You winked at him and started into a brisk pace. "Lets hurry up, I want to finish this before dinner."

-

The midday sun shone brightly over the field and the soldiers all stood proudly in front of you. With their heads raised high and shoulders lifted, they held the perfect prep stance. You stalked the rows slowly, making direct eye contact with everyone standing there. Wilbur watched from the pedestal in front of the troops, watching you judge each and every person.

Most of them averted their gaze, deciding to look past you or up at the sky. It was rare to find soldiers willing to bite back at their superiors, majority of them being bootlickers and following orders.

Two soldiers in particular caught your attention, one obscenely tall, close to Wilbur's height, and lanky enough to look like a gust of wind would knock him over. His bright blue eyes held your stare and he struggled to maintain the stoic faces of the soldiers around him. He'd fidget ever so often, either his grip tightening on the stone sword you'd passed out, or shifting on his feet. He might've looked out of place with the battle-ridden troops around him, but he was prepared and on alert.

In a row a few behind him, the second soldier was shorter than most, and his stance not as confident as the others, but he held your gaze with unwitting determination. You could barely see his face underneath the iron helm much too big for him and his long brown hair that desperately needed a trim, but everything about him shown he was built for fighting.

You walked back to Wilbur, almost disappointed. None of the soldiers here except for save 10 out of the 60 Wilbur found were what you were looking for. They were all perfect soldiers, no doubt: But this was supposed to be different from the battalions you send to wars.

"Find anyone?" Wilbur asked, getting up from leaning against the podium and turning his head away from the soldiers.

"Rows 1 and 6 look like they belong in a daycare," You crossed your arms and squinted at the people a good twenty feet away from you. "The girl with pink hairs got major bite though, she'd be nice to have around." Said girl was about as tall as the brown haired kid- and she held herself so easily. Like she could blast open a skull and then go right back to carrying normal conversation. Nervousness was hidden deep in her eyes but gave an overall positive demeanor.

"Seven seems fine to me," Wilbur muttered and you're gaze flittered over to someone with a buzz cut and sunglasses obstructing your view of their eyes. His stance was the same as every other soldier, he looks like someone you'd see on the battlefield that just blends in. But there might be character Wilbur sees that you haven't had the chance to yet. The guy's jaw ticked and you could tell straight through the glasses he knew he was being scrutinized. You could see it now, how his stance changed to something more prepared—more battle-ready. "Yeah, he seems alright." You looked at Wilbur with a set smile, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Congratulations Wil, you found some pretty decent people."

"Decent?" Wilbur scoffed, "I'll have you know I watched these people train for hours on end while you were up in a study. They're more than decent I'd say."

"Then say you shall." You smirked at him then formally faced the rows. Around 100 people stood inform of you, all waiting for your next directions. "Soldiers, split into groups of five and line up at the respective archways of the Colosseum!" Wilbur flicked a lever by the main gate and the iron bars boarding the exits opened with a creaky noise.

"On our signal a good old game of capture the arrow will begin, only this time," You held out the gold-tipped arrow in your hand, "Team battle royal, show no mercy to the others and eliminations will continue as the games go on." The soldiers looked at each other in a slight panic and the podium Wilbur and You had been standing on began to rise to the audience section.

"Let the games begin!" Wilbur hollered.

[sleepypeaky]

amore?

michael gray x italian american male reader

wc: 1.5k

warnings: mentions of death, scars, you know the drill

request: My gay italian ass self would LOVE a Micheal Gray fic, but like, not sure he would like a guy who's italian after that fucking Luca incident.. and I dont know if you write for mlm..

a/n:  I hope you enjoy! idk why i made it so long but when i get a plot in my head i mean,,,,,

also i always try not to describe the readers features so everyone can be represented and i full mean for that when i say early on that michael sees him as italian. I personally dont look italian besides my nose- somehow the like 2% irish overrided it- so obviously this is a little off but i didnt know where to fix it

1927

Michael sat in his desk chair facing the window.

He was in New York City, he was the head of this branch of the company.

But he still felt like something was missing. Naturally, part of that feeling was from the fact that he had been exiled from his home. But the other was something else, boredom maybe, depression, loneliness. 

He sighed and turned back to his desk, where his meetings planner was open to the days page. 

His first meeting was a clandestine one, booked under a guise of what it really was. It was always intriguing, Michael thought, running a company that was a front. 

What he knew of this client was they were attached to one of the city’s hundreds of speakeasies, what these prohibition inhibited Americans called their secret pubs. And he assumed the client was coming to purchase some quality booze from the Shelby Company Limited.

What he he didn’t expect was who they were going to send. 

Normally the heads of the pubs sent someone to broker the deal in their place, a tall weasel faced man usually, who reeked of alcohol from every pore. 

Instead, when his secretary opened the door, an incredibly striking Italian lad strode through.

-

You weren’t expecting to see a man like that behind the desk. You figured it’d be some slimy old guy getting rich off of the illegal cash. Not a charming and incredibly handsome British boy.

-

“Uh hi, I’m Michael, Michael Gray.” He held his hand out to you and you shook it.

“I’m (y/n) (l/n).”

 He offered you a seat. 

“You’re not from around here are you?” You said.

He chuckled, “What gave it away?”

The deal was done in barely a half hour. But somehow you both found yourselves at lunch. 

“So how did you find yourself in, well, this line of work?” Michael asked.

“Well it’s pretty simple, there’s always work for people who don’t mind taking risks.” Michael smiled at that. You continued, 

“but I could ask you the same question.”

“Well lets say that this is one of the less illegal ventures of my family. And as you put it, risks are lucrative.”

“Ill cheers to that.” You smiled and raised a glass.

-

The lunches happened again, and then again.

Soon you were meeting daily, making up further excuses for getting to know each other.

-

“My family is, well, its complicated...” Michael chuckled one day as you were at lunch.

You smirked, “Michael, i’m Italian. My family is fucking nuts, trust me, your’s is no worse than mine.”

With people who had said that to Michael in the past he had laughed along and said sure, he was sure you meant it. Probably not in the same way, but he was in no position to argue.

“I might work in the illegal pub world, but some of my family is fucking nuts,”  You began. “My parents are fine, they came over from Italy before the war and brought my grandma, who i’m convinced my grandma used to be a spy or something in Italy. At least 3 of my cousins are working for the mob. It easy work for us, we’re all connected to one family or another between here and the old country.” You noticed a dark look on Michael’s face, a typical reaction “Dont worry, not the big guys like the Black hand, we don’t mix with Sicilians, they think they’re better because they live on an island.”

You went on for a bit more, just basic family outlining. And then it was his turn.

Michael went into the abbreviated version of his past (how he was taken and adopted) and the Shelby’s endeavors- the betting to drugs, smuggling, alcohol. Eventually he got up to the Changretta execution and John.

“John was killed by the Black hand in December ‘25.” 

“Stronzi, I’m sorry.” You cursed. 

He rubbed his right shoulder, “Yeah, after that my cousins decided to take down the boss, unfortunately I made some stupid decisions that could have ruined the plan and ended up exiled here.”

He took a weak bite of food. You tried to lighten the mood.

“Well, you weren’t kidding when you said you’re family was complicated.” 

You both laughed.

Shortly after this lunch you were both walking back to his office when a group of black clad men passed by on the street. They passed by without issue, but you saw that Michael paled and clenched his jaw. They were blatantly Black Hand. You saw he was rubbing his right shoulder again, nd you now figured it was a nervous habit. You endeavored to take his mind off it and started a new conversation.

-

About a month following this, you had brought Michael to the bar where you worked. You danced to the jazz and drank heavily, both getting caught in the energy of the decade. 

You ended up back at his office, now the only ones there, and he cracked open a hidden bottle of Shelby malt. 

Now both of you were on several glasses of liquor from the night, you found yourself floating in and out of conscious perception. Though you came to, suddenly, when you realized your lips were quite incriminatingly interlocked with Michael’s. 

Your inhibitions lowered, you continued gladly. And before anything progressed you both passed out drunk on his office floor.

-

You didn’t talk to him the next day. Mostly because your hangover was so severe you thought you would have permanent brain damage, but also because you were not sure how to proceed.

It would be easy to pretend like nothing had ever happened. To blame it on the booze, or just claim you didn’t have any recollection of the night. That was also gnawing at you, what if Michael didn’t remember?

It would be easy to just move past it, but did you want that?

-

Michael still felt the slight pressure in his head after 2 days. He rubbed his eyes and put the cigarette back to his lips. He was sitting in his apartment contemplating. He knew what he wanted, but did he want to risk it.

The door buzzer rang as he stumped the cigarette out. Who was calling at this hour? He took his pistol from the table.

He walked along the passageway to the door, he unlocked it and looked through the crack.

His heart skipped a beat and he released his grip on the gun.

“I got your address from your secretary.” You said. “I hope that’s o–” 

Michael cut you off by pulling you inside and kissing you against the shut door. You gave in to surprise and kissed back, pushing him through the hallway. 

Without breaking you unbuttoned your shirt and let it fall in your path. He broke for a breath of air.

You kissed him again and began to unbutton his shirt. He pulled back quickly to say something, but it was too late. You had already seen them.

Two knotted scars on his right shoulder.

“Michael what-”

“I didn’t want to tell you.” He looked down. “I was scared.”

Still in shock you watched as he finished unbuttoning his shirt. Low on his abdomen were two more scars. 

Suddenly in your mind you connected the signs, talking about john, the Sicilians, and the instinctive rub of his shoulder.

“They shot you too.” You said in a barely audible whisper.

Michael only nodded.

You walked forward and reached a tentative hand out to one on his shoulder. Tears prickled your eyes. You walked around to his back, you hand trailing over the soft skin before finding the exit scars from 3 of the bullets.

Michael turned to face you. 

“I didn’t think you’d ever find out.” 

You nodded.

He put his hand behind your head and guided it back to his. 

-

“What do your parents think?” Michael asked later.

Your head was tucked in the curve of his neck, your arm laying over his bare chest, playing carelessly with the sheet draped over it.

“My dads not really invested around to care, i think he knows but it’s just brushed over. Ma still thinks that maybe if she pushes the right Italian girl at me i’ll change. But honestly?” You laughed. “You’re catholic, she’ll be over the moon.” 

Michael smiled and threaded his fingers through your hand.

“What about you?” You moved back a little to see his face better, “Does anyone know?”

Michael let out a deep breath, the one that normally proceeded any talk referring to his family. 

“There was always so much going on that i didn't have much time to process, much less let anyone else see it. There were girls, i wont lie. That may have thrown them off. Even now, i think there is so much actual bad going on that what i do wouldn't make any of them bat an eye.”

“Is this what you want?”

He looked at you,

“I didn’t know until now.”

You breathed. 

“And?”

“More than anything.”

And he kissed you again.

☾ ✧ ☾ ✩ ☾ ✧ ☾ ✩ ☾

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[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (10/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9]

The play wasn't horrible by any stretch of the imagination. It was the most fun Clarke had had in a long time. She laughed so hard at parts that tears sprung to her eyes and her cheeks started to hurt by the end of it. The 1920s décor and costumes were stunning, the performances captivating, and the story the perfect balance between humor and social commentary. Even Lexa, who already knew the jokes and twists, still laughed loudly.

Clarke took as much joy from the sound as she did the play. When the curtain fell for the last time and the lights fully came on, she looked over at Lexa and found herself captivated. Lexa was still clapping for her cousin’s success, her face beaming with pride, and Clarke couldn’t really explain why it made her adore this woman so much more.

"Are you hungry?" Lexa asked her.

Clarke nodded mutely, unsure what to do with the intensity of her feelings. She let Lexa take her hand and lead her out of the theater, where the crowd spilled out of the great glass doors.

Cocoa Street was the longest street in Costial, cutting through the city in a curving fashion. Clarke's favorite part was the food trucks; rows of them on both sides with their own specialties and flair. You could very well order duck à l'orange with mashed pumpkin at one truck and a burger with fries at the next one. The Italian ice cream truck was between the rival crab cake trucks and the Noodle Brothers were right next to the Pizza Sisters. There were lines wherever you went, sometimes even street performers to soften the blow of the waiting time. It was absurd and it was wonderful.

They ate Chicago-style hot dogs and curly fries, slowly walking down the street as they laughed about the play. Lincoln had relied on alternate history to weave the visions into his tale, using them for comedic effect in the more dramatic beats. A secondary character had one in the middle of a monologue, suddenly passing out while a crowd rushed over to him. The visions were reenacted with tricks of light and masked characters, reminiscent of interpretive dances.

"Okay, I have to ask," Clarke brought up while they meandered down the street. "The castle on the hill - that's the Polis Hotel, right?"

Lexa nodded. "Lincoln has a complicated relationship with his heritage, to say the least. He's keenly aware growing up in a luxury hotel was a great privilege, but it also messed with his head. He basically shared a home with thousands of strangers for eighteen years."

"I'd always admired Polis from afar, but I can't imagine growing up there. Don't get me wrong, that was one hell of a party, but-"

"It's not a place for a kid," Lexa finished, in agreement.  

Clarke ate the last bite of her chocolate waffle and threw the paper in the trash. “You must be pretty familiar with it.”

Lexa glanced at her and smiled. "The cat and I go back."

"Right. That night was a bit intense, even for you."

Lexa let out a laugh, looking away with a hum. "You know, you make me sound quite strange."

Clarke bumped her shoulder. "You pinned me against the staircase - you are strange."

"I didn't… pin you," Lexa replied with a huff. "I was drunk, high off an excellent game of poker… and I saw you. And I needed to be close to you."

Clarke stopped them in the street, grateful they'd left the busy part. "And the Gazette?"

“What about it?”

"You offered me a side job. Just like that."

"Oh," Lexa remembered. "I genuinely thought you'd be good at it. Still do. Your style would be perfect."

That was surprising, but Clarke wasn't convinced. "It wasn't because of your vision?"

"It was a way to talk to you, yes, but I meant it. I know the visions were… well, the reason for this, that they nudged us together, but I'd noticed you drawing before."

They walked a bit further before Clarke took a small breath. "I, uh, may have looked at the pages in older prints."

Lexa glanced at her. "And?"

"It could be fun. I'm just not sure-" Clarke scrunched her nose. "I'm just so rusty. Art is what I got into college for, but then I took up business classes and… I don't know, it just felt so much easier. Don't get me wrong, managing the café kicks my ass every day, but I like the challenges. With drawings, paintings, whatever… it feels like putting your heart on the line each time. And nine times out of ten, your heart ends up getting trampled."

Lexa took her hand to stop her. "I would never suggest you do something that makes you uncomfortable. If it's truly just a hobby to you, a way to pass the time, you should keep it that way."

It wasn't like Clarke hadn't considered it. Drawing, sketching; it came as naturally as breathing. She'd done it since she could hold a pencil and she still did it whenever the world became too loud. It was an escape; a different way of thinking. Her own little world. Illustrating short stories could be a welcome breath of fresh air. A way for her brain to snap away from bills, calls, deliveries, and the hundreds of post-its in her tiny office.

"And for the record," Lexa added as she stepped closer, her voice impossibly soft, "I would very much stand in the way of whoever or whatever would try to trample you."

Clarke grinned, very much aware that, not so long ago, these were not words she could have ever imagined Lexa Woods telling her.  

* * *

As she had the last time, Lexa insisted that she walk Clarke back to her apartment. After a night full of laughs, great food, and Lexa's hand in hers, Clarke still didn't have her fill and so didn't tease Lexa too much for also wanting to enjoy every last second. When they made it to her door, Clarke turned around and leaned against it. Tonight couldn't end here.

"By the way, you were wrong earlier. My vision isn't the reason for this." Clarke waited a beat before playing her last hand: "It's not the vision I thought about that night after the rooftop."

Lexa's mouth parted open and she glanced at Clarke's lips.

"I was going to," Clarke continued, "but it didn't hold a candle to how you made me feel when you grabbed my hand."

Lexa swallowed when Clarke reached for her jacket to tug her closer. "How did I make you feel?"  

Clarke pulled her in until their foreheads touched. "Warm. Dizzy."

"Dizzy on a rooftop? That's a safety hazard."

"Are you trying to turn me on or are you trying to make me laugh?"

"They're not mutually exclusive."

They broke into laughter anyway. Lexa leaned in to kiss her, only to stop just as their lips brushed.

"You never told me about your vision," Lexa pointed out. "Not… not exactly."

Clarke smiled, smug. "Oh you want details, hm?"

"I'm a journalist. A thorough account would be nice, yes."

Clarke narrowed her eyes at her before crushing their lips together, unbelievably pleased when Lexa moaned and wrapped her arms around her waist.

"Shut up, journo," Clarke husked between kisses.

Lexa kissed her with little restraint then, moving until Clarke was pressed against the door. Each one of Lexa's kisses felt like something special; like finally she'd shed her old fears. Clarke didn't even want to think of not being close to Lexa right now. The night couldn't end - not like this. She pulled back and gazed at Lexa, trying to catch her breath.

This close, Clarke could commit to memory every detail of her face. She'd always thought she got a good look at Lexa at the café, even with the counter between them, but it was nothing compared to this. Lexa's lips were full and at their most tempting when slightly parted, betraying her own desire. Her eyes were hooded now, longing, and Clarke had little doubt hers reflected the same want. She threw caution to the wind:

"Come inside?"

Lexa hesitated, visibly torn.

"We don't have to do anything. I have a nice wine we can try. Some of Gus's tartlets left over. We can even sit with the box between us. I just… I don't want tonight to be over yet."

* * *

It was not what she'd had in mind. She swore it. Nevertheless, when Clarke found herself straddling Lexa on her living room couch with the box of tartlets discarded on the floor (the tartlets well finished by then), she couldn't remember why the hell not.

Maybe the air had already been too charged by the time she wiped her thumb over Lexa's lip to catch a crumb there, and maybe Clarke had liked playing with fire, but now she was well on her way to being burned. Lexa's hands palmed her ass while they kissed, but it was the boldest she allowed herself to be and Clarke was quickly reaching her breaking point.

"Touch me," she pleaded between kisses.

Lexa let out a choked moan when Clarke reached for her hand and guided it to her breasts. She paused, looking up. The green in her eyes had darkened, especially in the dim light, and she breathed deeply.

"Clarke…"

"I know, I know, just - something. Anything." Clarke leaned her forehead against Lexa's. "I feel like a fucking teenager."

Lexa let out a small laugh before kissing her sweetly, slowly. It had the soothing effect she had intended, and before Clarke realized it, Lexa had lied her down on her back. She hovered over her, then looked down at her cleavage and pressed her lips against the exposed skin.

"Is that better?" She asked.

"Close…"

Lexa let out a hum against her skin, pressing another kiss lower. Clarke brushed her fingers in Lexa's thick hair, digging just slightly in her scalp, surprised when Lexa let out a small moan and then froze with wide eyes, like Clarke had just found her secret.

"Oh," Clarke breathed out, her smile widening. She repeated the gesture, pressing her fingers just a bit harder.

Lexa immediately grabbed her hands and pinned them down on each side of Clarke's head.

"Don't do that," she warned her, breathless.

Clarke smirked. "I think I will."

"It was just a reflex," Lexa blushed. "It's been a while."

Clarke couldn't help but laugh, happiness bubbling in her chest at how comfortable she felt with Lexa's body slotted between her legs. "Well, I'm very happy to find out whatever draws out those sounds from you."

Lexa seemed to realize just how close they were, locked together with their fingers entwined. And just like the rooftop when she'd suddenly grabbed her hand, her expression changed. Confident. Eager.

She sat back, eyes trailing down Clarke's body before she let go of her hands to touch her thighs.

"You like control, don't you, Clarke?" She asked. She ran her hands up her thighs, caressing them slowly. "But not now."

Clarke nearly lost her breath, not expecting the way Lexa had shifted so quickly from embarrassed to self-assured. She watched as Lexa drank her in, from her bunched up dress to the fast rise and fall of her chest.

"Touch yourself," Lexa told her, and then leaned down to brush her lips against hers. "The way you did after the rooftop."

"Lexa-"

"I want to watch you."

Clarke nodded, her hand trailing down her own body to the bottom of her dress. Lexa watched as she reached beneath the fabric, eager to follow her command. She slid her hand beneath her tights, beneath her underwear, moaning at the relief when she finally touched herself. She knew Lexa could feel her heat; knew they were both reaching a point of no return. It had started when Lexa had kissed her at the start of their date, but Lexa's hands on her ass while they'd kissed had awakened her completely.

Lexa briefly glanced between their bodies, groaning when she saw Clarke's hand moving.

"Is this how you did it?" She asked. "Two fingers?"

Clarke let out an obscene moan, too far gone to care. "Three," she whimpered.

Lexa's jaw clenched, but her control was remarkable. "Did you imagine it on the rooftop? Me inside you against that wall?"

Clarke's eyes squeezed shut as she bit down on her lip. "Yes. Fuck."

She swiped her fingers over her clit, but the angle and her tights restricted most of her movements. She was fairly certain Lexa knew it. Lexa leaned down again, kissing her neck.

"How did I fuck you?" She asked by her ear, one hand reaching up to lightly brush against her breast.

Clarke panted, fighting the unbearable need to penetrate herself. She needed release, and fast, but a part of her was too stubborn to give in just yet.

"You pressed me against the wall," she revealed, burying her face in Lexa's neck. With her free hand, she dug her nails in Lexa's ass, feeling a thrill when Lexa bucked against her. "And then- I… I needed more. I needed you deeper."

"So I turned you around," Lexa guessed, squeezing her nipple over the fabric of her dress.

"I- oh, fuck, I couldn't stop thinking about you inside me; how well you'd fill me," Clarke said, her middle finger trembling from the angle, desperate to inch inside herself.

"Jesus, Clarke," Lexa breathed out in the space between her neck and shoulder. Her lips felt like heaven against her skin. Clarke couldn't get enough.

"Clarke," Lexa repeated, raising her head. "Look at me." It was softer then, more of a plea.

Clarke opened her eyes and felt her movements slow down. It was like experiencing déjà-vu, except of course that was impossible. They'd never done this. But she suddenly realized it had all started here. She'd had her vision on this very couch and here she was - not fulfilling it, exactly, but close. Yet what she'd seen and even felt had never been like this. It had been purely physical - an erotic thrill in her otherwise predictable life. But she hadn't felt her heart beating out of her chest. She'd had a sense it was more intimate than what she was used to, but hadn't been able to quite grasp what that meant. She knew now. Their intensity wasn't so much physical as it was emotional.

She felt safe with Lexa. They still had so much to learn about each other, but she felt safe. And Clarke had never realized the importance of it. Lexa had trusted her with her pain and her heart - that wasn't something Clarke took lightly. It was a feeling not even her vision could have conveyed.

"Fuck, wait, wait, stop," she abruptly panted, pulling her hand out of her underwear.

Lexa backed away immediately, but Clarke sat up to stop her from moving off the couch.

"Lexa, I… I want to be with you," she said, as if remembering her vision had suddenly clarified everything. "When you're ready, I want to be with you completely."

"I want that too." Lexa still seemed confused, or maybe surprised Clarke had done the equivalent of dunking ice cold water atop her own head.

“Right. And - this is fun. I-” Clarke’s eyes briefly closed as she bit her lip. “Fuck I really want to get off-”

Lexa smiled.

“-but not like this.” Clarke reached out to cup her cheeks. “Not without you.” She kissed Lexa briefly, barely a brush of lips, and watched as her eyes followed her every move so tenderly. “Not if I don’t get to touch you too.”

"Clarke…"

Clarke shook her head, kissing her way down Lexa's jaw and neck. "Not if I can't see all of you. Can't hear you moan my name." She licked over Lexa's pulse, enjoying the way her hips bucked against her. "Not if I can't taste you while you come undone."

Lexa pulled back and brushed away some of Clarke's wild strands of hair. "Such words… You should be a journalist."

"I hear they have egos."

"Oh yes, terrible."

"I'm glad I found one that's not so bad then."

They smiled at each other, then took a breath.

"Sorry," Clarke sighed. "I feel like I'm the one giving you whiplash now."

"No, it's only fair. If anything I admire your restraint."

Clarke leaned back against the arm of the couch. "Maybe you'll just have to work harder next time."

Lexa smirked. "I can do that." She glanced at her breasts. "At least I made new friends."

Clarke let out a laugh, enamored. "Alright, well, you and my tits can pick up this conversation another time. I need a shower and if you're not gone in two minutes, I'm definitely dragging you in with me."

Lexa hummed in agreement.

After Clarke walked her to the entrance and watched Lexa put on her shoes and jacket, they lingered in the doorway.

"Thank you for tonight," Clarke said. She had never felt like this before - a part of her desperate to find a way for Lexa to stay. A way to prolong the conversation. To ward off the night so that Lexa and her could just live in this moment a while longer. "The play, the food, this… Everything."

She hoped Lexa felt the same.

"Trust me, it was my pleasure," Lexa replied, her face still slightly flushed.

"You've set the bar high."

"You took me to a secret hike. I was just trying to catch up."

At Clarke's smile, Lexa bit her lip and toyed with the button of her jacket. "Anya used to say I reacted to everything with either fight or flight. I didn't prove her wrong when I left for Costial, but I don't want to run away again."

Clarke nodded in understanding.

“It just… creeps up on me sometimes,” Lexa continued. “I could be having the time of my life one second and the next my chest gets tighter and the world gets smaller. Suffocating.” She gave her a resolute look. “When I meant slow, I meant… I just need to be sure that feeling won’t come between us again." She glanced at her lips. "But… It also means that once we do cross that line, I intend to make up for lost time.”

Clarke swallowed, fighting the urge to drag Lexa back inside. "I'm a patient woman."

Lexa smiled. "Goodnight, Clarke."

"Mm. Text me when you get home?"

"I will."

-

[part eleven]

[yonymii]

the spotlight suits you

a/n: ok uhh if you don’t think you’re a good singer then plz pretend you are for this <3 thank u 💖 also this is incredibly self-indulgent so the reader’s personality and talents mirror my own a lot lmao im sorry 

the song i imagined the reader singing was my favourite song ‘maybe it’s not our fault’ by yerin baek.  

warnings: brief mentions of death (from natural causes), 

pairing: Akaashi Keiji x gn!musician!reader

the moment the warm yellow lights of the stage hit your face, the erratic beating of your heart slowed and you were no longer dizzy. the stage felt like home to you, when everyone could see you and when you knew they were their to hear you, to hear your music. the prospect of people enjoying your songs filled your heart with joy, and your smile grew a little at the thought.

the mic was sat on top of two pieces of duct tape that had been stuck down in an ‘x’ shape, marking the center of the stage. your shoes clicked against the wood as you appraoched it, hands clenched into fists in anticipation.

because of the spotlights, the faces of your audience were barely recognisable. you assumed that a few of your old classmates would be there, though, because you knew they’d always frequented this place. before you moved to miyagi from tokyo, you’d attended fururodani high and had been good friends with akaashi keiji, the setter and vice-captain of the school’s volleyball team. you had been classmates since middle school and had similar interests, so it was only natural you were a good match for each other.

but after your grandmother who you’d been living with ever since your single mother died passed, you had to move to miyagi prefecture to live with your uncle and cousins. as much as you were fond of the small family, you felt as if you weren’t valued and often holed yourself up in your room due to grief over your grandma. 

while you were in your room, you’d practiced piano over and over until your fingers ached from all the playing and there were blisters on the sides of your thumbs. you’d written notebooks full of songs and on the wall next to your single bed there was a corkboard completely covered over in sheet music and lyrics so you couldn’t see the brown material underneath it. as much as you’d always loved music, (you’d played piano since you were a small child), you never really wrote that many songs; the overwhelming emotions of losing someone important to you changed that in the blink of an eye.

when you left tokyo, you didn’t say anything to akaashi. you were second years in high school at the time, and the bus had actually stopped outside of your school on the way to miyagi. from where it had pulled over, you could see into the gym, where keiji was setting a volleyball for bokuto, the captain of the team. you’d nearly burst into tears at the sight of him. how could you possibly lose the two most important figures in your life in the span of a few days and not be sad?

of course you had his number and social media, but in a blind fit of rage after being scolded by your aunt for shouting at her baby and then bursting into tears from the overflowing sadness at your situation, you’d thrown your already failing phone at the wall and it had shattered; you’d been sent to your bedroom for the remainder of the night for causing a mess and upsetting the six-month-old child sat by you, and you’d just sat at the keyboard your grandmother had bought you that year as a birthday gift and played and played until the early hours of the morning, hot tears spilling over your waterline and making it hard to read the music. it was a beautiful instrument; the keys were weighted and touch-sensetive like a real piano and it was glossy black. there were few buttons thankfully, headphones for privacy, and the pedals underneath it were golden. it was one of your prized possesions. you didn’t let anyone touch it.

the moment your pre-recorded backing track started up, all eyes were on you; the notes and effects all melted together and your voice sounded like honey; it was sweet and the lyrics were surpisingly sad for the tone of the music but it was still lovely to listen to. akaashi was hooked before he even realised it was you.

but when he did he couldn’t take his eyes off of you; in terms of your appearance, you’d matured a lot. seeing you back in tokyo after 5 years was suprising, but he’d known about your love of music. he just didn’t know you’d gone far enough to get a gig at somewhere as popular as this place.

you, on the other hand, couldn’t see akaashi. the audience was audibly singing along by the second chorus, and when you finished the song, the applause was loud. you sang four songs, each one a little more enthusiastically performed than the others until it was your queue to leave the stage and go home to your small apartment in the center of tokyo to prepare for the gig you had at a bar the next night. you bowed, waving happily at the audience despite not being able to see them clearly, and departed, skipping down the wooden stairs and humming your opening song quietly since your voice needed to re-generate for your next performance.

someone tapped your shoulder and pointed to the door where a man stood facing the other way. to you, he looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite put finger on who he was exactly. the staff member smiled at you as you wandered over towards the man and went the other direction, ushering the next act onto the stage. the back door was open and there was a cool breeze flowing through the room, momentary twangs of guitars and basses breaking the silence until the faint music of the band currently performing started up.

“uhhh..” you said, tapping your foot nervously on the ground. he didn’t seem to hear you so yout tapped him lightly; the red, white and blue turtleneck he was wearing was underneath a plain suit jacket and he had on black dress pants and a brown belt. he was tall, around six feet, and his phone was held loosely in his hand. the only light near you was the full moon, the nearest unnatural source was a table lamp on a white desk in the corner of the room, though he was stood just outside the door, basking in the light of the cosmos which were unusually bright for a city.

“hello?” you spoke again, this time a little louder. he turned and looked at you, eyes sparkling. you didn’t know whether it was the reflection of light or whether there were stars in his eyes, but it was stunning nonetheless. you saw he was wearing glasses, but his face was unmistakeably keiji’s. you stuttered when he sent a tiny smile at you, reaching out slowly as if asking for permission to touch you (which you of course granted). his arms wrapped around your torso and he spoke quietly to you, breathing softly in your ear.

“you were amazing tonight, y/n. the spotlight really suits you.”

the sentence made you blush a little but you managed to get over your nerves and look him in the eyes. at this point you were both tearing up but you couldn’t let any tears fall in front of him. you tried to speak but your voice came out strangled and hoarse. he rubbed your arm, silently telling you to take your time.

“i’m sorry,” you spoke softly into the night, not looking at the man anymore. it hurt, looking at him, the sad guise on his face broke your heart and you could almost hear his shatter when a tear broke free of its prison and rolled down your cheek. you looked at your feet and gasped when he pulled you into him; his heartbeat was comforting and you breathing slowed.

“i understand. it hurt, but it hurt you too, right? you loved her a lot. it was too much for you, and sometimes people need breaks. even long ones, okay?”

you nodded, clinging to the back of his jacket. it was almost as if akaashi wasn’t really there; it felt so surreal, holding him like this. when he spoke again, you felt yourself hold him tighter, if it was possible.

“maybe we should start over, y/n. i want to get to know you again,”

[sarcasmisakindofmagic]

And I, seeking safe harbour, found it between the pages of a book

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x fem!reader

Word count: 2,200

Warnings: Tom prefers the movie to the book. one (1) swear word. This is a yearning sort of fluff.

A/N: This is unbeta’d so please forgive any typos 

It started, as so many things did for Santiago Garcia, in a bookshop.

The bookshop of his childhood had been haphazard and dusty, second hand books piled high above his head; unending towers of adventures waiting for him to read. They had been browning at the edges, marginalia scrawled in a rainbow of colours in thousands of different hands - previous readers accompanying him on his journey and adding wry remarks to the story. 

His abuela had taken him there every Wednesday after school. It had just been the two of them, the cousins relegated to helping abuelo on the farm, but Santi as the baby could help abuela with the town errands. She always got him one book to add to his collection.

Le Morte d’Arthur was a favourite, the binding long since giving up the ghost. Pages held together by string and Santi turning each page with a gentle caress, weighting down each pile with carefully selected rocks - flat, nothing to tear the paper.

Santi had gone back to the bookshop once after Abuela died. The day before he was due to leave town to hit bootcamp. He handed a fresh copy of Le Morte d’Arthur to the volunteer behind the desk, complete with scrawled annotations and inscription.

There hadn’t been many bookshops on the tours he’d taken, occasional lingering moments of perusing the shelves. Frankie knew to leave him alone with the potential stories, a quiet nod and he’d be off to stake out a quiet spot. The whole team would find him later, passively guarding enough space for them to guard each other’s backs. Tom never got the message always hovering, making comments about how he always preferred the movies anyway, Santiago stopped looking for bookshops with him around. Will and Benny usually came as a pair. Benny burning off energy, as Will followed more placidly. Ironically it had been Benny who understood the most, Will losing himself to music more easily than the written word.

“Books, man, I could do that anywhere. It’s active, y’know? Music just happens to you, but i can lose myself in a book.” Benny had told him once, dropping a Du Maurier novel in his lap with a sly grin and only offering a shrug when anybody asked where he’s got an english copy in the middle of bumfuck nowhere redacted.

On the long flights where Benny literally couldn’t sleep, and Santi had too many possibilities running through his head, they’d swap books, making little notes and hiding dicks in the centre folds so they’d get bigger as the book opened.

Half their friendship had been little doodles of dicks, drawn at the most heartfelt and profound moments of classics. Oddly it completely summed Benny up.

The local bookshop was a hidden gem. After Colombia he hadn’t sought out the written word for so long the impulse to go in surprised him enough that he was inside before he’d really thought about it. The shelves inside were crammed full, small hand-painted signs letting him know the genre in which he found himself. There was no military precision to be found here, plenty of space to get lost and find a gem no one had wanted to read in years. The ghost abuela murmured approvingly in his ear, old advice echoing ‘Books need readers, nieto, always find a story that has taken someone on the journey before.’

Occasionally, there would be little stacks of books as new orders came in, the shelves too full to make room for the new arrivals. Regulars moved round them, or paused to run the pad of one finger down the spines, a momentary introduction to a potential new companion.

Hidden around a corner was a tiny café area, only enough to seat maybe ten people, it wasn’t advertised outside - Santiago had never seen every seat taken, though he certainly recognised the regulars by now.

There was the local Rabbi who would tuck himself in the corner with a hot tea and write, occasionally muttering under his breath in Hebrew as he wrestled his sermon into existence. Two students, who were not dating but should be, occupied the table with book wedged under the leg to make it stop wobbling. They were always in contact with one another, limbs seeking the other’s warmth. They didn’t have a schedule but were never in before noon and had only once been spotted on a Thursday. 

A young mum who sat by herself on Saturday mornings and absorbed the quiet, she’d once fallen asleep, resting her head on the shelves. Santiago had woken her at her usual departure time, to flustered thank yous, ‘her twins were at ballet classes and her husband was away-’. She’d been out the store and earshot before she’d finished speaking but a little plate with a huge slab of shortcake had been waiting for him the Saturday after, with ‘Thank you’ iced across the top. There had also been a card with a little boy and girl dancing ballet together impressively drawn in crayon, with capitalised signatures.

Santiago had it in a frame at his house and refused to explain it to anyone that asked beyond a bland, “It’s a thank you card.” 

Only Will had taken more than a beat to move on, absorbing the bright colours and wobbly letters. The clap on Santi’s shoulder and soft look had been enough. Will had never needed words to get a point across, but a gesture like the card? Will understood that well enough.

The boys all knew about you, heard stories about the book shop owner who could make Pope blush with a well timed smile and look in her eye. 

Abuela would have liked her, was the way he explained it to Frankie, blaming the hushed tones on the baby cradled in his arms, rather than the strength of his crush. Little Nina was as placid as her daddy and slept like a rock from day one, Santiago could have yelled his love to heavens and she would only have huffed a little and snuggled closer.

Frankie had only cuffed him on the back of the head and asked if he would pick up some Spanish children’s books for Nina. Santiago didn’t need the excuse to go in there, but he grabbed it with both hands anyway.

You’d been delighted to help, piling his arms high with options before whittling it back down again, selecting tough to rip cardboard and silly rhymes over the school year novellas.

“I’ll pick those up once she’s grown a bit.” He promised, eyeing the reject pile guiltily. “If she takes after her godfather she’ll have her own library soon enough.”

“I was the same,” you laughed, stacking the books neatly by age group and sub-genre, “I used to drive my mother spare reading the book the same day we’d bought it.” “Would you like to go to dinner?” Santiago asked impulsively, talking over the end of your sentence, flushing a little at how abruptly he’d blurted it out. “I’d like to hear about your favourite books.” Your smile made his stomach flip, as you nodded fumbling with the book in your hands.

“I’d like that.” You agreed warmly. “I have quite a few favourites though, it might take more than one.”

Will met you first; in the bookshop without Santi’s supervision. There had been a break in at the shop and Will only lived five minutes away, rushing to calm you down as Santi drove like a madman to get to you.

The shop was in shambles, shelves torn down and books strewn everywhere. Loose leaves littered the floor, glass shards gleaming cruelly in the glaring streetlights. Will had wrapped you up in his jacket, careful of the bruises and nasty gash on your leg, lifting you off the floor and out onto the sidewalk.

He didn’t leave your side until Santiago arrived, waiting until Santi had you in his arms before heading back into the shop to check out what needed fixing.

Frankie met the shop before he met you. His house had the biggest yard, opening out into the woods without anything fencing him in. Will commandeered the space, Frankie happily helping out with the book repairs. His hands had never shaken under pressure, always sure on the controls of the choppers. He learnt the art of bookbinding quickly enough, humming along to Will’s playlists, the two quietest members of the team content to let the music fill the quiet for them.

The first time Frankie met you was when he and Will showed you the shop. The shelves Will had built, now firmly fixed to the wall and floor - they’d prop up the walls before anybody toppled them again. The undamaged books were separated from Frankie’s repairs, in case they weren’t up to your standards. He was pulled into a hug before he could summon up an apology for the amateur job. A stream of thank yous echoing in his ear as you hugged Will just as tightly.

Santiago was smiling, bringing him into hug with a quiet cabron. He always knew when Frankie was overthinking something. You pulled Santi away, demanding Will give a tour of the new, improved shop. Happily calling for Frankie to keep up, you needed to know everything he’d done too.

Benny volunteered to stay at the shop during the day, doing the heavy lifting while your bruises faded. Santiago worked from home but couldn’t help hovering in the shop, too concerned for you and too distracted by all the books he hadn’t got a chance to read.

Somehow this had turned into Benny painting little murals on any spare wall space and the edges of the shelves.

“Have you always painted?” You asked curiously,

Benny shrugged, scratching his chin and leaving tracks of paint over the stubble.

“Pops always had Will out back helping with the farm, he learned the woodworking with him. I helped momma round the house until I was old enough to help paint the stuff they built together.” He broke off to gently shoo Hades away from the paints, the shop cat meowing plaintively at his curiosity being denied.

“Come here puss, you don’t need a paint job.” You coaxed, clicking your fingers to entice him up onto the counter. There was no way your bruises were going to let you bend down to pick him up.

“Anyway, momma was an art teacher she taught me the basics, after that,” he flushed, “a friend helped me practice.”

You had to bite down on your cheek to keep from smiling or asking anymore questions. Benny’s friend sounded interesting but his expression screamed please-don’t-ask-questions.

“My mum could knit anything.” You said instead, finally convincing Hades to have a cuddle and scritching under his chin. “I tried to copy her one summer, ended up having to be cut free from all the wool.”

Benny laughed, all the tension leaving his shoulders at the image of you all snared up like a kitten.

“Me and Will used to track footprints through the house all the time, ‘til we did it with whitewash after painting the barn. Momma had us camped outside for a month before she let us back in.” Benny said sheepishly, a smudged green handprint marking the back of his neck as he confessed. “Pops snuck us in for showers, said he felt bad we’d got punished for chores.”

Hades leapt out of your arms, startled by your laughter. 

“God, I dropped a whole bowl of tomato soup on a cream carpet? Does that count?” You wheezed, leaning back against the shelves to try and stretch out the bruising seeing if the new position would help. Benny winced in sympathy

“Sorry. I’ll try to be less hilarious.” He quipped dryly. “And no, not unless you camped out for a month.”

The decision to marry you was the easiest one Santiago ever made. How on earth to actually ask you to marry him, turned out to be a harder thing to pin down. The ring went on half the trips you made for a year: down to Hawai’i on a group holiday, camping up in the mountains and even the near weekly hikes you took on Mondays, shutting shop up and leaving the town far behind.

It was an old copy of The Princess Bride that eventually spurred him into action. Santi was helping with organising the basement which was full of donations and books to be shipped out across the county.

Golding’s novel hit him square in the chest, the achingly familiar cover making Santiago’s throat tighten. Abuela had loved this book, taking great pleasure in dramatically clearing her throat to read it to him when he was sick. The grandpa in the story was replaced with Abuela as she told him the tale of true love: Inigo Montoya switching between Spanish and English and easily as he switched his sword hand.

He’d long been enamoured with pirates and fighting evil kings, but The Princess Bride had been the book to remind him to find something to fight for. Perhaps he’d been clinging to the doomed romance of Le Morte d’Arthur for too long.

“The Princess Bride? Santiago, this is true love - you think this happens every day?” You quoted easily, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you passed.

Santiago sent up a garbled prayer of thanks to Abuela, she always knew what he needed before he did anyway.

And so, Santiago Garcia asked the love of his life to marry him on a rainy Thursday in a bookshop. And it was perfect.

‘But I also have to say, for the umpty-umpth time, that life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all.’ -William Golding, The Princess Bride.

[thebluewickedmermaid]

Breaking Us Both ~ Kuroo Tetsuro x OC

CHAPTER ONE: Leaving Me Hangin'

PLOT: 

"Yeah, I couldn't get my eyes off her back then..." and my heart till now. He almost blurted out the last part and sighed. 

It's been six years and yet the memories were so fresh like it was yesterday when he first laid eyes on her peculiar dark auburn locks and her steely gray eyes. The way she regarded him with distrust and annoyance... and curiosity. She should have just run instead of facing him head-on. Maybe they could have saved themselves a heartbreak. --- I DO NOT OWN THE ARTS IN MY COVER. ALL CREDITS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS.

Y E A R : 2018

The bar was filled with cheers and laughter as the music reverberated in every corner. It was a Friday night, a night where workers filled their glasses and rejoice for the upcoming weekend after a long day of work, or where couples have their date, or where people reward themselves for their success, or simply just where acquaintances meet up after a long time of not seeing each other. Either way, it was a night to be remembered by most and the others long after a stressful week.

Kuroo on the other hand was on his way to the said bar for one reason only: to meet old acquaintances. 

As he trudged his way inside, the music was already deafening. A lady wearing a sexy black waitress uniform came up to him once he made his way inside. Despite the on and off disco lights, he could clearly see the way her eyes raked his body like a predator to its prey which clearly made him uneasy. If he was his past self, he would have enjoyed every single moment of it. Alas, he was a changed man; more professional and more mature.

"What can I help you, sir?" she asked, or rather purred seductively at him.

Kuroo combed his bed-hair with his fingers and flashed her an uneasy smile. "I'm meeting with somebody who already has a reservation here. The name is Bokuto Koutaro."

The lady's eyes lighted up at the mentioned name. "Right this way," she said and gently grabbed hold of his biceps to guide him towards a booth on the other side of the bar where few people were sitting.

Kuroo could only sighed and let the lady do what she wants. He didn't want to embarass her in public since some eyes were on to them already.

Once they reached the last booth, she knocked twice before opening the door wide.

"One of your acquaintances is here," she announced.

"Thanks," Kuroo said and the waitress winked at him making him chuckle. Once he made his way inside, shouts of greetings welcomed him.

"Kuroo!" a man with spiky, white hair and black streaks boomed once the door closed and barraged him with a tight hug. It was none other than Bokuto Kotaro; a volleyball player for the Black Jackals who just won last week against the Adlers. It was an epic battle that moved everybody in the arena and everybody that they were acquainted with during their volleyball years came to watch.

Kuroo grinned before returning his hug.

"You're late!" he teased and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Yeah, sorry. Got stuck with something in the office," he apologized as his eyes scanned the small crowd inside the booth.

Akaashi Keiji, Tsukishima Kei, Daichi Sawamura, Sugawara Koshi, Iwaizumi Hajime, Kageyama Tobio, and of course Hinata Shoyo were huddled up in a round table already eating their fill. Unfortunately, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Kozume Kenma, Miya Atsumu, and Sakusa Kiyoomi did not make it for personal reasons.

"Well, well, isn't great to see you lot, again," he greeted with a sneer as he put a hand on his hip regarding each one with his hazel orbs.

"I couldn't say the same thing to you, though," a man with brown hair joked making the others in the room chuckle.

"Oy, Daichi, that's rude, man. You know you missed me," he joked back as he sat between Bokuto and Akaashi and in front of Daichi who offered him a drink which he gladly accepted.

"We all did!" Bokuto joined with rambunctious tone. "You barely hang out with us."

Kuroo rolled his eyes at him as he took a sip from his scotch. "I've been busy with work. We're launching Shrimpy's promotional video with Kodzuken in a few weeks," he explained, his hazel eyes landing on Hinata who gave him a thumbs up.

Despite his age is 22, he still looked like a kid that seeing him holding a glass of alcohol makes Kuroo want to snatch it away.

"Besides, haven't we just celebrated last week after your victory?" He added with a brow raised at Bokuto.

"It's a different story tonight," Akaashi commented before he put the grilled pork in his mouth. "Bokuto-san has an announcement to make."

Bokuto blushed a deep shade of red whether it was from the alcohol or from Akaashi's statement, Kuroo's attention piqued.

"AGAAASHI!!" Bokuto whined and crossed his arms on his chest. "Don't bring it up this early!"

"Oya? What is it?" he asked, turning his attention to his best bro who was suddenly fiddling with his fingers as if he was shy to tell the others his announcement. "Don't tell me you're going all shy all of the sudden? Are you finally realizing your hidden desires for me?"

"Shut up, Kuroo!" he snapped before he cleared his throat. He took a deep breath before a wide grin spread across his face. "She said 'Yes'."

A deafening silence surrounded the group once the news broke. Only the sound of the muffled music from the outside can be heard. An amused smile formed on Akaashi's face as the once loud group became mute.

A few more seconds had passed and when the news had sunk in, a loud gasp and cheers erupted.

"What the hell?!" Iwaizumi exclaimed and clasped hands with his trainee; a wide grin on his face. "Congratulations, man! That was unexpected!"

"Oho, oho, I’m surprised she accepted the proposal," sneered Tsukishima as he put a hand over his lips.

"Tsukki!" Bokuto growled and punched the giant lightly on the shoulder. "At least I have the guts to ask my girlfriend, unlike some other guy I know!" That shut Tsukishima up, Kuroo grinned. Bokuto's getting witty with his comebacks lately. Must be the influence of the soon-to-be-missus.

"You're really okay with this, Akaashi?!" Kuroo countered as he slammed his drinks on the table. "You're letting him marry your cousin?!"

"I already warned Addie-chan with what she's got herself into," Akaashi joked lightly and patted Bokuto's back over Kuroo's shoulders; his eyes turning serious despite the small smile on his face. "Besides, if Bokuto-san ever hurt or as much as make her tear up, he knows the shovel is all set--” 

Bokuto gulped and backed away slowly from the threatening gaze his best friend was giving off.

"—is what I would say normally as the older cousin of your soon-to-be bride, had I not known you, Bokuto-san."

Kuroo sweat-dropped as the others laughed at Bokuto's uneasy expression. 'Well, that kept Bokuto in line,' he thought as he took a sip from his drinks. Nevertheless, he was thrilled for his best friend's future.

"So, when's the wedding?" Iwaizumi piped in. "Hopefully, I could get Trashykawa to attend it, too."

Kuroo's smile faltered slightly at the mention of the former Aoba Josaih captain.

"Oh yeah, where's Oikawa-san, by the way?" Sugawara asked looking over at Iwaizumi, who was Oikawa's best friend.

"He just arrived in the U.S. yesterday to meet with someone," Iwaizumi answered and tipped his drinks in one go but his eyes landed on Kuroo when he mentioned the 'someone' part. "He's set to arrive next week for a vacation."

Kuroo pursed his lips at the face Iwaizumi was sending him his way. His heart skipped a beat slightly when a certain someone entered his thoughts.

"Oh! I met Oikawa-san when I was studying in Brazil once!" Hinata beamed; his face a little red from alcohol. "I think that was two years ago?"

"Pipe down, boke!" Kageyama growled; his face the same shade as Hinata's due to alcohol.

"I think you two had enough already," Sugawara warned and grabbed both of their drinks much to their dismay.

"As I was saying!" Hinata continued and poked Kageyama's head for him to listen. "You'll like this one since I also saw Machi-senpai, your first crush, with Oikawa-san in Brazil!"

Kuroo's stopped mid-drink at the mention of the name he longed and at the same time never wanted to hear. A familiar twinge of pain resurfaced in his chest that he almost dropped his glass had he not recovered quickly and tipped the glass to downed it in one go. The bitter taste of alcohol didn't help with the situations as he cringed slightly.

The others, except Kageyama and Hinata, paused their conversation and glanced warily at him for his reaction but as quick as the pain resurfaced, the quicker he masked it off his face.

"M-Machi-senpai?" Kageyama stuttered and blushed a deeper shade of red this time; after all these years, he still had this little crush with his senpai that he couldn't get rid of. "H-How is she and w-why didn't you send a picture of her? You only send yours and Oikawa-san's selfie like what am I supposed to do with that, boke?!"

"Oh yeah!" Hinata exclaimed and rubbed the back of his head before grinning sheepishly at his best friend. "I totally forgot about that. She arrived on the third day of our beach volleyball match. She just passed by to pay Oikawa-san a visit and she wasn't expecting to see me there. She said she was doing volunteer work in Brazil for a week." Hinata's eyes sparkled and he had the same dreamy look in his eyes as Kageyama.

"Machi-senpai is doing volunteer work?" Kageyama closed his eyes tight and clenched his fist on his chest. "I've always known her to have a big heart! HOW LUCKY OF YOU BOKE?!!!"

"Well, that's Machi. She probably got it from her mother who was a philanthropist before she died," Iwaizumi noted and smiling softly at the memory of his childhood friend. "She have a soft heart for orphans."

Kageyama and Hinata sighed dreamily as if they were on cloud nine. "Do you still get in touch with her, Iwaizumi-san?" the Adlers' setter asked to his former upperclassman.

Iwaizumi shrugged his shoulders. "She'd call sometimes to say hi," he answered and pursed his lips as if what he said was enough information, Kuroo noted. That kind of topic always made Iwaizumi looked reserved about it especially when the rooster-haired captain was around.

Kuroo's grip on his glass tightened as he stared hard at it. It confused him and frustrated him greatly to the point that he wanted to punch the answers out of Iwaizumi. But even he couldn't form a question properly. He didn't even know where to start. Hell! Why was he even feeling like this?

"She looked more divine than she ever was in high school. AGHHH! I should have asked her to join us in playing beach volleyball! I wonder how strong she is, right now?" Hinata pondered before he was elbowed by Sugawara. "Sugawara-san, nani?" he asked but stopped when he saw him pointing at Kuroo who staring hard at his glass. "O-Oh. Oops."

"She quitted," Kuroo snapped; his eyes cold as he stared at his clenched fist on his glass.

For the second time of that night, the deafening silence filled the group once again.

 --

 "Hey, you okay?" Bokuto asked once they were alone, walking down the streets of Tokyo in the dead of the night.

Akaashi and the others already bid them goodbye and went their separate ways. After Kuroo snapped, he apologized quickly to Hinata to which the latter completely waved off. Had it not been for Bokuto, the dinner would have turned into an awkward mess.

Kuroo sighed deeply before his fingers combed his hair. "Yeah," he answered as he put his hands inside his jeans pocket. "I was caught off-guard but I'm fine. Sorry back there."

"Nah, I don't mind. You weren't expecting to hear about Machi-chan, were you? It's been six years after all," Bokuto gushed as he blew his cold hands.

"Six years since she shut me out without explanation; left me in the air hanging," Kuroo lamented as he looked up at the dark sky. "You know that. I even tried to find her in the US when Oikawa refused to tell me her whereabouts."

Bokuto patted Kuroo at the back in sympathy. "Oikawa is very protective of Machi-chan, you know that since she's like a sister to him. He's even protective than Iwaizumi."

"Yet as a friend he could have told me what was wrong or what did I do wrong, right?" Kuroo growled and kicked a can on his way.

"You'll have your chance to ask him why he didn't tell you next week. Oikawa will be attending Iwaizumi's birthday for sure," Bokuto cheered and gave him a hard slap on the back.

Silence descended upon the two as they walked side by side before Bokuto suddenly chuckled. Kuroo glanced at him and raised a brow as if he was going mental.

"I just remembered that time when Machi-chan overheard us at the first away games," Bokuto reminisced earning a small grin from Kuroo over the memory.

"Yeah, I couldn't get my eyes off her back then..." and my heart till now. He almost blurted out the last part before he sighed and rubbed his face. What was wrong with him all of the sudden? It's been six years already!

Bokuto, noticing his best friend's struggle on his face, wondered how he'll cope up if ever Addie left him hanging too without explanation. He'd go insane, for sure. It's a wonder that Kuroo stayed strong through all these years.

--

CHAPTER TWO

[takoyakitenchou]

meddling; the good kind

i decided to clear up a few questions abt how Marui Zenji became Bookmaster of WGO in Genesis so ig this is also my commission payment/holiday gift for @polar-stars 

in which a double shot of jager (with some help from the nakiri cousins) pretty much cements marui zenji’s future.

If nothing else, Yoshino Yuki knew turkey. Like, really well.

Much to Zenji’s chagrin, the only takeaway he’d gotten from the American history seminar he and the rest of the PSD gang had enrolled in was that the Pilgrims rode a Dutch fluyt to Virginia back in 1620, but they’d decided to turn Christmas into a Polar Star tradition nevertheless. Wait. Massachusetts? Thanksgiving?

After losing pitifully in a game of hangman to Yukihira Souma of all people — seriously, how was the English lang and composition seminar supposed to prepare him to guess “#tarkeyshet” — Zenji had retreated to the corner of the kitchen to sulk and drink Sakaki Sake while Yukihira paraded around fixing an imaginary pair of glasses and knocked back a shot of Smirnoff Watermelon from Kurokiba’s locker at Legislation.

“Those specs really were for nothing,” Yuki grinned as she pulled him to his feet, took away his solo cup, and handed him a masher. “Come on, Marui. You can vent at the potatoes.”

Zenji aggressively articulated his ire at said potatoes to the point where Yuki had to yank the bowl from him. “The hell, are you trying to make extract? Go kill another turkey if you’re feeling murderous.”

“I’m fine,” sighed the dark-haired chef, massaging the bridge of his nose. “It’s out of my system now. But the sake is not.”

Yuki leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Sacrifice one battle and you’ll win the war.”

“Now since when have you been all philosophical?”

Without missing a beat, Yuki countered, “Since you got all mopey. Now help me bring the turkey out.”

Just then, Nakiri Erina entered the kitchen after knocking on the doorframe. The first seat took one look at Yuki with her mouth basically on Zenji’s ear and dropped her vodka. “I apologize for the intrusion!” 

She was already halfway out the door when Yuki and Zenji bellowed, “This isn’t what you think it is!”

Erina glanced doubtfully at the space (or lack thereof) between the Polar Star originals. “Um… in that case. Yoshino-san, do you mind if I talk to Marui-kun for a moment?”

“Not at all,” Yuki replied, and Erina was too distracted to notice the slightest inflection of irritation in the teal-eyed girl’s voice as she took the turkey out of the kitchen.

“How may I be of assistance, Nakiri-san?” Zenji asked, shifting his glasses and sitting on a kitchen stool. 

“I was talking to my mother earlier today,” Erina said after picking up her cup, a diplomatic air automatically washing over the area. “She was wondering when you would be available for an interview sometime in the next few days over winter break.”

Zenji gave a prominently uncharacteristic “Eh?”

With a thin smile, Erina continued, “My mother would like to have you intern with her so she can judge if I was right when I told her you’re going to be the next WGO bookmaster. I remember you mentioned something about memorizing all of the WGO guides in first year?”

Zenji blinked once. Twice. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, I am not,” the heiress replied. “I never kid.”

He gestured at her. “That was a kid just now.”

“Besides the point, Marui-kun. My mother would like me to give you her phone number so you can text her your schedule availabilities directly.” Then she added, “Also, that’s more convenient for me because I don’t have to be a mediator.”

At this, Zenji’s eyes bugged out to the size of his fucking glasses. The WGO bookmaster — and Nakiri Erina’s mother to boot — wanted to give him her phone number?

Marui Zenji needed medical care hella fast. 

“Um… I’m available whenever she is…?”

Erina shook her head. “I wouldn’t get used to it, but she’s catering to you.”

A sheen of sweat broke out on Zenji’s forehead. He pushed back his bangs and gave a long, pronounced exhale. “In five seconds, Nakiri-san, I will wake up and be so disappointed that I miss classes for the first time in my entire life.”

“You have a perfect attendance record, don’t you?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Perfect. That means you can afford to skip a day without getting detention. Unlike me and Yukihira.” Erina tapped her chin thoughtfully as Zenji made an indignant noise, then as if to deter any individuals that may have been eavesdropping, said in a low voice, “The one stipulation for giving you my mother’s phone number is that you ask Yoshino-san on a date.”

Zenji promptly fell off the stool. “Say what now?”

The eavesdropping individual made her debut just then. “Yes, well, as official relationship counselor of Nakiri Mansion and Polar Star, I am privy to some very public confidential information that you and Yoshino-san are both absolute nuts for each other. So I am prescribing you the following action: get the hell on with it already.” 

The Nakiri cousins looked extremely pleased with themselves.

“I agree with Alice,” Erina said primly. “It’s pretty obvious how much she likes you. And since we’re both extremely well-versed in the subtleties of romance, I do believe we’re more than qualified to make this diagnosis.”

“Oh, and look, Marui-kun. Your ears are turning red. Actions speak louder than words. Your silence speaks volumes.”

Zenji squinted at Erina. “Nakiri-san, am I correct to assume that even if I already had the Bookmaster’s phone number, we’d still be having this conversation?” “Duh,” said Alice. “Now’s your chance, Marui-kun.”

“I think I’d rather lose to Yukihira in another game of hangman,” he said nervously.

At this, Alice gave a sympathetic smile. “You, my friend, do not have the emotional capacity of a brick, unlike Ryo and Yukihira, so you should have nothing to worry about. Come on.” Alice grabbed Zenji’s wrist and yanked him to his feet. “She’s in the dining hall. Have a shot if you need the liquid courage.” She passed him a cup of Jager.

The scholar ran a hand through his bangs in an attempt to organize his hair, despite the fact that he already had the neatest cut in like… a ten-mile radius.

“This is for the Bookmaster,” Zenji said, trying to convince himself more than the cousins.

“No, it’s really not,” Alice replied. “Now get to it. Clock is ticking.”

“Also, every second you spend stalling is technically another second you’re ghosting the Bookmaster.”

Zenji exploded into action. He threw back the Jager and sprinted out of the kitchen at a velocity nobody would’ve dared imagine possible for someone of his figure… or his alc tolerance.

“That worked better than I thought it would,” Erina mused.

“Yukihira’s rubbing off on you,” Alice intoned. “You sounded a lot like him just now.”

Rolling her eyes and fighting the blush, the first seat waved off the statement. “As if I would ever be associated with anything influenced by his plebeian mouth.”

“Like… your tongue?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Alice grinned and tapped her cup against her cousin’s. “Damn right I will, Erina. No need to emphasize the truth.”

The others were all gathered in the dining hall by the time the Nakiri cousins emerged from the kitchen. Zenji was — as expected — sweating as he attempted to approach Yoshino Yuki.

Souma and his strangely acute senses noted exactly what was happening (read as Erina had already filled him in on the details of the plotcounseling session), and he vaguely motioned for Yuki to turn around. 

“Yoshino-san,” Zenji began, and those that knew what was going on were all surprised at how steady his voice was despite the fact that he’d just drank what had to be two normal shots of herbal liquor at an ungodly speed. “If you’re available, I was just wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me?”

Yuki’s eyebrows disappeared behind her bangs. “Wait, what?” The rest of the dorm gave an excited whoop.

“… to the Polar Star garden…?”

“GODDAMMIT, MARUI,” they all squawked. Yuki managed an awkward grin and the will to live utterly disappeared from Marui Zenji.

Erina and Alice exchanged a glance. “Call the jet.”

“Gotcha. Ryo, can you fetch the Eclipse, please?”

“It’s on the roof already,” drawled Alice’s former aide. “Come on, Marui,” Ryo continued. “You’re gonna be like the rest of us by the time the sun comes up.”

“The hell does that mean?” sighed the dejected erudite as Ryo dragged him to the rooftop staircase in the back of the building.

“We’re destroying your perfect attendance record so you don’t have more honors cords than all the Elite Ten members combined at the graduation ceremony. Don’t even think about complaining. This is for our—I mean, your—good.”

The Nakiri cousins herded Yuki out of the dining hall after him, and the rest of the social club followed.

“In you go,” Ryo ordered once they were in front of the jet. He damn near picked up the chef who was probably half his weight and chucked Zenji through the hatch. Yuki was prodded on board after him, bleating timid complaints the entire time.

Ryo briefly entered the jet and they heard him instruct the pilot, “Take them to the Nakiri resort in Kobe. Don’t let them come back until tomorrow evening, am I clear?”

“Yessir,” replied the pilot, and then Ryo jumped out and the engines roared to life.

The inhabitants of Nakiri Mansion looked rather pleased with themselves as the jet departed Totsuki campus.

“You think that did it for their first date?” Ryo asked the heiresses.

“Duh,” Alice said with a flippant wave. “Erina and I are professionals. Now, we should start planning for their wedding. It’s Yoshino Yuki getting married, so teal dresses for the bridesmaids should do it.”

Erina nodded seriously. “I��ll start tasting cakes and contacting florists. The wedding’s going to be in Malibu, right?”

“You read my mind, Erina. Turns out we’re the same person after all.”

“Hell no.”

Ryo watched the cousins dive into all-out wedding prep mode over Christmas dinner and held back a smile—whether this was out of the mellowed amusement that arose from watching them bicker like five-year-olds or out of sympathetic pity for the involuntary fiances was up to debate, but it was a smile nevertheless, and that was all that mattered.

And the rest, of course, was history.