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sondheim-girly · 22 days ago

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my submission for day 4 of @outsidersweek! Thanks again to @walmartbrandwhatever for being my beta reader, and here's the masterpost for this fic.

September, 1967

Marcia

Marcia hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d just sat and watched the movie with Cherry and those two harmless greaser boys. However when Trip saw her sitting with them, he didn’t think of it that way. It seemed as though every other day now they found something to be arguing about, it didn’t matter what it was. It was exhausting, and sometimes Marcia wished she could just break it off. But when they weren’t in an argument, he treated her like a queen. In those moments she was so in love with him that it made up for everything else. It was this endless cycle, going back and forth and never ever breaking.

So, when he saw her with those two boys and got mad, fixing things was simply second nature. She knew exactly how to shower him with affection, apologies, and kisses, until he forgot why he was even mad in the first place. Once she finally managed to get Trip to calm down, his attention turned over to Cherry, who was still hanging out with one of those greaser boys.

“What is she doing walking around with that greaser kid?” Trip scoffed, his eyes trailing Cherry and her unlikely friend as they walked away from the concessions stand. “I can’t believe her.”

Marcia hated when Trip got like this, just itching for a fight. She didn’t understand why they couldn’t even spend one calm night together. But she just sighed, and gently placed her hand on Trips cheek, attempting to bring his eyes back to her.

“Trip calm down, they aren’t doing anything wrong,” Marcia tried to keep the exasperation from her voice.

“I’m sure Bob would disagree,”

“Well that's on Bob then! He ran off and left her alone, it’s not her fault.”

“It is her fault, she was flirting with Chet,”

“She was talking with Chet! Trip, please just leave it.” Marcia urged, running her hand through Trips' hair. He finally let out a resigned sigh, and gave into her.

Two-Bit

Two-Bit was no stranger to flirting with girls. He did it all the time, in fact. It never felt like something that was a big deal to him, probably because the only girls he flirted with were simply looking for a distraction that neither of them cared about. And Two-Bit didn’t mind that. He liked the little flings! He liked the soc girls who’d engage with him for a minute, just for a thrill, before running back to their friends and forgetting it had ever happened.

Yet this was never the case with Marcia. He wasn’t sure why it was so different, why they’d made a connection that day at the drive-in, like an invisible string pulling them together. But after that day it seemed any time they were both at the drive-in, sequestered into their separate areas with their friends, they’d always find some way to flirt. Being next to each other in line at the concession stand, or sneaking glances any moment they could without their friends noticing. An idiotic idea if Two-Bit were being honest with himself, because he just knew the moment her boyfriend noticed, Two would be as good as dead. But he didn’t stop, and neither did she.

He was just musing on this while sitting in the back of the drive in, when he heard some sort of commotion going on.

“CHERRY!” An angry voice shouted, “what the hell are you doing hanging around this ignorant piece of shit!?”

Two-Bit jumped up to see a drunk boy yelling at a pretty redhead, and across from the redhead? The youngest Curtis. Two raced over to Pony’s side in an instant.

“Is there a problem, Robert?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“You greasers don’t know where your damn place is. Opie Taylor here was moving in on my lady.”

“We were just talking,” Pony retorted. His face was cold, but Two knew him well enough to see how uncomfortable he was.

“you were just talking?” Bob looked over at Cherry. “Is that what that was?” He asked, as he made his way over to his girlfriend. “Cherry, get in the car.”

“How much have you had to drink?” Cherry asked quietly,

“Enough to know we’re done here.” He responded. Cherry shook her head and stepped back.

Two-Bit didn’t quite know why he kept on getting involved, but his mother had always taught him to treat women with the utmost respect, and seeing mr. prom king yell at that girl fired something up inside him. “It’s pretty clear the lady doesn’t want to ride with you… prom king,” he interjected with a laugh.

Bob stared at Two-Bit in disbelief. “You wanna fight? Just me and you? ” Bob challenged, taking off his pristine letterman jacket and handing it to his girlfriend without even glancing at her. His friends all started to gather around closer. “Man to man?”

Two-Bit wasn’t one to chicken out of a fight, and definitely not one with some soc who’s drunk out of his mind, but there was something nagging at the back of his brain knowing that Marcia was standing there, watching him. He couldn’t help but take a moment to consider what she’d think if he fought Bob. He remembered a few weeks back when she’d gotten into an awful fight with her boyfriend because he showed up to the drive-in all busted up. He could still hear her voice yelling that she didn’t want him to get into fights. Against his better judgment, he glanced over at her. She had done a double take when she saw that he was looking at her, and her hazel eyes were begging something from him. He snapped his gaze back down to where Bob had drawn a line in that gravel before he could give her a moment's more thought.

“Step up to the line, sugarbush,” Bob said. Two hesitated, but he heard those boys making fun of him, and Two-Bit Matthew’s had never been afraid of a fight. It didn’t matter what some pretty girl thought about it, she had a boyfriend, and she’d stay with that asshole no matter what he did. Two dropped his can of beer in Ponyboy's hands and raced towards Bob, but he stopped when he heard a loud interjection.

“Enough!!! I’m not going anywhere with anybody!!” Cherry yelled,

“Sherri Elaine Valance, get in the car!” Bob yelled, shocking Two-Bit. Calling his girlfriend by her full name? That was sure to help.

“Bob, we’re done,” Cherry said, throwing his letterman jacket at Bob's feet. There was a pause, palpable tension rising through the air.

“What do you mean we’re done? What does that even mean?” Bob protested,

“It means she’s done Bob!” Marcia yelled.

“Eat shit Marcia!” Bob retorted, and Two-Bit was feeling more ready than ever to put this motherfucker in his place.

“Stop it! Just stop! It’s over, ok Bob? This is over!” Cherry repeated. Bob just looked at her in shock.

“Did you just break up with me?” he asked in disbelief. “Is that what just happened? Cherry, get in the car. Now!” He moved towards her threateningly with a final dangerous plea. Cherry crossed her arms and planted her feet, and Two-Bit couldn't help but admire her stubbornness.

Bob looked at her for a last moment, before turning back around and coming at Two-Bit for a fight. Two just shoved him away, and he was close enough to see that alongside all the anger, there was heartbreak in Bob's eyes.

Marcia

“You’re fucking dead, loser!” Bob yelled at that kid, Ponyboy. Marcia wished she could move, but Trip had been holding her back the entire time, his arm snaking around the front of her waist. Bob was finally leaving, their friends started following suit. Other than, of course, Cherry. Marcia still couldn’t believe Cherry’d finally had the guts to break it off with Bob. She knew how much Cherry loved him, but she still couldn’t help but think that this was a long time coming. Trip grabbed Marcia’s hand and started dragging her behind him to follow their friends, snapping Marcia back to reality. She tore her hand out of his, stepping back. He stared at her for a moment, and she wondered if he’d have the nerve to start a fight. But maybe with the air of break ups flying around, he wasn’t in the mood to risk anything. He let her stay without a word. When Marcia turned away, Cherry was already making her way towards her. The two friends met, but Cherry's attention had turned on Ponyboy. She squeezed Marcias hand, then stepped away to go up to the boy. Marcia just stood there, stuck.

Cherry stayed over at Marcia’s house that night. At around 3am Marcia was sitting on her bed with Cherry, comforting the crying girl as best she could. Her mind wouldn’t stop going back to Two-Bit standing up for them. Well, certainly he was just helping out his friend, Ponyboy. But he’d helped Cherry as well, hadn’t he? She sighed. Why was that what she was worried about, when her boyfriend was probably mad at her, and he best friend was nursing a broken heart! Speaking of which, it seemed like Cherry had finally fallen asleep. Marcia lay her down, covering her with a blanket. Marcia stood up, her stomach in knots, and went down to the kitchen to make herself some tea. She had this feeling in her gut that something was wrong. She was proven right when she heard a frantic knock on her front door. She immediately ran to open it, confused and terrified about who could be at her house this time of the night. When she saw her boyfriend standing there, his face blank, it was like time stopped.

She remembered him choking out what had happened. She remembered falling to her knees in horror. She remembered Cherry coming downstairs, having been woken up by the commotion. She remembered watching her best friend's face as Trip told her what had happened. It was something she never wanted to relive- she’d never seen grief like this. The screaming through the sobs was a sound Marcia was sure would stick with her for the rest of her life. She remembered holding her best friend as even more waves and waves of tears wracked her body. Trip stayed for a while, sitting with his back against the front door just staring ahead of him, unable to process what had happened.

Something broke in all of them that night, Marcia thought. What do you do when a life is taken from you so soon, so quickly? He was only 17 years old. Marcia really hated him sometimes. The way he’d get drunk and get all the boys into trouble. His eyes had been like ice to Marcia, and he could be so rude. He used to try and get along with her, but eventually he gave up and either ignored her or was flat out mean. She knew he hadn’t deserved Cherry, but she also knew how much they loved each other. The way Cherry used to talk about him… and now he was gone. It didn’t matter that he could be so horrible, he shouldn’t have died. No one should die that young.

Trip eventually left, without saying a word. But Marcia sat there, holding Cherry until the sun rose.

#sorry they're getting way longer #also u don't wanna know how many times i watched the argument scene in the bootleg so I could get all the stage directions #and everything else exactly right #jean has thoughts #the outsiders musical #the outsiders broadway #the outsiders #marcia the outsiders #two bit × marcia #marbit #two bit mathews #trip the outsiders #bob sheldon #cherry valance

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apollosgiftofprophecy · 5 months ago

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The Copollogism Essays - Part 2: The Assassination Scene

Part 1 (The Tent) ~ Part 2 (The Assassination) ~ Part 3 (Lester's Reaction) ~ Part 4 (Leo's Questions/Seeing Commodus Again) ~ Part 5 (The Arena) ~ Part 6 (The Waystation) ~ Part 7 (The Yacht) ~ Part 8 (The Final Moment)

Analysis: Part 1 (Apollo and Commodus as Individuals) ~ Part 2 (Toxic Relationship?) ~ Part 3 (Codependent - Or Is It?) ~ Part 4 (Other Thoughts)

Oh ho ho ho. Here it is. The One You Have Been Waiting For.

A little personal background–

This was the scene that I remembered that made me pick the Trials of Apollo books back up last year.

It was this scene that brought me back into the fandom.

Everyone say thank you to this scene because it is a masterpiece and I sure damn well hope I do it justice.

Anyway. Let us begin~

I KNOW WHAT YOU are thinking. But, Apollo! You are divine! You cannot commit murder. Any death you cause is the will of the gods and entirely beyond reproach. It would be an honor if you killed me! I like the way you think, good reader. It’s true I had laid waste to whole cities with my fiery arrows. I had inflicted countless plagues upon humanity. Once Artemis and I slew a family of twelve because their mama said something bad about our mama. The nerve! None of that did I consider murder.

None of that, none of the deaths Apollo has caused, did he consider murder.

But Commodus’s he does.

This has always stuck out to me, even when I first read the books.

The praetorian prefect Laetus had pulled me aside only an hour ago: We failed at lunch. This is our last chance. We can take him, but only with your help. Marcia, Commodus’s mistress, had wept as she tugged at my arm. He will kill us all. He will destroy Rome. You know what must be done! They were right. I’d seen the list of names—the enemies real or imagined whom Commodus intended to execute tomorrow. Marcia and Laetus were at the top of the list, followed by senators, noblemen, and several priests in the temple of Apollo Sosianus.

Something that was pointed out by @amiti-art was how Apollo’s priests were set to be killed. This is baffling for a couple reasons: 1) Apollo is well known to deliver terrible punishments onto those who even treat his priests with disrespect (Agamemnon in The Iliad got a nice plague for his disrespect); and 2) Why would Commodus do this? Why would he specifically kill Apollo’s priests?

I suggested it could be a way to “get his attention” so to speak. Because remember, in Part 1, we know Apollo left after Marcus has died. And now, Commodus is deep into his paranoia and lashing out at everyone and everything he perceives as a threat.

Perhaps something triggered him to think the priests were some sort of threat, or maybe he’s so far in his delusions that he thinks he can have everything be “fixed” if he draws Apollo back to him. As we saw in Part 1, Commodus looked to Apollo first at the news of Marcus’s death— maybe even now, he’s trying to rebuild that bridge because everything’s falling apart.

If so…he did not think it through 😬 I mean… *eyes the plague Agamemnon got; Clytemnestra being killed by her own son for murdering Cassandra* yeah…things don’t end well for those who mess with the people in Apollo’s cult.

I pushed open the bronze doors of the emperor’s chambers. From the shadows, Commodus bellowed, “GO AWAY!” A bronze pitcher sailed past my head, slamming into the wall with such force it cracked the mosaic tiles. “Hello to you, too,” I said. “I never did like that fresco.”

*wheeze from alder* I get the feeling there was very casual banter in their relationship lol

Commodus knelt on the floor, clinging to the side of a sofa for support. In the opulence of the bedchamber with its silk curtains, gilded furniture, and colorfully frescoed walls, the emperor looked out of place—like a beggar pulled from some Suburra alley. His eyes were wild. His beard glistened with spittle. Vomit and blood spattered his plain white tunic, which wasn’t surprising considering his mistress and prefect had poisoned his wine at lunch.

This whole paragraph really gives you a glimpse into Commodus’s mindset, even if we don’t see his thoughts. He is quite literally at his wit’s end. His mistress and prefect have just tried to assassinate him. Everyone is against him. He is completely alone; no father, no lover.

Except Narcissus.

But if you could look past that, Commodus hadn’t changed much since he was eighteen, lounging in his campaign tent in the Danubian Forest. He was thirty-one now, but the years had barely touched him. To the horror of Rome’s fashionistas, he had grown his hair out long and had a shaggy beard to resemble his idol, Hercules. Otherwise he was the picture of manly Roman perfection. One might almost have thought he was an immortal god, as he so often claimed to be.

Not very important but short-haired teenaged Commodus canon 👍

Sike, this can be important because it is INTERESTING that Commodus deviates from the traditional Roman culture here. He grows his hair out, as well as a beard. Roman men didn’t typically do that.

But you know who does?

Greek men. Such as Heracles (which is why Commodus does so.)

I find this VERRRYYY interesting, especially paired with his relationship with Apollo. Because if you look at Commodus…he’s not very Roman, no? I’d say he’s more Greek-flavored than Roman.

Because here’s the deal: Besides the longer hair, Commodus (historically, at least) also liked to sing and dance. That was 100% accepted for men to do in Greece, but in Rome?

Rome had a very convoluted attitude towards singing and dancing. It was essentially “oh the upper class OBVIOUSLY can get SUPERB teachers for it, but if they're TOO GOOD AT IT they are NO BETTER THAN A WOMAN OR A SLAVE!!!!”

The kicker here is that the Greeks were typically slaves within Rome. They were regularly hired by the Roman elite to perform music and dances.

(Interesting how Apollo is their god, too.)

Out of all the Romans, out of the Roman elite…Apollo falls in love with the most Greek one he can find.

What’s even better is that Commodus continues the trend of ‘Apollo’s lovers are related to his domains’ because of music and dance.

That is what they bonded over. You bet Apollo made Commodus feel better over what he liked doing when the society he lived in looked down on it.

My poor, precious heart 🥲

“They tried to kill me,” he snarled. “I know it was them! I won’t die. I’ll show them all!” My heart ached to see him this way. Only yesterday, I’d been so hopeful. We’d practiced fighting techniques all afternoon. Strong and confident, he’d wrestled me to the ground and would have broken my neck if I’d been a regular mortal. After he let me up, we’d spent the rest of the day laughing and talking as we used to in the old days. Not that he knew my true identity, but still… disguised as Narcissus, I was sure I could restore the emperor’s good humor, eventually rekindle the embers of the glorious young man I’d once known. And yet this morning, he’d woken up more bloodthirsty and manic than ever.

Ouch. Owie. This hurts.

Time to discuss Apollo’s disguise now.

Narcissus, now, was a real person. But it appears in the RRverse, Narcissus was Apollo the whole time. And Apollo’s goal here was to, and I quote; “restore the emperor’s good humor [and] eventually rekindle the embers of the glorious young man I’d once known.”

Apollo initially disguised himself because he wanted to stop Commodus from going down his bloody, awful path. Apollo had been keeping such a close watch on what was happening that he knew things were getting bad enough to warrant his interference, with the hope of steering his former lover away from a dark fate.

*insert ‘I can fix him!’ meme here* ah, Apollo. If only you could RIP

Also wow, Commous wrestled Apollo— Apollo, who beat Ares in a wrestling match— to the ground? And would have broken his neck if he were mortal?

I’m guessing Apollo was holding back here, considering…well, considering the ending of this scene heh. But I doubt Apollo was a slouch even holding back, so Commodus is probably very good at hand-to-hand combat. Sheer brute force is exactly his style.

I approached cautiously, as if he were a wounded animal. “You won’t die from the poison. You’re much too strong for that.” “Exactly!” He pulled himself up on the couch, his knuckles white with effort. “I’ll feel better tomorrow, as soon as I behead those traitors!” “Perhaps it would be better to rest for a few days,” I suggested. “Take some time to recuperate and reflect.” “REFLECT?” He winced from the pain. “I don’t need to reflect, Narcissus. I will kill them and hire new advisors. You, perhaps? You want the job?”

It’s really telling how much Commodus trusts Apollo— that is to say, Narcissus— here.

It’s also telling how Apollo— his lover— is using his father’s words to get him to stop.

Marcus Aurelius’s advice is coming out of Apollo’s mouth, but Commodus has no idea; he does not know it’s Apollo telling him this.

Not until it’s too late, that is. When it’s revealed once and for all that he has no intention of stopping.

But it does make you wonder what Commodus would have done if he had known it was Apollo. Would the combined might of his father’s advice and his lover be enough to prevent him from killing more innocent people?

Or would it have only made things worse?

I did not know whether to laugh or cry. While Commodus concentrated on his beloved games, he turned the powers of state over to prefects and cronies… all of whom tended to have a very short life expectancy. “I’m just a personal trainer,” I said. “Who cares? I will make you a nobleman! You will rule Commodiana!” I flinched at the name. Outside the palace, no one accepted the emperor’s rechristening of Rome. The citizens refused to call themselves Commodians. The legions were furious that they were now known as Commodianae. Commodus’s crazy proclamations had been the final straw for his long-suffering advisors. “Please, Caesar,” I implored him. “A rest from the executions and the games. Time to heal. Time to consider the consequences.” He bared his teeth, his lips specked with blood. “Don’t you start too! You sound like my father. I’m done thinking about consequences!”

Apollo is once again putting on his Marcus Aurelius hat.

But once again…Commodus does not listen. He’s done listening to wise counsel. He’s done doing what other people have told him to do.

He’s emperor, after all.

Nobody can stop him. He’s blessed, after all. Who would even try?

My spirits collapsed. I knew what would happen in the coming days. Commodus would survive the poisoning. He would order a ruthless purge of his enemies. The city would be decorated with heads on pikes. Crucifixions would line the Via Appia. My priests would die. Half the senate would perish. Rome itself, the bastion of the Olympian gods, would be shaken to its core. And Commodus would still be assassinated…just a few weeks or months later, in some other fashion. I inclined my head in submission. “Of course, Caesar. May I draw you a bath?”

Read no further if you wish for a happy ending 😢

Commodus grunted assent. “I should get out of these filthy clothes.” As I often did for him after our workout sessions, I filled his great marble bath with steaming rose-scented water. I helped him out of his soiled tunic and eased him into the tub. For a moment, he relaxed and closed his eyes. I recalled how he looked sleeping beside me when we were teens. I remembered his easy laugh as we raced through the woods, and the way his face scrunched up adorably when I bounced grapes off his nose.

Their relationship was more carefree in nature. It was more teenager-esque, with Apollo even saying “when we were teens”, despite the fact he is merely a teen in body.

Even so…

I sponged away the spittle and blood from his beard. I gently washed his face. Then I closed my hands around his neck. “I’m sorry.” I pushed his head underwater and began to squeeze.

Apollo begins with gentleness. With cleaning him off. He doesn’t immediately kill him— perhaps to give both of them one last moment of peace.

But then that gentleness turns to murder.

Commodus was strong. Even in his weakened state, he thrashed and fought. I had to channel my godly might to keep him submerged, and in doing so, I must have revealed my true nature to him. He went still, his blue eyes wide with surprise and betrayal. He could not speak, but he mouthed the words: You. Blessed. Me.

Apollo is forced to reveal himself in all his glory— and in that moment, they are both aware of his betrayal. Commodus is floored by what he sees— by who he sees.

This isn’t merely his trainer who he has grown to trust.

This is his lover who he has loved for decades.

The lover who blessed and reassured him that everything would be fine.

But it’s not.

Apollo’s the one with the hands around his throat, and all Commodus can do is throw his promise back in his face: You. Blessed. Me.

*and this is the moment everyone knew: they started bawling*

Tissues, anyone?

The accusation forced a sob from my throat. The day his father died, I had promised Commodus: You will always have my blessings. Now I was ending his reign. I was interfering in mortal affairs—not just to save lives, or to save Rome, but because I could not stand to see my beautiful Commodus die by anyone else’s hands.

And even at the end, we can still see the toxicity that permeates their relationship.

Commodus took Apollo’s love and support for granted. He thought he could do anything he wished because he had the love and blessing of a god.

Apollo loved Commodus so much that he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else killing him. He could have kept his own hands clean of the kill, but he did not.

Because he wouldn’t be able to bear it to allow someone else to do the deed.

His last breath bubbled through the whiskers of his beard. I hunched over him, crying, my hands around his throat, until the bathwater cooled.

Even after Commodus is dead and gone, Apollo stays sitting there. Crying. He is utterly distraught by what he has done, and will continue to torment himself over it.

Perhaps even for eternity.

Britomartis was wrong. I didn’t fear water. I simply couldn’t look at the surface of any pool without imagining Commodus’s face, stung with betrayal, staring up at me.

That, my friends, is how you write an ending. That is how you write a tragic, doomed romance.

This is the deepest romance in all of Rick’s books. And we’ve only gotten through the flashback scenes.

We— and Rick— are merely getting warmed up.

#ramblings of an oracle #copollo #toa meta #toa analysis #the trials of apollo #trials of apollo #pjo apollo #toa apollo #toa commodos #apollodus #apollo x commodus #toa #pjo hoo toa

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harryhoney-bee · 11 months ago

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Recently I've been dealing with a lot of stress and anxiety. I was wondering if you could write something about what Harry would do to calm you down.

Peace

Summary: Y/n has bad anxiety, but knows Harry is always there for her

Warnings: mentions os anxiety

Word count: less than 1k

I literally do not know how to write anymore it's been 2 years so im sorry for any mistakes

He knew something was wrong the moment he stepped foot into their shared flat. Y/N was usually right by the door whenever she heard him coming from the hallway, but the only creature who greeted him as Harry entered their home was Chimichurri, the old and - kinda ugly - cat Y/N had adopted when discovered it was the smallest one in the litter.

The cat rubbed its tail against Harry’s ley, which was covered by the heavy snow pants the man was wearing. He had just come back from a long day at the studio and all he wanted was to cuddle with his wife.

Wife!

They got married a few months ago. It was a small ceremony, away from the public. Most people were even surprised it had happened so fast… They had been dating only a year before Harry put a rock - a rather big one- on Y/N’s finger. But what could they do?

When you know, you know.

Harry bent down, just enough to scratch the poor cat's ear. “Hey Chimi, where’s your mom, huh? She's sleeping?” Cat waited a few seconds as if the cat was going to respond. “I told you, when I’m gone you are the one responsible for keeping her well.”

The cat meowed in response, following Harry to the kitchen, where the purr ball knew he was going to get some treats. Harry opened the cabinet, took a package of Whiskas, and poured it into Chimichurri’s bowl. “Now you be a good boy and stay here while I go looking for mum, alright?”

Harry gave the cat a last glance before heading to their bed, where he expected to find his love. He could hear the faint sound of the TV on, and as he got closer he could identify the voices, it was Amy and Jake from Brooklyn 99.

He sighed. This was a bad sign, Y/N only watched the Tv show if she was sad.

Waiting for the worst, Harry opened the door, finding Y/N wrapped around blanks, an impassive expression on her face. She didn’t hear him as he got closer to her. “Hey beauty,” Harry kissed her cheeks, smiling as the girl looked up to him, cracking a small smile.

“I thought you were coming home later today,” Y/N whispered, feeling the prickling of his beard on her skin.

“Nah, couldn’t look at Mitch’s face anymore,” Harry joked. He carefully held her chin, making the girl while caressing her cheekbone with his thumb. “What happened, what got you down?”

Y/N's face initially showed surprise; she thought she had concealed at least a bit of her mental state, but she clearly forgot how well Harry could read her. She got closer to Harry, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him down. The couple laid on the bed, Y/N’s cheeks pressed to Harry's heart, hearing it beat. “I’m not well, H.”

‘I know you aren't, angel,” He turned his face down, looking at her eyes. “Tell me what it is and I’ll fix it, you know I will.!

“I don’t think you can this time,” she whispered

Y/N battled with anxiety for a long time, something she would get so caught up in her head and now one could take her away from her thoughts. Harry was aware that the only person who could get Y/N better was herself, but he also knew how important his help was.

“Did you schedule with Marcia yet?” Harry asked.

“No, could you? Please?” she asked with a small voice.

“Of course, love.” Marcia was Y/N’s therapist, it’s been some weeks since Y/N last saw her for an appointment, and it was time for another. Harry quickly got his phone, messaging Marcia’s receptionist. The room was quiet, only the sounds of Harry’s phone could be heard.

“Done,” he said, kissing Y/N lightly on the lips. “Wanna talk about it?”

She took his hand, playing with his rings. “No, not right now…Maybe later?” She said uncertainly.

Harry just nodded, kissing her forehead this time. “You know I'm here whenever you need me.”

“You are always here,” She whispered, “It gives me peace.”

“Knowing I’m here?” He whispered back.

“Yes.”

They fell asleep just like that, cuddling each other as Jake said something that made Amy laugh.

The next morning came by as a hope offering.

Y/N was still asleep when Harry placed a plate full of chocolate pancakes in front of her. “Wha-What is that?” Y/N asked lazily, rubbing her eye off sleepiness.

“A sweet breakfast in bed for my sweet girl,” Harry responded, caressing Y/N's cheeks. “I know yesterday was not a good day for you, and I don’t know how today is gonna come by, but I’m here to make sure it all comes around ok.”

Y/N smiled as she quickly ate her pancakes, stealing kisses from Harry as he watched her happy, warmth in his chest whenever she looked at him.

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb

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hughiecampbelle · 2 years ago

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Being the Smartest Roy Would Include:

A/N: Loosely based off this Peaky Blinders headcanon I wrote ages ago. I love writing baby Roy!Sibling :)

Logan takes all the credit, of course

You were smart even as a baby

You playing consisted of matching colors and shapes, counting, naming all the right animals. You were speaking and walking and talking at such early rates, too. It was impossible not to notice or compare to your siblings

Your mother, the woman between Caroline and Marcia, brought you to doctors, unsure of what to do. Of course, they'd have to wait for you to get older to test your IQ, but there was a lot of good news. You were excelling at a rapid rate

You were given tutors young since you surpassed your peers with the smallest bit of effort. You were bored in your classes with your peers, so much so that you skipped a few grades a few times. By the time you were 8 you were already in a 5th grade class, 13 by the time you graduate High School . You were graduated from an Ivy League by the time you're 18 years old

Kendall was more than happy helping you with your homework, even if it was mostly pretend help with silly questions you got wrong on purpose

"Does that make sense?"

"Yup, thank you Ken."

His smile made it all worth it - even if you had to erase and fix his work after he left

Your language tutors taught you Mandarin, French, Italian, German, Spanish, and Russian. Languages are your favorite thing to learn. Your father is very proud when you can talk to investors, no matter how young you are, in their mother tongue

You like teaching your siblings as well

Shiv listens to you, go on and on about the different cases and grammar, and fun words you can teach her even if she's only half listening

"Do you wanna know how to say cat?"

"Sure."

"Gatta."

"Cool."

Despite your sister's tone, she really was proud of you. You worked hard, and you deserved all this recognition. Besides, you're something of a secret weapon for the family

Roman uses you as his own personal Siri. He asks you things you know, things he thinks you should know, any genius should know

"The meaning of life is complicated. . ."

"What good are you?"

Connor is in awe of you. He never really had the focus for school. It was never his thing, but you amaze him. He'd been reading to you since you were a baby. At first those playful baby books, but as you grew, the books got thicker and thicker until you wanted him to read War and Peace. He eventually had to give up, letting you read it on your own

"How many pages do you have left?"

"300. I'll be finished in an hour."

The older you grow, the more you realize your intelligence has saved you from your fathers wrath, especially when you compare your childhoods. You were never hit or slapped, Logan always treated you like an equal, or at least as close to an equal as he could manage. That created some issues in itself. . .

You were seven and already aware of the amount of money your father had, was making and losing, etc. Poor deals would keep you up at night, worried you'd lose everything and your father would blame you. Gently, you'd have to tell him not to take it, not wanting to make him mad. It was too much stress for a child

Connor tried his best to let you have a childhood. He took you and the rest camping, to the park, the playground. He took you out for ice cream on the weekend and played with real toys, not the educational kind, between classes and tutors. You could turn off your brain with him and just be a kid. It wasn't often that you got to

Being the youngest and the smartest creates some rifts between you and your brothers and sister

You know Kendall is named successor, but you have an awful feeling your father will take it back and give the title to you

You didn't want to run the company, you'd had too much say in it already. You were practically your fathers advisor from the time you were six. If anything, when he retired, you wanted to retire too

You wouldn't dare tell Logan this, of course

He'd call you lazy, stupid, question your intelligence and drive. That was your worst fear, was letting him down, like the rest of your siblings

You fear the only reason he even stands you is because of your mind, your brain, that if you had been born with an average intelligence he would want nothing to do with you

One night you ask your sister this, who tries her best to gently let you down

"Just be grateful you're as smart as you are, okay?"

Roman calls has you as "Baby Genius" in his phone

He has been working your entire life to make as many jokes as possible about your intelligence. You never get tired of them though, instead coming up with comebacks just as quickly

"Give it a break, Poindexter."

"At least I'm capable of chewing gum and walking at the same time, idiot."

He treats you like a person, which is all you've ever wanted. You never wanted special attention or treatment because you're so smart, you just want to be treated like normal

Your father, of course, wouldn't dare. He doesn't want to waste your time, your intelligence. You were born this way for a reason, and he will not put it to waste. He expects more from you

It's exhausting. Not just because your brain never stops, it's always working and worrying and overthinking, but also for the way you're expected to be and act and live from your parents

You're basically your mothers show dog - do some math problems, say something smart, get a treat, and then go back to your crate

Both your parents think your siblings are a bad influence on you

"Y/n, stop fooling around!"

"We were just laughing. . . "

"Well stop it."

Tom is constantly trying to one-up you, but you're just too smart. Not only with math and literature and languages, but art, music, politics, etc. When he talks stupid you can't help but correct him

Cousin Greg is constantly giving you math problems to do on the spot, which he then checks with a calculator to be sure

"What's the square root on 945,678?

"972.45976."

You never have problems with forgetting anything because you also have a photographic memory. This works both in your favor and not. You remember anniversaries, birthdays, things people have said in passing, but you're also forced to relive every time Kendall has gone off script and every time your father has lashed out

You'll never forget the last words your father ever said to you, about how much you wasted your potential, that you were a failure like the rest of them, that he was embarrassed for you and about you. He never should have praised you as much as you did

All you said was that you thought he should leave Waystar to Ken, Shiv, and Rome, that you would be done when he was. You figured you'd get it over with before he made any decisions, not wanting to be left in charge. Of course you had no idea that was the last conversation you'd ever have

On that paper they found, it had been your name instead of Kendall's, underlined at first, crossed out in the end. You have to reassure your siblings that you knew nothing about this, that you told him you didn't want the company. They still don't fully believe you . . .

Being as smart as you are comes with perks of course, but overall it causes a lot of pain. You're not as close to your siblings because they think you're your father's favorite. You try though, you try to keep up the relationships, to be close to them

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wambsgansshoelaces · 1 year ago

Text

Something Sweet; Chapter 2

Kendall Roy x Reader

a/n: let me know your thoughts! any favorite parts yet? please enjoy!

word count: 2,289

You inhale and hold your breath, gripping a piping bag tightly. Precision is what you were hailed for in pastry school, and nothing has changed since then.

You’d made the graham cracker crumble from scratch and after oiling the pan the pie would bake in, you shaped the crust yourself, packing the crumble into the pan. You like baking the crust on its own and keeping the filling cool- you think it gives pie personality. It makes it memorable.

You’ve baked the crust and filled the pie- now you need to top it. Using the bag in your hands, you carefully pipe swirls of whipped cream on top of the set filling. You cut thin slices of lime to twist and stick in each swirl. After what seems like an eternity of holding your breath, you step away from your workspace. It’s perfect.

You wipe your hands on your apron before asking a kitchen maid where the dishes and silverware are. She offers to take them out for you, and you gladly accept. You take a breath, pick up your pie, and enter the dining room.

Logan is much more imposing in person than on TV. Even though he’s seated, he finds a way to look down his nose at you. Marcia sits at his side and gives you an encouraging smile that you return.

You deftly cut up the pie and softly thank the same servant from before as she helps serve Logan and Marcia.

Scrutiny of your work wasn’t new to you. It’s apart of your job, clearly, and you’re are past the point of taking things personally.

Marcia looks pleasantly surprised, eating her slice relatively quickly. Logan does, unsettlingly, the opposite. He chews for a while, taking tiny bites. He slowly finishes his slice, you awkwardly standing there watching.

You smile, self-satisfied, as he serves himself another slice.

જ⁀➴

After you gather your things, you and Marcia take some time to negotiate the Christmas dinner.

“You can do cakes, right? More pies?”

“Of course I can, Mrs. Roy. Don’t be discouraged if I don’t have something on my menu that you want me to do for the dinner.”

She walks you to the elevator, her heels clicking on the marble flooring. “I’ll write a sample menu up and have someone bring it by no later than tomorrow. Your baking really is lovely. Kendall is waiting for you downstairs.”

Before you leave, you ask for the bathroom. It was now four in the afternoon, and you and Kendall had agreed that you’d go out for an early dinner right after you were done. You change into the fanciest outfit you could find in your closet, fixing your face and hair in the mirror before heading back downstairs.

He’s waiting for you in the lobby.

Kendall looks more put together than he did before. You assume the high has worn off- there’s a look of clarity in his eyes that wasn’t there this morning. “You look nice,” he says, getting up from his seat.

He’s dressed finely- a crisp, gray suit and polished black dress shoes. His tie matches his shoes and is set in place with a steel tie clip.

“So do you. You clean up nice.”

Kendall smiles softly, takes your tote from you, and slings it over his shoulder. “How’d it go?”

“I think he ate half of the entire thing by the time I left.”

“Good for you. I told you you’d be fine.” He hands off your bag to the driver and ushers you into the back seat of the car, climbing in after you. “Does that mean you’ll be spending Christmas with us?”

You glance out the window as the car starts to move. “I’m not actually sure. I know I’m going to be bringing things in that day, but I don’t think I’m going to eat there.”

“Why not?”

You turn back to look at him. For a moment, you just stare at each other. “What do you mean, ‘why not’? I’m the caterer, not the pope.” He says nothing back. “Where are we going, anyway?”

Kendall averts his gaze from you. “A nice restaurant I think you’ll enjoy.”

You two spend the rest of the ride in a comfortable silence. Every so often, you notice Kendall glance towards you, like he’s worried you’re not actually there. And, being honest, you catch yourself sneaking looks at him.

When you make it, it’s half-dark outside and the restaurants and sidewalks are lit up with fairy lights and strewn with decorations for the holidays. Kendall offers you his arm, which you take.

He takes you into the fanciest place on the street. Skylights and open-air seating are littered throughout the restaurant, crystal chandeliers hanging from the high arched ceilings and small candles sitting on every table.

The hostess doesn’t even ask him for his name when she sees you both and takes you into a secluded corner of the restaurant. It’s dimly lit, and your table sits next to a ceiling-to-floor window permitting a gorgeous view of the other side of the city.

“Kendall,” is all you can say as menus are set in front of you and the hostess leaves you to look it over.

“I’m not going to hear it. I brought you here because I wanted to, okay?” He looks at you over his menu and nudges your leg with his. “Should we order wine?”

“I’m not much of a drinker.”

“More for me, then. I’ll order you a Shirley Temple,” he says teasingly.

“I don’t know what you mean. Shirleys are fucking great.” You both chuckle lightly at each other. “There’s so much to pick from.” You leaf through the menu, poring over the entrées. Obviously, almost everything costs an arm and a leg, but you are prepared to pay for and enjoy yourself.

“What’re you liking?” Kendall asks you idly. “Everything’s good here. You can’t go wrong.”

You’re craving wings, but you don’t want to deal with the mess, and while a plain Caesar salad is always good, you knew you’d need more to eat than that. You eventually settle on a plate of shrimp and steak tacos that Kendall said was too spicy for him and put your menu down to study the man across from you.

Kendall Roy is hot, you decide. His hair sits neatly on his head, feathering a bit over his forehead. His eyelashes are long and wispy and you almost want to ask him how he gets them that way. They flutter each time he blinks, and shift mechanically when he looks up at you.

“So why did you take me out, then?” you ask, propping your head on your hand.

He doesn’t answer, instead flagging down a waiter and ordering for the both of you. You sit, twirling your straw in your Shirley Temple. “Well?” you prod, watching him shift in his chair.

“I don’t get what you mean,” Kendall says, avoiding your gaze.

“Yeah, you do.” You nudge his leg with your foot. “You didn’t take me out because you owe me, but because you want to. Your words, so… elaborate.”

You don’t really know what you want him to say, but you know you want him to be thinking about you the way you’ve been thinking about him while sitting in this restaurant.

“Can I be honest?” Kendall asks, louder than his usual decibel. His eyes finally meet yours.

“I’d hope you always were.”

“In the beginning, it was because I thought I owed you. It’s not that, anymore. You’re pretty, and I like being around you, which kind of scares me, really. You don’t make me feel shitty, which, granted, is the bare minimum, but…” He trails off, looking into his glass of wine. “I… I’m sorry. I said too much.”

You think he’s said just enough. “Kendall, there’s nothing to be sorry about. You’re allowed to feel how you feel.” You’re looking at him, and he’s avoiding your gaze again.

“I like you. But I liked you too quickly.”

He’s honest, you’ll give him that.

“What do you want to do, then?”

Kendall finally looks back up at you. “I want to keep seeing you,” he says firmly. “Um, only if you want to.” His eyes flicker away from yours, trying to look away, but he forces himself to look back at you.

“That’d be nice,” you say truthfully. You both don’t say anything until your food is sitting in front of you. “You don’t strike me as a steak guy.”

Kendall laughs lightly and looks up at you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Steak’s just.. so not you.”

“I mean, you’re right, but how do you know that?”

“It’s my thing, Kenny.” You both start eating, the chatter flowing freely now. “You said these were spicy.”

“Because they are.” He looks at you incredulously. “But then again, I’m not exactly.. spice tolerant.”

You laugh. “You can’t handle spice? It makes sense.”

“That’s not very kind of you,” he teases. “And what, you can take it like a champ?”

“Yes, I can, Kendall.” You continue to eat. “You know the pain from spice isn’t actually real? Nothing actually happens to you if you eat something spicy.”

“Tell that to my immune system.” He scoffs and continues to cut up his steak. “Can we take the conversation away from my inability to digest sriracha?”

You take a sip of your Shirley and fix your gaze on him. “Okay. What’s your favorite color?”

Kendall doesn’t say anything for a moment, chewing. “Don’t have one. Next.”

“We can’t just gloss over that!”

“Why not?”

“You don’t have a favorite color?”

“Why would I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“It’s not something that’s crossed my mind, ever.”

“Not even as a kid?” As you’ve been speaking, your legs tangled with his under the table. “Come on. You don’t look at any color and go, ‘that’s serotonin inducing’, or whatever it is that you’d say?”

He scoffs. “I don’t talk like that. And no, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do talk like that. And we have to change that. How do you get someone to pick a favorite colors?”

“Don’t even ask.” Kendall shrugs his suit jacket off, hanging it off the back of his chair. “What’s your favorite color, then?”

“I’m not telling until you tell me yours.”

He laughs. “You’re a piece of work.”

You both finish off your plates when he asks, “Are you feeling dessert?” to which you respond with “Always.”

You both share a thick slice of German chocolate cake, which you learn is his favorite. “My mother made it when she and my dad were still together. Granted, she’s English, so it’s probably not authentic, but I miss it.”

You steal a cherry from his side of the plate. “I promise you mine’s better.”

“You can’t just say that.” He nabs a cherry from your side in return.

“Of course I can.”

“You’ll have to prove your word, then,” Kendall says, leaning back in his chair.

“We should make a day of it,” you suggest. “I’ll teach you to make it.”

With the plate empty between you, he crosses his arms over himself. “I’m going to burn your bakery down if we do that.”

“I’m sure a little manual labor won’t kill you, Kendall. No need to threaten me.”

“What? No, I’m not an asshole, Y/N. I mean I’m a safety hazard in the kitchen.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” you say after he asks for the check. “Besides, I’ll be there. You’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” he mutters. The waiter comes back with the check, and you fish out our wallet. “What’re you doing? Put that away.”

“I can pay for my-“

“No, you won’t. Absolutely not.”

“No, rea-“

“No.”

“Please?”

“You’ll have to fucking kill me before I let you pay for anything when I’m around.”

Kendall slides his card into the checkbook, writing out an outrageous tip, and hands it to the waiter before you can continue to protest.

“Then let me pay you back,” you insist.

“If you ever try paying me back, I’ll genuinely pretend like you’re trying to kill me and call the cops.” He gets his card back and gets up. “Come on. Let me take you home. I had someone leave a car.”

Kendall offers you his hand, and you take it.

“What, did you make the driver walk home?” you ask jokingly, the chilled air hitting you like an anvil. He opens the passenger seat for you and drops his suit jacket in the backseat. He gets in the drivers side and starts the engine.

“Are you working tomorrow?” Kendall asks as you wind through the streets.

“Yeah, I have to. I closed the shop today, I need to earn back the profit.” You sigh. You’d probably wake up early and bust your ass on some fancy French pastry to stick in your displays. They’d sell out within your first hour open.

He pulls into your driveway, puts the car in park, and sighs lightly. “I had a good time tonight,” Kendall says softly.

“I did, too.” You look over at him to find he’s already facing you. You stare at each other for a moment that feels like an eternity.

“I’ll walk you to the door.”

You’re now both standing on your porch, stealing glances at each other.

“I’ll text you.” When the words come from his mouth, they sound more like a question than a statement. You nod. You’d like that. Abruptly, he turns on his heel and says, “Good night.”

Before he can move, you catch his arm, stretch onto your toes, and give him a kiss on the lips.

“Good night, Kendall.”

#succession #succession hbo #kendall roy x you #kendall roy x reader #kendall roy #succession x reader #succession fic #succession fic writer #something sweet #wambsgansshoelaces

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astayinwonderland · 1 year ago

Text

Silk and Fire - Chapter 3

pairing: namjoon x f.reader x jungkook

genre: romance | drama | smut +18 MDNI

status: ongoing

word count: 2.1k

You can read about this story and other chapters here.

warnings: mentions of sexual activity, masturbation, cheating, a little angst (lmk if I missed anything)

You go about your day as usual. Why wouldn’t you? Oh right... You had a dream in which Jungkook fingered you until you were a babbling mess about to cum. If that was not enough, in your dream, Namjoon was sleeping in your shared room while his friend made you moan and squirm under his touch. But that was it... it was a dream. You need to get over it so you stay busy.

Big breakfasts were not your go-to thing every morning. However, today it needed to be. You blast music on your speakers as you cook and eat, your phone facing down somewhere in the living room, Jungkook’s follower request is still there. It’s already too late for an elaborate outfit to go to work, so you just put on your nice jeans, a pale pink blouse, and your comfy work flats.

Luckily for you, the day runs by with lots of things to tend to. Meeting after meeting, a full inbox, chitchat with coworkers. Great!

“Hey, there’s someone here to see you,” Marcia interrupts your typing. You like Marcia. She is the best assistant one could have. Attentive, caring, amazing in what she does, and a true confidant and friend.

“Huh? My next meeting is not until 3:30, I was about to take my lunch break. Is Mrs. Tang early?” you start fixing your makeup. No matter if you already met a client, you always double-check your makeup before a meeting.

“Um... no, this is not Mrs. Tang. It’s a Mr. Jeon?” she raises her eyebrows, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

Walking in what appears to be slow-motion, there he is, Jeon Jungkook. Hoseok was completely right, he does like making a big entrance. He dresses in a casual black t-shirt with ripped jeans, glasses, and a messy hairstyle that gives him a look to die for.

“Thank you, Marcia, you are so attentive,” he smiles at her. Marcia is a giggling mess, especially when Jungkook opens and closes the door for her, making direct eye contact.

What the actual fuck?

“Wh-wha-what are you doing here? Wh-why? No,” you say standing up. He scans you up and down taking his time.

“This is not... you can’t just barge in, there is a procedure and why are you here?” your tone getting more and more guttural in annoyance.

“I am here to take you to lunch.”

Fuck.

_________________________________________

This was certainly not the plan. You were supposed to be here with Namjoon, the reservation was made for two, that plus one being your boyfriend not Jungkook. It seems almost funny how Namjoon couldn’t make it and you would have known this earlier if you didn’t keep your phone buried in your desk drawer specifically to avoid thinking about Jungkook’s follower request or any flashbacks of that very explicit sex dream. Now you are being walked to your table with the same man you’ve been trying to keep off your mind.

“Here are your menus. A waiter will be with you shortly,” the host smiles and leaves you alone with Jungkook. The air suddenly feels too heavy and you fight the urge to run away.

“Namjoon was really bummed he couldn’t make it, that’s all he whined about in the group chat. I just took the liberty to step in and get to know you better,” he takes a sip of his water.

You slowly nod and have some water as well, your eyes glued to the menu.

“Hello, my name is Tiffany, may I get you started with some drinks?” the waitress interrupts. She is beautiful. Gorgeous long, black, hair, full lips and breasts, her brown skin smooth, and a smile that could certainly get her anything she wanted.

“I’ll have your strongest cocktail, thank you,” you blurt out.

Jungkook can’t help but laugh, his eyes on you. You are waiting for him to flirt with pretty Tiffany, but that moment never comes. He orders whiskey instead. Neat.

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” you start, but Jungkook waves his hands dismissively.

“I wanted to see you,” and with that simple sentence you feel your heart beat faster, your hands sweaty, and let’s be honest, your cunt needy. “I– know you saw something the other night...”

“I didn't see anything,” you lie.

He smirks. He better stop doing that or you’re going to lose it. Thankfully, now your drinks are here and you chug half of it in an attempt to make the lunch less awkward. Tiffany hands Jungkook his drink, their hands slightly touching. You see her walk away, waiting for Jungkook to follow her with his eyes, but he never does. Once again those doe eyes are on you, he looks at your lips as he drinks his whiskey, shameless.

“I was hoping we could break the awkwardness now that we are alone... tell me, did you like what you saw?”

You’re shocked. What is he trying to do? You ignored his comment and called Tiffany who kindly took your order. The faster you eat, the faster you get out of there, but at this point, you were getting annoyed, annoyed by Jungkook’s audacity.

“You are missing your chance there, you know,” for the first time today, you look at him in the eye. “She is really pretty, and your type, right? Pretty waitresses?”

Jungkook almost spits his drink after your bold observation. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans closer to you, the table acting as a barrier between your bodies.

“My type is sitting right in front of me,” he whispers. “Oh please... stop that. What are you trying to do? I’m with Namjoon, did you forget that?” “Yeah, and where is he now?”

This is it. You stand up and grab your purse. Anger blinded you as your legs took you as far away from him as possible. You were angry with Jungkook, but you were even angrier at yourself because he was right. Where the fuck was Namjoon? He does this often, he promises he’ll be there but then something comes up. You miss him.

Jungkook runs after you.

“Please, don’t go I'm sorry! I’m sorry.”

You are already about the leave the restaurant.

“What is it Jungkook? Leave me alone!”

“I’m just trying to– shit, I don’t know...”

“Just go and fuck the waitress, would you?” you snap walking out, but he follows you and grabs your arm.

“I fucked her because I couldn’t fuck you!” he yells. Frustration in his eyes, you can see how his chest seems even bigger and his breathing gets heavier.

Your heart stops.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell,” he runs his fingers through his hair as he closes the distance between the two of you.

There’s an unspoken apology, an understanding that just comes by looking into each other’s eyes. You don’t know why but there is something pulling you towards Jungkook, like you need

him. A battle between the brain, the heart, and raw desire. Your hand lands on his arm and your lips slowly come closer to his face. Jungkook turns his face, wanting to capture your lips on his, but he fails, your objective met to give him an apologetic, chaste, kiss on his cheek.

You linger too close to his lips, the faint scent of whiskey mixed with his own signature scent intoxicating your body and soul. Both your lips almost grasing you can almost taste him.

“I should go,” and betraying how much your body wanted to kiss him, you pulled yourself away from him and stormed down the street.

Jungkook watches you leave, wishing he could run after you once more and kiss you senseless. Fucking hell, how bad he wanted to kiss you, make you forget you were spoken for... his fingers wanting to touch you, his eyes wanting to see you melt for him, his ears wanting you to beg for him. How perfect must your lips feel on his, how perfect you must taste. Why Namjoon? Of course, he understood why Namjoon. But still... why?

Betraying your sense of righteousness, you look over your shoulder to see Jungkook’s face light up, his chest inflating with hope, just to deflate with dismay as you continue to walk away from him. ______________________________

When Namjoon gets home you are already in bed, begging for the sleeping pills in your system to work. He gets into bed his body craving yours.

“Babe, I’m sorry I’m so late, sorry I couldn’t be with you today,” he whispers as he kisses your temple, then your shoulder. “Let me make it up to you...” he waits for an answer but you don’t give him one. “Please...”

“No worries, babe,” you finally say, but you don’t truly mean it. However, you still give him a peck on the lips. Namjoon is an understanding man, so he gets that you are not in the mood.

Maybe you should have taken another melatonin pill. The soft buzz of your phone wakes you up. Unknown number. You always answered these no matter what, you feared it was an emergency.

“Hello?” you croak, your voice raspy, half of you still asleep. “I want you to walk to the bathroom, and close the door behind you.” Jungkook.

“Wh–what?”

“Baby... do as you are told, you don’t wanna wake him up,” he coos.

In what appears to be a trance, you obey, making your way to the bathroom, a few feet from where Namjoon lies fast asleep. You lock the door behind you, the only source of light being your phone and the city lights that creep on the window.

“You’re in?” “Yes...” you await for his next instruction, nervous. Tempted.

“Turn on the shower, I don’t want anyone else to listen to our after-hour conversation,” and he waits until he listens to the background noise of water running.

“Good... Now I want you to touch yourself,” he starts, eliciting a gasp from your lips. “Sit and spread those gorgeous legs, for me baby.”

You sit on the closed toilet seat and you open your legs. His voice gives forbidden commands that your body just does naturally like you are under his spell, but you don’t want to break it.

“Are you wearing any underwear?” “N-no...”

“Just how I like it, I knew you would be ready for me,” his chuckles audible from the other side of the phone. “I’m going to guide you through this, okay? You are not allowed to do anything if I don’t command it. Got it, darling?”

“Yes.”

“Pinch your nipples for me. I bet they’re already hard...”

You are possessed by the way his voice makes you twist with pleasure in the darkness. Your moans are forced to be kept to the minimum as he teases you.

“You have no idea how much I want to touch you, my hands teasing one of your breasts and I flick your nipple with my tongue. Would you like that, baby?”

“Y-yes, please,” you can’t help it.

“Use only one finger, but don’t put it in yet. Rub it up and down your folds, tell me, how wet are you?

“Mmmhhh... very wet, I’m wet.”

“Good. I want you to cum for me through the phone, would you do that for me?”

No answer. You are lost in pleasure as you tease yourself, rubbing just as he said.

“Already too pleasure-drunk to speak? Get one finger in... deep. In and out, baby, pound that pussy really good for me,” his breath hitching as he fists his cock on the other side of the phone.

“Ah– ah– fuck...” your little moans fuel him to get to his release as you are close as well and the palm of your hand hits your clit again and again.

“Yes, baby, just like that... are you feeling good?” “Y-yes. Good.”

Your middle finger soaked in your juices now quickens the pace, the sound of your wetness masked by the shower running beside you. It seems like there is no other place you rather be than here, fucking yourself as he orders you to. Blinded by desire, submissive to his spell. You are close, right there with him, as his voice encourages you to finish.

“C’mon, baby, cum... cum... please, I need you to cum,” and you can hear in his voice he is waiting for you to give in to his orgasm.

With a muffled cry, you give in, the tension in you shattering into a million pieces, the ecstasy of your climax engulfing you into a blanket of bliss. Jungkook curses under his breath. Fuck. This was hot. You can’t think straight, you can’t process what just happened.

“You did so well... y-you did s-so good,”; a fucked-out Jungkook says.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

A knock on the bathroom door.

“Babe, is everything alright?” Namjoon.

“Goodnight, baby... See you tomorrow.”

The call ends.

--------------------------------------

a/n: this is pure ✨fiction✨ updates will be every Monday(: ... lmk if you would like to be tagged (;

tags: @paramedicnerd004 | @darkuni63 |

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts hard thoughts #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #namkook #astayinwonderland

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eyeslikewatercoolers · 5 months ago

Note

would u do either “calloused palm against soft cheek” or “six missed calls” for anarcia 🙏🙏 (OR BOTH?)

I've been thinking a LOT about this one anarcia fic I found on wattpad about princess Marcia and commoner Anetra in a medieval setting. So here's my little rendition of an Anarcia medieval au (with some alchemy/magic)

Marcia tightened the strings of her cloak as she stepped into the smelter's shop. She heard the fire from the smelter and a hammer hitting the iron into horseshoes. It was loud, dark, and smokey inside.

These men could care less that she was the princess from a far-off land set to marry their king. But she couldn't risk anyone seeing her.

Marcia walked up to the large man in the corner of the room, who sat at a desk with inventory scrolls. Before she said anything, the man looked up at her.

"She sent Georgie about six times yesterday, you know," He said as he continued writing.

Marcia nodded solemnly, remembering the duck following her through her line of ladies in waiting. She couldn't give the familiar any attention, the castle staff would start to question her.

"Can I see her?" she asked, looking where the door was supposed to be. To most, it was a plain black wall. But Marcia could see the faint silver outline of the door.

The section of the door turned sideways and a figure with long dark hair peaked out. "Thank you, Father. She can come in," Anetra said plainly as she returned to her chambers.

The wall turned back as Marcia stepped through. Georgie gave her some welcoming quacks from his small pool as she took off her cloak. She held it awkwardly as Anetra went back to her desk.

Marcia stepped quietly to see what Anetra was working on. There were glass beakers with different ingredients, some smoking and some freezing.

Anetra didn't look up from the mixtures, "The general store is out of flax flowers," She said as she stirred a blue liquid with a slight shimmer. "Can you help me?"

Anetra finally looked at her, her eyes slightly pleading. Marcia hadn't done much magic since moving into the castle. Only when others wouldn't notice, like perking up flowers or fixing a loose chair.

She had to be careful, this kingdom did not take to outsiders very well. Her old kingdom thrived on magic and alchemy, but they were small and poor. Her parents sending her off for marriage was their only option.

Marcia stared back at her, unsure what to do. She felt her magic weakening day by day, using it less.

"It's okay, this is a safe place," Anetra held Marcia's check in her hand, encouraging her. She felt the callous on Anetra's palm against her soft cheek but wanted to melt into the touch.

Marcia held out her hand and concentrated. It took a minute, but a small blue flower grew from her palm. She deeply missed practicing magic, reminding her of her home village and family.

Anetra kissed her cheek, "Thank you, my love," she said as she plucked the flower from her hand.

Marcia sat and watched Anetra work on the concoction. She mixed and stirred, eventually pouring the mixture into a glass bottle. It was a deep purple, with a slight yellow shimmer.

"Drink this," Anetra handed her the bottle, and Marcia gave her a puzzling look, "Trust me, it will help you," sincerely.

Marcia sipped on the liquid, but it tasted awful. She finished it with a soured face. Within a minute, she felt lighter and her soul felt brighter. It was like how she felt in her old kingdom when magic was in abundance and she could freely practice her craft.

Marcia smiled, "How long will this last?" she asked.

"Sasha said about half a moon cycle, at least," Anetra explained. She handed Marcia the letter from her friend who lived deep in the woods.

That would end right about the time of the wedding, seeming like it would give her enough time to plan an escape with Anetra. She knew Anetra hated this village, feeling like an outsider in her own birthplace.

Marcia heard the church bells outside, signaling it was the top of the hour, "I must be going, I'll come back after the Queen's tea tomorrow, I promise," She tied her cloak around her neck and searched for the door.

"Think about it, okay?" Anetra said as the wall turned. "We can be free together, in your home kingdom," she nearly pleaded.

Marcia looked across the shop, "But I promised my family..." she trailed off.

"They would hate to see you losing your magic," Anetra pointed out.

Marcia could not argue with that, knowing that was the truth, "I must be going, goodbye Anetra." she quickly moved through the shop as the wall turned back around.

But Marcia's head was filled with thoughts of her and her lover practicing their crafts freely, living in a place that would never shun them.

#anarcia #my writing #my drabbles #asks

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mxpseudonym · 1 year ago

Text

Even if it's your fault, I'll fix it

alt title: Luca is a messy bitch who lives for drama and Blossom's happiness

Pairing: Luca Changretta x Blossom OC

Summary: When he finds out Blossom has been surpressing her firey ways in the name of love, Luca makes sure to let Blossom know she never has to hold back.

Length: 6778 (but it goes by fast)

Warnings: None

A/N: This is a real story-length addition to the Luca x Blossom unofficial series! I enjoyed writing this and am so happy to finally share it after weeks of ironing it out. Enjoy!

.:.

She loved Luca Changretta.

She was in love with Luca Changretta.

If she didn’t know it before, somehow, she knew it now. In the little alley outside of Luca’s cousin’s home in Brooklyn, she leaned against the brick apartment building, looking up at the clotheslines that went from window to window.

It was warm enough and breezy. If she leaned to the right a bit, she could see the open window and balcony of the apartment 5 floors up that she'd just come from. If the music spilling from the window didn’t give it away, the radio on the windowsill that was the color of the Italian flag sure did.

She clenched her teeth at the thought of going back in. Supper wasn’t for another hour and a half so it was an apartment full of women, some Changrettas and some who married in (or, in her case, were soon to marry in) who were cooking the best food on the block. Their hands mixed, pinched, rolled, and chopped together food that tasted like home. But while their hands worked magic, their mouths ran wild.

Mrs. Changretta’s grievances may not have moved Luca, but they moved his aunts and grandmother. She may have been his Blossom, but to everyone else, she was someone to be tested and brought to heel.

But the worst part, was that she loved Luca Changretta. On her best day, she could argue with God himself and only lose by a thin margin. She was her own best advocate and a professional at being stubborn- difficult even. For every one thing said, she could return it tenfold with something witty. But for Luca, she was quiet.

How could she possibly fight the family she was going to be marrying into with her usually fire? She sighed, looking up again and wishing she was one of the pigeons flying from rooftop to rooftop or even a blouse fluttering in the breeze. The metal door next to her creaked open.

Luca’s Aunt Vera smiled gently when she spotted her. Vera married into the family decades ago, but from what Blossom heard, there were growing pains. Uncle Eddie was too head over heels for Vera for it to matter though. After two decades together, there wasn’t much the family could say without beating a dead horse. The only reason they bothered was because Aunt Vera had yet to have a child after so long of trying, and any weakness was fair game for vengeful gossipers.

But that morning, Uncle Eddie walked her all the way into the apartment and kissed her sweetly before leaving her in the battlefield of women while showing his strength. The message was clear: don’t mess with his treasured wife. Blossom wasn’t surprised though, Aunt Vera was kind and quietly funny. And in her late 40s, she was as stunning as ever. Uncle Eddie was lucky as far as Blossom was concerned.

“Here you are,” she said. Blossom nodded.

“Here I am.”

“Lonnie was right about the alley, then. But you can’t hide any longer, unfortunately. Nonna just got back from the market and is putting people to work,” Aunt Vera told her, then sighed. “I’ve been where you are. They’re a tough family. But avoidance makes it much worse, trust me.”

They locked eyes and said, in those few quiet moments, more than Blossom even knew how to put into words. Aunt Vera held out a hand and Blossom took it.

.:.

Cousin Marcia was the ringleader for the most drama. Blossom noted this as she sliced lemons quietly, biting her tongue as not-so-hushed whispers about her floated in from the hallway.

Lonnie, Luca’s youngest sister, was in charge of watching the children who were peeling potatoes on the stoop and Aunt Vera was arranging the tables in the large dining room. Blossom was without her allies while listening to Marcia spread all kinds of opinions to the younger wives of the family who eagerly jumped on the bandwagon. Blossom could hardly blame them. It was likely better to feel included with the Changrettas than an outsider never to be trusted.

“If you ask me,” Marcia said from around the corner, “That girl doesn’t think too highly of us Changrettas. Dana, how long did it take you and Tony to get hitched? A year and a half? And Nathaniel and Ruth, only 8 months. She’s an uppity bitch if you ask me.”

Blossom glowered at the cutting board, face enflamed. It wasn’t so much the words themselves as it was that she had to restrain herself. Piercing words flew through Blossom’s mind towards Marcia, but only manifested as slicing open the rind a new lemon. She knew what Marcia was going to say and how she was going to frame it.

“Now this girl has been stringing Luca along for half a decade at least. I bet she’s waiting for someone better, richer*, to come along. Like she’ll find it. And she’s got him so lovesick he’ll carry on for who knows how long. He’s so foolish, I can’t see how he could run anything with that judgment.”*

A gentle hand appeared on her back, taking her away from the scathing comebacks she was plotting in her head.

“Good, even slices,” said Nonna Changretta. The old woman had made the trip to New York with Luca’s mother and two aunts at the start of spring when it was warm enough to travel and would stay for a few months to make the most out of it. Blossom had only met her a few times, but this Nonna reminded her of her own who had passed only a few years before. And at that moment, her praise was like a glass of water in the desert.

“Thank you,”

“Nonna. Just like everyone else.”

Blossom smiled at her warmly and repeated the name. And as if it was her stage cue, Marcia came around the corner with more smugness than Blossom though could fit in the house.

“Nonna is too kind. You’re not even family and you get to call her that,” said Marcia. Two of Luca’s nieces stood behind her and nodded, arms crossing like they had something to prove. Blossom reminded herself to put the knife down before turning to the grandmother of the family.

“You are too kind. And if you want me to do anything else, just let me know,” Blossom offered while wiping her hands on her apron. Nonna patted her hand with a smile then turned to Marcia.

“Let’s welcome her warmly. Good intentions make for good food,” Nonna said.

“But Nonna,” Marcia whined all of a sudden and made her way across the kitchen to grab her hand. “I’m just thinking about Auntie, oh! I mean Mrs. Changretta.” Blossom rolled her eyes at the mistake that simultaneously made Nonna’s eyes soften.

“Your mother in law may have been my goddaughter, but she was like my own child. Audrey is your Aunt, no matter what,” Nonna all but gushed. Marcia gave Nonna a hug with tears welling in her eyes, but she wasn’t so overwhelmed that she couldn’t give Blossom a pointed pout as she sniffled.

“You mean the world to me. And that’s why I said what I did. It may be a little mean, but whenever Luca brings her around, she never helps out. She just shows up and eats!” Marcia said. She stepped back from Nonna, wiping her non-existent tears as she turned to Blossom who could only watch the show with crossed arms.

“I haven’t been allowed to see a kitchen until Luca and I got engaged. I always bring food, Marcia, you know this,” Blossom said evenly. “Now I’m always here.”

“You never even use Changretta recipes,” Marcia accused. “How can you call it cooking?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Blossom stepped closer to her, and Marcia stepped back with a comical look of fear on her face that made Nonna place a hand on Blossom’s arm.

“Don’t get violent, dear. I’ve heard about your temper.”

“My temper?” Blossom asked, head whipping around to the old woman who was now several degrees colder towards her.

“You have given Luca such a hard time about getting married when we all see how much he spoils you,” Marcia carried on. “And then you make him wait, stringing him along. And now you’re in here, bringing your own recipes and ruining tradition.”

“Tradition?! Those recipes are from my family’s tradition. I was sharing it,” Blossom started, only to get cut off by one of the nieces.

“Who even asked?”

Blossom took a deep breath, ready to give each of them hell. But in a split second she clenched her hands closed instead.

“Dear, you may do things a certain way in your home, but Marcia is right,” Nonna said. Blossom’s mouth dropped open for a moment. She was the one who was wrong? “I don’t know why you’ve taken so long to agree to my grandchild about marriage, or why you’ve given my daughter such a hard time. But to become a Changretta, you must humble yourself,” Nonna told her with fervor.

“Yes, be humble,” Marcia agreed. Blossom pressed her lips together to stop any words from escaping. Anything she said now would be a waste of breath. Nonna tasked her with preparing the chicken because she was the only one who wasn’t busy and wasn’t squeamish about blood and feathers, while Marcia got pulled to sit for a bit of wine and catching up.

Even as she plucked feathers, Blossom didn’t blame Luca’s grandmother for any hardships. The matriarch had a bleeding heart for those in need and a fierce sense of loyalty. Not to mention Blossom was new to the whole family.

It was Marcia she had the issue with.

Some families welcomed new in-laws with open arms and Blossom never expected the Changrettas to be one of them. They had a business and a reputation after all. Luca’s lobbying for her helped a lot, but it wasn’t enough to get anyone to deal with their least favorite cousin not cousin on her behalf. Marcia and Frank didn’t have much to do with the business and they weren’t exactly loyal to the Changretta name. So why on Earth was Marcia of all people spreading rumors about her amongst the family and taunting her?

Blossom speculated it had something to do with wanting to get on Mrs. Changretta’s good side, which meant Marcia and Frank were probably up to no good. But the truth wouldn’t stop Marcia from being a pain in her neck.

She washed her hands thoroughly when she was done, then headed downstairs to the place Lonnie knew where to find her. As the breeze fluttered through a white dress that was ready to be taken down and folded, she thought to herself that she did love Luca very much. It made all of this seem worth it.

.:.

Luca leaned over the passenger seat of his car to look out window with a furrowed brow. He’d just pulled up to the apartment and could already tell something was off. Blossom’s arms wrapped around herself while she talked to Lonnie and his Aunt Vera on the steps. Even with her back to him, she looked meeker than when he left her that morning.

He sat back in thought, a million reasons why crossing his mind before he stopped himself. The first order of business was seeing if she was actually upset and how much so. Luca hopped out the Ford, avoiding cars and kids in the middle of a foot race to walk around to the sidewalk.

“There’s my brother,” Lonnie alerted them with a chin jutting in his direction. She was newly 16 and already full of the Changretta loyalty and stubbornness. His Aunt greeted him warmly like she always did, but Blossom on the other hand barely looked over her shoulder at him even when he moved into his place next to her and slid the purse off her shoulder to hold it for her.

“Take good care of Sister,” Lonnie said with a big smile as she reached for Blossom’s hands. “We’ll have dinner sometime, just us. Maybe Thursday after school? You can teach me how to cook veal.” Lonnie grimaced at the idea of it, but quickly returned to a smile.

“I’ll help,” Aunt Vera agreed, patting Blossom on the shoulder. Luca looked between them and then at his fiancé. She glanced at him for only a moment and he knew. She was actually upset alright. They kept coming up with ideas until Blossom chuckled and begged them to stop.

“Alright, alright, we’re going now,” Blossom said. Luca went ahead and opened the door for her, helping her step up into his Ford then paused. He leaned into the door way. His eyes scanned her body as if he would find some sort of wound on her skin. She looked at him expectantly while he observed her.

“Did you have a good time?” He finally asked.

“Really good,” she said. She nodded for emphasis, and now he was certain. She was very upset.

The drive back was quiet, neither doing more than stealing a few glances. Luca wasn’t a genius, just a diligent detective when it came to his Blossom. After 5 years of going steady, she’d finally agreed to marry him. And while his mother was impatient for either a wedding or, preferably, a breakup, Luca didn’t mind going at her pace because now he knew her best.

Blossom was lost in thought and staring out the window to stop him from getting a good look at her expression. But he kept looking anyway, his heart not knowing whether to ache or ignite in rage.

“Pay attention to the road,” she told him suddenly, finally looking forward long enough to nod toward the streets he should have been navigating with more care. But half a glance was enough. Being 3 blocks from his apartment didn’t stop him from pulling his car over and taking out the key.

Luca tossed his toothpick out the window, ignoring her questioning. He angled himself to view her fully, then leaned forward to grip her chin. He tilted her head this way and that in the evening sun until she pushed his hands away.

“You’ve been sad since I came and got you,” he announced the problem he was trying to solve. His voice was tender but serious. Always serious when it came to her. “Did something happen? I know it, I can tell. What happened?”

“You always do this, saying you can see it in my face.” She huffed and pressed the back of her hand against her cheeks. She refused to admit anything at all. “Anyway, I just ate too much. I can walk the rest of the way.”

“Aht!” Luca grabbed her hand before she could turn to open the door. “You’re not going anywhere. Tell me. Did you talk to my mother? Is that why you were on the sidewalk with Lonnie and Auntie V and not inside when I picked you up? Hm?” He prodded.

Blossom sighed then gave him a tight smile and an arched eyebrow. It was a look that told him loud and clear not to make a fuss anymore. Luca’s head dropped for a moment. He lifted it again with a stern look and wagging finger.

“If you have a problem and you hide it from me, when I find out I’m going to keep all of your grandmother’s candied walnuts to myself when she sends them.” He ended his threat with a firm pinch to her cheek. She couldn’t resist the urge to smile for a moment as she pulled his hand down.

“Of course, I talked to everyone, it was a Changretta women’s evening,” she reminded him. She paused for a moment. Her fingers tapped his knuckles thoughtfully then looked up at his ever patient face with another smile.

“Your cousin, Marcia.”

“Oh no.”

“She’s good at making her opinions well known. She was telling some of your nieces that I was uppity and looking down on the Changrettas because we haven’t gotten married yet. She said I must be waiting for someone better and richer to come along.” She let out a sigh and looked at their interlaced hands. “Then she told your grandmother that I never help and I’m trying to ruin tradition by bringing my family’s recipes into Changretta kitchens, and your Nonna lectured me about marrying into your family meaning that I needed to be humbler.”

Luca let out a low whistle as he sat back in his seat, but never letting their hands separate. “Family” was a generous term for his cousins who were so distant they didn’t even share his blood. When his Nonna’s goddaughter passed, she took in her son because there was no one else to raise him well. But Frank was spineless and found a wife in Marcia who was after his money and the Changretta influence. It didn’t take long for him to act like he was owed everything.

Frank and Marcia didn’t work for anything but threw the Changretta name around like a badge of honor to get all sorts of benefits. Luca was sure they had a few hundred dollars on a tab at one of the best restaurants in the city. Angel said he’d take care of it, but his brother heeded his mother’s warning to tread carefully and now his pseudo-cousins were bringing the trouble to the house.

"She’s got some fucking nerve.”

“It’s not a big issue. I’ve got thick skin, and your grandmother’s just thinking about respecting your family.”

“You shouldn’t have to have thick skin.”

“Luca, this is your family, not some strangers. Even if you don’t like them, your Nonna does and she’s important to you. You treat me so well, too. I need to shoulder some of this.”

“Blossom, do you know I’ve known my family all of my life?” He asked, making her eyes roll. “We’re one hell of a force to be reckoned with, even when it comes to each other. Okay? When I met you I thought, ‘damn, she’s gonna give them hell,’” he admitted. “You haven’t tip toed around before and you don’t have to start now.”

“But it’s not so easy. Your mother, your aunts, your Nonna, and all of your family are here now. I’m just one person.”

“Since when?” He asked, pointedly.

“But when you’re not there,” she whispered earnestly, more earnest than he’d ever seen her. “And even if you were there, what if you end up getting cast aside in the business because of me? Isn’t Uncle Eddie a sitting duck because he went against the family?”

Luca suffocated the giddy part of him that wanted to point out that she cared so much about him. Now was not the time. He squeezed her hand instead.

“Uncle Eddie isn’t a sitting duck,” he said. “He’s been asking me to keep him in the city at his station for years because Auntie V is an only child. Her parents are older and stick alive, God bless ‘em.” Blossom didn’t look convinced even as he assured her that he was a capable son, and that an invaluable member of the Changretta business. “No one is making me a sitting duck.”

“That makes me feel better,” she admitted. Luca shifted closer to her in the small space. Blossom glanced around through the windows and suddenly wished they weren’t on the side of the street. Luca was too unpredictable.

“Don’t hold back next time. You’ve never needed me to protect you, but I still do it. I’ll talk to Nonna,” he said softly. It warmed her chest as he kissed her hand.

“You’re playing favorites,” she accused.

“Yes, definitely!” He nearly shouted, making Blossom startle then smack his arm.

“You scared me,” she said, laughing at his outburst and incredulous expression. Luca suddenly reached up and grasped her face.

“Fuck Frank and Marcia. Doesn’t matter what you get into, just tell me. Even if it’s your fault, I’ll fix it,” he said, a heated promise. “I love you when you’re righteous and I love you when you’re about to rip someone’s face off. Sometimes I even like it more.”

“You’re sick,” she said, muffled from his hands still squishing her cheeks.

“As a dog,” he agreed then leaned over and pressed his lips against hers in a forceful peck.

Blossom finally made him get back in his seat and take them the few minutes up the street to his apartment. He held her hand tightly from the car to his front door. As he unlocked it, he checked again. “You’re sure Ma didn’t say anything?”

“Your mother’s problems with me have definitely made their way into the Changretta news mill. Your aunts fought me on everything today. My dress is tactless, the way I make arancini is wrong which it’s not. And I don’t respect my elders because I speak at the wrong times.” She smirked a bit. “That’s actually the most comforting part. Reminds me of my grandmother saying I was too rough.”

Luca held the door for her. He went on about how they were too hard on his precious Blossom while sitting her down in the living room. He put the radio and handed her her favorite wine in a glass, not stopping until he was next to her with her legs in his lap, hands massaging her calves.

“You’re too sweet to me,” she told him quietly then said through gritted her teeth, “Maybe we should try having you be rougher with me. Then they’ll pity me and treat me better.” Luca just huffed and focused on the task at hand.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’d never. This the least I can do since you’re doing me such a big favor.”

“Favor?”

“Two, actually. Braving the Changrettas, and agreeing to marry me.”

Blossom sat her glass aside just as the radio announcer began reading the headlines. She moved her legs from Luca’s lap, but shifted her dress so she could straddle him before he could protest.

“I’m going to get you into a lot of trouble,” she told him. Luca nodded in excitement, earning yet another accusation that he wasn’t in his right mind. And yet, Blossom’s Bordeaux was left forgotten on the table as the latest films were announced, and Luca had a new lipstick stain to remove from his collar by the time they reached horse races.

.:.

Blossom’s short temper was the roughest part about her, Luca thought. But the rest of her was soft. If she knew they were sick, she’d make her fellow nurses soup whether she liked them or not. If Lonnie wasn’t wearing stockings in autumn, the teen would get scolded on her way to the shops so Blossom could buy her a new pair.

It was how she could be hot headed and sometimes careless with her words, but always deeply kind that made him love her. And it was what made him certain that her holding back with his family was probably doing more harm than good. The Changrettas knew tough love, and they were just as scared of her as she was of them.

It took two weeks for his mother to pull him aside and start talking about the things his Blossom would say and do at the family gatherings nowadays. How his mother was sure she’d lost her mind.

“Luca, Luca, Luca. Even Nonna can see that she is arrogant and crass,” his Ma told him. He slid a toothpick in his mouth and waited for his favorite phrase.

“She doesn’t know her place.”

He had a few Uncles and cousins talk to him over business lunches about how Blossom had ruffled their wives and mistresses by being blunt. A beating around the bush kind of way to say she was making trouble. But Luca just tucked the tie Blossom had made him into his suit before leaning over his steak.

“Why can’t she say it? It’s true.”

Meanwhile, he’d never been so close to his Uncle Eddie who was having a ball. Apparently his Aunt Vera had never felt more courageous around the Changrettas with Blossom around, and had actually started going to more of the gatherings. By the turn of seasons, his Blossom had her fire back, and a few of his nephews asked where he’d found a woman like her.

But even Luca knew that this wouldn’t be solved until one pivotal moment. And that moment would involve the two people who he hadn’t seen in weeks and was even sure they were avoiding him. His pseudo-cousins were likely stewing in this change of behavior, getting frustrated that Blossom wasn’t getting ostracized, but instead gained a few friends within the family. And knowing them, they would eventually cause a scene to turn the tides again. When that moment would come, he’d be ready.

The tension at the Changretta gatherings weren’t gone, just different. Blossom set the tables in the church hall where Nonna’s birthday lunch was going to take place as soon as the food was ready and everyone was sitting. Nonna told her weeks before that all she really wanted at her age was to see everyone, young and old, in one place.

“I see you’re keeping busy.”

Forks were being pulled from Blossom’s hands before she could look up at Aunt Vera’s usual radiant smile.

“If I sit still, I’m afraid I’ll be asked to scale a fish all of a sudden.”

“You tried to hard to please at the beginning. Now they know you’re good at things like that.”

They chatted as the room filled slowly. It was reaching noon and Blossom had yet to see Luca, Angel, or any of the men who ran the business. Vera looked around for Eddie as well, but turned to Blossom with a small scowl before she found him.

“Marcia just got here with her followers.”

“Pay them no mind. Nonna’s birthday matters more than anything. I want to live until 93 too, so it’s good karma,” Blossom teased. Still, she glanced over Aunt Vera’s shoulder to see Marcia all dolled up with Luca’s nieces by her side once again. She also found a teen with a bow in her hair hurrying past the crowd toward them

“Auntie V, Sister,” Lonnie huffed. She was out of breath but had a big grin on her face. Aunt Vera quickly got her some water as she caught her breath. “I have an urgent message for you,” she continued.

“For me?” Blossom looked to Aunt Vera with a raised eyebrow, then back to where Lonnie was gulping water.

“My brother says no matter what happens today, to not get flustered and to not be scared. You can fight and scold all you want, he’ll be here soon.” Lonnie was giddy to be the one to let Blossom off the reigns. Aunt Vera couldn’t hold in her laugh.

“Luca reminds me so much of Eddie. If I had more of a fighting spirit, he’d let me go crazy,” she reminisced.

“The last thing we need is two troublemaking gold diggers, though. Isn’t that right?”

Marcia walked strutted over, haughty as ever. She looked Aunt Vera up and down, then Blossom.

“Don’t you know how to bite your tongue for the greater good?” Blossom asked her. “Be hateful all you like, but it’s your grandmother’s birthday.” Marcia scoffed and looked to the nieces who were just as ruffled.

“Hateful? You been reading a dictionary or something? And I know what day it is. You are the guest here,” Marcia reminded her. A few of the gathering Changrettas were tuning into their conversation as Marcia got louder. “Don’t be so uppity.”

“Is this how you treat guests then? Not to mention that we’ve been here all morning helping Nonna set up. You’ve been nowhere to be found.” Blossom pointed out, and went on to ask the nieces if their mothers knew where they had been either.

“Why do we have to tell you anything about where we’ve been? You’re not my mother, you’re just some hussy who crawled into Luca’s bed.”

“How dare you?” Aunt Vera gasped as she stepped forward. Turning to her, Marcia smirked.

“Do you finally have something to say? They’ve called you all sorts of things since I’ve been around, and this is the first time I’ve heard your voice. Feeling brave?”

“Don’t you have something better to do?” Blossom hissed. She glanced around the crowd that was fully watching them now and stepped in front of Aunt Vera. She may have had thick skin, but Aunt Vera wasn’t like her. “Stop it.”

“Let’s go all the way, actually. Aunt Vera, you’re forgetting about family aren’t you? This woman has insulted us so much already. When will you choose your actual family first. Oh wait. You don’t even have a child to attach you to the Changrettas. I guess you’re not actually-”

Blossom heard the slap ring through the hall before she felt the stinging in her right hand, or realized she’d reached up and hit the woman. The shock of the audience left the room quiet as Marcia slowly turned back to her, a hand reaching up to her cheek.

“Marcia Gallo, we have the same amount of Changretta blood as you. None. You have been a brat this whole time because you married Nonna’s goddaughter’s son. That I can endure and bite my tongue about. You’re spoiled rotten and use the Changretta name to run up tabs and do illegal gambling. God knows what else.”

“How did you,” Marcia started pathetically, but Blossom kept on.

“But this? It’s come to this? You feel brazen enough to call out such a thing here? Are you in your right mind?” Blossom asked loudly.

I hand on her waist made her jolt and rip her heated gaze away from Marcia and turn to see the comforting face of Luca Changretta.

“What,” she stammered as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “When did you get here?”

She looked around him to see the missing Changretta men in toe, including Frank who was sulking as he walked through the crowd.

“I’ve got good timing, huh?” He praised himself and sent her a wink. But all amusement dropped when he turned to Marcia. Even in his linen suit, a casual look for the occasion, he was still menacing in his own right. “What’s this about?”

Marcia let out a laugh in disbelief, eyes watering from the pain and her own frustration. “Your girl just hit me, Luca. Can you believe it?”

Luca perked up in surprise and whipped his head down to his Blossom. Their eyes only met briefly, but it was enough to let Blossom know her partner was about to put on a show. She let her eyes fall to her hands as she nodded.

“Well, no. I can’t believe it,” Luca said. He took a breath as he looked around and said loudly, “You see, my Blossom is the gentlest, most caring woman I know.” A Changretta acquaintance questioned him from the crowd of bystanders, but Luca glowered at the man, which was enough to shut him up for the rest of the day. “Virtuous even, like a little lamb.”

“A gentle woman with a strong right hook. There’s a first time for everything,” Marcia spat. Her own eyes held contempt but had met her match in the Changretta’s youngest son.

“For her to be forced to do something like that. I can’t imagine what you’ve put her through,” Luca said. He tsked her and squeezed Blossom’s shoulder. Luca looked down to see Blossom surpressing a smile, and that was enough for him. “But I did happen to hear something on my way in. You called me wife a name. I dare you to repeat it.”

“I didn’t,”

“Hussy,” Lonnie said, popping up from behind her aunt. “You did call her a hussy.”

“Hussy,” Luca said the word slowly. “You must not value your wellbeing.” Marcia’s eyes quickly scanned the room for her husband just as Frank was pushed through the crowd.

“Don’t try to come in here and scare me, Luca. This girl here is nothing but trouble. I won’t go easy on her just because you’re here. I’m thinking about the Changrettas,” Marcia said. She used her lifeline then looked at Frank. He couldn’t meet her eyes, but grabbed her arm.

“Shut up, woman,” he told her under his breath. Marcia gasped. Blossom would bet that he’d never said a word against her before. There was shuffling behind them, and Blossom looked to see the crowd parting for Nonna.

“Have you all had enough fun making a mess of this sacred hall? On my birthday of all days?” The old woman asked as she came to stand in the center of it all. Blossom quickly moved to get her a chair and helped her sit. Nonna patted her hand and gave a gentle smile. “Good girl.”

“I’m sorry we’re making a ruckus on your birthday,” Blossom apologized.

“Don’t apologize now. Isn’t it always like this when you’re around?” Marcia scoffed, then looked at Nonna. The tears gathered in her eyes as if a director somewhere just said ‘action!’. “Nonna, I was just telling her about family. Your family is a precious thing. Mother’s family,”

“And who is your mother’s family?” Nonna asked.

Everyone turned to Nonna in surprise. She’d never asked such a question before. It separated the beloved goddaughter’s family from the Changrettas themselves. Frank looked up at her, eyes wide and hands ready to tremble.

“Frank,” Nonna began, “I’ve disappointed your mother and further disappointed you.”

“No, never,” Frank pleaded. He kneeled by her chair and grasped her hands.

“I’ve spoiled you, and made you stupid. I’ve let you bring this woman in our house. I’ve let her be unkind. I’ve let you both drag the Changretta name through the mud for your pleasure,” Nonna listed until her voice wavered. Her children and grandchildren all took a step forward to comfort her but she raised a withered hand to stop them. “Angel and Luca have already shown me what you’ve done. The debts that you owe, all attributed to our name.”

Luca pulled out a thick stack of folded papers from his pocket. and tossed them on the ground next to Frank. The man didn’t have to look, and Blossom gathered it was because he’d already been confronted before he arrived. Now Marcia was flipping through papers helplessly while Frank pleaded with the woman he saw as a grandmother.

If Blossom didn’t already know what they were, the look on Marcia’s face was enough. Pages of IOUs, loans, property purchases, and the like.

“You’ve been following us since the beginning?” Marcia asked quietly. But she didn’t need the answer.

“Nonna. I just wanted to make my wife happy. I wanted to live in pride like the Changrettas, but nothing ever made me feel like one,” Frank muttered. His head dropped.

“You eat at our tables, you drink our wine. You run for the business, and you get all the opportunities we do,” Luca said. He wouldn’t let the man gain an ounce of pity. “And now, you let your wife bully my sweet Blossom like this for months? When will it end?” Luca asked as he pulled Blossom into his side. She didn’t dare look at her fiancé. She would laugh at his dramatics if she did. Nonna stopped Luca from going forward.

“Frankie,” Nonna called, making him raise his head. “It’s time for you to leave the nest. Go to Chicago. Never use the Changretta name. And don’t come to our city again.”

Blossom watched the most gentle version of a family exile that she could ever imagine. The Changrettas’ gang led Marcia and Frank out of the hall. The room was abuzz and if there was anyone left to spread gossip to, Blossom was sure the grapevine was moving as fast as ever. The nieces who followed Marcia were pulled aside by their mothers and Blossom could only imagine the tongue-lashings.

“My dear,” Nonna called to Blossom who was by her side in a moment. “I heard every word Marcia said to you. You’ve endured it all this time for Luca haven’t you?”

“For that crazy man? Never,” Blossom teased. “I never thought the Changrettas were a soft family. So I expected a few trials. But Marcia made me protective over you all. Forget about me. I didn’t like how she treated you all. She was always rude or lying.”

Nonna patted her hand then looked for her grandson. Blossom pulled Luca down to kneel so he didn’t tower over them.

“You’ve found a wife we can all be proud of, Luca,” Nonna said. “Audrey will always be your mother and she’ll never think anyone is good enough. But I’ll talk to her. I see how much you love one another.”

“That means so much to me,” Blossom said with a squeeze of her hands.

Blossom watched as Luca placed a toothpick in his mouth and leaned against the the wall of the alley outside of his cousin’s wives’ home in Brooklyn, then turned her eyes to the clothing lines.

The baby shower inside was winding down, and Luca had pulled her out to escape any questions about their own children. Now that Marcia and Frank had been gone for a few weeks, the gossip about her had come to a close. She would take the baby talk over getting her character questioned any day. Still, she stood beside him and looked up at the clothes on the line in thought.

For so long, her mother begged the saints to give her a husband who could tame her. Her mother never went to church, which she thought actually helped show that she really meant it. They’d never agreed on much. Every day was a competition to see which would win out, her mother’s pride or her own stubbornness. So while her mother prayed for that, Blossom prayed that she would find someone who could understand her. She never would have thought the saints were actually on her side the whole time.

She no longer desired being something light and airy, blowing in the wind. Her eyes fell to Luca again. He was lost in his own world as well. Next to her was a partner who would tell her that her only jobs were to never doubt herself, to not be afraid, and to let him love her well.

Luca turned to her and raised an eyebrow.

“Admiring my profile?”

“Oh yes. You’re very handsome,” she said quickly. He grinned at her and crossed his arms.

“What are you thinking about that’s put you in a good mood?”

She raised up on her tip toes and pressed her lips against his, to which he wasted no time letting his hands find her waist.

“I was just thinking that you’re doing me a big favor.”

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#Luca Changretta fanfic #Luca Changretta #Luca x Blossom #Peaky Blinders Fanfic #Blossom OC #MXPseudonym

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