#i swear i always end up with an odd number of pages when i do comics this is so sad

[mintjeru]

i'm cheering you on badly / with this terrible personality of mine

open for better quality | no reposts

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 2 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: a quick look through concerning the early months of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly centered around moments in the car

warnings (TW): swearing, illegal activities (of course), descriptions of panic/panic attack or general anxiety, alcohol consumption

tags: fluff, early relationship described, pining, very slight angst, affection

notes: i mean, i liked writing part one? so … i’m just gonna keep writing? do what brings you joy and all that jazz. alsooooo im currently unemployed and have too much time on my hands. any feedback is appreciated, seeing as this is the first (second) time i’m publishing online !

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked my new masterlist that contains updated parts to this series, thank you and hope you enjoy!

word count: 3.7k

| masterlist | part iii |

When you reside within the same place as another, you begin to notice particular behaviors. Of course, Stanley had resided in an unquantifiable number of places in the last decade, but he had forgotten what it was like to live alongside someone. 

Forgot about the consideration of messes and manners, and forgot about his socks in corners and cans on bedside tables. These were things he never had to consider when he was confined to a single room and a shared bunk with his brother, but she was different. 

The first couple months he found himself stumbling around her at times. Let her lead through doorways, ask her what she would like for dinner, using odds and ends as a coaster here and there. 

But she was much the same in that way. 

She hadn’t ever had to share her space like this, much less with a man. She fumbled with answers concerning dinner, forgot her delicates in the washer routinely, and had a habit of throwing her feet up on Stanley’s chair when he sat across from her at their poor excuse of a dinner table. 

But this was months ago. 

No, they both had noticed these intricacies about the other and had more or less adapted around them. Laundry was done half-heartedly, a quick combination of their socks and delicates. A calendar made its home on the fridge with scribbles of dinner plans, and her feet were shuffled onto his lap every night, adjusted to fit across his hips. 

But she still leads through most doorways. He would never admit to why. 

There were other, smaller things too. These things made him ache somewhere behind his sternum, and he usually shook them off. 

Small things like how she curled at her end of the couch, or how she brought her face to any page she was scribbling on, always squinting. How she tidied the living room every morning like they would be having guests. How she came to the kitchen every morning, hand outstretched for the mug he had deemed hers. 

He decided to forget about these things. At least some of them that is. 

He knew for a fact that she loved it when he drove the most. She enjoyed the movement of the trees out the window, enjoyed stretching her feet up to his dash (despite his initial protest), and she loved the radio in particular. 

Common law says to keep your eyes on the road, and both hands on the wheel. But it was very hard to conduct when she leaned forward towards the radio, singing under her breath. She was so relaxed here beside him on the long bench in the front of his long-loved car. 

The car had been through hell and back, but he was sure it’d never encountered anything as enchanting as her bellowing singing. It would ring through the car, only ever on the way home, and only ever after a bar visit. The buzz would stray his eyes from wheel and headlights to her, head thrown back singing. 

He swerved on the road more than he cared to admit when she was in the car. The reminder of her safety usually woke him up from his fantasies of her with her head thrown back, with her hair spilling around her, and a flush on her cheeks.

But he rarely kept both hands on the wheel, to begin with anyway. His right arm always flung behind, scrunched on the back part of her seat, itching to find the soft back of her neck. 

Clearing his throat, he adjusted himself in his seat, both hands returning to the wheel. A smile never leaving his face, a laugh rising as she scooted closer, incoherent 70’s BABBA lyrics sung into his right ear. 

He’d admit he likes driving her, in particular, around. 

They had made for town for a handful of differing supplies that day. 

Stanley, Stan, had a bright idea to earn some seasonal money by making the front half of the shack into a tourist attraction. After an explanation of his initial encounter with a group of town folk upon his first couple days in the shack, she had nodded along in agreement. 

They needed money, and the need was only growing of course. 

She was the farthest from a financial advisor, but she knew the reserve of money she had come to town with was dwindling, and with them both diving head-first into Ford’s basement business, the idea of money had seemed trivial, at least to her, those first couple months. 

She knew though that money wasn’t a trivial thing for Stan (Stanley). That he hadn’t had a successful last decade, and that her life strayed from his own background astronomically. 

That was one thing that grated her slightly. How flippantly he spoke of Ford to her, but how he had not shared himself as willingly. It didn’t make him a liar to withhold said information, but the state of Stanley’s (Stan’s) car backseat that first month spoke of a man on the run. 

But he had lit up so differently when he dragged her to the front of the shack's cluttered room. Explaining where things would go, a cash register, a display case, and certain merchandise. She’ll admit to perhaps not completely listening to him at the time, but later she would look back and reflect on how he was unsurprisingly a great salesman. 

He had been so happy, dragging her from corner to corner, painting pictures with words, but he had looked too enchanting for her to really hear it. One hand in his pocket, the other gesturing, and a smile upon his handsome figure. He had reached back out, dragging her back to the front door, hand on the small of her back as he ushered her around. 

It was a dump up here, truly. The one place in the house she hadn’t gotten to scouring for clues yet. She was unsure as to why she left the room untouched at the moment, but she thinks it had a lot to do with the panicked memory of meeting Stan (Stanley), and how the glow of the backroom reflected on his face made her wander in through the front door like a madwoman. 

She made for the car very soon after his explanation, eager to get the supplies he would need to renovate the front of the room. He had beaten her of course, opening and closing the passenger door without so much as a prompt, and making his way to the driver's side. 

The drive into town had been great as always. It was one of those mid-spring days. Wet on the windshield and crisp until 10 a.m. The hardware store served its purpose, as they wandered from aisle to aisle, looking for particular wood stains and sandpaper. 

“Here it is Stanl-” He had come up behind her abruptly. Hand coming up to her mouth, stopping her sentence, flicking his eyes up and down the aisle. 

She turned to face him, an apology already on her lips. But he was already looking down at her, a hidden heat behind his eyes. 

“What did I tell ya, hun?” He whispered it in the space between them. “I told ya, I can’t be that here.” 

He couldn’t be him anywhere anymore, at least not in the light of day. She had tried to shake the old him, but somewhere in the far reaches of her mind, she had a hard time calling him Stan. 

Because she knew it meant he was being Ford, not Lee. And it was hard to lie about anything concerning him, concerning Stanley. 

He sighed, his hand leaving her lips and running through his long hair. “We gotta get outta here anyways. Come along, hun.” A practiced smile reached the corners of his mouth, another lie. 

Unfortunately for his psyche, the cashier wanted to talk their ear off also. 

“Oh hiya, Stanford!” And of course, they knew his brother. 

A smile crawled up his face anyway, making nice like he figured his brother may have done all those months ago. 

“Getting supplies? Any new projects?” 

“Uh nah nah, not at the moment. Looking into renovating parts of the shack for some business right now.” 

“Business? Really? Never took you for much of a businessman.” The cashier continued to bag their samplings of wood stains. “But hey, life takes ya in odd directions sometimes!” 

He tisked. “Don’t I know it buddy.” He shook his head a little, grabbing the bag, peering over his shoulder checking for his smaller shadow. She followed in his wake, slightly downtrodden to have cut their store visit short with her stupid mouth. 

“Oh, Stanford!” The cashier called, but he didn’t turn until she reached for his jacket’s dirty red sleeve, tugging to turn him back. Flushed, he meets the cashier's outstretched hand. 

“The receipt! You always want the receipt.” 

He crushed the receipt in his hand. “Right… right ya, thanks.” 

She followed him back to the car, her hand never leaving his sleeve, brushing her warmth against his slightly shaking palm. He doesn’t forget to open her door or to slam the wood stains and sandpaper into the back of the car. 

The ride back was tense, and not of its usual bravado and fanfare.  He had peeled out of the parking lot all too quickly and regretted it the next moment as he looked over and watched her pale in the passenger seat. 

She didn’t reach for the radio, hands folded on her lap. She didn’t look out her window, as the trees blurred differently under Stanley’s hasty speed. 

Under Stan’s hasty speed. 

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this mess. And he definitely didn’t want to upset her. His arm never met the back of her seat, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel. 

He didn’t think of pulling over until he looked at her halfway home. Ram-rod straight, pale as all hell, and eyes blurry with undescribed grief. 

He cursed under his breath, pulling the car off to the side of the road, gravel underfoot. 

She got like this at times, at his temper. He knew at times he could be loud, that he raised his voice at inconveniences and the T.V. Knew that her lip curled in a particular way when on a very off day, his frustration explodes in her face. He was quick to anger at times, and she was quick to cover. 

He made himself so big in the face of things, but she folded into a different shape when he did. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he prayed she knew that he would never turn his anger to her. That he had raised fists before and spilled blood, but he’d never raise them again unless it was for her, if she would allow it. 

But he doesn't want her to get small in the face of his, well, everything. Because he had been angry at so many things in succession in his life he lost count, and he doesn’t want to lose the part of himself that cared for her in his anger, and he doesn't want her to fold into odd shapes and shadows in the face of him anymore. But above all, he didn’t want the reminder of his father to taint whatever the hell this was. It was bad enough he saw glimpses of him in the passing reflections from time to time.

He loved the fight in her eyes when they spat back and forth sometimes, a sarcastic, fake fight brewing between them. That’s how they both always ended up laughing at the dinner table most nights, and how he felt closer to her most days. His anger was never her responsibility, or her doing. She had never truly upset him once, and the way they played with words back and forth over a meal like an old married couple rattled a few rusty cogs in his brain from time to time. That his anger could at least be amusing, because when she smiled he forgot all about it anyway. 

So he parks the car in Spring and turns to her with his guts in his lap for the first time since he spoke to her that Winter night when he thought his prayers had been answered when she plowed through the shack’s door like a tidal wave. 

“I hate this.” He sighed. “And I can’t stand when you fucking look at me like that.” 

Her lip curled. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“I know.” It wobbled out her mouth. “I ruined the day, I’m sorry.” 

He leans back, his hand meeting the back of her seat. A beat, before he turns to her completely, like he does every night across the dinner table with her feet propped across the entirety of his lap. 

“I don’t want you to apologize to me. You should never have to apologize to me. I don’t want you to, ever fucking think you gotta hand that over to me again. Because you’ve never done anything to upset me doll, not ever.” 

She sniffles, a moment of crisp silence. Spring rain beats on the windows in a mist. A smile comes to her lips, and he sags in relief, anger fading.

“Except when I forget the laundry on the line.” She’s cracking jokes now? 

“Except that ya, because I kinda need socks and underwear mmk?” He laughs only slightly, a tiredness seeping into his posture. 

“I didn’t used to be like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“A bad liar.” He admits. He hadn’t disclosed much of his past to her. He wasn’t ashamed of it much when it came to disclosing his long resume to others, but she made him nervous. And he hadn’t been really, truly, honestly nervous in a long time. So he did what he does best, and he lied. 

“I could buy the shirt off your back from ya in under 10 minutes I swear.” He readjusts in his seat again, hand slowly creeping up the back of her seat still. “I’m a great liar, it’s how I made it from state to state, and the reason I’m not allowed back in Pennsylvania.” 

She laughs truly now. She had figured that was what he was used to. Long trips and longer fibs. She didn’t care much about the morality of it, because when she imagined him somehow corrupt in her mind's eye she remembered him bent over her on the couch, and how it felt to listen to the T.V. fade into the background as he carried her up the stairs. The faintness of her sheets, and the brush of his hand on her hairline. 

“But I can’t lie about this, or at least I'm really fucking bad at it.” He interrupts her thought. “I’m the farthest thing from Stanford Pines.”

“Perhaps you are, Lee.” A name she hadn’t used out loud fell between them. “But no one ever asked you to be him.” 

She realized quickly in her desperation to reassure him that she was also being a hypocrite. It was hard to call him Stan, she realized, but only because she was afraid of hurting him. The memory of Stanford still lived between them, and although they tried to shutter his existence in the basement they both weren’t very good at playing pretend yet. 

But they would need to be. It’d need to be the best con he’d ever pulled, that they had ever pulled. He just wasn’t used to having a partner quite yet. But they needed to be honest now if they were gonna pull it off and bring Stanford home. 

“You don’t need to be him. I know you aren’t him Stanley, and I don’t want you to be.” She paused, considering. “If we are going to do all this though, we need to work together. I-I need to get better, I need to call you Stan, and you need to believe me when I tell you I’m staying for the long haul.” 

He sighs again, readjusting to look over at her. 

“I lived a long time trying to be something great like I thought he was, like I know he is. But I haven’t, I hadn’t, seen him in so long. I don’t know who he is anymore.”

“You both have a surprising lot in common, actually.” She shrugs, a smile coming to her lips in memory. “You both smile the same, and you both doodle the same way, and you both tilt your head to the left when I ask a dumbass question.” 

He laughs at this, a memory of passing scribbles and doodles in class back and forth, and the comic books he would spend all night drawing in their shared room’s lamplight. Some things always stick, at least. 

She bridged the gap of some odd ten years, and he could at least be thankful about that. 

“I just want you to know… Stan. That when I do call you Stan, I mean Stanley- not Stanford.” She shrugs again, nervous. “Because you’re not him, you're right, and if you don’t want me to lie about this one small detail, it can be between us.” 

She had somehow come to the heart of his predicament without much digging. He had worn many hats in his time bouncing from state to state, a conman, a businessman, a thief, and a liar. But he didn’t wanna make her one of those things, and he knew by associating with him she would need to be. Just in the blur of it all, he didn't want to be someone else to her. Not even in name. He wanted there to be honesty between them because otherwise, it wouldn't work. What wouldn’t work? 

He finds resolution in her answer. That he will always be Stanley to her, and Stanford to others, at least for the time being. Oddly intimate, closely personal. He wouldn't linger on the thought.

“You’re right as usual, doll.” A smirk comes to his lips. “Team?” He questions, fist uncurling from the back of her seat, brushing between them to meet for a bump. 

She smiles brightly now, meeting him in the middle. “Team.” 

He sinks in the seat, beat from the emotions of the last hour already. “Okay we need to do something fucking fun now.” 

“Like what?” Amused, she reaches between them to turn the radio back on, sick of the silence in the shell of the car. A hum already on her lips. 

He smiles, a scheme on his lips, a memory playing in his head when he looks at her. 

She flushes, a quick shake of her head. “No, no, no Stan, no I am not doing it no.”

He loves how she fights it but he knows how to get his way with her already, even if it has only been a short six months. Flushed in her seat, and begging him. Fuck. 

All he has to do is fucking smile, with that stupid glint in his eyes. “Yes, ya are!” He taunts, a laugh already bellowing. “You’re driving!” 

“I don’t fucking know how and you know it!” She had been embarrassed to admit it to him that one night, that she had made it this long without a driver’s license, but he had all but said please that night, vying for blackmail from her. He had told her about his kiddy comic books, so she had to fess up to something stupid of equal measure he felt. 

“I’ll teach ya!” 

He was already out his door and around the front of the car, opening her own, and reaching across her lap to unbuckle her from her seat when she continued to shake her head. 

She moved only when he began slipping his hand under her thigh and around her back to move her across the long bench to the front of the wheel. He sometimes forgot about where he put his hands on her, when he was giddy like this. She never minded, though. 

She was still shaking her head when he reached back over her to buckle her into her new spot behind the wheel, laughing all the way. Amused by her protest of this simple thing. Only amused, because he knew deep down she was actually okay with it. Another fake fight ongoing between them, some old cogs moving in his head. 

He moved back some, but resided half in the passenger seat and half in the middle, his big hand on her thigh. Fuck. 

He leaned down (Fuck), his other hand pointing at things she should have been paying attention to. This is like the shack all over again. 

He looked back at her, even more amused by her flustered face, and repeated himself like he knew what was going on in her head. Because, well, he kinda did. 

“This is the petal to the right, and the break to the left, doll.” He brings his hand back to the wheel. “This stick on the left is the turn signal, and this stick on the right is the shifter.” 

She began to breath again when he moved away, but he was still chuckling through ever sentence of course. Too handsome for his own good.

“Now all ya gotta do, doll, is shift from park to drive, but put ur foot on the break first.” 

“Uh… this one?” She put her left foot on the left most pedal. 

He squeezed her thigh, goddamnit, leaning back into her to basically physically move her foot. 

“No, no, ya gotta only use your right foot. You can’t use both.” 

“Why not?” 

He shrugs, tilting his head left at her dumbass question. “Because I said so.” He laughs again, hand still very warm and very present. 

“Okay, okay… okay.”

He nods. “Okay okay okay, now just shift the right rod up here.” He grabs her hand, bringing it up and showing her the different gears and how to count through them. Forgetting himself in his amusement, hand still on her fucking thigh. 

He laughs all the way home, and she thinks it’s worth the constant breaking she does in the middle of the road when she gets spooked by the speed of the car. The road is luckily empty, and the radio is drowned out by Stan’s commentary. She doesn’t mind the jabs at her newfound skill, and he takes jabs right back when she slams the break particularly hard and his head gets precariously close to the dash. She doubles over at that one, amused by the sudden shock on his face, but quickly distracted by the hand still on her fucking thigh. He thinks she looks nice like that, behind his wheel. 

They make it back to the shack in one piece, but he’s the one that has to reach over to shift the car back into park. 

He realizes when he looks back over at her, that he had forgotten his anger a while ago, and that his hand had made a new home on the soft of the back of her neck, moving from her thigh when he shifted gears. 

He would let her drive again, if it meant this. 

She’d admit she likes driving him, in particular, around. 

He’d just need to stock up on brake pads. 

[bloopitynoot]

Reading SVSSS: Bonus- Chapter 24

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

This was a two part-two tea read LOL. I started this chapter right before my union meeting with a vanilla chai tea and now i'm ending it after the meeting with a chamomile lavender tea.

I finally feel like i'm coming out of my sick haze and hoping these flowers will knock me out tonight.

Let's get into the saddest fucking chapter I have read in a while- Bonus 24:

Shen Jiu breaks my heart. I hate it so much that all of the kids that were trafficked were given numbers for names. Like these kids probably had actual names but no one knows them. p81

I totally forgot until now that Yue Qingyuan was also one of the kids. I can already tell this chapter is going to ruin me. My heart hurts at the roles they had to play to survive. Yue Qi being the protector, Shen Jiu making money. pp82-83

omg. Shiwa was a snot nose, but the child did not deserve that at all (his face sliced). Who the fuck is this "youthful master" p85

fuck it's Qiu Jianluo.

And he would deserve it! I too would "swear to fuck the qiu family graves a hundred and eighteen times" p86 Qiu Jianluo is vile.

I think it's actually worse that he's only 4 years older than shen jiu. They're both children at this point but one is sadistic as fuck. This guy is so horrible. p88

uuugh. Okay. Going back a page, I just clocked something that has me feeling sad things. The fact that the only things Shen Jiu can write are "seven" and "nine" (his and Yue Qi's names :(((((( )and only because he saw someone (presumably his traffickers) write them. p87 I cannot with this boys life. It is truly so awful.

omg. and the rationale Qiu Jianluo has for making shen jiu marry his sister "so she wouldn't need to leave" p88 and the way he does it by threatening shen jiu's life pretty much constantly

someone, many chapters back, said I would be upset with the extras involving Shen jiu and they are not wrong. This is deeply awful.

I also dislike Wu Yanzi; this guy is terrible too. Shen Jiu really is a bad luck and terrible people magnet. pp92-93

Bless. As awful and shameful as stabbing someone in the back is, good on shen jiu for saving Yue Qi and ending this fight! p93

Oh gosh. Shen jiu really needs some therapy. this guy holds so much darkness and resentment. Like shit; the hatred he has for Liu Qingge literally just for existing and having a good life. p95

So. What I don't understand is how no one thought it was odd that one day SQQ wakes up and is totally different. This man went from Brothel Rewards Card Holder to "I have never so much as looked at a woman in my life" like HOW did not one know. p97

Yue Qingyuan to Shen Qingqiu about Liu Qingge "If you extend him a single share of kindness, he'll return it two-fold" p98 and he truly did. transmigrated shen yuan saved this mans life one time and the bro sold him his soul twice over.

oh poor trauma baby. The reason why he (SQQ) doesn't sleep in the dorms/disciples quarters hurt. p100

The guilt that Yue Qingyuan carries is heavier than the Catholic Church. My god. I totally get why this guy is always doing the most for SQQ. pp102-203

Oh no. Yue Qingyuan was defo the person who was fighting for their life in the cave while qi deviating attempting to leave it. This one hurts :((( Shen Qingqiu doesn't even know and he is not wrong p108 I just want to hug Yue Qingyuan.

ah, okay. This chapter is the original Shen Jiu's timeline not the prequel to Shen yuan version. I got so confused when part 6 started talking about the water prison and Shen Qingqiu killing Liu Qingge. pp109-110

oof. It truly sucks when a character has had a rough go and is struggling but refuses to allow themselves to be redeemed in any way. Shen Jiu feels like that for me. It's so upsetting. pp112-113

This is so tragic. Literally two seconds after I read the part where Shen Jiu tells Yue Qingyuan to get lost and had that thought about him refusing to be redeemed this part happens, "I thought you weren't coming" p114 my HEART at Shen Jiu thinking Yue Qi would never come back but he did :( and Yue Qingyuan still feeling the guilt and burden of not doing it when they were young.

Well that was fucking awful

This chapter ruined my life. No thoughts, only sadness.

[doycngs]

mark lee. | stranger.

summary. the weight you’re been carrying, loving a man and loving a society that forgets you, inevitably washes away like waves carrying sand back deep into the sea when he’s here with you.

pairing. y/n x nct’s mark 

genre. destined lovers to strangers!au 

word count. 5k

warnings. afab!reader, swearing, smut, unprotected sex (don’t be dumb unless you’re intentionally trying to pop a kid out), drinking, angst, writing angst again because i think i did a bang up job at it, fluff ig…, reader is really in love with mark it’s really sad LOL, at this point i say not proofread to disguise the fact i badly proofread ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ at least i’m honest about it… enjoy y’all

inspo. general concept from The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab

songs. still don’t know my name by labrinth and stranger by tove lo (blue lips album)

|—————|

THERE HE IS. In all his glory, his jet-black hair parted and the ends poking at his eyes slightly. You can see that his fingertips are swiping at the annoying locks he complains about often as he talks to Johnny. His best friend is hanging on his shoulder, gesturing toward the crowd, telling the younger boy the number of fish to catch in the sea of Manhattan. 

He was right. The district had a bunch of fish to catch but you knew Mark had a picky appetite. It was funny that he always managed to reel you in, despite the anguish it inevitably brought you in the end. Leaving the next morning from his cluttered apartment never did not sting, the space scattered full of unfinished pages of lyrics and songs he didn’t even know were truly about you. 

You had settled for watching from afar a bit, wanting to delay and pregame a little before going about being so shameless in your desire but Mark catches the sight of you first. It doesn’t happen that often so you’re not too surprised, his umber-colored eyes catching in the blue-ish light in this underground party still making your heart beat a little faster. 

Johnny looks your way as well, slapping a non-subtle hand to Mark’s back and chugging at his beer. Jaehyun is back from the bar, handing Mark his usual first shot of tequila for tonight. He downs it all, cute scrunched up face glancing your way once before briefly conversing with Jae. 

You’re tempted to move towards him, impatience getting ahead of you but talking to the other two boys who came with Mark this Friday didn’t seem so appealing. No matter how many times you’ve talked to them, introduced yourself, and then walked away, doing the same cycle all over again, the naive and innocent expressions you got coming back didn’t wound you any less.  

Not liking where your thinking is going, you turn to order another shot for yourself. You were particularly tired of the aching hole in your heart today— for no particular reason. Nothing stressful or straining happened; no getting caught red-handed stealing or odd people irritating you today. 

You were just… lonely. Like usual.

The longing for that view that sat on top of Mark’s apartment pulled behind your eyelids. And that family-size box of cocoa cereal Mark had hidden in the back of the kitchen’s top cabinet churned your empty stomach too. You could never fucking find that brand, no matter what grocery store you searched all of Manhattan for. That includes his blanket too, which was irreplaceable when his natural smell was an appealing factor of the stupid comfort.

Or maybe just his body heat would do. Mark’s closeness and proximity can singularly pull all the other minute desires from the front of your mind— store it all away for another night.

The patrón stings soothing down your throat. It burns less than how it usually does and you take it as a sign to stop for tonight. The blurring of your brain was a good level and you were coherent enough— ready enough for this night to continue just the way it always does on Friday nights. 

Jaehyun elbows Mark when he catches you pushing through the crowd, heading straight Mark’s way. With that, Johnny hands him his beer and the two scatter to the dance floor, immediately getting tangled into dancing. 

You suppose Mark isn’t that buzzed yet; the nervous quirk to the right corner of his lip is endearing. It always is. 

“Hi!” You yell over the music. 

“Hi!” Mark returns the sentiment, grinning big when he believes he isn’t heard over all the ruckus in this cramped gathering. 

Leaning closer, you shake your head ruefully. “It’s alright, I heard you. What’s your name?” 

Mark. 

“It’s Mark! You?” Mark squints, standing in the way of your wide view of the dance floor’s crowd to hear you better. 

“Y/N!” 

Pretty name. 

“That’s a pretty name!” Mark’s eyebrows raise, “You know, you look really familiar! Have I seen you somewhere before?” 

“I don’t know, have you?” The shrug of your shoulders feels heavy to lift. It’s always the same lies. 

“I work at a uh— instrument and vinyl shop in the middle of Manhattan. It’s called Valentine’s Company. Ever heard of it?” 

Yes. I go to see you and Jae almost three times a week. 

“I don’t think so!” 

Mark nods, saddened. “It was a far shot. My buddy Jae owns the place! I came here with him actually. You alone?” 

Yes. I always am. I can’t help but be. 

“Yeah, I am basically. Came here with a friend and they’ve bailed me already. Probably to be in some bed with a stranger tonight!” 

Mark’s eyes widen, his hands scratching at the back of his neck. He’s reluctant to ask his next question but does it anyway. He can never filter his words well as alcohol starts seeping into the blood of his veins. 

“Looking to do the same tonight?” 

You grin, hearing the inquiry well, despite the way Mark looks like he wants you to not have. “Maybe. Are you propositioning me right now?”

Liking the adorable red that coats his cheeks, and not from the tequila he just downed, Mark shakes his head. An embarrassed hand rubs at the back of his neck before playing with the tips of his hair. “No, no! I’m not, just curious.” 

You hum, even when you know Mark won’t hear the sound, and nod before offering a hand. “Want to dance?” 

He places his hand into yours gladly, hoping not to make a fool of himself. As much as Mark will deny it if he needed to say it aloud, you were alluring. In an attractive, mesmerizing way that he couldn’t interpret all that well. Something in the pit on his tummy said you were good for him. His gut may be wrong sometimes but he’s confident in this one. In you. Maybe he never would know if he kept on drinking tonight and blacked out. But he hopes not to, to learn more about you.

Little does he know that he never will. He never does and he thinks the same thought every Friday you approach him; thinks the same thought every time you go to the vinyl shop. And nothing ever changes, no matter how much you wish for it to. 

You don’t stray too far from the area you and Mark just left behind, only heading ten feet into the moving mass of people before wrapping arms around Mark. It’s a sensual song with thumping bass and Mark places his hands respectfully at your sides. They slide a tiny bit lower as the seconds tick by and heat licks at the contact he makes on your body. 

You wished you weren’t so wired up to desire him all the time. Weren’t so pliant and easy to fall into his arms any time he offered them open to you. Mark made it too easy to fall in love with him, even if he could never grow to fall in love with you if he wanted to. 

Sighing, your head rests in the crook of his shoulder, soft lips pressed to his collarbone. The heat of the club doesn’t stop the shiver that wracks Mark at the proximity you boldly breach. You were a complete stranger to him but he still felt the pull of familiarity deep in the pit of his stomach. You were far too comfortable in his hold to not be acquainted with him. 

“Are you sure we don’t know each other?” You wholly ignore his question, pressing deeper into his body.

Running your hands at the strands near the nape of Mark’s head, his back muscles relax. The chaos around you fades in this small pocket of peace, even if it seemed impossible to understand from your shared surroundings. He melts in your embrace, the scent of your perfume filling his lungs. He blindly and innocently yearns to bathe in it, just for a little while as his subconscious sings. 

His own lips press to the skin of your neck as Mark’s inhibitions let go, fading as the song changes into a slower, heavy rhythm. Drawing away from hesitation, your eyes shine in the neon lights with vulnerability etched in plain sight. 

“Will you bring me home?” Your voice is ever so soft in the mess and cacophony of sound. He catches what you say and yet pretends not to for you to repeat yourself. 

“Bring me home. Please.” Pinning your mouth to his, Mark bends at the connection, nails digging into your waist as hunger drips from your lips. You’re acting as if he’s your only lifeline and the latter thrives being the object of your affection. He felt lucky to be the one you chose out of all the people here.

As if you would ever choose anyone else when there’s Mark Lee. With all his boisterous laughter, wire-rimmed glasses, basketball shorts, late-night guitar sessions, and overflowing passion for his music. With his love for his friends, his loyalty, and his need to impress. With his humbleness and shyness at compliments.

How could you ever possibly choose anyone else but him? 

Your chest heaves with the effort to keep him glued to your body. Desperation flows through every cell that makes up the space you fill on the dance floor. Mark rocks with the tight hold you have on him, returning the favor to quench your thirst.

“You want my place?” He throatily tries to confirm. You answer with a chaste peck to the corner of his lips before pulling him in the direction of the door. 

“Wait, I should tell my friends that I’m leaving.” Mark halfheartedly searches the crowd. 

You nod toward the two he came with and Mark follows the gesture. “They’re busy, just text them.” 

Mark gives in after a few seconds of deliberating, following the confident lead you have. Your warm hand is enveloped in his own and peering down at the sight, his heart lurches in childish like. Throwing back a look to make sure Mark was still with you mentally, your eyes meet, understanding mutual eagerness. 

Before you know it, Mark’s apartment door is thrown open. He doesn’t question how your feet seem to know which door to stop at, not when you hungrily paw at his cotton tee, shoving at the zip-up that hides his lean body from your determined touch.  

He pushes you against the wall of the hallway, climbing down your body with peppering kisses. Your hips push off the surface, back arching for more, more, more. The whine that escapes your lips is completely involuntary, Mark’s darting eyes squinting at the pleasant noise. He wants more of that sound. 

Warm palms snake around your thighs to widen and spread your legs, accommodating for his shoulders. Hooking one onto them, deft fingers stop before brushing at the hem of your dress, hiding what he truly wants. 

“Are you sure you want to continue—?”

Your hands curl in his hair, yanking his head away. Mark’s concern is quick to show itself. 

“Bed.” You simply exhale, taking the leg you have placed on Mark to bend and pull a heel off. 

“Allow me,” Mark says in relief, glad you’re not pushing him away. A sudden desire to go slow seeps into him. He presses a soft kiss to your calf, sliding the other shoe off your foot. Taking your hand, he leads you to his bedroom, all blue-tinted from the city lights. 

You halt his finger from flicking a light on, willing for the streets lamps and fairy wires from adjacent apartments to adorn you two tonight. Mark sits at the edge of his bed, arms supporting his body upright. You slip your dress to hit the soft carpet beneath your feet, not nervous of exposing. He’s seen it all before and never remembers, yet marveling at the bare sight of you every time. It flatters all the same.

His hands unconsciously drift to splay at your tummy, running up and down. Placing your hands at his shoulders, he caresses your body silently, appreciating the art of your curves, the marks, the stretches, the dots, and the uneven textures and color. 

The two of you are unusually slow in your pace this Friday and your heart jumps into your throat at the care that shines in Mark’s eyes. In the dark recesses of the club, it’s difficult to distinguish between lust and love. Deep down, it’s always been lust. 

So why do his eyes show you like an open book it’s love this time? 

“You didn’t drink a lot, did you?” You ask, just to ask when you know the answer. The brain in your skull is telling you to confirm, even if you were watching him the second he entered the club. It didn’t seem real, the look in Mark’s gaze. 

He falls out of his reverie with your pretty skin. “No,” Doubt begins to drip into his voice, “Are you regretting this?” 

“No, I could never.” 

Climbing onto his lap, you help peel off the zip-up and the shirt. And then you’re unbuckling his belt and his calloused fingertips halt you there, gripping your chin to liplock once more. Mark grabs a tight hold of your right thigh and the back of your head before twisting your conjoined bodies to the left, gently laying your back down onto the bed. 

He kneels on the mattress and then focuses down on himself to rip the belt from the loops of his dark jeans, his pupils swallowing the umber-colored irises you adore. 

“You sure you want to continue?” There’s a roughness to the voice you’re used to and clasping your thighs together at the timber, you nod. 

Mark always asks this before. As if your body wasn’t humming for him already. 

He pushes your flush legs aside to the left, rubbing a hand from the crevice created at your touching knees to the apex of your thighs, slowing to a stop. “I want you to say it. Vocally, please.” 

You sigh silently. Always so polite, your boy. 

“Yes. Please, continue.” 

Mark’s thumb presses to your nub, lips skimming your knee. He pushes you further up the bed to comfortably sit between the thighs he forces apart. You can tell by the gaze he sets at the mess you’ve made of yourself, he appreciates you more. More than he could already, seeing how prepared you are for him. 

Hips bucking at the firmer pressure he places on your swollen clit, Mark’s middle and ring fingers spread your lips. You try to bite down the pleas but they claw their way up to your throat before you can help it. 

“More,” You cry, tugging at the hand between your legs. Mark marvels at how his hand can just envelope and hold your delicacy all at once. And he does exactly that, coming up to muffle the whines climbing up from your swarming abdomen with his lips as he fights for space between your legs. 

Collecting your wrists together, he whispers, “Hold them here,” pinning them above your head before sucking bruises at your neck. The pace kicks up as he reads the thrumming heat from your body grow hotter in impatience. 

A shuddered exhale escapes into the heady air between the two of you, watching as Mark makes his way down your chest. His knees just barely dig into the edge of the bed, the rest of his legs hanging off. Pinching at your nipples for a split second, your hips buck up to contact his neck. 

Marks moans, breathy and quiet at your boldness. It gets to you, wanting to get more out of his pretty mouth. Your right hand twitches, digging in the palm of your left to obey what Mark wants. You so desperately want to tug his waist to yours though. To just rut at each other since he was still going too slow for your liking. The time he was taking made the ache in your chest keep growing. You weren’t sure if it was healthy for your already too-big heart to handle. 

“Hey,” Mark calls out, “Behave.” 

The tone is final and you look back up to the ceiling, closing your eyes. 

He moves in your slick easily, the moisture you’re created making salacious noises like music to Mark’s ears. Wedging a blunt fingertip to your entrance, you moan at the enticement. You shift to insert him deeper but Mark throws a lower forearm over your abdomen, stopping your wiggling. 

“Please. No teasing, I can’t stand it.”

A raspy chuckle. “So greedy, aren’t you?” 

Humming in a high tone, his middle finger begins to push deeper, petting your insides. Everything stirs at that, head hazy. You quite literally feel your world spin, reminded of your empty stomach, praying that it won’t rumble in complaint. 

Your toes curl and Mark is fond of that, licking down the inside of your thigh. He sucks at the skin, rubbing it raw as he pumps his skilled finger in and out, readying you for a second. With how wet you were, you doubt it would be any difficult. 

“Another, more. More.” Begging, Mark finally listens for once and adds his ring finger. He curls them just right— like he was born for knowing the nooks and crannies of your body. Every time, you doubt whether the universe just simply wipes his memory of everything but how to treat you correctly in bed. 

Mark feels your stomach go taut, his thumb running circles around your belly button like an afterthought. You pray he’s nice tonight, not willing to deprive you of an orgasm. You know he’s eyeing your expression like a hawk, always a good judge as to when you’re right on the cusp of the edge, tip of your tongue itching for that release. 

His soft lips suckle around your clit and it adds fuel to the fire. A guttural moan vibrates your body, bringing you just that much closer. Mark is kind tonight, letting your walls tighten and eyelids screw shut. 

White lights dance behind your closed vision, cerulean and cyan weaving into there. You’re gasping, hardly able to control your body as your hands finally disobey and grasp at Mark’s hand and hair. 

He gives in for your comfort before your high dies down and your eyes open for Mark to run up and kiss you more breathless. Not allowing you to rest a little, his thumbs hook at his jeans and boxers. He throws them both down at the floor, thick thighs caging your hips. 

Mark practically folds your body in half, chest brushing against your own as he licks into your mouth. Dominating quickly, your tongue is fast to give to his will and Mark’s stomach sucks in at the submissiveness you ooze. 

“Fuck, you’re so good to me,” Mark growls out. Hands at his shoulders, he’s suddenly reminded of your broken rule, slamming them above once more. He assures himself that they stay there by planting one of his hands to keep them interlocked, while the other lines himself up to you. 

You moan as he rubs his tip at your clit, a smug smile sitting on Mark’s lips. Confidence looks good on him and you itch to run your fingers down his body. You keep shuffling your hips at the pleasure, Mark halting everything at your misbehavior. 

Abandoning his tight grip on your wrists, Mark squeezes at your waist, tugging you down onto his cock instead. Swearing at the gratification that zips up your spine, Mark adjusts the two of you higher up the bed until your head hits the pillows. 

Both legs of yours are swung to hang off his left shoulder before he’s bumping all the way in. Your walls clench at the deep groan Mark automatically lets out. Rutting and circling his hips, you cry, trying to practice discipline and not touch. Half-moons surely decorate your palms by now. 

He pumps himself slowly in and out of your tight cunt, loving the sight of your pussy swallowing him so eagerly. Mark wants to commit the memory to his head; sear it into the brain so he’ll never forget. Because how could he forget somebody as perfect as this? Lips twitching up at the fucked-out expression you have on, noises all meek in hums, Mark commits that to memory too. 

Finally, planting his hands beside your head, Mark snaps into you properly. Red hot desire has your head spinning once more and grabbing at the pillows, you take what you’re given. 

Mark fucks like he’s giving punishment, banging his pelvis against yours, and you love every second. The bruises in the morning are a nice but painful reminder of how much you need him to breathe and live. And the lines get you going too.

Lips brushing yours, he hoists your legs higher, “This what you wanted, hm?” 

You mewl in agreement, trying to steady your shaky legs that keep sliding off his shoulder. You’re too weak to hook them there and place any strength in them to do so. You’re battered from cumming just several minutes ago, walls always fluttering from how diligent Mark works your body. 

“Fuck, please! I’m gonna’—” 

“Already?” Mark noses at your jaw, “My sensitive girl…” 

He keeps up his pace, drilling into you with rhythm. As soon as you let go once more, Mark is commanding your lax limbs. Airy moans escape your gaping mouth as pleasure drowns your body. Pressing ever the closer to your chest, you’re almost bent in half and shuddering as he chases his own orgasm after so long. 

Even spent, you try and flutter around Mark. Swearing into your collarbone, he sags, releasing deep into you and raggedly gritting into your pussy. He leaves you feeling empty, collapsing by your side and laying a heavy arm around your middle. Legs finally flopping down, Mark presses them to lean against his hip, your body turning pliant in the movement as you face him entirely.

Sweat collects at his hairline, smooth skin all sheen in the moonlight that bathes him. He’s ethereal trying to catch his breath, eyes closed and concentrated in the action. Even in the same state of exhaustion, you’re focused on recording this image to your head. 

When Mark has a pleased noise exhaled out, you timidly run a touch down his arm. His eyes open and you’re smiling so softly at that. His heart lurches. 

“You’re staying right?” He breathes, scared to go above a whisper like it will scare you away. 

Getting out of the thrones of passion always scared Mark to death. The uncertainty of communicating left his anxiety going haywire. And he really wants you to stay. 

The corner of your mouth curls up higher than the other and it gives him the answer he wanted. “I’ll stay.” 

Mark sighs happily at that, carefully and slowly leaning over you. You close your eyes, unexpectedly getting a kiss on your forehead instead of pressure on your lips. A finger unconsciously pokes at the mole on Mark’s right cheek and he giggles at your clouded eyes. 

His duality never failed to make your throat constraint. He’s climbing off the bed, going to get a towel from the bathroom. Panic seizes your body, throwing you upright and latching onto his upper arm instantly. 

“No!” Mark’s eyebrows fly up at the shock of clinginess. He thought you were suddenly hurt. Chest heaving at the thought of him letting you leave his vision, you shake your head. 

“I’m just going to the bathroom. To clean you up.” His naive voice is full of concern and you shake your head again. 

“I’ll do it, just… don’t leave my sight.” Mark blinks hard at that. He sits back down at your incessant pulling, practically falling onto the bed as you pull yourself up with the momentum. 

Grabbing tissues from his bedstand, you attempt to wipe yourself down, trying to calm your heart down as well. He was so close to letting you out of his sight. Your hands are shaky at the thought of Mark coming back from the bathroom, all confused at you… all vulnerable and naked and scared without a clue as to who you were. 

“Hey…” Mark gentles grasps your unsteady fingers, “Let me.” 

He molds your knee to bend, bringing it to place your weight down onto the bed. Kissing the love bite he made to the inside of your thigh, Mark takes the tissue and with a featherlight touch, cleans you with care. He tosses the wipe away once done.

You melt, taking a deep breath. When his pupils reveal those umber-colored irises again in the gridded city light, Mark is open and unguarded. You’re the same, supple hands cupping his face. 

Shoulders relaxed, he swallows harshly as he presses his face into your stomach and your knee falls away from the bed. Something tells him deep in his bones this closeness— this connection— was not normal. Who feels this way after a hookup? 

“Am I going crazy?” Mark doesn’t realize his inner question is voiced aloud and your belly tenses at the question. The hold he has around your torso tightens. 

“No,” You mutter, running your hands gently through his hair, “You’re not.” 

“You know me, don’t you?” 

It hurts the most to lie to him. You’re never hurt more doing so, even within the centuries you’ve lived on this beautiful earth, roaming every corner and talking to so many humans just like Mark. Though you doubt they are as ever intricate and amazing as him. 

“No, I don’t.” 

He whimpers his next words and your head flounders, not expecting such honesty. “You’re lying, aren’t you?” 

Fingers become standstill in his hair. “I’m staying.” 

“I don’t know why you’re lying…” Mark’s hands curl, fingernails digging into the skin of your bare back. 

“I’m staying, Mark.” You repeat a little heatedly as if it’ll erase this sudden revelation Mark is getting at. You’re terrified of what is happening, not sure what he’s getting at. In the years you’ve found Mark and fallen for him, he’s never questioned anything like this. 

“I have pages and pages of lyrics I don’t finish, all of the same person. And I can’t remember who it is ever, no matter how hard I try—”

“Mark.”

“A-And now that I think about it, they all just sound like I’m describing you. It’s only been— what? Two hours since we’ve met and I-I can’t explain the gut feeling I have that—” 

“Mark.” You pull at the nape of his neck for him to stop, the droplets escaping your eyes warbling your voice. 

He finally checks up at your expression, face crumbling at the story you’re saying silently. “No, no. I-I know I’m right. I know I am, right? I feel a deep pull in my stomach,” He pats himself, “right here. And I know it. The second you—” 

“Mark, stop.” You’re fully crying now, muscles too weak to continue standing upright. 

Mark grips your hands, tucking your hair behind your ears as you sob into his knees. “The second you fucking met me, I—” He chokes, not willing to say anymore. 

You understand everything Mark doesn’t speak aloud. Everything he’s too afraid to say— too broken to say. Bricks clutter off your entire being, the weight you’re been carrying, loving a man and loving a society that forgets you, inevitably washing away like waves carrying sand back deep into the sea.

Mark pulls himself down to you, cradling your head as he sobs. Something fastens deep in his soul, having you here with him. And he knows that finding you in the ocean of people at the club was not a coincidence. Nothing was a coincidence with you. 

Because the scribbles of grasping memories out in his living room have been telling him that. The mysterious disappearances of his clothes and his food, the scent of your perfume have been telling him that. The warmth of your smile and the normality of being so intimate with you tells him that. 

Everything points to you. 

You don’t have to tell him everything verbally because Mark knows, far in the recesses that make him him, that you were what he was looking for. But for how long you’ve been suffering all on your own, living and loving him all on your own…

The two of you cry for time lost. Because time is the most precious thing the two of you could have departed with. Mark codles you to his chest, folding his knees up and willing you to curl into the space he creates. And you two cry for time lost. 

“Will I forget you if I sleep?” His raspy, broken voice concluded after a while, knowing you didn’t know the answer. 

You don’t know why the universe has allowed Mark to suddenly understand. Maybe to punish you further by letting him truly see you for the first time, only to snatch you away into the darkness of Mark’s head again. Being pessimist bites. 

“Yes.” 

Mark presses his forehead to yours. “Then I won’t sleep.” 

“You’ll sleep eventually.” Your worn-out voice is unrecognizable even to you. 

“I won’t. I won’t, not without a fight.” 

Your eyes prick at the determination in your lover’s words. “You’ll sleep, Mark.” 

Mark huffs, angry at whatever force doing this to you. And then he asks the question that began your hell, and you’re allowed to start explaining. The force that usually oppresses you to never explain… allows you to. When you’re done, he presses the strongest, most potent kiss to your lips. 

“We’re fixing this.” 

“You can’t fix me.” The world spins when you close your eyes this time, pushing the tears out to spill down your cheeks. 

“I will. I promise, I will Y/N.” Mark wills you to look into his steady eyes. 

You almost believe him. So you placate instead, nodding. 

He runs with it, the devout and grave expression that’s glued on giving you some reprieve. He doesn’t know that you have tried everything before. Nothing works. As time continues passing by, the more persuaded you become that the universe is playing another cruel trick on lonely old you. 

In the next few hours, Mark is up and running. He makes sure you never leave his line of vision. 

Making a cup of coffee with Johnny’s press. Scouring the Internet on your phenomenon. Brainstorming ways for him to remember you. Every futile attempt weakens his spirit, just a smidge before the results are multiplying by the end. 

He pulls at the black tendrils on his head. And his eyes grow desperate, failing to see your defeated expression, yet fond at the fierceness Mark will fight to keep you here with him… but you know. 

You’ve always known. 

Eventually, when the coffee is out and the crash is incoming, his body gives in. And the sobs wrack his frame once more. Holding him tight, he’s falling apart in your arms. 

Mark wills himself to calm down, breathe, and breathe in the presence of you, only to catch the paper lift of a half-finished lyric page. Or the crumbs of cereal on the coffee table. Or the blanket behind laid on the couch that smells of you. He falls all over again. 

“I should go. Before you microsleep on me.” 

He shakes his head, blinking. “No. I won’t. Stay.” 

So you stay on the couch with him, despite your heart trying to protect you. His arms grasp you tightly but they loosen from time to time. 

You’re solemn in accepting this fate. 

And Mark loosens once more. Everything freezes. 

Even with your hope, it freezes. So when you shift, Mark awakens. 

The universe laughs one final time as his next words hurt you. They hurt more than lying to him because even within the centuries you’ve lived on this beautiful earth, roaming every corner and talking to so many humans just like Mark… they were never as ever intricate and amazing as him. 

“Who are you?” 

[darklove9314-blog]

Since I have finished seven out of the twenty-two Ice Planet Barbarians books I thought I’d give my ranking of the OG couples before proceeding. (This is just my personal opinion. If our opinions differ than that’s perfectly alright.)

7. Claire and Ereven- Don’t get me wrong I love the fake dating trope, however I think these two are my least favorite of the couples because we spent a whole book with all the others and I swear they weren’t even in this for half the book. Their story got overshadowed by the birth of Vektal and Georgie’s daughter and the tribe trying to combine holidays. Like it was cute and I still enjoyed the story, but the romance didn’t have time to matter that much,

6. Harlow and Rukh- You see their story was alright, but again it was very take it or leave it for me.

5. Georgie and Vektal- Yes, I’m putting the OG, ice planet Barbarian couple at number 5. Yes their story kicked off the series and they do have moments where they are adorable, but sometimes they do annoy me as a pairing and as individuals.

4. Liz and Raahosh- I know these two are a lot of people’s favorites, but I do tire of the beauty and the beast retellings and Liz and Raahosh’s story is no different. I do still like them as a couple. There hasn’t been a couple I hated. But their book definitely kept me reading to see what happened next.

3. Tiffany and Salukh- what can I say I adore these two, sure it took me a while to get used to Salukh since he came on a little strong in the begging, but I did like him a lot by the end. I loved how he didn’t push Tiffany into doing more than what she was ready for. And how he never gave up hope that they were mates. I thought they were adorable.

2. Josie and Haeden- I’m always a sucker for enemies to lovers and these two were no exception. Both head strong individuals in their own ways, it took me by surprise how much I adored these two as a couple. I did sense in Claire’s story that Haeden cared for Josie more than he let on. After all he did tackle someone who tackled Josie, he wasn’t fooling me in the slightest bit. And I do like how their relationship was a slow burn. Well as much of a slow burn as IPB allows. I like how they got to know each other. Tried to protect one another. Let each other in on their painful past and learned how to let each other in even when it seemed impossible to do so. I like his when they both said hurtful things there was some form of communication between the two. They were both just two individuals who wanted to be loved and cherished and I loved that they found what they were seeking with each other.

1.Kira and Aehsko- When these two both appeared on the page I automatically loved both of them right off the bat and when their book came along I was thankful for it. Their love story matters a lot to me. I loved how they seemed to be friends first. I love how it didn’t matter to Aehako if Kira was barren or not because he would chose her always. (Although we can have a much bigger discussion about the magical healing trope in this book when in came to kira being able to have kids again.) I loved how they chose each other. Mated if not they still wpukk ll d have ended up together because they cared for each other that much. I must say these two are my favorites because I’m a book full of mates they were the few who would chose each other despite the odds and that’s all I yearn for in my books.

List your rankings below!!!!

[babymetaldoll]

Don’t be a d!ck (Spencer Reid/Reader)

Requested: Yes! :) Spencer is jealous when he sees a picture of a dick on his girlfriend's phone

Summary: Spencer Reid can't believe it when he finds something shocking in his girlfriend's phone. And, of course, instead of asking her about it, he spends a whole day overthinking everything.

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Reader

Category: Fluff with mentions of sex and maybe a dash of angst. How would you call that? Flmut? smuff? flangut?

Warnings: Spencer being passive-aggressive. Sex references, cursing as always.

Word count: 2,3K

A/N: I loved this request so much!! hope you like it @meowiemari​

- "Pumpkin! have you seen my phone?"- Spencer asked his girlfriend after looking for it in every corner of their apartment, not finding it.

- "No, Honey! Did you look in your bag?"- she yelled from the bathroom, where she was getting ready to leave for work. The two of them worked together at the BAU, and they were late. There was no time for breakfast, just coffee... and finding Spencer's phone.

- "It's not there! can I use yours to call my phone?"

- "Sure! it's on my nightstand"

Spencer kept trying to remember where he had left his phone, but nothing came to mind because he usually didn't use it. He always kept it in his bag. Maybe someone had stolen it; they might have taken it from his bag. No, he had called his mother the night before, so he was sure it had to be somewhere in the house.

(Y/N)'s cellphone was precisely where she had said it was. He hated that. She always remembered where she had left her things. Spencer did too, but sometimes he was too concentrated reading a book. Or rambling about anything... or kissing (Y/N). Those things made him forget where the unimportant things were, for example, his phone.

He was about to joke about it and tell (Y/N) she was hiding his phone to mess with him, but when he unlocked hers, his heart stopped, and he nearly dropped it. Her phone's wallpaper... it was a picture... of... a... dick.

And it wasn't his.

There was a dick. Cock. Penis. And it wasn't his.

He tried to understand what was going on, but it made no sense: there was a fully hard male sexual organ. And. It. Wasn't. His.

- "Honey? Did you find it?"- (Y/N) asked and walked out of the bathroom. Spencer dialed his number in silence and waited until he heard it ringing in the kitchen.

- "Got it!"- he answered and put it in his pocket- "I'll wait in the car"- and without giving his girlfriend time to reply, he left the apartment.

Why on earth would (Y/N) do that? Wasn't he enough? Was she cheating? Whose cock was it? And how was he going to ask her? If she put that picture there, anyone could see it. Didn't she care?

.

- "Honey, are you listening?"- (Y/N) asked him as Spencer drove to the BAU. He had been quiet, tangled in all the doubts and questions that picture had filled his mind with. And he was unable to talk. Unable to simply ask (Y/N) what was that all about.

- "Yes, I'm fine"- he replied, serious and curt. (Y/N) looked at him and raised an eyebrow, confused.

- "Are you sure? you sound upset"

- "If I tell you I'm fine, it's because I'm fucking fine!"- and with that sentence, Spencer Reid ended any kind of conversation with his girlfriend. (Y/N) knew if he were mad about something, he would take his time to process it. And if she pushed him, he was going to freak out, yell and even say hurtful things. That's how Spencer had always been, and she wasn't going to change that.

.

- "Hey! are you ok?"- Morgan stood next to Spencer in the kitchenette. He had noticed his friend hadn't said a word the whole morning, and Derek knew his friend good enough to know that wasn't right.

- "Yeah"- Reid answered coldly and poured a cup of coffee- "So, you don't have any random facts to share with me? No rambling? no..."

- "No, Morgan, I have nothing to say!"- Spencer just snapped at his friend, and he stared at him, surprised

- "Sorry. I'm just..."- Reid was frustrated and embarrassed. He didn't know how to handle what had happened. Maybe Morgan could help. He trusted his friend, as long as he wouldn't tell Penelope.

- "Sorry"- Reid whispered and took a look around. The coast was clear. No one could hear if he shared his thoughts with Morgan, but... he had no idea how to tell him what had happened.

- "Did you fight with (Y/N)? whatever it is that you did, just say you are sorry"

- "No! we didn't... wait, what makes you think I would be the one doing something wrong?"- Derek shrugged and grabbed a mug. He also needed caffeine.

- "I'm just trying to help"

- "You are not helping!"

- "Then tell me what happened, pretty boy. You can deny it all you want, but you are too easy to read. Something is bothering you"

- "Ok, listen, I'm gonna tell you, but you have to swear you won't tell Garcia"

- "Cross my heart and hope to die"- Derek answered, chuckling. It was apparent he wasn't taking Spencer's words seriously.

- "I mean it. It would help if you didn't tell her or anyone. This is between you and me, ok?"- Spencer looked at Derek straight into the eyes and raised an eyebrow, trying to make his point. His friend nodded and happed on his shoulder.

- "You've got my word."

- "Hey! what are you guys doing here?"- (Y/N) walked in and smiled at her boyfriend- "How's your morning going?"

- "Good. Excuse me"- and just like that, Spencer walked in silence back to his desk.

- "What was that?"- (Y/N) asked Morgan- "Did you guys argue?"

- "No! I thought you argued"

- "No, we haven't. He has been acting pretty odd, though"

- "(Y/N), you know he is pretty o...."

- "He is not odd!"- (Y/N) interrupted her friend before he could even finish talking- "I'm gonna find out what's wrong with that man."

.

But her plans of talking with her boyfriend were quickly discarded when Hotch asked her to help JJ looking for some files. And that task took the two SSA the rest of the morning... and most of the afternoon.

.

- "Are you gonna tell me?"- Morgan sat on Spencer's desk and looked at him. He hadn't gotten any work done that whole time. He had been staring at a blank page, holding a pen, trying to come up with the words to write (Y/N) a letter.

Letters were Spencer's way to rearrange his thoughts. He didn't usually give her the letter he wrote her. He would just use it to collect himself. He knew he was an asshole when he was mad, and he always made his best not to be one with her.

- "Your lady is with JJ"- Derek added when Spencer started looking around. Rossi was in his office talking with Prentiss. Hotch locked in his office with Strauss, and Penelope probably in her Batcave.

- "So, pretty Ricky. Spit it"

- "Ok..."- Spencer closed his eyes for a second and tried to find the right words to tell Morgan what had happened without making (Y/N) look like a perv. That was almost impossible.

- "Ok"- Spencer repeated and opened his mouth. Nothing came from it.

- "So"- he said and held his breath. Nothing.

- "Reid, this has to be serious, 'cos I had never seen you losing your words before"

- "Well... I don't know how to tell you what happened"

- "Go straight to the facts. What happened, man?- Morgan would tell himself he was worried about his friend, but the truth was he was a nosy guy. He was way too intrigued with what had happened between Reid and (Y/N) and couldn't focus on his work.

- "I couldn't find my phone this morning, and I asked (Y/N) if I could use hers to call me"- Spencer made a pause and felt how his cheeks were already red, in a mix of anger and embarrassment.

- "Ok, and?"

- "And that's when I found out I'm dating a pervert"- Reid closed his eyes and rested his head against the desk. Morgan frowned, confused, and waited for his friend to give him more details. But Reid didn't say another word.

- "What are you talking about?"- that was all Morgan could say- "What makes you think (Y/N) is a pervert?"

- "Because she!"- Spencer looked around and whispered/yelled at his friend - "She has someone's dick as her phone background, and it ain't mine!!"

If someone earlier that day would have said to Derek: "Today, you will know the most embarrassing secret of one of your best friends", he would have never guessed that would be it.

- "Are you sure?!"- Morgan asked, whispering/yelling too, making his best not to laugh because Spencer didn't look like he was joking.

- "I am sure! I saw it! It was a dick! where did she take that picture from??! is she cheating?!"

- "No, Reid, come on. Don't panic!"- Morgan didn't know what to say, but he made his best to calm his friend down- "There's probably an explanation for it"

- "And what is it? 'cos the only logical explanation I can find is that my girlfriend is not satisfied with me. Maybe she has been looking for..."- Spencer couldn't even finish his sentence. He bit his tongue and held his breath.

- "Kid, you just have to calm down and ask (Y/N) what it's all about. I'm sure there's a logical explanation for all this. She wouldn't cheat on you. Trust me."

.

Despite his friend's words, Spencer was miserable for the rest of the day. (Y/N) and JJ kept looking for some missing files that Hotch needed to close an investigation. Meanwhile, Spencer just sat alone, didn't work at all, and all he could think of was the picture on (Y/N)'s phone. It was killing him.

When (Y/N) called him to ask if he wanted to have lunch with her, he said he wasn't hungry. When she got him a donut to cheer his day, he didn't even smile. And when she tried to kiss him, he turned around and left.

It was bad.

(Y/N) had no idea what was going on, and Spencer kept trying to avoid her. Until they bumped into each other at the hall, and (Y/N) grabbed his sleeve to stop him when he started walking away from her

- "Ok, we need to talk"

- "What about?"- Spencer looked at her, trying to calm himself down, but he couldn't. No matter how badly he tried.

- "Can you stop being a dick with me?"- and Spencer chuckled

- "That's a very interesting word you just choose, (Y/N)"

- "What are you talking about? what's your problem?"

- "You know very well what my problem is!"- but she didn't. She honestly had no idea what Spencer was talking about. And when she didn't answer, he grabbed her arm and crawled her to the storage room.

- "Spen..."

- "Whose dick is it??!"- Reid nearly shouted. His face was red in anger, and his hands were shaking.

- "What?"

- "Don't try to look all innocent! you know what I'm talking about!"

- "Spencer, I have no idea what you are talking about"- (Y/N) whispered, trying to calm him down. But it didn't work.

x- "The dick on your phone!! whose is it?!"

(Y/N) looked at her boyfriend and didn't move a muscle. She had never seen him so upset before.

- "You saw my phone's wallpaper this morning?"- she asked him calmly, and he grunted immediately.

- "If I saw it? Of course, I did! how couldn't I notice there is a picture of someone's cock on my girlfriend's phone!?"

- "Someone's"- she repeated and crossed her arms on her chest- "You think I'd have some random dick on my phone?!"

- "I don't know! you tell me!"

- "Spencer Walter Reid, you are a genius, but that doesn't stop you from being an asshole sometimes"- (Y/N) took the phone and showed him the picture- "That's you!! I accidentally set the picture as my wallpaper this morning and forgot to change it!! do you want to see the whole photo shoot to make sure that's you? 'cos you were the one who took the pictures, by the way!!"

(Y/N) looked at him, waiting for an apology, and Spencer was so embarrassed he didn't know what to do. She was right. He had taken those pictures. It all came to his mind that second.

- "Pumpkin...."

- "It's your dick, Spencer"

- "I..."- he couldn't answer

- "And you thought I had someone else's dirty pictures on my phone?"- she whispered, watching how her boyfriend's face changed from angry to shock in a second.

- "I just..."

- "What? you thought I was a pervert?"- Spencer really didn't know what to say

- "I'm so sorry"- he whispered and bit his lips- "I was a dick"

- "You were"- (Y/N) nodded and crossed her arms on her chest- "Why didn't you just ask me right away?"

- "I don't know, I was just so... mad and..."- Spencer looked down at his shoes and pouted. (Y/N) knew she should be mad at him for acting like a jerk the whole day, but she couldn't. Why? because she knew underneath it all, he was just a boy scared to be rejected.

- "Come here"- she held his hands and took a step closer to him- "Look at me, honey"- he did, for a second, and then looked away- "Eyes on me, Spencer, I need to make sure you understand what I'm about to say"

- "(Y/N), I am so sorry, I..."

- "I know you are sorry"- she whispered and leaned in, pecking his lips- "And I am not mad at you. But I need you to understand something. I love you. I don't want anybody else. Ok?"- he blushed as she kept looking at him.

- "I'm sorry"- he whispered again and leaned over, resting his forehead on hers - "I thought..."

- "You are everything I need, and everything I want, ok?"- she muttered, and he sighed- "And you should start recognizing your own dick, Spencer. I can't believe you didn't know it was yours"- (Y/N) giggled and kissed Spencer's lips again- "Maybe we should start taking more pictures."- she whispered, and Reid shook his head.

- "I don't deserve you."

- "But you are stuck with me, so deal with your perv,"- she answered and giggled- "Now give me a kiss to make it up for a shitty day"- Spencer wrapped his arms around her and kissed deeply. The kind of kiss that made her feel weak on the knees.

- "What if you teach me how to change my phone's background?"- he whispered, and (Y/N) smiled.

- "As long as I am the one taking the pictures now."

.

[space-pot8o]

Inspired by a post by @toedenandbackagain

The advertisements were how they found each other, every once in a while, when the world changed too quickly. The newspaper was the only form of media to remain consistent. There was just too many ways to communicate now, Crowley thought. He’d had a hand in creating the internet, and now the humans were so invested even he could barely keep up with it.

Of course, he had a cell phone, but Aziraphale didn’t. He’d already tried the bookshop’s landline to no avail. It was like the angel was allergic to any technology made after the mid-nineteenth century.

He paid the man at the newspaper stand, scooping up a paper and opening it to the personal adverts as he wound through the crowd. He barely needed to pay attention to where he was going; people just seemed to veer out of his way.

Halfway down the page, he found what he was looking for.

Angel will be feeding ducks at St. James’ Park on Monday at 10am. Company would be appreciated.

“Found you,” Crowley muttered. Or at least, he hoped. The last time he’d been wrong, it had been the most awkward of situations. It was… well, let’s just say there was a reason Crowley didn’t respond to adverts that fit his physical description anymore. Or those looking for an ‘evening companion’, as much as that sounded like a term Aziraphale would use. No, he only responded to ones that specifically said ‘Angel’ now. Less chancy.

Crowley glanced at his watch, the shimmery dark face reading quarter to ten.

“Perfect,” he murmured, snapping the newspaper shut and tucking it under his arm. Aziraphale might like to read it, he supposed. He also supposed that perhaps he should stop talking aloud to himself so much.

Thirteen minutes later, Crowley arrived at St. James’ Park. In the distance, on the bench where they usually met, sat a prim figure with a shock of light hair and a cream colored jacket. One side of his mouth drew back in a grin as he sauntered over, keeping his eyes on the ducks in the pond as he came up beside the bench.

“That one was a bit obvious, don’t you think, angel?”

“It’s Angela, actually.”

Crowley froze, turning to look at the person sitting on the bench, who was not in fact Aziraphale but instead an old lady with pinned up white curls and a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

“Oh, I suppose I must have mistyped it when I was sending it into the newspaper. I just can’t get the hang of these computers.”

Crowley blinked, glancing around uncomfortably as the shock began to pass.

“I think I’ve answered the wrong advert,” he said, taking a step backwards.

“Oh,” the lady said, her face falling a bit. “Well you’re here, would you like to feed the ducks with me, anyway?”

Crowley hesitated. As disappointed as he was that it wasn’t his angel, there was something compelling about her.

“Well alright, I suppose,” he heard himself say as he sank down onto the bench beside her.

“Here you go, dear,” she said, handing him a chunk of bread from the bag beside her. He accepted it as she threw a handful of crumbs into the water.

“My best friend Peggy just passed away, you see, and feeding the ducks used to be a regular outing for us, especially as we got older. I only put the ad in the paper because I don’t have too many friends left and I’m just at such a loss without Peggy.”

She gave Crowley a sideways glance.

“It seems to me you feel the same way without whoever you meant to meet here, your angel, considering how disappointed you were to find me instead.”

Crowley gave a noncommittal shrug, shifting uncomfortably. She was right, of course, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“The ducks seem to like you though, don’t they?” Angela continued. “Do you come here often dear? I swear they remember faces. They would certainly remember Peggy every time, though I think she was coming here to feed them long before we started coming together.”

She threw a bit more bread in the water.

“Oh, that reminds me.” She reached for her bag. “Would you like a sandwich, dear?” I brought an extra, it was always for Peggy, she was always running around and I swear she would never stop to eat unless I made her.”

She pulled out a paper-wrapped square, which Crowley accepted reluctantly. He would have refused, but there was something in the woman’s eyes that warned him against fighting too hard.

He unwrapped the paper, revealing a ham and cheese sandwich on good homemade bread. He took a bite to be polite, and Angela smiled.

“There’s a good boy. You’re quite a skinny one, aren’t you? You remind me of Peggy’s husband when he was young, only you’re much taller. Of course, that was before the war.” She trailed off, tossing another handful of bread to the eager ducks.

Crowley took another bite of the sandwich, surprising himself. Usually Aziraphale was the only one who could get him to eat.

“I just realized I never got your name, dear,” Angela said, turning back to look at him.

“Anthony,” he replied after a moment, deciding Crowley would be too hard to explain. “Though not many people call me that.”

“Oh yes,” Angela replied. “I know how that is. My given name is Angela, but I’ve never met someone who didn’t call me Angie instead.”

Crowley nodded. Nicknames were such a human thing, he thought. You have one name but everyone just calls you something else.

“Some people have called me Tony,” he said slowly, trying not to show his distaste. “You could call me that instead.”

Angie glanced over, her eyes shrewd.

“You don’t strike me as a Tony,” she replied. “Anthony suits you just fine, I think.”

Crowley relaxed a bit at her words.

“One of Peggy’s friends had a son named Anthony,” Angie continued. “Now he was someone better suited as a Tony. I always felt the name Tony was meant for a troublemaker, but that doesn’t seem like you at all. But young Tony, he can’t seem to stay out of trouble. I think he does it on purpose. No, you’re much too polite to be a Tony.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Where had this woman been for the last six thousand years? Under a rock? Crowley, polite. What a concept. Though, he supposed, Aziraphale would likely agree with her.

“My angel keeps telling me I’m a good person,” he said, tossing some bread into the pond. “I’m not inclined to believe it, though.”

“Why ever not?” Angie replied. “You seem perfectly nice to me.”

Crowley did his best to ignore the uncomfortable prickle her words sent over his skin.

“My job… it requires me to do some things, that most people would agree, do not make me a nice person.”

Angie was silent for a moment.

“And it’s not like I hurt anyone, of course not,” Crowley continued. “I just… inconvenience them.”

“Does it bother you?”

“What?” He jerked his head up.

“Does it bother you,” Angie repeated, “That you do these things? That some people might think you’re bad?”

Crowley blinked, truly stumped for the first time in four hundred years.

“I mean, it’s my job,” he replied. “It’s who I am.”

“Oh, psh,” Angie replied, waving her hand. “I can’t even count anymore the number of times I’ve had this very conversation with Peggy. Her job always had her doing these questionable, dangerous things. I’m not sure her employers cared about the means as long as she got to their end. It wore on her, too. But you are not defined by your job, you are defined by what you care about. Now I’ll ask you again, does it bother you?”

“I suppose it bothers me that I don’t feel like I live up to my angel’s view of me,” he admitted. And it was true. He never felt as good on the inside as Aziraphale seemed to think he was.

“Well then, there you are. Bad people, truly bad people, don’t care about being better. So from what you’ve just told me, that proves you’re not a bad person.

Crowley froze again as her words washed over him. Never, in all his time on earth or in hell, had he ever considered that. He still wasn’t inclined to believe her, but she said it with such conviction that he couldn’t help but wonder if it was true.

Angie glanced at him again, her gaze shrewd but soft.

“Surely if that’s what I see, your angel sees it too.”

It was all Crowley could do to nod.

They sat together a while longer, Angie telling stories about the trouble she and Peggy got into after the war. Crowley nodded and made the appropriate remarks required for polite conversation, and he found himself actually enjoying her stories.

All these years, he’d never bothered to connect with a human. They seemed so dull, and their lives were over so quickly. He hadn’t thought it was worth it. Besides, he had Aziraphale and that friendship was plenty for him.

About an hour later, their stock of bread was finally depleted. The ducks, of whom a great number had congregated on the water before them, began to disperse once they realized the supply of treats had run dry.

Angie dusted off her coat, watching the ducks swim away with a sigh. Crowley glanced at her, but her gaze was fixed across the pond somewhere in her memories.

“I know I wasn’t who you were hoping to meet,” she told him. “But I am glad to have met you. You’ve made me feel a bit less lonely just when the world was starting to seem big and empty. Thank you, Anthony, truly.”

He shifted in his seat.

“Well I suppose… well, I could meet you here again. If you’d like.”

“I would,” Angie said, her blue eyes misty as she gave him an enormous smile. “Same time next Monday?”

Crowley gave her a nod, stretching out his legs as she stood.

“Goodbye, Anthony. See you then.”

He watched her totter off down the path until she was out of sight, then turned back towards the water. What an odd turn of events, he thought. What she’d said to him ran through his mind as he sat there, waiting to see if perhaps his angel would still show.

For the next seven Mondays, without fail, Crowley would meet Angie at the park to feed the ducks and listen to stories about her life. She enjoyed talking about her adventures with her friend Peggy more than anything, which Crowley was surprised to find sounded a lot like some of his adventures with Aziraphale; In particular, one dicey evening involving a church, some German spies, and a few rare books.

One morning, on the eighth Monday in fact, Crowley was early. He sat on their usual bench, waiting for Angie to appear around the corner, when he felt a presence beside him. He turned his head slightly to the right, just enough to see a flash of cream coat, and his mouth tugged into a grin.

“Hello, Angie,” he said, turning his eyes back to the pond.

“Hello, my dear Crowley.”

Crowley froze. He knew that voice, and it certainly wasn’t Angie.

“Trying out a new nickname, are we?”

He whipped his head around to see Aziraphale standing there, looking ethereal in the morning light.

“Er, no,” he replied. “What are you doing here?”

“I was walking by and I saw you sitting alone. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, angel,” he replied, the words coming out a bit harsher than he intended. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t really want to tell Aziraphale about Angie.

“Alright,” Aziraphale replied, his face falling the tiniest bit. “I’ll leave you be. I’ll be at the bookshop later, if you feel like catching up. Perhaps we can get a bite to eat.”

“No wait, I’m sorry, you don’t have to go,” Crowley straightened abruptly, catching Aziraphale’s sleeve.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Sit down, angel.”

Aziraphale took a seat beside him, settling in as he always did.

“Are you quite sure you’re alright?” He asked again, glancing at Crowley worriedly.

“I’m fine, I told you. I just come here sometimes to¬—”

“Anthony! There you are.

Crowley’s adrenaline spiked again as he turned to see Angie making her way up the path towards them.

“I see you’ve brought a friend today. I wish you would have warned me so I could have made an extra sandwich. Here’s yours, by the way— honestly, do you live on air, Anthony? You’re still so skinny.”

She paused for breath and handed him the paper wrapped sandwich.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Angie,” she said as she took her seat on his left, reaching out her hand to Aziraphale.

He shook it, his expression still dumbfounded as he glanced back and forth between the two of them.

“Angie, this is my friend, Aziraphale,” Crowley told her.

“A.Z. Fell? Oh, you own that lovely little bookshop in Soho, don’t you? I’ve been meaning to stop in there for ages, but it never seems to be open when I drop by.”

Crowley could sense Aziraphale relaxing at the mention of the bookshop, and he let out a quiet breath of relief.

“Here you go, Anthony dear, I daresay these ducks have waited long enough,” she said, handing him a chunk of bread.

He threw some in the water, handing a piece to Aziraphale as well.

“Oh, here comes that swan again,” she told him, throwing bread in the opposite direction from where the white monstrosity was silently gliding towards them.

Aziraphale tossed his crust of bread towards it, and the giant bird slowly began to sink. He jabbed Crowley in the side with his elbow, and the swan resumed bobbing on the surface.

“You know, two weeks ago that naughty bird came right up and stole my bread bag right out of my hand. Anthony jumped right up and tried to get it back, and the poor dear almost fell in the pond! It was quite a sight, though, to see him fighting a swan in the middle of St. James’ park.” She let out a laugh. “But he’s always doing such nice things like that, he chased my hat when it flew away and he’s always helping me around puddles and such.”

Crowley sank a bit lower in his seat, his ears reddening as he saw a small smile of amusement on Aziraphale’s face.

“Cr—Anthony is such a nice person, I tell him all the time but he doesn’t believe me,” Aziraphale replied, casting a kind look at Crowley, who was presently trying to sink through the bench and the ground and down to somewhere he could escape this embarrassment.

He shot an irritated look at Aziraphale, who simply smiled back.

“Oh that reminds me, Anthony, I brought this for you,” Angie said, reaching into her bag to pull out a long, cream colored scarf. “It’s getting colder every day and you’re all skin and bones, you must get dreadfully cold and I don’t want you getting sick.”

Crowley took the scarf, reluctantly looping it around his neck. Aziraphale’s amused smile returned as Crowley shot him a look— one he knew the angel would understand even if he couldn’t see his eyes, that dared him to say anything about it.

Of course he wouldn’t get sick, but he wasn’t going to tell Angie that, nor was he going to hurt her feelings. She continued telling stories and Crowley began to relax as Aziraphale joined in the conversation. He smiled, thankful that the worst of the awkwardness had passed. He threw a handful of bread to the ducks, only half paying attention to the conversation for a few minutes until Angie leaned forwards a bit towards Aziraphale, reaching over to pat his perfectly manicured hand.

“I’m so glad he finally brought you to meet me, my dear. Of course, he’s told me so much about his angel I feel as though I know you already.”

Crowley’s eyes widened behind his glasses. He didn’t dare look at Aziraphale, though he was sure the angel’s smile mirrored Angie’s.

“Ngh,” he said, crossing his arms and shifting uncomfortably, wishing very much in that moment that he was elsewhere.

“Oh, you’re just like Peggy,” Angie chastised. “She was always so easy to rile. Very well, I’ll leave it alone if only so you stop looking like you’re trying to hide inside yourself. Here, feed the ducks some more.” She handed him another piece of bread, which he accepted.

“But really, Mr. Fell, you’ll have to tell me more about this knitting club. I could always use more good friends like Anthony.”

Aziraphale obliged as Crowley sat and listened, nodding and replying every once in a while as would be polite in a conversation between friends. The three of them sat happily on that sunny Monday morning and fed the ducks, as they did on every Monday that came after.

[hawthornewhisperer]

epiphanies

Some DILF!Draco for @ambpersand. Currently 1,500 words and rated T, but I hope to add a second chapter tonight/tomorrow/soon that would be rated M. This will stay tumblr-only until I have that second chapter ready, then I'll put the whole shebang up on Ao3.

Inspired by this incredible fanart by @mignon-chignon and thank you to @bgonemydear for her on-the-spot betaing.

Hermione hadn’t even finished getting dressed when the owl from the Ministry arrived. She scanned the note, swore under her breath, and dashed off a reply. If the Mitford hearing had been moved up, that meant she needed the files and she needed them today.

She had last seen them in Malfoy's briefcase as he went home two days ago, but he'd been out of the office ever since. She hurried up the stairs to her building’s owlery, scribbled a note to Malfoy and returned to her flat, hoping against hope she was wrong.

His return owl arrived when she was halfway through her toast and she groaned under her breath. Mitford files are at my place. I’ll leave them in the Floo Parlor.

That was it, not even his initials as a sign off. “Rude prat,” she grumbled under her breath. Malfoy had been working at the firm with her for the past six months, and while he was no longer the sneering bully she remembered from Hogwarts, he was an exceedingly grumpy arsehole most of the time. Everything he said was clipped and sardonic, and he seemed to have a deathly allergy to saying thank you. She would have hated working with him if he wasn’t so bloody good at his job, which had downgraded her feelings towards him from “loathe completely” to “tolerate grudgingly.”

Hermione always did have a weakness for competence.

She grabbed her blazer and joined the queue in the lobby for the floo, still piling her hair into a bun on the top of her head when she took her turn.

Malfoy’s Floo Parlor was immaculate. It looked like a magazine spread, tastefully decorated and without even a speck of dust. In contrast, her tiny flat looked like a library had exploded in it, largely because one basically had.

But of course Malfoy’s was neat and tidy and...empty. The Mitford files were nowhere to be seen. She let loose a swear that would have made her ex-husband proud and steeled herself to walk into Malfoy’s apartment proper, wishing she had had time for an extra cup of tea if she was going to have to deal with his surly face before nine am.

She pushed open the door to the rest of his flat, ready to snap at him, and froze.

He had his back to her, looking out the expansive window that framed much of London, and the first thing she noticed was he had a very nice back.

A very nice bare back, because he was shirtless. Shirtless and holding a baby.

She knew he had a child, of course. He had one framed photo of the boy on his desk— the only photo of any kind in his entire office, which otherwise resembled a prison cell with a very fancy sofa— but Malfoy did not talk about personal matters at work. All she knew was his name— Scorpius— and that he was approximately Albus Potter’s age.

The little boy shared his father’s blond hair, but there was a soft curl to the ends that must have come from his mother. The Malfoy-Greengrass divorce had been the subject of more than one gossip page article, but Hermione hadn’t read any of them— she didn’t like how exploitative they felt, turning people’s pain into sport for entertainment.

Not that she cared much about Malfoy’s pain, per se, but it was the principle of the thing.

Scorpius’s eyes were red rimmed and his cheeks looked sticky with tears as he eyed her over his father’s shoulder. His father’s exceptionally muscled, well defined, bare shoulder. The boy pawed at his eye with a chubby fist and she watched as Draco pressed a soft kiss to the side of his son’s head, the sort of careless affection she was used to seeing from Harry with his boys but she had never once thought she would see from Malfoy. “It’s okay buddy, I know. It hurts,” she heard him murmur, and she realized she had been staring for entirely too long.

She cleared her throat and he turned with a start. “Fuck, the Mitford files,” he said, the soft look on his face vanishing in an instant.

Hermione felt an odd sort of loss when his familiar cold mask slipped into place, like she had gotten a glimpse of something she would never see again.

Why she wanted to see that look on his face again was a mystery she didn't much feel like solving.

“They’re in my study, hold on,” he added, shifting Scorpius higher on his hip and padding barefoot towards a closed door.

Hermione used his absence to compose herself. She was just thrown by seeing her coworker out of context, that was all.

Out of context and shirtless with an unfairly sculpted chest, plus a pair of joggers slung low across his hips. Did all men have muscles that arrowed down from their hips like that? That was not something she had seen in the flesh before, and it had her flustered.

By the time he returned with the Mitford file, she was thoroughly uncomposed. “You know if you’re going to be off work you really shouldn’t take home client files that can’t be owled,” she snapped.

Anger flashed across his face. “I’ll be sure to have Scorpius schedule his sleep regressions and teething fits with you next time,” he growled.

“It’s nothing to do with him,” she said, doing her best to keep her eyes anywhere but where they wanted to be, which was staring at the play of morning light on the planes of his chest. “These files are supposed to stay at the office for a reason, Malfoy.”

Exhaustion abruptly flooded his features. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes and Scorpius nuzzled into his neck. “I know,” he said, broad shoulders slumping. “Look, this week has been hell. I didn’t think I would be out this long. I’m sorry,” he added, and quite frankly, she never thought Draco Malfoy would ever apologize to her for anything.

The shock from hearing those two words was the only explanation for what came out of her mouth next. “When was the last time you showered?”

Something that was almost a smile tugged the corner of his mouth up. “I look that bad, huh?”

Actually he looked like a Greek god carved out of marble but she wasn’t about to tell him that. And he did have rather alarming purple shadows under his eyes, plus stubble that indicated it had been several days since he shaved. “You’ve looked better,” she said, reaching out and plucking Scorpius from his arm. “I don’t have to be in for a bit. Go shower.”

He hesitated, but Scorpius was already interestedly pulling at her hair. “Okay,” Malfoy said, something unreadable in his grey eyes. “It’ll only be a minute.”

Hermione stuck her tongue out at Scorpius, who giggled. “Take your time.”

By the time Malfoy emerged from his bedroom, freshly showered and shaved and in jeans and a white v-neck shirt, Hermione and Scorpius were on the living room floor while he clambered all over her like a muggle jungle gym. Scorpius was fascinated by her hair and was sitting next to her while she laid flat on her back, grabbing chubby fistfuls and yanking on it.

“Careful, he’ll skin you bald if you let him,” Malfoy drawled.

She pushed herself up to sitting, at first grateful Draco had put on a shirt and then disappointed as it meant his chest was now hidden from view. But then he crossed his arms and the muscles in his biceps strained against the sleeve of his shirt, and she circled back to grateful again.

“There’s plenty to go around,” she said, gently prying Scorpius’s hand from her hair and retying it into a bun. Draco's gaze rested on her as she did, and an unaccountable blush started crawling up her neck.

“Sorry about earlier,” he said, sitting down on the couch, lifting Scorpius into his lap and bringing the total number of apologies she had ever heard from his lips to two.

She shrugged. “Honestly? You’ve been worse.”

He huffed, a noise that almost sounded like a laugh. “I have been a prat, haven’t I? Between the divorce and Scorpius, I’ve been an arsehole at the office. I’ll try and do better,” he said.

The utter sincerity of his words drew her up short. “Actually, I was talking about Hogwarts but yes, you have been a prat at the office.”

Draco blinked. “Fuck, I— I never apologized for that, did I?”

“You didn’t, but it’s okay,” she said surprising herself. Apologies were nice, but they didn't mean much if the person didn't actually try to improve. She wasn’t sure when, exactly, but at some point in the last six months she had stopped thinking of who Malfoy used to be and accepted that he had changed for the better.

“It’s not, though,” he said. “Again, with the divorce and everything I’ve been— it’s isolating, is all. I'm sorry.”

“Pity there’s no one else in this room who knows what it’s like to go through a divorce,” she said drily.

His eyebrows shot up. “Are you saying I can come to you for tea and sympathy, Granger?”

“I’m saying you don’t have to do this all alone,” she said gently, and stood. “McAvoy will be waiting on the Mitford brief though. I should get going.”

He stood, Scorpius once again snuggling into his chest. “Thanks, Granger. I owe you one,” he said.

Hermione leaned over to place a kiss on Scorpius’s soft curls without even thinking. She could smell Draco’s skin that close, the soap and shampoo from his shower filling her nostrils. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said, and headed towards the Floo Parlor, Mitford files safely in hand.

She only wished she could say the same for her hormones.

[violetsoju]

page 30彡★

kageyama tobio · fluff · 3.2k

a/n: came up w this idea based on a tiktok vid of this trend that randomly popped up on my feed (which i can't find anymore T_T) do let me know if you enjoyed it! ❤️

“Hey, Tobio.”

The mop of raven hair doesn’t look up to you, eyes fixated on the jiggly onsen tamago on top of the curry tonkatsu.

“There’s this new trend going on.”

He hums in response, fingers gripping onto a pair of wooden chopsticks, manoeuvring the fragile soft lump towards the spoon. Just a few more steps till being cradled snugly in the deep end of the cool ceramic spoon.

“And we’re gonna learn the moves and film it right here after this.”

His fingers twitch. One of the long pointy chopsticks loses its cool and stabs the tamago right in the core, streaks of yellow bleeding across the crisp golden brown tonkatsu. Its counterpart desperately tries to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, but too much yolk has been lost, and more jabs were made in the frantic rescue mission. Not even the string of ‘shit’ muttered could save the day. So long, dear onsen tamago.

You’re finally met with piercing blue eyes glaring at you.

“No. And look at what you did to my onsen tamago.”

“You should’ve scooped it up with your spoon instead of pushing it with your chopsticks. Common sense much?” You thank the waitress for the hot steaming tempura udon. “Plus, you’re supposed to break the yolk and coat the luscious essence over your rice, unless you’re a freak and eat it in one go.”

Kageyama’s scowl softens when a piece of fried tempura lands in his bowl in exchange for a piece of tonkatsu. A glint of delight gleams in the two pair of eyes at the first bite of delicious food, taste buds tingling in satisfaction.

It’s a rainy Wednesday night. And rainy nights call for warm comfort food to make up for the gloomy wet weather brought by the pitter patter parade of fat rain droplets. So after a spontaneous text message, here you are, with an old close friend of yours, inside a small cosy shop hidden in an alleyway without any prior arrangements.

“And let me repeat myself. I’m not going to do any dumb dance trends with you again.” Kageyama restates his point firmly.

“Come on, you had so much fun the last time! Even Tsukki sent a good job sticker in the group chat.” You reason.

“You mean he enjoyed seeing me almost tripping over my feet.”

“That was the highlight, to be honest.”

He smacks your chopsticks away with his at your attempt to snag another piece of tonkatsu, not giving in into your pout.

“Anyway, I was just kidding. You’re in luck this time because it’s not a dance trend.”

Kageyama raises an eyebrow at you suspiciously, tilting his head to ask you to continue on.

“This time it’s a trend where you grab your nearest book, turn to page 30, and the first sentence will describe your love life. Interesting, isn’t it?”

“Just when I thought you’ve outgrown these ridiculous nonsenses.”

“Says the one who still insists on drinking a box of strawberry milk before matches.” You jab your chopsticks towards his direction accusingly.

“That’s different because it actually works. And it’s good.” He counterattacks by returning your gesture.

“I hate to say this but, point taken.”

He triumphantly snickers as you sigh in defeat.

“Aren’t you curious on how my love life is described?” You question, blowing off the steam from your spoon full of udon.

Kageyama chomps on another piece of pork cutlet, unamused at your question. “If you’re generous enough to share, I’d be honoured.”

“‘He smiles’”

“What?”

“That’s the first sentence on my page 30. ‘He smiles’.” You reply matter-of-factly, taking a sip of your hot green tea.

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” His brows knit in confusion, hands momentarily forgetting the spoonful of curry rice in hand.

“Use your imagination, Tobio. Awaken your romantic cells.” You gesture with your hands dramatically, earning a deadpan look from the boy seated across you.

“Does it mean whoever’s smiling is the love of your life? Or someone who’s always smiling?” Kageyama rests his cheek against his left knuckle, trying to connect the dots together.

“Well-“

“Wait a minute! Don’t tell me it’s Suga-san. Because if it is, I won’t allow it because Suga-san is way too good for you.”

He yelps as you not-so-accidentally dip your chopsticks stained with broth into his green tea.

“Shush, we both know how much Suga-san adores me. And everyone else.” You smugly take another bite of your fried tempura as he frowns in disgust after drinking the now broth infused green tea.

“I guess it’s feeling of love at the sight of his smile? Like feeling all warm and fuzzy seeing him smile.”

“Is there someone who makes you feel that way with their smile?”

You swirl the udon with your chopsticks mindlessly for a moment. “Maybe there is.”

You look up to the pair of blue eyes staring back at you, holding the intense gaze firmly, neither side backing down to break the tension.

“Do I know him?” Kageyama falters, a hint of anxiousness cracks in his voice.

“Since when were you so interested in my love life?” You laugh awkwardly, hoping to conceal your nervousness.

Despite the surrounding bustling chatter, the world suddenly falls painstakingly silent, with the irregular beats of two young hearts thumping deafeningly and out of rhythm.

The raven-haired boy succumbs first, looking back down to his half empty bowl. You continue swirling your bowl of udon, mentally slapping yourself at your answer and cracking your head to come up with something to save the mood.

“Well, I could help to scan him for you, if you want. Boys know boys better after all,”

You snap back up to look at the boy seated across you, eyes not meeting yours. This is a surprise.

“Plus, you can save the tears and snot to yourself because I might not be free to attend to your midnight crying sessions. If it really happens.”

A surge of warmth radiates throughout your body at his words. Definitely not from the hot bowl of udon.

Kageyama still has his eyes on the bowl before him, looking anywhere else but you. He tries to keep himself busy by scooping more rice, groaning as he further destroys the onsen tamago, unaware of the faint blush painting his cheeks. Definitely not from the hot bowl of curry, too.

“Don’t worry, he isn’t a jerk. I’m sure you’ll like him too.” You chuckle, adjusting your chopsticks to pick up more udon.

Oh, Kageyama Tobio, what exactly should I do with you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽.* :☆ﾟ. ───

Scroll. Refresh. Switch apps. Repeat. Sigh.

You’ve been stuck in this constant loop for the past hour. Instead of getting much needed sleep for the next day, you subject yourself to the chains of the device held in your hand, despite the drooping eyelids and strained arm muscles.

What’s so fascinating about social media anyway? If it’s not friends or random acquaintances posting sinful food pics of ootds, it’d be someone ranting about either their work or love life, or memes you’ve already seen before. Sometimes you wonder if you’ve been casted a spell by social media.

Crying out a yelp as the gadget lands right in your face at the slip of your hands, you massage your nose bridge and forehead from the impact, grimacing in pain. It’s not easy being a slave to social media, huh.

Tossing your phone to the side, you roll over to lie flat on your back, sprawled like a star fish on your bed. A long sigh escapes your lips, eyes staring blankly at the bare celling above. Maybe you should really call it a day.

A beep from your phone tells you otherwise.

Tobio [23:17]

I did it. You owe me one box of strawberry milk.

[23:18]

IMG_20210402_961222

You immediately plop yourself up to sit cross-legged on your bed, tapping on the notification to open the message. As expected of Kageyama Tobio, it was a full-page picture of a book, with a small number 30 on the top left-hand corner. But unexpectedly of Kageyama Tobio too, the page wasn’t from those volleyball books or magazines stacked in the corner of his room. Looks like the mini ramble session you gave him on the way to the metro station worked.

“I know volleyball is the love of your life too, but we’re talking about your actual love life here! So no volleyball books or magazines, go rummage Miwa-san’s book shelf for one random romance novel. Just one. She’ll thank me for taking care of your love life.”

Sliding both your thumbs outwards on the screen to zoom in, your lips press together to form an ‘o’, brows arching in fascination at the first sentence.

She knows.

Interesting.

Your fingers dance across the screen swiftly.

me [23:20]

Ohhh interesting. See, it’s exciting, isn’t it?

Tobio [23:21]

I guess so

me [23:22]

Do you think it describes your love life well?

To actually imagine Kageyama Tobio having something that he loves as much as volleyball is, an odd and foreign feeling.

Tobio [23:24]

I’m not sure tbh

me [23:25]

Well spill the tea so I can help you analyse it

Tobio [23:25]

No

You swear you would throw punches at him if he was beside you now.

me [23:26]

Tsk tsk, so who’s the girl you’ve been hiding from me

Tobio [23:27]

Since when were you interested in my love life?

The use of your own words against you has you clicking your tongue in amusement.

You were contemplating between a civil or sarcastic remark when a new message bubble pops up.

Tobio [23:29]

But do you think she knows?

me [23:30]

About what?

Tobio [23:31]

Nvm, forget what I said

Seriously? This conversation is by no means, ending like this. You tap on the video icon on the right-hand corner of the screen hastily.

It takes a few rings for the familiar face to appear on screen, face a little too close to the camera, brows furrowed, lips pursed.

“What the heck, do you know what time it is?” Kageyama huffs in annoyance, running his fingers through his dishevelled black hair.

“Says the one who sent me such juicy information at this hour.” You bend your legs up, resting your hand on your knees for a better angle.

He throws his head back exasperatedly, muttering something inaudible along the static noise from the speakers, resting his head on a wooden frame you recognise. He still hasn’t changed his bed that he has long outgrown, complaining about soreness in his legs and arms that dangle off the edge every night.

“How do you expect me to go to bed with you hanging me like this? You have the worst timing ever.” You raise your hands in protest.

Kageyama buries half of his face in his palm. “I shouldn’t have listened to you.”

“But you get a box of strawberry milk from this! It’s worth it.” You gesture a finger gun to him knowingly.

He moves two fingers away from his face, peeking to see you through the screen like a child. Heaving a long, heavy sigh, he shifts his weight to sit up properly, half of his face still cradled in his palm.

“So, ‘she knows’, huh. Back to your question. What do you think she knows?” A tinge of excitement and fear bubble up your throat.

Kageyama avoids your gaze, looking to the side. “Well, I mean, about my, er- my feelings, I guess?”

“You mean your heart.”

The sentence has his eyes back on you, vivid blue eyes clouded by the shadows of dimly lit room.

“Yeah, uhm, well, I guess.” His voice trails off.

“Well, have you told her before?” You keep your voice steady.

“No, of course.” His words come out like a whisper.

“Then how is she going to know without any words or actions?” It comes out like a blunt statement, but somewhere deep down, a wave of relief washes over you.

“But I’m always there for her. Whenever she needs me, wherever she is, I try my best to be there for her,” Passionate flames ignite across the vast blue ocean. “I know something is on her mind when she bites the insides of her cheeks, when she flicks the tip of her thumb with her index finger constantly, or when she plays with the piercings on her ears. I’m not one with words, but I stay by her side when she needs me to, listening to her rambles or vents, or wiping away tears that stain her cheeks soft like mochi.

“I set notifications the night before to give her morning calls during her exams or important days because she tends to snooze the alarm on days like these. I always have extra band-aids ready on hand because she always somehow cuts and hurts herself, which hurts my heart too. Heck, I even learn ridiculous things that would be the death of me just for her, because nothing compares to the sparkle in her eyes when she flashes her precious smile, brighter than the sun that takes my breath away every time. I-”

Kageyama stops midway, face painted with horror as if he just let out a million-dollar secret. Panic flares in his eyes, mouth agape in incredulity as his body rigids, dumbstruck with terror by what rolled off his tongue so smoothly. You wonder if the line got disconnected because he turned into a static image, with a full-blown flustered look on his face.

You wave at the screen. “Tobio, you still there?”

It takes a few seconds for the raven-haired boy to snap back to his senses and regain his composure, coughing awkwardly in attempt to calm himself down. Small patches of blush blooming furiously on his cheeks peek out from his hands covering his mouth.

He looks cute.

No, he’s cute.

He’s always been cute.

“I- Er- Ye- Yeah, I’m still here.” Kageyama struggles to find words from his tad-larger-than-average vocabulary vault that has seem to disappear into thin air.

“Gosh, breathe Tobio, breathe. Come on, take a deep breath with me. One, two, three.”

He exhales deeply at the count of three with eyes shut close, hoping that all his jitters have been expelled away in the air.

“There you go. Feel better now?” Your lips tug up gently as the boy on the screen visibly relaxes, shoulders loosening from the tension, face free of creased lines.

He opens his eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust his vision before returning a soft smile to you. “Yeah, I do. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

A tranquil silence blankets over the both of you. This time, the steady beats of two young hearts thump in tune like a metronome. Two young souls gaze at each other, basking in the calmness and comfort of the sincere warm smiles that felt so much like home; but too proud to admit they were like lovesick fools, brushing off the feelings that were screaming loudly to be heard, feelings that they were afraid to face.

“Do you think she knows?” It’s a genuine question, one that takes a mountain high of courage to come up with.

“I’m sure she does.” It’s a genuine answer, one that takes a of couple hundred meters of might to emerge from the deep ends of the sea to come up with.

And you both hope that you’re on the same wavelength.

“So back to square one. Who’s the girl?”

“None of your business.”

“Another piece of crap from you and I’ll leave without you at the metro station tomorrow.”

“Sorry.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽.* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you reach the designated exit of the metro station the next day, a pair of eyes as blue as the day immediately catches your attention among the crowd, feet shuffling on its own accord towards them. As if there was a detector sensing your presence within him, the owner of the beautiful pair of orbs turns to you, raising a hand in greeting.

Kageyama gives you a smile, a smile that says, ‘I hope my smile makes you feel warm and fuzzy’.

You smile back at him, with a smile that says, ‘I hope you know that I know your heart’.

It’s hard to shake off the pride to be damned, but the two lovesick fools find themselves discarding it slowly, bit by bit with each step taken, together.

【☾】

Kageyama is a creature of routine. He always has his day planned out in detail and hates it when it doesn’t go according to plan, or when something pops out of the blue. But there are a few which he can make exceptions for. So when he receives your text asking for dinner after his training session, he agrees in a heartbeat.

He felt his heart sink deeply in his guts when you said there was, indeed, someone who made you feel warm and fuzzy with their smile. But who was he to have his say when his status was merely just a close friend?

Miwa thought he had lost it when he barged into her room without notice that night, scanning her bookshelf for novels, specifically of the romance genre. It was more nerve-wrecking than retaking exams back in high school with Hinata while flipping through the pages, and it didn’t help much when he finally found the particular page, with the first line inked in black staring back at him in doubt.

He doesn’t know why he sent the picture of the page to you. What exactly was he expecting?

Worse, he doesn’t even know why he started blabbing about how he was always there for you, how much he cares for you, and how much you mean to him. It all just came out so naturally that he could actually score an A+ for impromptu speaking.

But when your eyes were filled with concern while calming him down instead of making fun of him or pestering him for more, something flutters in his mind. Maybe it was from the rush of adrenaline from before, or maybe it was his heart that had leaped out from his chest taking over. He brings up the question once again, with more confidence this time.

He knows you’re not one to lie with your eyes. And he sees the kindness and honesty in them.

A ray of hope flickers in him.

So today, Kageyama musters up every ounce of courage he has, and tells himself it’s now or never: to close the gap he has longed for so long between two hands that swayed side by side. Instead of retreating his hands away when they brush against yours, he curls the tip of his fingers with yours delicately, as if your fingers would melt at his touch.

He hopes that he made the right decision.

And when your fingers curl back, intertwined with his, he knows he has made the right decision, and that his question has been answered.

She knows.

And the fact that he’s the one behind the smile that makes you go all warm and fuzzy, he swears it feels like he could run for miles and miles without running out of breath, soaring even higher than the clouds in the skies. None of the perfect sets he has set in his lifetime could compare to the satisfaction and bliss he was feeling right now.

Because you had set his life ablaze the moment fate brought the both of you together, and you’re his end game.

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

seventeen (paris, 1901)

this is inspired by "seventeen" by MARINA! i recommend giving it a listen! the way she sings the chorus honestly gives me chills, it really makes me think about how young alastair was when all of this was happening. sorry in advance for the angst!

cw: toxic relationship, bullying

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Could never tell you what happened

The day I turned seventeen

Seventeen, Alastair thought. The number sat happily in his mind. It wasn’t a particularly special number. He still was not an adult in the eyes of the Clave, but he took comfort in the number. One year older.

When he was younger, he thought of his birthdays and the years passing optimistically, imagining that in the future there would eventually be a day where he felt like the age of his body matched the age of his mind. Now, however, he doubted that day would ever come.

Adults liked to tell him he had an ‘old soul.’ Parents always commented on his maturity. Not his parents, of course, but when he visited the boys from school or his family found themselves at some gathering of sorts, those were the words he always heard. Oh, Alastair is so mature for his age.

Perhaps that was his problem, he’d always thought. That was the reason he could never make friends the way that Cordelia did. The reason he never got on well with people his own age. He was never any sort of teacher’s pet in school, but he always found it easier to converse with adults nonetheless. He felt far more comfortable with Charles than he ever did with any of the boys from the Academy. It was all because he had an old soul, and his peers did not.

As he grew older, however, these designations made less and less sense to him. He did not feel as if his soul was old at all. In fact, most of the time, he felt more like a thirteen-year-old pretending to be a thirty-year-old than anything else. Now, he was certain that he would never feel like his physical age fit the rest of him. Still, seventeen was a nice number.

Alastair didn’t have strong feelings about birthdays. Most of the time, he simply did not wish for the attention. Back before he went away to school, birthdays were never much of an ordeal. They were far too busy with his father’s health to spend much time, money, or energy on something as relatively insignificant as a birthday. Still, he and Cordelia had a habit of making each other presents for their birthdays. His was in early autumn, September, and they’d spend the day outside, wherever they were living.

They’d collect the prettiest flowers and stones and anything else they could find, then build whatever they could make out of what they had. A castle out of clay; a crown out of twigs. It was nice; it was special. It was theirs.

Then, Alastair went away to the Shadowhunter Academy. He was not excited to spend his fourteenth birthday alone. He missed Cordelia dearly, and the bullying did nothing to help. On the morning of his birthday, he’d gone to the mess hall, attempting to contain both his excitement that there would be letters waiting for him and his anxiety that there would not.

When he arrived, however, the boys were waiting for him, Clive and Augustus and the rest. Clive was in the front, holding an opened envelope. He twirled a flower stem in his fingers, the petals clearly torn off. He could see a few other broken flowers, crushed at his feet. Augustus was beside him, holding out a letter for the others to see, already mocking the writing on the page simply because he could not read it.

Alastair would never read it either, whatever his mother had written him, nor would he read Cordelia’s letter. In fact, he would not remember most of that day at all, only the bruises after.

He did not write to them after that, and when he returned for the winter holidays, conveniently the same time as Cordelia’s birthday, he let the occasion pass without a word. When she asked him if he’d received the flowers she sent to him, he told her he didn’t.

She did not send him anything for his fifteenth birthday.

He spent his sixteenth birthday at home again, but it did not matter. He’d already put far too much distance between him and his sister. He considered trying to apologize for the way he’d treated her, promising to do better, but when the day came, he’d spent the entirety of the night before searching for their father who always decided to go on a bender a few weeks after they arrived in a new city. He’d wistfully wished himself a happy birthday at some early morning hour, gone to bed, and decided it simply was not worth the effort. The only thing he wanted for his birthday was for it to no longer be his birthday anymore.

Today, he was finally seventeen. He’d received two letters at the Paris Institute the day before, one from his mother, wishing him well on his travel year, and the other from his sister, though it was short and he was fairly certain their mother had forced her to write it. There were no flowers, and he did not deserve them. The boys at school may have hurt him, but the way he continued to treat her in the years after was entirely on him. He thought for a moment that he should find her something in Paris, a book or a piece of jewelry so beautiful and thoughtful that she would need to forgive him. He did not believe he deserved her forgiveness, though.

Charles was away visiting his family in London, so Alastair would spend his seventeenth birthday alone. He doubted Charles even remembered it anyways, or that he would have wanted to do anything special for it if he had.

Thus, he did what he did any time he needed some cheering up: he started by visiting various bookshops across the city. He did not typically purchase much from them, but he found the atmosphere comforting. His father was an avid reader and was always severely critical of his son’s tastes in literature. He had many opinions over what was worthy of reading and what was an utter waste of time. Any time Alastair attempted to choose a volume to purchase for himself, he inevitably felt his father’s voice creeping up in the back of his mind. He wasn’t certain whether he preferred the books that the voice favored or the ones it didn’t. Nonetheless, he disliked anything that reminded him of his father, so he resigned himself to casual browsing, purchasing books as gifts for others, and only ever buying for himself what he had the space to hide.

After, he’d take himself to an art exhibit or the Louvre. He was fairly certain he could spend weeks in the Louvre and never grow tired of it.

When he finally returned to the Paris Institute that evening, he’d felt content that at the very least, his birthday was not as terrible as the ones preceding it. As he entered the building, he was startled to see Charles’ coat in the cloakroom. He quickly hung up his own belongings and went to the dining room where dinner was already being served. Charles was there, politely chatting in French with the head of the Institute, Jean Beauvale.

“Monsieur Fairchild!” It felt odd to address him so formally, but while it may be appropriate to address Charles by his first name in English, it was not in French. “You’ve returned from London.”

“Yes, I just got in a few hours ago,” Charles responded. “How was your day?”

“Yes,” Monsieur Beauvale added. “You must tell us how you spent your day off.”

Alastair always felt like this question was a bit of a trap. He knew that Shadowhunters viewed art and literature as a waste of time, but at the same time, he did not want to show a lack of appreciation for the culture. In the end, he simply commented on the beauty of the city and the language, thankful that he could spend a bit more time learning about France.

A servant arrived then with a bottle of champagne, and Monsieur Beauvale proposed a toast. This was how Alastair learned that the Beauvales would be traveling for several months, and Charles would serve as interim head of the Institute. “That is not the only thing we have to congratulate you for, is it,” he added.

Charles grinned a humble, sympathetic politician’s grin. “Oh, thank you, Monsieur. Yes, it’s true, Ariadne Bridgestock and I are to be married,” he announced.

Alastair felt his blood run cold. He bit the insides of his cheeks, forcing a smile and a congratulations. The rest of the meal dragged on, though Monsieur Beauvale and Charles did not seem to sense any tension. When it was over, Alastair promptly excused himself and returned to his room. He suddenly wished desperately that he had purchased a book earlier, anything to take his mind off of this awful truth. Charles was to be married. He was marrying a woman. Of course he was, why would Alastair have ever been enough for him? Still, he felt as if he’d at least been owed a warning.

He heard a knock at his door, but he did not respond to it. “Alastair,” he heard Charles say gently. “Please allow me to explain.”

He should have refused. He should have told him to leave and been done with the whole ordeal. When he looked back on this moment years in the future, he’d wish he did. However, he was lonely, and it was his birthday, and thus he let Charles inside.

“I know you’re upset,” he began.

“I’m not upset,” Alastair said quickly.

“Right,” he responded. “Anyways, this is merely what needs to be done to please our families, both mine and Ariadne’s.” Of what Alastair knew of the Fairchilds, he had a hard time believing that they cared that much about Charles’ romantic life. “This is what I need to do if I wish to secure a position in the Clave, a real position, not simply interim head of an Institute. It means nothing, I swear it. She has no interest in me. It’s merely an arrangement; it’s not real.”

“Not real? You mean, you’re not getting married?” Alastair asked, not fully believing Charles’ words.

“No,” he said quickly. “I mean, perhaps, one day far, far in the future, I will need to, but I have no intention of getting married right now. I am merely doing what I must, you understand that, don’t you?”

“I suppose.”

“You know what the world we live in is like. We must do what we can to ensure our success in it.” Satisfied with Alastair’s reluctant acceptance, he pulled a long, thin box from his pocket. “I have a present for you.”

Alastair blinked. “What?”

“You didn’t think I would forget your birthday, did you?” Charles handed him the box, already smiling in anticipation.

He slowly untied the string securing it, and uncovered a fine, ornate dagger made of stunning Damascus steel. He must have paid handsomely for it. He knew that Charles did not understand his collection of blades, why someone, a warrior, would collect weapons with no intention of using them, but the dagger was gorgeous, each element of it expertly chosen. Alastair could not keep himself from smiling.

“I knew you’d like it,” Charles said, pleased. “Alastair, you know how deeply I care for you. I would never do anything to hurt you. I swear, everything I do is so that you and I could be together.”

Alastair looked at him in stunned silence. He’d never heard those words before, but he’d hear them many, many more before their relationship finally came to an end. At that moment, Alastair felt as if Charles’ words were true. He felt as if there had never been anyone to care for him as much as Charles cared for him, and there never would. He felt as though the key to everything he desired lay within this man. The way he was looking at him, this beautiful dagger in his hands, how was he to feel anything but loved?

He’d look back on it years down the line and wonder how long Charles must have planned that moment, if he’d organized his trip and his engagement all around Alastair’s birthday so that he could have an excuse to give him such a very expensive gift, whether the existence of it was merely a ploy to distract him from the reality of his engagement. If it was, it worked.

That night, Alastair held no doubts in his mind that Charles’ words were anything but the full truth, even as he left him cold and alone that night to return to his own room, only ever staying until he himself was satisfied. Many months would pass before Alastair would even begin to question that night, when he would begin to wonder whether it was the beginning of the end.

The rise of a king and the fall of a queen,

Oh, seventeen

Seventeen

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[heyiwrotesomethings]

Of Debts and Stress

Mary Saotome x She/Her Reader

A/N: Mary is such a great character like wth. I hope I did her some justice. There is a mention of characters from Kakegurui Twin, but the story takes place when Yumeko shows up in the main series. Thanks for reading! Word Count: ~8,929 (Me seeing this number for the first time: HOLY SHIT what have I done?! No wonder this took so long lol)

“Did you see the look on that loser’s face when I laid down that royal flush?” Mary laughed, her lips curled in a triumphant smirk as she descended the stairs with (Y/n) following close behind. “To see the light just drain out of his eyes after he realized that his full house was trash was just priceless,” she paused a moment at the bottom of the stairs, causing (Y/n) to bump into her before the blonde turned to face her. “Well, maybe not priceless, I guess you could say it was worth 5,000,000 yen!”

“Mary,” (Y/n) began, rubbing the back of her neck and shifting her eyes to watch other students climb the stairs, “It’s not like I’m not impressed or anything, but don’t you think you went a little too hard on the guy? I mean, he’s a house pet now.”

Mary’s smirk sunk into a frown as she crossed her arms and leaned her hip against the banister with a huff, looking up at the girl who still stood on the last step of the stairs, with a roll of her eyes, she replied, “He wanted to gamble, it’s not my fault if he didn’t weigh the rewards with the risk. Don’t be such a downer (Y/n), you’re really killing my mood here.”

“Sorry, I guess I just feel bad for him.”

“(Y/n), it’s all a part of how this fucked up school works. If you don’t like it, then why the hell did you even apply?” Mary threw her arms up in aggravation.

“Hey, do you think you two could move? You’re blocking half the staircase.” a student called impatiently from behind (Y/n).

“Can’t you see we’re talking here?” Mary glared at a spot above (Y/n)’s head, “Just go around us, idiot!”

The student grumbled, but clumsily made his way through the students that were walking up the stairwell.

“Maybe we should keep walking,” (Y/n) smiled sheepishly, crooking one of her arms with Mary’s and pulling her away from the stairs and towards the school entrance.

“Hey, let go!” Mary pushed out of the hold, blushing furiously, before clearing her throat and giving (Y/n) a side glance as the other girl laughed good-naturedly. “You haven’t gambled yet today, shouldn’t you have at least one match to make sure you don’t fall behind in the rankings?”

“I don’t feel like gambling today,” (Y/n) shrugged, “Maybe tomorrow.”

“You better get your act together or you’ll end up a mittens,” Mary warned.

“Sorry I’m not into high stakes gambles. I’d rather win a little at a time than blow it all away on one game,” (Y/n) explained.

“Ha, that new poochie should have taken a page out of your book,” Mary grinned, but sobered quickly, “But seriously, don’t fall too far behind or I’ll have to leave you to the dogs, got it?” She punctuated her words with a sharp poke to (Y/n)’s chest.

“Ow! Okay, okay, I get it!” (Y/n) sighed, and rubbed the sore spot.

“And if you need any, you know, help, with your gambles tomorrow I wouldn’t be adverse to it,” Mary added, pretending to look disinterested and aloof.

“Aww Mary, are you saying you’d cheat for me? I’m touched,” (Y/n) smiled.

“I’ve changed my mind. You are on your own,” Mary glared and snarled beneath the blush that dusted her cheeks.

“Damn it.”

“Serves you right.”

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then?” (Y/n) asked as they neared the dorms.

“I suppose,” Mary replied while inspecting her nails. “Meet me in front of my dorm at 7:45 or I’m leaving without you.”

“I’ll be there, have a goodnight Mary!” (Y/n) waved before disappearing into the Tsubaki class dorms.

“‘Night,” Mary called over her shoulder as she made her way to the Hana dorm building.

The girls got ready for the night in there respective dorms and went to sleep, unaware of the major upset that would greet the student body of Hyakkaou Private Academy tomorrow.

***

“Heard you have a new transfer student in your class. Do they seem nice?” (Y/n) asked Mary as they ate their lunches.

“She’s whatever,” Mary shrugged. “Looks like easy money though, I’m gonna ask her to gamble after classes let out. Just wait until you see me wipe the floor with that airhead.”

“Aw, I actually have a few gambles of my own lined up unfortunately.”

“Tsk, whatever, I didn’t want you there anyway,” Mary sulked, picking at her leftovers.

“Hey, you’re the one who told me I needed to watch my ranking. Don’t blame me for simply following through on your advice. If I finish in the gambling den before you finish your game, I’ll be there to cheer you on!”

“You better not, it’s a gamble. You don’t need to act like a mom at a goddamn soccer game,” Mary huffed. “That being said, you better show up if you finish before me.”

“Yes ma’am,” (Y/n) mock saluted then winced and leaned into the table when Mary’s foot knocked painfully into her shin.

“I’ll see you after class, dummy,” Mary smiled smugly, raising from her chair. “Depending on how much money this girl bleeds, we can go do something this weekend, my treat,”

“Sounds like a date!” (Y/n) cheered, narrowly missing Mary’s attempt at a full body tackle. “See you later!” (Y/n) giggled and ran down the hall towards her class while Mary yelled obscenities behind her.

***

(Y/n) was pretty happy with herself, having won six out of seven games of blackjack and earning a modest 50,000 yen. Of course counting the cards had helped her odds, not that her opponents needed to know that. Honestly though, they were probably doing the same thing. It always came back to luck in the end.

(Y/n) hummed to herself as she made her way up the stairs to Mary’s classroom. She looked up when she heard echoing footsteps descending the stairs and was met with the boy Mary had turned into a house pet and a beautiful girl with flowing black hair she had never seen before.

“Oh, hello there!” The girl greeted. Ryota seemed to recognize (Y/n) as a friend of Mary’s though, and grew more nervous, (Y/n) gave him a sheepish wave she hoped conveyed her sympathy or could at least put the poor boy more at ease.

“Hi, you must be the new transfer student,” (Y/n) addressed Yumeko, “I hope no one has been giving you too hard a time,” (Y/n) could think of one prominent figure in her mind that would do such a thing and was ready to do damage control if need be.

“Oh, not at all! I’ve never felt more welcomed!” Yumeko smiled and grasped (Y/n)’s hand in hers. “Jabami, Yumeko,” she introduced herself, the ring on her thumb lightly digging into the skin of (Y/n)’s hand.

“(L/n), (Y/n),” she answered in return, giving Yumeko’s hand a friendly squeeze before withdrawing. “You don’t seem any worse for wear. I guess you survived Mary’s gambling challenge then?”

“Ah, you know Saotome? Yes, I’m looking forward to her paying me back, I hope we can gamble again sometime, she was so feisty!” Yumeko grinned, “You should join us next time as well!”

“Perhaps...” (Y/n) answered distractedly. Why would she need to wait for Mary to pay her back? “So is Mary still up there?”

“I believe so, it was nice meeting you, (Y/n)-san!”

“Yes, nice meeting you too. Uh, see you around Jabami, Suzui,” (Y/n) bowed her head and made her way up the rest of the stairs to the Hana classroom.

The room looked like a mess. Lingering students whispered their gossip but (Y/n) paid them no mind as she scanned the classroom for a familiar head of blonde hair.

“If you’re looking for Saotome you won’t find her here. She ran off, probably went to hide her shame,” one of the lingering students voiced once (Y/n) looked over the whole room.

(Y/n) leveled a soft glare at the student before turning to leave. Okay so she lost, so what? No one’s perfect, get off your high horse. (Y/n) thought as she continued down the hall and peeked into every empty classroom she passed. She was about to text Mary when she heard a huge crash come from the last classroom at the end of the hall.

She yanked the door open and saw a few toppled desks and Mary slouched against the wall with her face hiding in her arms, propped up by her knees that were pulled tightly against her chest.

“Mary, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What happened?” (Y/n) rushed to Mary’s side and knelt before her, careful to give the girl her space. Mary didn’t care for being coddled.

“Fuck off.” Mary’s voice croaked, muffled by her arms.

“Come on Mary, talk to me. I assume you lost, how bad was it really? 300,000? 400,000?”

“8.8 million,” came the subdued reply.

“Wh... what?” (Y/n) swears she must have heard wrong.

“Don’t make me fucking say it again.”

“Mary! What the hell were you thinking?!” (Y/n) gasped, worry gripping her heart. “8.8 million yen?!”

“Shut up!” Mary cried, “You think I don’t know how fucked I am?!”

“What are we going to do, Mary?”

“We aren’t doing anything. This is my problem,” Mary roared, shoving the closest toppled desk away with her foot.

“You can’t possibly come up with all that yen on your own before the rankings are updated. I can get you like, 1,000,000. It’s not much but it’s a start, and of course I’ll stay after school and-“

“Don’t you get it? I don’t want your pity!” Mary yelled, shooting up from the floor.

“Mary, you’re my friend, you are important to me, let me help you!” (Y/n) flung her hand out to catch Mary’s.

“I’ll get the money somehow. Just stay out of my way,” came Mary’s cold reply and she tugged her arm out of (Y/n)’s grasp.

“Mary, don’t do anything rash! Take a moment to just think about this. Your debt is bad, but if you don’t keep a level head, you’re bound to end up with something even more unmanageable!” (Y/n) warned.

“Just shut up already! You weren’t there so you don’t get to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do now,” Mary moved stiffly towards the door.

“Mary, stop!” (Y/n) called after the hot headed girl. Unfortunately Mary continued her fast pace down the hall and quickly disappeared around the corner. (Y/n) sighed to herself and rubbed at her irritated eyes. Her heart ached for Mary and the position she found herself in, but she was frustrated as well. Why couldn’t Mary just swallow her pride and accept her help?

(Y/n) rearranged the toppled desks and left the classroom with a heavy feeling in her chest. Hopefully she could sort things out with Mary tomorrow.

***

The next day (Y/n) waited outside of the Hana dorms for Mary like she did everyday, but the girl was not in her usual spot. (Y/n) waited, thinking she was simply running late, but as more time passed it was becoming more evident that Mary was either not coming out, or she was already gone.

(Y/n) couldn’t find her in the school, and Mary wasn’t answering any of her texts either. Meanwhile Jabami was busy making a first year cry. Sure that student council girl was practically begging for it with how obvious her cheating was, but even (Y/n) knew a line had been crossed.

The next morning (Y/n)’s wait for Mary was no better and yielded the same result. (Y/n) fired off another text. She’s at least looking at them.

“Oh! (Y/n)-san, good morning!” An airy voice giggled happily.

(Y/n) shifted her gaze and suppressed a scowl as Yumeko exited the dorm waving excitedly in her direction.

“Waiting for someone?” Yumeko asked, once she was standing within a foot of (Y/n), closer than (Y/n) cared for.

“I was, but I think she already left,” (Y/n) replied, trying very hard to be polite and not snap at the other girl.

“Oh, then we should walk together!” Yumeko clapped her hands together. “If you don’t mind waiting a little longer Ryota will be coming shortly... In fact I see him exiting the boy’s side now! Good morning, Ryota!”

Ryota jolted and swiveled his head up before waving shyly at Yumeko.

“Ryota is going to show me around more this morning, I’d love it if you could join us. It would be nice to have the perspective of someone from a different class as well,” Yumeko spoke excitedly to (Y/n).

“I can’t unfortunately, my first class starts in ten minutes,” (Y/n) informed, surprised at the sudden added weight as Yumeko clamped onto her side and whined loudly in her ear.

“But I really want you to come, (Y/n)-san! Since you aren’t in Hana class we won’t get to see each other often. Can’t you skip your class just this once?”

(Y/n) could easily skip class, but she was not willing to do it for the girl who ruined her best-friend-kinda-maybe-girlfriend’s life. She was about to insist she had to attend class when Ryota swooped in.

“It’s not uncommon for students to skip out on classes here. The teachers don’t really care as long as they’re getting paid. So I’m sure (L/n)-san could join us, right?” He smiled, nervously shifting his eyes from side to side.

Damn you, Suzui, Ryota.

“Well, I suppose just this once I could humor you,” (Y/n) gave a half hearted smile before her eyes went wide and her hands grasped at the arms wound tightly around her neck, shaking her excitedly.

“Yes! Thank you, (Y/n)-san, I’m sure we’ll have a marvelous time!” Yumeko cheered, rocking (Y/n) and throwing her off balance once she finally let go. “Where are we going today, Ryota?”

“I was thinking the path to the Traditional Culture Club would be a good place to visit today. It’s got beautiful scenery, don’t you think, (L/n)-san?” Ryota asked, offering (Y/n) a meek smile.

“I agree, the surrounding vegetation is lovely this time of year. It’s one of my favorite spots on campus actually,” (Y/n) supplied, noticing how Ryota seemed to straighten a bit, looking a tad more confident.

“Sounds wonderful, we’d best be on our way. Maybe I’ll find a gamble to partake in as well!” Yumeko thought dreamily, cupping her blushing cheek with her hand.

Ryota allowed himself an awkward chuckle while (Y/n) subtly pursed her lips, bringing her thoughts back to Mary’s absence as the trio made their way through campus.

“Wow, it certainly is lovely here. I can see why one would like such exquisite scenery,” Yumeko commented once they made it near the end of the path. “Oh, and this must be the club you were referring to?” She asked, pointing to the pleasant building resting below the trees.

“Yes, the Traditional Culture Club,” (Y/n) perked up a bit as a half baked plan formed in her mind. “You know Yumeko, you might actually get the chance to gamble in there.”

“Don’t tell her that!” Ryota blanched before directing his attention back to Yumeko, “I mean, the president of this club is also a part of the student council! You don’t want to make any more enemies than you already have, right Yumeko?”

“Gambling! You promise, (Y/n)?” Yumeko asked, a predatory gleam formed in her eyes that forced a shiver to run up and down (Y/n)’s spine.

“It’s a very real possibility as long as  Nishinotouin-senpai is around. You could always drop by later if she’s not here,” (Y/n) answered candidly. Perhaps she shouldn’t be pushing Yumeko into the arms of danger, but she thought of it as payback for beating Mary so badly without even batting an eye or losing sleep over it.

“Ooo! I just have to go in, can we go in?” Yumeko clutched her hands together and bounced on the soles of her feet, a sight Ryota couldn’t seem to say no to. Not that (Y/n) could blame him as she also found the behavior rather adorable herself.

“Welcome to the Traditional Culture Club!” A member greeted the trio as they approached the door, “We have a match in progress already, but it should end shorty, if you don’t mind you can wait inside.”

“Certainly, we don’t mind at all!” Yumeko spoke.

The club member ushered them inside and (Y/n)’s mouth fell open in shock once she perceived the poor soul sitting across from Nishinotouin, Yuriko was none other than her dear friend Saotome, Mary.

“No, Mary,” (Y/n) couldn’t help but whisper to herself, “What are you doing?”

“She appears to be gambling, (Y/n)! She looks quite tense, wouldn’t you say?” Yumeko stage whispered back.

(Y/n)’s hands curled into fists as she stood by helplessly, watching Mary bet the remaining thirty-two chips she owned. Why would Mary do this after she told her not to do anything rash? (Y/n) waited, her breath stuck in her lungs as the dealer counted down until the reveal of the swords under the cup. When the obtrusion was lifted, (Y/n)’s eyes quickly scanned the board. There! A sword was stuck in slot twenty-two and Mary had bet six chips on it!

“But wait, that’s—!” (Y/n)’s hands flew to her mouth, unable to speak further.

“Twenty-two was a hit. Congratulations, Saotome,” Yuriko praised before her lips quirked further upward, “However, unfortunately for you, the judgement is death.”

Mary hunched over, looking desperately at the board while the dealer explained the penalty.

“Saotome bet six chips on twenty-two with a judgement of death. This requires the punishment of a loss thirty times greater then the chips placed, turning six chips to one hundred eighty chips. When factoring the wins on Yuriko-sama’s slots, the grand total for Saotome is a loss of 49.6 million yen!” The dealer calculated.

(Y/n)’s knees nearly gave out when she heard the final calculation and her heart hammered painfully against her chest.

“See her out, I’m done with her,” Yuriko smiled sinisterly, earning a pained roar from Mary as she was pulled back by standby club members.

“Perhaps you should go after her,” (Y/n) jumped when Yumeko came in close and whispered in her ear. “Ryota and I can catch up with you later, go take care of your friend,” Yumeko smiled and gave (Y/n)’s shoulder a squeeze.

(Y/n) barely spared Yumeko a second glance before running out after the club members escorting Mary off of the premises.

“Let her go, I’ve got her,” (Y/n) commanded sternly, pulling Mary away from the Culture Club members. She shot them one last glare before she turned on her heel and began dragging Mary away from the building. She only stopped once they were off the trail in one of the more secluded areas near the edge of the school forest.

(Y/n) tentatively let go of Mary and leaned back against the nearest tree, her chest heaving with shuddering breaths. What the hell now?

“Why?” She finally choked out, Mary’s fists curled at the single word and she had the audacity to scoff before trying to leave the forest. (Y/n) wasn’t having it however, and took hold of Mary’s bicep.

“Let go!”

“Why? So you can disappear on me again and rack up a 100 million yen debt?” (Y/n) spat, her grip tightening. “I told you not to act recklessly and you thought it was a good idea to go up against Nishinotouin?!”

“There was nothing else to do!” Mary yelled back, turning back to fully face (Y/n) and fisting her hand in the front of (Y/n)’s uniform blazer and pulling her closer to her angry golden eyes. “This was my only chance to get out of being a house pet, it was a risk I had to take!”

“I wish you would have talked to me! You know I only want to help you!” (Y/n) fought the stinging sensation building in her eyes and stood her ground.

“Oh really, how do you expect me to believe that? Don’t think I didn’t see you being all chummy with Jabami and the dog in there. You know it’s because of her that I even had to instigate this match!”

“They roped me into coming along, it’s not like I had anything better to do since my best friend seemingly went missing yesterday, but it’s a good thing I came with them because it lead me straight to you.”

“Now what are you going to do, huh?” Mary’s grip tightened on the blazer, “Mock me like everyone else? Make me your own personal mittens and laugh with everyone while you tell me to do degrading things?”

“I’d never do that! You know I’ve never condoned that behavior, how could you think so lowly of me?” (Y/n) cursed herself as she felt a rebel tear escape and streak down her cheek. She moved her free hand to wipe it away, but Mary released her death grip on (Y/n)’s now thoroughly wrinkled blazer and beat her to it, wiping away the tear with the edge of her sleeve with a tenderness that (Y/n) almost never witnessed from the girl.

Mary’s touch lingered for a few moments, her golden eyes searched (Y/n)’s own, still glossy with unshed tears that threatened to join their fallen comrade.

“Fuck, stop that,” Mary admonished quietly, turning her gaze away.

“Stop what?” (Y/n) asked breathlessly, feeling exasperated and unbelievably exhausted.

“Stop looking like you’re going to cry, damnit!” Mary exhaled sharply and pushed her bangs back, “I’m the one with the 50 million yen debt for fuck’s sake!”

“Yes, but you’re my closest friend Mary! You mean more to me then you’ll probably ever know and I’m so scared for you!” (Y/n) couldn’t hold the floodgates any longer, finally she allowed the the tears of stress fall in earnest. She released her hold on Mary’s bicep and rubbed her face roughly with her sleeve while trying to force the tears to stop.

“Quit that,” Mary ordered awkwardly, pulling (Y/n)’s arm away from her face, “You’ll just further irritate your skin.”

“So what, I’m just supposed to look like a hot mess?” (Y/n) sniffed.

“Just come here you idiot,” Mary groaned, her tone lacking any of its usual bite as she pulled (Y/n) to the ground and held her with her back against the trunk of the nearest tree and (Y/n) somewhat nestled between Mary’s legs and sitting at a side angle.

Mary released an annoyed sigh and (Y/n) squeaked as Mary roughly pushed the other girl’s head into her chest and persisted with her hold, an awkward hug which (Y/n) eagerly reciprocated seeing as Mary rarely was the first to engage any physical contact. “If you get any snot on my uniform, I’ll kill you,” she mumbled, nevertheless tightening her hold.

They stayed like that even after (Y/n) had managed to calm down. They sat quietly together under the glowing leaves of the tree. The only other sounds being the rustle of the wind and the occasional bird song mixed with the mingled breaths of the two Hyakkaou students.

“What time is it?”

(Y/n) had almost dozed off when Mary finally spoke. She reached into her blazer’s pocket and fumbled with her phone, wincing at the late afternoon hour.

“School let out twenty minutes ago. Hope you didn’t have anything important due today,” (Y/n) sighed, showing Mary the time displayed on her lock screen.

“Please, that’s the least of my worries right now,” Mary rolled her eyes.

“Right...”

“Hey, don’t you start that again. It was bad enough the first time,” Mary scolded.

“Sorry,” (Y/n) sniffed and collected herself again, shifting away from Mary a bit so they were face to face. “How about I make it up to you with late lunch/ early dinner, my treat?”

“No way,” Mary tisked, “I can pay for myself.”

“I know for a fact you can’t, you broke ass bitch,” (Y/n) attempted humor, her lips forming the faintest of smiles.

“Way to kick a girl while she’s down,” Mary turned her head away in an attempt to hide the self deprecating smirk that had manifested over her lips.

“I’ll let you pick what we eat and we’ll call it even,” (Y/n) replied as she got up on wobbly legs. She immediately missed the warmth that had accumulated between her and Mary over the last several hours. She offered Mary her hand and her heart leapt when Mary accepted the help without a second thought.

“Fine, whatever I pick, it’s going to be delivery.” Mary said, patting the dirt off of her skirt. “We look like we’ve been lost in the wilderness for five days.” She added, approaching (Y/n) to remove a leaf that had settled in her hair.

Like before, Mary’s hand lingered, slowly dropping lower until it cupped (Y/n)’s cheek. Mary didn’t even seem to register that she had done that, given the far away look in her eye.

(Y/n) could feel her skin catch fire under the brush of Mary’s thumb and cleared her throat, causing Mary to jolt her hand away embarrassed and internally fuming at herself.

“S-so let’s head back to my room, yeah? We can get cleaned up and watch some movies, just forget everything and everyone else for tonight. We can continue worrying tomorrow.” (Y/n) proposed.

“Yeah, sounds good. I know I don’t want to go back to the Hana dorms right now if I can help it,” Mary shrugged, her attempt at appearing disinterested thwarted by her reddened cheeks.

On their way back to the Tsubaki class dorms, Mary grumbled something about not getting there fast enough and grabbed (Y/n)’s hand, lacing their fingers together as they walked. Mary picked up the speed a bit, but really made no difference that would cut down the time it would take to get back. (Y/n) didn’t comment on it though, instead opting to hum and gently swing their connected hands as they went.

When they got within view of the dorms, and all of the students milling about, Mary tugged her hand away and crossed her arms tightly over her chest, but continued to move alongside (Y/n) with a cute pout over her lips.

(Y/n) held her student ID against the panel near the door of the lobby and opened the door, ushering  Mary inside. They took the elevator to the second floor, which housed the second year students of the Tsubaki class, and from there they headed to the girl’s wing.

When (Y/n) unlocked the door to her room, Mary pushed past her and flopped onto (Y/n) bed with a groan.

“Hey, You’re going to get dirt all over my comforter!” (Y/n) scolded half heartedly.

“Don’t care, I’m tired.” Mary smirked and took out her phone to scroll over dinner options. When she settled on one she tossed the phone at (Y/n) who fumbled with it before gaining a secure grasp over it. “You know what I like. You order while I take a shower.” Mary demanded as she walked away.  “This stupidly rich school did one thing right when it fitted each room with its own bathroom.”

“Yeah, feel free to use whatever you need in there,” (Y/n) said distractedly as she scanned the menu. “Oh, and you can borrow some clothes to change into. The comfy stuff is in the two middle drawers.”

“Thanks.” Mary redirected her path to stop at the dresser and took a crewneck sweatshirt and a pair of shorts before disappearing behind the bathroom door.

(Y/n) placed an order for the food. When she was sure everything was in order, she closed the app and her breath caught in her throat.

Mary’s home screen was a picture that they took last year that included Mary, herself, Tsuzura, and Yukimi-senpai in their maid outfits. She smiled fondly at the memory, a bittersweet feeling forming in her heart as she made a mental note to talk to Tsuzura again soon. Though she missed her friend dearly, she knew she was much happier at her new school. It certainly was a less stressful environment to say the least.

(Y/n) locked the phone and placed it on her desk before plopping down into the desk chair and reaching for the tv remote to open her streaming service of choice.

“Showers’ free.” Mary sighed when she emerged from the bathroom, a wave of steam in her wake.

“Wow, just how hot was the water you were using?” (Y/n) asked with a chuckle.

“I’m sure there is still plenty of hot water left if that’s what you’re implying,” Mary said with a roll of her eyes. “Anyway, go get cleaned up, you’re a mess.”

“Ouch, okay,” (Y/n)’s hand flew to her chest in mock hurt briefly, “Expect a text in the next ten minutes or so for when the food gets here.”

“Got it,” Mary waved her hand dismissively and (Y/n) walked into the bathroom with an armful of fresh clothes.

By the time she was finished, Mary had the food set up in front of the tv and was lying along the full length of the couch scrolling through movie titles.

“Find anything you want to watch?”

“Meh, this one seems alright,” Mary scrolled back up and highlighted one.

“The Gamble Hole?” (Y/n) quirked a brow.

“What, you got a problem with it?” Mary grumped.

“No!” (Y/n) objected, holding her hands up defensively, “A fine choice, I just thought with- never mind. Just move your legs so I don’t break them when I sit on the couch.”

Mary scoffed and raised her legs, allowing (Y/n) just enough time to sit on the cushion before flopping her feet into (Y/n)’s lap. Mary then handed (Y/n) her food and started the movie.

They sat in comfortable silence, only broken occasionally by Mary dunking on the movie. Somewhere in the middle of the film, Mary got up to toss away their garbage and when she came back she had traded her feet’s previous positioning on (Y/n)’s lap with her head’s previous position on the arm of the couch.

Mary’s eyes dared (Y/n) to comment on the change in position, but (Y/n) let Mary have her peace and simply carded her fingers through Mary’s loose hair while turning her attention back to the movie.

One movie became two, two became three, and somewhere in the middle of that they had curled up on the couch and fell asleep tangled in each other’s arms.

Mary was the first to wake early the next morning. She had heard the faint tone of her phone’s alarm from (Y/n)’s bedroom where she had left it to charge and she groaned quietly to herself before untangling from (Y/n) to go turn it off.

“Hey, (Y/n), it’s time to get up.” Mary spoke gruffly, coming back into the main room to shake the other girl awake.

“Noooo,” (Y/n) groaned, curling into herself.

“C’mon, get ready or I’m leaving without you.” Mary warned. (Y/n) appeared to have dozed off again and Mary crossed her arms tightly over her chest and scoffed. “Fine, don’t get up. I’ll just go to school by myself and try another official match. I wonder if Yumemite is back from her tour yet.”

(Y/n) shot up from the couch and grabbed the hem of the crewneck Mary had borrowed. “Please don’t do that for the love of god!”

“Then get up and get ready to go, dumb ass. I still have to go back to my dorm for a clean uniform so I’ll meet you outside of the Hana building, got it?”

“You promise?” (Y/n) asked shyly, thinking back to the last two days when Mary hadn’t waited for her, avoided her.

Mary rolled her eyes and ruffled (Y/n)’s hair, “I promise, dummy.” Mary gathered her belongings and made her way to the door, “If you take too long I can’t say I’ll be able to keep that promise though.”

“I’ll be there!” (Y/n) called out just before Mary closed the door behind her. (Y/n) stood up from the couch and quickly began her morning routine and got dressed in a clean uniform. She grabbed her school bag and made sure she had her phone and ID before heading out.

(Y/n) hummed happily, swaying on her heels as she waited for Mary to come outside.

“You look very happy this morning, (Y/n)! It’s very sweet!”

(Y/n) was knocked out of her own little world when Yumeko seemingly appeared out of nowhere and linked arms with her.

“Ah Yumeko! You scared me.” (Y/n) exhaled, a hand over her heart.

“I apologize, (Y/n). Did you have a good night with Saotome?” Yumeko asked.

“How do you know about that?”

“I saw her walking back earlier. When I asked her if she was with you, she told me to keep my mouth shut and mind my own damn business. She’s so expressive!” Yumeko giggled.

“Uh huh,” (Y/n) smiled sheepishly. “So, um, how did your gamble with Nishinotouin-senpai go?”

“Oh, I lost unfortunately!”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” (Y/n) felt a bit of guilt grip her heart. “I hope it wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“I’m 310 million yen in the hole!” Yumeko replied seemingly unbothered. In fact, she looked... happy?

“Three... three...” (Y/n) couldn’t even get the number out of her mouth, instead she kept opening and closing her mouth like a fish, occasionally mumbling a three while Yumeko smiled at her.

“Why the hell are you still standing out here?” Mary asked, irritation evident as she tugged (Y/n) out of Yumeko’s grasp.

“I was waiting for (Y/n) and Ryota! You as well Saotome, I’d love for us to be friends!” Yumeko answered.

“I’d rather die.” Mary sneered and made to tug (Y/n) towards the school but the girl was still dumbstruck and mumbling to herself. Mary snapped her fingers and waved in her face before turning back to Yumeko. “What the hell did you do to her?” She glared.

“Hmm? I don’t think I did anything.” Yumeko held a finger to her chin as she thought back.

“Whatever, just stay away from us! Got it?” Mary pushed passed Yumeko, pulling (Y/n) along and causing her to stumble behind her.

“See you later!” Yumeko waved.

***

Mary dragged (Y/n) into her classroom so she could get her stuff ready for class before going to get breakfast in the cafeteria. Her desk was still covered in marker but it hadn’t gotten worse since yesterday at least.

“I can help you clean it if you want.” (Y/n) asked, apparently she had finally sobered after the shock Yumeko had given her.

“Don’t bother, it would just encourage them to do it again and would make the effort a waste.” Mary shook her head and opened her desk, surprised to see an unfamiliar, thin journal sat neatly in the middle of her books and papers. “What the hell is this?” She muttered, turning it in her hands. The words ‘life plan’ shimmered in the light along with Mary’s name stenciled neatly below.

“Isn’t that the student council seal?” (Y/n) wondered, pointing to the golden insignia on the back.

Mary opened the thin journal and scanned the pages, becoming more agitated as she read. What’s this about an arranged marriage? Children? What kind of sick joke-

Mary slammed her fist on her desk, making (Y/n) jump. “This is bullshit! They can’t do this!”

“Mary-“ (Y/n) reached a hand out as the blonde strode away from her desk, the life plan held tightly in her hand. (Y/n)’s hand just missed Mary’s sleeve and Mary turned once she stood at the classroom door.

“I need to pay the student council a visit. I’ll see you after class.” Mary spoke before turning back and began walking briskly down the hallway.

“Be careful!” (Y/n) called back to her, rushing to the door to watch Mary stalk away.

With Mary gone, (Y/n) had no other choice but to move on to the cafeteria herself. She grabbed something she could eat quickly before heading to her classroom.

(Y/n) groaned inwardly once she reached the door, Kiwatari was already there raising hell as always.

“Kiwatari, isn’t it a little early to be an asshole?” (Y/n) asked, placing her bag on her desk hook.

“What’s it to you, (L/n)? ‘m just playing with my pets.”

“Class is about to start and as class rep, I must ask that you refrain from harassing people getting ready for class. House pets included.” (Y/n) spoke resolutely, using what she called her, ‘Igarashi, Sayaka voice’ and gave a sympathetic once over to Tsubomi who stood with her head held low.

“Tsk, uptight bitch” Kiwatari muttered, giving Tsubomi one last shove as he made his way to his seat.

(Y/n) frowned deeply but did not intervene again. She would rather not be stuck on that pig’s radar by getting overly involved in his business. So, she held her tongue and waited for the teacher to enter in the next few minutes. However, just before roll call, the intercom system crackled to life and the voice of the student council secretary greeted the student body.

Igarashi had made an announcement explaining that an opportunity had arose for those who had debts to pay and those interested were to come to the assembly room for more information.

(Y/n) had no debts to participate in such an event, but she left with the small group in her class because she was almost certain Mary would attend the meeting, and right she was.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Mary muttered quietly when (Y/n) came up to her.

“Well, I figured you’d be here when I heard the announcement. How did your talk with the student council go?”

“Shitty. Now be quiet so I can focus on what she’s saying.” Mary gestured towards the front of the room where Igarashi had just stepped up to the podium.

“Welcome students,” Igarashi smiled politely, “Our president has brought to fruition an opportunity that could very well change your lives as you know them. A gamble that could free you from your chains of servitude, or send you plummeting further into despair. Should you choose to compete, the game of choice will be ten rounds of Indian Poker. You will be divided into groups of four. Each person’s chip’s worth will depend on their accumulated debt. You may place whatever amount of debt you wish to wager with on your provided card. We look forward to your participation in the Great Debt Swapping Game.”

“Ooo, this should be a lot of fun!”

Mary and (Y/n) jumped as a head popped between them and an arm wrapped around each of their shoulders.

“Get the hell off me!” Mary growled, pushing Yumeko off. “What are you even doing here anyway?”

“Oh, did (Y/n) not tell you? I’m over 300 million yen in debt!” Yumeko cheered.

“As if I care, you know-“ Mary paused and did a double take at Yumeko, “Did you just say— Fuck you!” Mary turned back towards to front absolutely seething.

“Awww why is Saotome mad at me, (Y/n)?” Yumeko pouted and hung off the other girl while (Y/n) struggled to escape her grasp.

“My best guess would be she’s pissed that you beat her and put her in debt and then not even three days later you lost, and lost badly at that. Mary is probably taking that as a severe insult to not only her gambling skill, but also her pride.” (Y/n) said thoughtfully.

“I could do without the analysis, (Y/n)!”

“I found that quite helpful and I feel closer to Saotome for it, thank you (Y/n)!” Yumeko smiled sweetly at (Y/n) before directing her attention back to Mary. “Don’t feel bad Saotome, had an outside party not gotten involved in my gamble, Nishinotouin-senpai would have found herself in my position I’m sure!”

“Do you not know what personal space is?” Mary griped, stepping away from Yumeko once again.

“The groups have been randomly set,” Igarashi’s voice rolled over the assembly hall once more and she began listing off the groups, “...Next we have Saotome Mary, Jabami Yumeko, Kiwatari Jun, and Tsubomi Nanami. The following group consists of...”

“Did you hear that Saotome? We’re in the same group! How lucky!” Yumeko invaded Mary’s space once more, smiling even more brilliantly.

“Of course we are. Why am I not surprised.” Mary moved to the other side of (Y/n) to put some distance between herself and Yumeko. By doing so she noticed the thoughtful, far away look (Y/n) currently held. “Hey, what’s up?” her voice was a little gruff but held an undertone of affection.

“The other people in your group are in my class. I can understand why Tsubomi would be here, as she’s a house pet, but Kiwatari has no outstanding reason to compete that I’m aware of.” (Y/n) shifted her weight and looked at the two Hana class students, her expression serious. “I may not know his plan, but I can almost guarantee you that he will be using Tsubomi as an accomplice of sorts to achieve his goal.”

“Oh my, are you sure about this (Y/n)?” Yumeko tilted her head.

“Kiwatari has been making Tsubomi’s life hell for a long time now. Her will has been severely damaged if not completely destroyed by him. She’ll probably do what he says because she finds it easier then fighting back. Which is why I think...” (Y/n) drifted off, her eyes moving to look exclusively at Mary who immediately let out a strangled, agitated noise.

“Alright, I see where this is going and I don’t like it but...” Mary sighed “You aren’t going to let me continue on unless I do this, aren’t you?”

“That would be correct.” (Y/n) nodded.

Yumeko kept looking between the two, her expression one of mild confusion.

“Jabami,” Mary finally spat.

“Yes?”

“Will you work with me for this gamble.” Mary gritted out.

“Oh Saotome! I’d be honored to be your partner!” Yumeko clapped, “Was this your plan (Y/n)? Thank you for making this gamble so much more interesting!”

“Uh, you’re welcome?” Students began filling out the assembly hall to fill out their debt cards and (Y/n) looked over the two girls nervously. “They aren’t going to let outside parties watch these matches and I should really get back to class. You two should hurry so you can get your cards and come up with a strategy.”

“What do you look so worried for?” Mary scoffed, messing up (Y/n)’s hair, “You already gave me an edge over the competition, if you think I’m still going to lose after that you’re really pissing me off.”

“Don’t worry (Y/n), I’ll take good care of Mary-san!” Yumeko butted in.

“Shut up, Jabami.”

“I hate that you’re taking this risk, but I believe you can win. So I’ll try not to stress over it too much. You’ll come find me when it’s over, right?” (Y/n) asked.

“Where else would I go, dummy?” Mary rolled her eyes and turned away, Yumeko hot on her heels. “I’ll see you later.” She added, her words sounding much less harsh. Yumeko waved excitedly then turned to catch up with Mary’s strides.

***

(Y/n) was surprised when at her break, Ryota had come to her class looking for her with another student.

“You (L/n), (Y/n)?” The other student asked.

“Yes, and what may I ask is this about?”

“I’ve got a check for Suzui here. However it was also requested that you be present as a witness to the transaction. Since you’re here,” he pulled an envelope from his blazer and handed it to Ryota, “I can give Suzui the check. Have a good day.” The student nodded before exiting the classroom.

“What’s this about, Suzui?” (Y/n) asked.

“I wish I knew.” Ryota scratched his head. “I’m just as confused as you are.”

“Well, I guess you should open it.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ryota tore open the seal and pulled the check out. It took a moment but once the amount registered in their minds, Ryota and (Y/n) both screamed.

“How the hell did you get all that money, Suzui!? Did you kill someone? Several someones!?” (Y/n) asked nonplussed.

“I- I didn’t do anything! ...I think!? This must be a joke, right? Is this a prank, (Y/n)? Did Saotome-san put you up to this?”

“No, of course not!”

“This can’t be real. I should really just throw it out.” Ryota sighed tiredly.

“Wait,” (Y/n) stopped him from crinkling up the paper, “Don’t do anything just yet. Keep it until the end of the day at least. Meet me back here and then we can decide what to do with it if no new info comes up. Just keep it safe until then.”

“Alright, I can do that.” Ryota appeared to be sweating. “Nothing stressful about carrying an obscene amount of mysterious money that may or may not be real.”

“If it really bothers you that much I can hold onto it until then.” (Y/n) offered.

“Please!” Ryota quickly shoved the paper into (Y/n)’s hand without a second thought.

“Alright, I’ll see you here after school, okay?” (Y/n) asked as she tucked the paper into the front of her blazer.

“Right!” Ryota answered, his shoulders slumped as the tension holding the check had brought left.

***

The rest of (Y/n)’s classes slugged by, the weight of the check against her chest becoming heavier with each hour dragging by and thoughts of Mary plagued her mind. Was she doing okay?

Finally the last class had wrapped up for the day and (Y/n) rubbed her palms roughly over her eyes. She felt exhausted.

A few minutes later, Ryota arrived and sat in the desk next to hers looking just as tired.

“So, what now?” He asked.

(Y/n) released a joyless hum as she removed the check from her blazer and looked over it again. “I don’t know. I did some research about counterfeit checks and it appears to be legitimate. I’m just worried about what this money could mean. You don’t just have this kind of cash fall into your lap for free.”

“Aha! They’re in here Mary-san!” Yumeko suddenly appeared in the doorway, a little out of breath.

“Yumeko!” Ryota greeted her happily.

“Yumeko! How did the gamble go? Where’s Mary?” (Y/n) asked.

“I’m right here, dummy.” Mary appeared in the doorway looking a little out of breath herself, “If you two didn’t make us need to run around the school, we could have met up sooner.”

Mary stalked over to Ryota and (Y/n) and she practically dropped to the floor in relief. “Thank god you have it!” Mary took the check from (Y/n)’s hand and kissed (Y/n)’s cheek without even having it register in her mind as she looked over the check before pressing it to her chest like a precious artefact. “I told Yumeko to just have it sent to you, but she insisted Suzui hold onto it for god only knows why.”

(Y/n) just stared at Mary absolutely dumbfounded, her hand that once held the check now pressed to her warm and tingling cheek.

“What? What’s with the face?” Mary asked with a quirk of her brow.

“I I I- You, um,” (Y/n) stuttered, unable to find her words.

“Oh, you saw the money did you?” Mary smirked, “Impressive, isn’t it?”

“You mean the money is yours?” Ryota asked, “That makes more sense now I guess, but how’d you get all that?”

“The Debt Swapping Game, of course!” Mary scoffed, “Honestly Jabami, did you tell him anything about what we were doing?”

“I saw no need to. It all worked out in the end, didn’t it?” Yumeko smiled brightly.

“Wait wait, you won?” (Y/n) stared up at Mary with cautious awe. “That check is what you won in the gamble?”

Mary stared back, smug and looking oh so happy with herself. “Yeah, it’s the last time you’ll see me wearing one of these eye sores.” Mary tugged the house pet tag off of her neck and tossed it into the garbage.

“You won! You won!” (Y/n) cheered and shot up out of her desk. She wrapped her arms around Mary and bounced her around while laughing joyously.

“Hey! Calm down!” Mary blushed, and pushed (Y/n) by the shoulders to try to stop her jostling movements.

“This is fun!” Yumeko joined in from behind Mary, wrapping her arms around her neck and bouncing in time with (Y/n) who was still vigorously celebrating.

“Alright that’s enough, get off!” Mary elbowed Yumeko in the stomach and pushed (Y/n) half an arm’s length away. “A little space would be-“

(Y/n) cupped half of Mary’s face with her hand and landed a quick kiss on Mary’s cheek before pulling away completely. She continued to dance around the classroom, feeling heat run through her face and a rush of giddiness. Her smiling lips still tingling from the brief contact. Yumeko skipped with (Y/n) around the classroom, still happy to revel in the celebration that was dangerously close to becoming excessive.

“Hu... Hey!” Mary finally regained her bearings, her shoulders stiff and face red, watching (Y/n) and Yumeko make their way across the front of the room.

Mary’s voice forced (Y/n) to a sudden halt, causing Yumeko to bump into her, but she too stopped to look curiously at Mary.

“What the hell was that?” Mary glared at (Y/n), her arms crossed tightly over her blazer.

(Y/n) didn’t even try to act dumb, it would have been unwise based on how intently Mary was staring at her. “I, um, I was just returning the favor.”

“What favor?” Mary stared incredulously.

“Mary-san, don’t say you forgot already! That would just be cruel.” Yumeko pouted and pulled (Y/n) into her arms and pat her head affectionately. “If I were to kiss (Y/n), I certainly wouldn’t forget.” Her words causing (Y/n) to duck out of her reach to try to cover her bashfulness.

“I think I’m gonna go home?” Ryota looked over the three girls, his face plainly showed how weird he found the whole scene to be. “Uh, yeah, see you guys tomorrow.” He waved awkwardly before darting out the door.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Mary continued, not even acknowledging Ryota’s exit.

“Mary, you kissed me when you took the check from me...” (Y/n) shyly pointed to her cheek, her eyes focusing in the opposite corner of the room from Mary. Yumeko hummed and nodded affirmingly.

“I did not I-“ Mary’s skin gained a few darker shades of red and she stood statue still and just as stiff, her eyes lit up as if recalling a distant memory. (Y/n) and Yumeko watched from the front of the classroom, waiting to see what would become of the blonde who seemed to be trapped in her own mind.

“I wonder if we broke her.” Yumeko mused, a finger tapping lightly over her lips.

After a few more moments, Mary’s head shot up, her eyes immediately connecting with (Y/n)’s startled ones. “Get over here.” Mary commanded, her voice tight and low.

(Y/n) gulped and quickly made her way to stand in front of her friend, not wanting to risk an impatient reprimand for stalling. “Y...Yes, Mary?” she asked, meekly.

“Closer.”

(Y/n) took another tentative step forward. Mary sighed and pulled (Y/n) in by the blazer until their noses grazed, eliciting a surprised squeak from the other girl. Mary tilted her head and kissed (Y/n)’s cheek again, lingering a bit longer than she had with the first one.

“Can I have one, Mary-san?” Yumeko called from her spot against the front wall.

“No! Why are you even still here, read the room and go home already!” Mary blushed, nevertheless keeping her hold on (Y/n)’s blazer.

“Oh my, are you planning to be more intimate right now? I suppose it is a little early in our relationship for me to bare witness to such displays. I’ll see you two tomorrow!” Yumeko hummed happily as she exited the classroom, pulling the door close behind her.

“Why did you have to word it like that, you fucking weirdo!” Mary yelled after Yumeko, but she was already gone.

Mary turned back to (Y/n) and released another sigh. “Do that thing again.”

(Y/n) stared at Mary inquisitively for a moment before realization dawned over her. She smiled and gently pressed another kiss over Mary’s cheek.

Mary took a moment to clear her throat after (Y/n) pulled away before speaking, “Thanks. Thanks for that and uh, not leaving me behind as a house pet.” She mumbled.

“Anytime.” (Y/n)’s features grew soft. “Thanks for letting me back in.”

“So listen,” Mary began, her tone made room for no nonsense, “First thing tomorrow I’m paying back the student council and then I’ve got to give Jabami some fair compensation for teaming up in the debt game, but after classes do you want to go somewhere, just us? Like we were supposed to do before Jabami ruined everything.”

“Isn’t it usually just us when we go do stuff?” (Y/n) chuckled and smiled innocently at Mary’s warning look.

“Hey, with Jabami and the dog- ugh, Suzui, always popping up these days, they’d probably invite themselves along. I’m just trying to cover all my bases.”

“So, it’s a date then?” (Y/n) asked, trying to keep her emotions under the surface as to not get her hopes too high, to not show her disappointment should Mary deny it.

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

(Y/n) nodded.

“Yeah, it’s a date. Officially I guess.” Mary shrugged.

(Y/n) hugged Mary so hard, she nearly suffocated her, but Mary didn’t complain. Instead, she hugged back just as hard and hid her smile in (Y/n)’s hair.

[magsthemagnanimous]

Boy it’s been a while since I’ve written a Levihan fanfic (or any fanfic in general) so this is a little shitty. But here goes nothing.

And They Lived

Summary: Against all odds, despite the seemingly unending chaos, Hange Zoe, the fourteenth commander of the Survey Corps, survived. It wasn't long until she found herself living the life she thought she would never have – with one specific person, at one specific place, three years after the war ended.

Mornings never usually thrilled Hange, but as she continuously strolled through the woods, her footsteps leaving little crackles as dried leaves crumbled under her boots, she felt peace she hadn’t had in a long, long time.

The light from the early morning sun filtered through the trees, the air was crisp and fresh and it felt good when it brushed against her skin. When she looked around she could see wildflowers growing in every direction. The entire forest seemed to be a place full of vigor and life – and even hope, and it’s as if it was never a witness to the war that happened almost three years ago, which rendered the world almost completely uninhabitable for the remaining twenty percent of humanity who survived.

Thinking about the war, and even the years before that was almost too much to bear, Hange thought. She lost friends, comrades, family, and if she was being honest with herself she thought it almost possible for her to die, too. She had accepted her fate, resigned to her own death the minute she heard the colossal titans’ footsteps shaking the ground as they walked closer and closer to where she and the alliance were standing in.

But even amidst the chaos and the impossibility of it all, she survived. And to go on living and to finally live the life she wasn’t able to have, it was all that remained for her to accomplish.

Hange took a deep breath and continued her stroll, getting nearer to her destination – her home for the last two years. The basket she had on her hands was heavy but she figured that if she bought more goods from the market today, then she wouldn’t have to go back for the next five days or so, as going to the nearest district to buy necessities was too much of a hassle to do every other day, anyway.

It wasn’t long until she reached the little cottage she called home, and even before she reached it she could already see someone stirring inside from beneath the windows the cottage offered.

He’s awake. She’s kind of hoping he saw her note that she has gone out to the market that morning, as she did leave before the sun was up. He was still sleeping soundly – a rare occurrence, given his state – so she didn’t feel the need to wake him up.

Hange sped up her pace and soon enough she was inside the cottage already, dragging her heavy basket effortlessly and beaming at the face that greeted her when she entered.

“Good morning, Levi! Did you sleep well?” she greeted. Hange walked towards the kitchen counter and dropped the goods she had bought. A variety of vegetables, fruits, meat, and bread tumbled on the table.

“You were gone long, Shitty Glasses,” was Levi’s blunt reply. He rolled his wheelchair across the kitchen, getting to where Hange was messily stacking the foods she had bought. Levi clicked his tongue at the way she was keeping the fruits from falling over the pantry but was miserably failing. “The way you’re going at it, these fruits wouldn’t even last until tomorrow. They’ve got bruises all over thanks to you.” He bent forward and grabbed the oranges which were splayed on the floor, groaning as he did so.

Hange quickly stopped him and grabbed the fruits from his arms. “Don’t bother yourself with this, I can do it on my own. Chill over there, okay?” she pointed to the table. “Have you had breakfast?”

“I am not a child for you to fuss over, Hange.”

She grinned. “I would take that as a no. What do you want, tiny captain?”

Levi stared at her for a moment with a scowl on his face, but after a few seconds he turned his head to the side and pouted. “Fine. Just some bread and eggs. That is, if we have them.”

Hange smiled at him and went on to do the task. She cut a few slices of the bread she had bought, and put them on the pan to toast a little, doing the eggs next. She then prepared some black tea and poured it onto Levi’s favorite cup, the chipped, old thing she had saved from when she visited the headquarters – or rather what’s left of it – after her recovery.

Placing the plates and the cup onto the table, Hange noticed that Levi had busied himself with reading the newspaper she had bought as well from the market. Across the page she could see Her Majesty’s smiling face, along with her toddler and the nameless farmer who fathered her child.

“It says here that the brats have been appointed as diplomats, ambassadors of sorts, for peace talks between the outside world and Paradis,” Levi declared, then took a sip of his tea. His right eye flickered towards Hange to gauge her reaction to his words, then looked back at the paper before him.

Hange hummed. “I should say I’m not in the least bit surprised. They saved the world, after all. If there’s anyone who could broker peace between the Eldians and the world it is them,”

“And you,” Levi fixed her on his gaze.

She looked straight into him in return. “You more than me,” Hange said. “But it’s not our fight, not anymore. I wanted to, you know. To be among those people to put this world back into one piece, but I’m afraid the world would never listen to a useless commander,” she huffed out a chuckle at that.

Levi frowned, his brows furrowed at her words. “You did what you can. Stop saying you were a useless commander, Hange.” He sighed, he didn’t want to go over this matter again. He’s grown tired of it. “Do you think it’s wise to leave the fate of Paradis to the brats’ hands? Are they matured enough to handle it?”

Hange gave him a teasing smile. “You sound like a worried grandpa,”

He scowled at that. “It’s going to be a difficult task, especially after all they’ve been through.” For a moment, there was a look of longing on his face, like he was lost in the memories of smoke, blood, and tears, but it was gone before Hange noticed it. Levi spoke again. “They need you there, Hange.”

Hange had to look down at that. When she looked up, she saw Levi carefully analyzing her next reaction. She adjusted her glasses, checked if her eye patch was still in place, and then softly smiled. “But you need me more.”

Two years living in this forest had sure enough afforded Levi all the time in the world to heal and recover.

But he had to admit it to himself, he’s never the same as before. He had been in the goddamned wheelchair for basically three years, with only one eye working, and a constantly weakened bodily state. But even if he seemed paralyzed and most decidedly living like a broken man, he can swear he had never felt this peaceful in his life. Not even during his time as soldier, not even when he was a kid underground.

As he wheeled himself across the woods, carefully following the trails all too familiar in his mind, Levi thought back of the conversation he had with Hange earlier that morning. He had lost count of the number of times he’d spoken about her being an asset with peace negotiations with nations outside Paradis. He never thought Hange would step out like she did, leaving her post as commander and entrusting the Corps and the negotiations to Armin, being a person keen to her responsibilities as she had always been.

But she chose to stay with him, to care for him, for reasons he didn’t fathom why.

Levi dimly remembered that fateful day in Odiha, when he’d thought her already dead. Even if he didn’t look out the window to see it for himself, he could tell exactly that what he’d been dreading has happened, based on the looks of Armin, Mikasa, Connie, and Jean, and they’d declared that Hange fell onto the ground, already looking unconscious. The titans were fast approaching, but their plane won’t start just yet. Fortunately, Hange was able to take down one colossal titan, and this bought them much time as the other titans tumbled over one another.

Suddenly, when the engines of the plane started to roar and the Alliance prepared to leave, Armin cried out loud, and they saw Hange limping towards them, her brown hair and almost half her body burnt and smoking. They hurriedly took her in, and they left Odiha just mere moments before the titans were upon them.

The rest, of course, was history.

A year after the war ended and she was recovered enough, Hange renounced her title as commander and travelled back to Paradis with a severely injured Levi. She had a cottage built for them right in the middle of the forest where she’d sown his wounds all those years ago, fulfilling a wish – which, now that he thought about it, seemed more like a promise than mere wishful thinking.

This time around though, they wouldn’t need to run and hide. Not anymore.

Levi’s train of thoughts was interrupted when he’d realized where he’s at. He’s come upon a wide clearing, and from a distance he could see lots of and lots of wildflowers and herbs which grew in the area, some he’d seen, and some new to his eye. He wandered around and decided to pick up one specific flower which he hadn’t chanced upon seeing before.

He wheeled himself back to their cottage not long after, following the trails he’d set.

When he came back, Levi found Hange sitting in front of her desk at her makeshift study, scribbling something. Ever since they settled in, Hange had been writing this book, a compilation of her researches on the botany of Paradis, which she hoped would be published someday.

Hange looked up from her work when she noticed Levi at the doorway. She adjusted her glasses, which were already dangling at the tip of her nose. “How was the stroll?” she bluntly asked, then continued scribbling again.

Levi didn’t answer. Instead, he wheeled his way to where Hange was sitting, and dropped the flower he’d picked from the clearing. He wasn’t sure if she’d seen it before, but any help he could offer with her research had been accepted by Hange. Wholeheartedly, even.

This one was no different.

“Where did you find this? I haven’t seen one like this before.” Hange beamed as she brought the red, almost pinkish flower close to her face, carefully investigating, curiosity marred on her brown eye.

“In the clearing, probably thirty yards away from here.” Levi continued gazing at her. She was like a kid beaming at another new find, and somehow seeing Hange like this brought him back to the old times. “You sure it’s something new?”

“Yeah, but I’d need to take a closer look. It might be from an already existing species, but it has a different look to it. The pigmentation and structure, though, are quite the same. I think I’d like to visit the place where you got this to see the kind of environment it grows in to prove my theory right, but that’s a task for tomorrow as it is getting quite dark, after all.” Hange smiled at him, and he felt how genuine it is. “Thank you, Levi. Do you need help with anything? Do you need a glass of water? You must be tired from your stroll.”

“There’s no need for you to bother yourself, Hange. I got it.” was Levi’s only reply.

The stars were beautiful that night, Hange concluded, as she continuously gazed at the dark skies out through the window of her study. The wind was cold to the touch, and she wrapped her arms around her own body when a sudden chilly breeze fanned her way. She continuously marvelled at the sight before her, her research book long forgotten. On her desk, a quill pen rested on a parchment paper, and the candle which lighted the room already half-melted, its fire threatening to die out.

It wasn’t long after she decided to call it a night, though, no matter how beautiful the stars were, she was tired. Hange stacked the papers on her desk, neatly arranging them, then went out of her study. Before making her way to her own bedroom, she made sure that all the doors that would lead out were locked, as there’d been reports of burglars lately, and she wouldn’t risk waking up with all their belongings gone.

When she was sure everything was already in place, Hange made for her bedroom, but she couldn’t help but notice that the door to Levi’s room was slightly ajar, and she attempted to close it.

It was then, though, when she’d heard Levi groaning and muttering softly. Hange was hesitant at first but she pushed the door open, only to see Levi, seemingly sleeping, but he was stirring aggressively on the bed. At the sight, Hange hurriedly went inside the room and went to his side. “Levi,” she yanked him.

He continuously groaned, and Hange was almost hit when he pushed his fists forward.

“Levi, wake up, you’re having a nightmare!” she desperately called out to him, eager to ease whatever unpleasant memories have gotten into his sleep.

At the sound of her voice, Levi’s eye opened, grey meeting brown against the darkness of the room. Levi panted heavily, and sweat matted his forehead.

“I’m here, don’t worry. We’re safe, they’re gone,” Hange reached out and hesitantly cupped his face between her hands. She didn’t know what his nightmare was about or who this time, but she understood. It wasn’t the first time it happened, anyway. Over the last two years she’d often hear Levi screaming in his sleep, and she’d scramble out of her own bed and go to wake him up and comfort him. She always did.

It took a while for Levi to calm down, but he eventually did. He pushed himself up to sit on the bed and Hange waited until he’s settled. He tried to avoid her gaze, choosing instead to simply look at the wall. Moments later, he spoke. “I’m sorry,”

“What for?”

“For waking you,”

Hange had to chuckle at that. “You didn’t. I was just about to sleep, got caught up in the flower you brought me today.” She tried to look into his eye, to search through him, but he was purposefully avoiding her gaze, now looking down on his own lap, as if guilty of her coming to rescue him from his nightmare, again.

She sighed. “I have them too, you know,”

That caused Levi to look up. “What are they about?”

“It’s always the same one. That day in Odiha when I almost died. I saw flames, and I can still feel them against my body. It’s as if I was reliving the moment, whenever I dream about it,” Hange shifted on her seat. Her right hand flew to touch her left arm, feeling the uneven skin there which was the effect of the burns she suffered. “And then the next thing I know, I’d fall onto the ground and when I opened my eyes I’d see our fallen comrades looking at me, as if they were disappointed at my actions being the commander.”

Levi gritted his teeth at that. “If anything, they’d be looking at you with pride, not disappointment, in my opinion.” He tried to reach his hand out and lay it over her hand, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. “Hange, you have to stop feeling guilty for the actions you took when you were the commander. You did everything you believed was right. And at the time, no one, not even Erwin, could have led a charge against a world which was all new to us. You don’t give enough credit to yourself when you should.”

Hange smiled bitterly at his words. “I know… I just… think things could have turned out differently, you know. The rumbling couldn’t have happened, we would’ve saved all those lives. If only I had a decent plan. If only we got a hold of Eren, then things would –“

“Stop it, Hange.” Levi muttered. “I want you to promise me you’d stop feeling guilty anymore. None of it was entirely your fault, it was just the cards we’ve been dealt with and we played them according to how we believed they should be treated.” He displayed a knowing look. “I think the reason why you don’t want to be involved with peace negotiations is because you still think you aren’t capable. You still lacked the confidence. But bear in mind that none of us would still be alive if it weren’t for you forming the alliance and buying us time from those titans that day. So please, Hange, please.” He sighed. “Promise me,”

“I do think that has been the longest speech you’ve ever said to me, Levi,” Hange laughed, then her face grew serious. She contemplated his words, there was already a part of her that wanted to believe every word he’d said, but it would take time for her to fully accept. She still appreciated it though, what he was doing. She reached out to place her hand above his own. “I cannot promise anything, Levi. But… I will try.”

Levi nodded at her, resigning completely.

“What about you, what are your nightmares about?”

He was hesitant at first, but he squinted and started to speak. “Not being able to kill Zeke. It was always about the many fights we had together, but mostly on the one during the rumbling. Sometimes it’s about those many expeditions beyond the walls that we had before.” Levi let out a breath. “It’s a mix, really.”

“I see,” she hummed. “I still hope one day those nightmares would not hunt our sleep anymore. Anyone could wish. But I’ve started to think that they’re part of us already.”

“I’m afraid that’s true.”

Hange started to get up. “Well it’s getting pretty late, and we’ve got a big day tomorrow. Onyankopon had mentioned that they’d be paying us a visit, together with Armin, Jean, and Connie, and I don’t know who else, and we’d better look like we’ve been getting decent rest here, lest they insist for us to take residence in one of the districts.” She chuckled at that. “I’d rather the two of us just stay here.” Hange turned her back to leave. “Good night, Levi.”

“Hange,”

She looked over her shoulder and eyed him, carefully analyzing his face. “Yes?”

“Stay,”

Hange took a deep breath, then slowly turned to face him once again. It was one word, just one word she’d spent the last two years waiting for him to say.

She’d be damned if she said no to what he wanted.

[holylulusworld]

New discoveries

Summary: The tables have turned to your advantage but new problems lie ahead...

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Reader x Mobster!Steve

Characters: Peter Parker, Peggy Carter, Dottie Underwood, Tony Stark

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of death of a loved one (drowning), pregnant reader, sassy reader, sweet Peter, tension, fingering, a hint of fluff

Credits: Divider by @firefly-graphics​

<< Part 3

Ours to keep masterlist

“Doll, please,” Bucky grunts, pressing his erection into your ass. “I didn’t get off in two months. I have this sexy pregnant girl around and she won’t let me have her.”

“Whose fault is that?” You smile to yourself when Steve scoots closer to rub your belly. “If you wouldn’t be such assholes, we could have an awesome sex life. I liked you both.”

“God, does she make you as hard as me,” Steve looks at Bucky, not hiding his painfully throbbing cock. “This is torture.”

“This is Sparta if I want it to be,” you retort, glaring at Steve. “You know, the women didn’t take shit from their husbands either. Did you see the movie? Leonidas, the king, looked at his wife for confirmation first.”

“We are not in Sparta, doll. Now be good and at least tell us who will become a father. We were good, weren’t we?” Steve whines, looking at your belly. “Please, baby.”

“I can look at you for confirmation too if you tell us about the babies. Please let us know. We allowed Peter to only do legal stuff and be around of you all the time,” Bucky husks against your pulse point, a smirk on his lips when you squirm in his embrace. “Doll…”

“Fine, I’ll tell you but I have conditions you must fulfill first,” the dark grin on your lips let Steve’s features darken but he agreed to ‘play nice’. Bucky and he made a pact to at least try to be good ‘boyfriends’, even though, you refuse to let them call you their girlfriend. “I want to work again. You will tell Peggy and Dot you are the fathers of my babies and that you are in love with me.”

“You’re such an evil mastermind,” Bucky grinds his cock into your ass, groaning as you push back onto him. “I’ll do it if you are a good girl and let me slip my hand into your panties,” you shiver, even feel your core ache but you decided to let them suffer a little longer.

“No sideline, Barnes. Take the deal or leave it,” Steve’s eyes roam your body, and you swear, he just undressed you with his blue orbs. “This goes for you too, Rogers.”

“You will take Peter with you, no discussion. If we tell anyone you are expecting our heir, you’re in danger, doll. It would be wiser to not tell anyone,” Steve places one large hand onto your belly, slowly rubbing it again.

“They always made fun of me,” you whine, sounding like an angry toddler. “I want them to see I can have what they didn’t get. Not even a taste,” Bucky’s face buries into your neck. He’s nibbling at your skin whilst his hand creeps toward your panties.

“Let me make you cum and we’ll do anything you want us to do,” Steve doesn’t like his friend’s plan, but he nods, eager to at least watch Bucky pleasure you. “Just a bit.”

“Deal,” you gasp feeling Bucky’s hand slip into your panties to toy with your swollen nub. You swear you can feel the smirk against your pulse point when he feels wetness coat his fingers.

“Our girl is so wet for us, Stevie,” Steve smirks before he dips his hand into your panties too. “True, Buck. Now let’s decide who slips his fingers inside and who will play with her pearl,” your eyes roll back feeling two thick fingers slip inside…

“Ah, the infamous pregnant girl returns,” Dot snickers, watching you and Peter walk into the library. “Look, Pegs’ she brought her bodyguard.”

“This is Peter, he’s a good friend and, you got that part right, my bodyguard,” your voice confident, you snap your fingers to watch Dot’s face fall when Steve and Bucky walk into the library. “You already know Steve and Bucky, my boyfriends and fathers of my babies.”

“Fathers?” Peggy looks at Steve who places his hand onto your belly, confirming he’s the father. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Does she pay you for that brilliant lie?”

Dot’s laugher dies when Bucky wraps one hand around her throat to slam her into one of the shelves.

“Listen, hussy. That girl is ours. We made her our girl, filled her with our heir, and if she agrees, we’ll marry her one day,” Bucky grunts, pressing his thumb against Dot’s windpipe. “I want you to be very nice to Y/N from now on. If she or Peter tell me otherwise, I’ll be back.”

“Let me warn you, sweet cheeks, you don’t want Bucky to come back,” Steve smirks, seeing the fear in Dot’s eyes. “We went on a date with you to get information about our girl. Buck and I, we said something stupid and it ended in a fight with Y/N.”

“Now be good, do your job and shut up close to my girl,” Dot coughs when Bucky finally let go of her throat. She looks at the mobster, fear is still written all over her face.

“Peter, our girl is your responsibility now. Pietro and Clint are only one call away,” Steve whispers into Peter’s ear. “If anything happens, even if only a moth coughs, call them. Nothing can happen to Y/N.”

“Got it, boss. Nothing will happen to Y/N on my watch,” Peter nods at Bucky who still doesn’t like the idea of leaving you alone.

“Tonight, we want to know, Y/N,” Bucky points toward your belly, narrowing his eyes. “Or they will be no orgasms for you in the future…”

Only a two hours are left when Bucky strolls back into the library, carrying a huge bag with food.

“Delivery for my hungry girl,” the mobster smirks, placing the paper bag onto your desk. “We have your favorite roasted chicken, salad, bread, pudding, fruit salad, and something for Peter Parker.”

You nod, while you suppress a smile. Bucky bought all your favorite food and did not forget to bring something for Peter too. Engrossed in checking on the food Bucky get’s out of the bag you hear the door open once again.

“Bucky,” Steve grunts, walking into the library, a bag with food in his arms. “I thought we agreed it’s my turn to bring her food. I even bought something for Parker!”

“I’m hungry too, let’s just share what you bought,” Bucky smirks when your eyes drift toward the food Steve unpacks.

“Uh-he got unhealthy stuff. Look at this Buck,” you squeal, grasping for a Twinkie. “I hate and love that disgusting stuff at the same time.”

“I know my girl,” humming Steve watches you stuff the Twinkie into your mouth, rather choking on it than chewing. “Slow down, doll. I got more than enough.”

“Give me that peanut butter monstrosity,” grumbling Bucky stuff a Twinkie into his mouth only to retch. “That's too sweet…eek,” mumbling the mobster scrunches up his nose.

“It’s not that bad, Barnes,” you scold, inhaling the scent of your roasted chicken deeply. “I always loved to eat something sweet before lunch. Odd, I know. Most of the people eat the sweets after lunch or dinner.”

“You’re crazy, I like it,” Steve steals a mouthful chicken, grinning when you glare up at him. “Bucky said we will share.” He defends he stole food from you.

“Your stuff, not my roasted chicken. Keep your hands off my food or your son will kick your ass,” you gasp, acting as if you did not just drop one of your babies is Steve’s.

“Doll, is the other mine?” Bucky scoots closer, poking your belly with his finger. “Please tell me, Y/N.”

“Fine,” you throw your hands up in surrender, sighing deeply. “Both of you are going to be a father. Don’t ask me why, but the doctor said it’s possible.”

Bucky grins, looking at your baby bump again. His chest puffs and you swear, he looks like a peacock when he gets a cigar out of his jacket to hand one to Peter and another to Steve.

“I knew that my boys made it,” Bucky snickers, ignoring you throw a Twinkie at him. “They can swim.”

“Mine too,” Steve wants to light the cigar when Peter clears his throat. “Sir, not at a library and not close to a pregnant woman.”

“You should learn some manners, Rogers,” lips pursed you point toward the cigar. “Maybe Peter will give you lessons…”

“Finally, out of the house,” you groan, resting your head onto your desk. “I swear since they know both are going to be a father, they do not let me out of sight. I couldn’t go to the toilette on my own, Peter.”

“I know they seem to be overprotective, but their profession is not the safest. I can assure you; Mr. Rogers wants to keep your safe,” Peter gives you a soft smile, warming your heart for him even more. “I would never let anything happen to you, promised.”

Peter must’ve seen the worry in your eyes when you looked at him. You never thought much about Bucky and Steve’s kind of business. It’s not as if you didn’t know that they do illegal stuff, but you never thought it would affect your or your babies’ life.

“I know Peter,” you smile, still fear is creeping into your thoughts. “I don’t want to sound paranoid but there is that guy again, right next to the shelf with books about modern art. He comes to the library almost daily but never stays longer than a few minutes.”

Peter nods, taking a book from your desk to act as if he thumbs through the pages. His eyes drift toward the man and his blood freezes. “Why did I never see him before?”

“He always comes here when your shift is over. Before Pietro arrives, the man is gone. I don’t know why he’s still here today,” you whisper. “Do you know that man?”

“Unfortunately, yes. That’s…,” gasping you must watch the man stalk toward you and Peter. At the same time as you begin to panic, Peter remains stoic. He dialed Pietro’s number minutes ago, knows Clint and the others are on their way.

“I guess the cats out,” the man smirks, eyes roaming your body. “Name’s Stark, Tony Stark,” his eyes never leave your belly when he holds out his hand. “I must admit, I never thought Barnes and Rogers had it in them to keep a girl.”

“Sir, I must ask you to stay away from Ms. Y/L/N. This is a neutral zone,” Peter’s voice is strong, but his heart pounds in his chest. “I know you want to get to know the girl in Mr. Barnes's life, but this is not the time nor the place for it.”

“Peter Parker, all grown and tough now,” Tony smirks, glancing at his hand which you never shook. “Shame you didn’t agree to work for me back then. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking. Just like my aunt,” Peters teeth grit and you wonder what happened back then. “I will ask you one last time to leave, Mr. Stark.”

“Or what, boy?” Tony’s smirk vanishes when the door flings open, revealing two angry mobsters and their men. “Guess times up, sweetie. We will see each other again. I hope to get to know you even better.”

Tony waltzes out of the library, tapping his hat before he snickers. “Have a great day, Ms. Y/L/N.” Your legs are about to give in when Steve rounds your desk to catch you.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t know he was here over the last days. Y/N said he sneaked in when Pietro came to take over his shift. It’s my fault he got that close to her,” Peter sighs.

“No, no…you protected me,” you gasp holding tight onto Steve when he picks you up in bridal style. “Steve, he protected me.”

“I know, doll. He did everything he could to keep you safe. We are here now, you are unharmed. Nothing else matters,” Bucky strokes your cheek, giving you a once over.

“No more working here. Stark knows who you are to us,” there is no room for arguments when two mobsters hold your life in their hands. “Clint, Pietro, pack Y/N’s belongings. Peter, Sam, you will come with us,” you lean your head against Steve’s chest, for once giving in to his commands.

“We’ll bring you somewhere safe, Y/N,” concerned Bucky pecks your lips, places his hand onto your belly before he looks you all over again. “No one hurts our girl.”

“She’s holding that odd picture to her chest for almost an hour,” Steve whispers, watching you press the photo Clint got from the library for you to your chest. “What shall we do?”

“Sir, if I’m allowed to give you advice,” Peter clears his throat, pointing toward the picture in your hands. “The photo, it’s important to her as it’s the last one her mother took of her brother. They were at a lake, vacation and all…” Steve nods, glancing at you. “Her brother liked to scare people, to make bad jokes, and well, catch a frog to watch his mother scream.”

Bucky chuckles, smirking at Peter’s words. “I guess that guy was a great little brother. I wish we had the opportunity to meet.”

“Y/N, she told me that her mother screamed and dropped the camera. She wanted to take the picture after she calmed but Y/N’s brother opened his hand only to reveal the frog once again,” Peter chuckles, wiping a tear off his cheek. “Their mother got so mad as he scared her twice using the frog but Y/N, she defended him.”

“A good big sister,” you kiss the picture before you place it onto the nightstand, a soft smile on your lips at the memory of your brother. “What happened later?”

“As I said, their mother got mad and insisted they must drive home that night. If not, the boy might be still alive. The next night he sneaked out of the house to put the frog into the pool. Y/N always assumed he wanted to scare their mother again.”

“We know the rest,” Bucky sighs, shaking his head. “I bet, Y/N’s mother felt guilty for cutting their vacation short and blamed Y/N instead.”

“According to the coroner, Y/N’s brother must’ve slipped. He hit his head at the edge of the pool and drowned.” Peter swallows thickly, hoping his bosses finally see you need someone to care for you, not own you.

“Stevie, we should check on her. Natasha and Clint keep an eye on Stark. Tonight, we can’t strike back…”

>> Part 4

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[peppusae]

[semi eita] ambivalence ch. 3 (nsfw)

note: this fanfic has multiple chapters, so please look forward to more!

ambivalence: semi eita x reader (ft. tendou satori x reader)

genre: smut

word count: 2k+ words

>

ambivalence

ch 3: all night

It’s a bit embarrassing to meet eyes with both Semi Eita and Tendou Satori after that night.

Tendou keeps his promise: You can see that he is dying to ask you what happened, but he remembers his promise and does not ask you anything about Yamagata’s frat party.

And you’re glad, because the sober version of you has already felt like that while remembering all the shameless things you’ve told Semi to do.

It’s even worse because it looks like Semi has the intention of being friends with you; he actually gives you a smile when you pass by each other during changing lecture halls, or when he finds you sitting with your friends at campus while he’s going back to his dorm.

The one time he caught you on your own by your locker, he had come to say hello to you, and you dropped your 589-page textbook onto your foot, almost coughed up your lung, and then blasted away to the library, too embarrassed to even respond back.

No wonder Satori looks so worried each time he looks at me… It looks like Semi hasn’t told him anything, and he is worried sick about finding out what was wrong with me.

It’s a good thing the week that followed was so jam-packed. You had 3 assignments back to back, and working on it during every minute besides your lecture hours meant that the week passed by in absolutely no time.

It’s a Saturday evening, and your usual Saturday evenings were ordering in food with Tendou, and the mad crazy adrenaline you two synergized together forcing you two to have sex - and these were the best kind, because it was during occasions like those when Tendou was his roughest - impatient and slamming into you with all his might so that he can fill you up before you’re food arrived.

Today, you’re laying in the middle of the bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to a little funk and soul while you wait for your meal to arrive.

It’s a bit sad to eat your food on your own, so you watch old re-runs of your favourite show while you eat.

Halfway into the second episode, you’re interrupted by a call - from a number you don’t even recognize.

Usually, you would ignore unidentified numbers, but you remember that you one of your lecturers would call to - very annoyingly - give unnecessary feedback on everyone’s reports.

“Hello?”

“Oh, thank God. I’d have killed Satori if he gave me the wrong number.”

It’s weird because it’s crazy how Semi could recognize your voice instantly when all you said was a simple hello.

And It’s even weirder that you recognize Semi’s voice, too - Not when most of the speaking he did was in a very groggy, whiny drunk voice.

Hearing him now, his voice is much deeper than you recalled it to be, and your hands start to shake.

“Semi?!”

“That’s me. I asked for your number. I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

It’s a bit odd that he would choose you out of everyone he knows and is acquainted with, so when you ask what you can do for him, you can hear a loud sigh from his side of the line.

“Not over the phone, though. Do you know my dorm number?”

Semi Eita is hot. You aren’t going to deny that. You remember everything he’d done and how good his tongue felt as he fingered you as if his life depended on it. The thoughts are embarrassing and it never leaves your head while you finish up the rest of your food, not forgetting to brush your teeth and put your hair up into a bun before you take out your keys and head outside.

Shiratorizawa Academy houses it’s university branch students in dorms divided into two wings of the building. The girls reside in the right wing, and the boys in the left. The academy is actually quite lax about rules, despite this separation; the only rule is that the students were not allowed in the rooms of opposite gender students after dinner at 9 pm.

The gays and lesbians win, for that rule . You think to yourself, finding it a little humorous while you take the lift for the fifth floor. Semi had sent you a text with his dorm room number, and you walk into the hallway, passing by the doors and finally coming across room 514.

Semi opens the door when you give a knock, and he welcomes you in while he gives a little hesitant smile.

No words are exchanged while you enter the room that looks like an exact replica of yours. Honestly, there isn’t much one can do to make their room that much different from another person’s. Because all of the rooms house only one student, the rooms are just big enough to fit a bed, a small cupboard, and a study desk. There’s only so much one can do to decorate.

The bedspreads are neat, and his desk is filled with various textbooks and notebooks, but otherwise, the cramped room is quite clean, for a guy’s place. You glance at Semi, feeling a little awkward all of a sudden, remembering how you avoided him so hard for the week, but you’ve come instantly when he asked for a favour.

“So? What did you wanna ask?”

Semi takes a moment to look at you while he closes the door. The way he takes a step closer to you makes you flinch, eyes going wide and taking a step back instinctively.

“What-”

“Why do you keep avoiding me?”

“Semi, what-”

Your sentence is interrupted when he takes two more steps towards you, and your move back till your back hits the door with a loud smack.

“I’m… not…”

“I didn’t make you go home that night so that you’d avoid me. I just didn’t want to do anything to you while you couldn’t even tell my face from someone else’s.”

“I wasn’t that drunk…” You fib instantly.

“Did you not like it?”

Your jaw drops open. For a moment his upset expression shifts to a little sad one, and it makes your heart race because that was the complete opposite of what your mind was reeling about.

“No! I liked it!” You end up blurting out. “God, I’ve been thinking about you literally every night since.”

While you want to smash your face against the wall in embarrassment, Semi responds with a little blink, tilting his head to the side.

“Then act like it.”

Those are the last words you hear before you feel his body against you, and Semi kisses you in an urgency that makes you moan as soon as you feel his tongue on your lips.

“The way you act in public and the way you do when I touch you are worlds apart.” Semi states in between kisses, his fingers rubbing circles on your skin from underneath your shirt.You’ve never felt so cornered and so embarrassed, your face heating up already because even the way Semi kisses is you insane, like he wishes you to devour you while he has you pinned against the wall.

“Please…”

“Lock the door.” He says, moving away, and as fast as you open your eyes, they shut right away when he begins to kiss your neck. Your entire body is shaking by now, legs feeling so wobbly as you try to keep your little whimpering sounds as quiet as possible and reach a hand out towards the door. Your hands are shaking like crazy while you lock the door, and Semi does not waste a single second, taking a step away from your neck - which instantly makes you frown - and asks you to strip.

You take a few seconds to get over the high.

“What?!”

“I’ve been really, really patient for long enough.” He says, taking your hand and leading you to the bed where you sit down, legs still feeling way too wobbly to keep standing. “So strip.”

The way he runs a hand through his hair is so hot, and you’ve always known that he was really, really good-looking, but it’s the first time you’re actually attracted to him, so your hands are shaking a lot while you unbutton your shirt, undoing your bra and standing up to take off your pants. Semi cups your face, kissing your lips once again and you lose focus a bit while you try to take off your panties.

“Please, please, please. ”

Semi softly makes you sit down, still not breaking the kiss and you can hear him unbuckling his belt, the sound of his jeans dropping down making you feel wetter than you already are. You slowly open your eyes, watching the way his eyes look a little hazy and half closed, biting at his bottom lip while he peels off your panties and throws them away.

He leans in, and you move back, lips meeting once again feeling his tongue once again in your mouth while he gets on the bed, slowly leading you to the head. When you rest your head on one of your pillows, you aren’t able to open your eyes because you can feel two fingers sliding inside you without warning.

That makes you gasp, the sound of his fingers going in and out of your cunt so loud that you find yourself turning red in embarrassment. You open your eyes, barely able to see the way Semi watches your every move, and eyes going a little wide when you grab hold of chunks of his hair from the pleasure.

Instead of adding more fingers, Semi bends down, tongue slowly swirling around your clit and making you arch your back.

You could swear your brain short-circuited for a moment when he softly sucks on your clit right as he inserts two fingers inside your cunt, curling them inside and making your legs come closer together at how different it feels, like he knew your body so well to be curling in right at the place that makes you see white.

When you pull at his hair and moan once again with shaky legs, Semi rubs his lips on your clit, and you’ve never ever felt this way, so much that you come right away, all over Semi’s fingers.

Your head reels, and you open your eyes, wanting nothing more than to kiss him, but Semi...

Semi is surprisingly, agonizingly slow in his actions - much more so than Tendou.

And not just that, but Semi is mad stubborn.

You learn this from the way he glances at you with his face smeared with your juices - and then plunges another two fingers inside you again.

“S-Semi!”

“You finally called my name.”

“S-Semi, don’t-”

“What? I thought someone like you would want another orgasm right away?”

Your eyes go wide at what he said, and before you could say another word, he licks inside your cunt again, his agonizing rubs on your clit making your stomach form yet another knot right away, your legs shaking much, much more than it did the first time.

You feel so good, but you’re so embarrassed that you try to close your legs, calling his name - But Semi holds both your legs tight and apart, tongue never leaving your clit for a single second, pressing kisses and sucking so softly that your legs shake like crazy.

You don't realize just how much he had you under his control, until you come all over his face yet again, your entire body shaking while you have your eyes shut tight at the electrical feeling you’re experiencing.

“[Name]. How do you feel?”

You finally open your eyes while you try to catch your breath, and Semi is hovering over you now, pecking your lips softly before he slowly lies beside you. You extend an arm to the side, and Semi raises an eyebrow, saying nothing but coming closer to you, burying his face into your chest.

“I will never get enough of that, oh my God.” You mumble, wrapping your arm around Semi’s neck, feeling his hot breath on your chest. You think you hear him chuckle, you think you even heard the rustling of clothes, and you think you also heard the door close, but you can’t recall anything while you slip from the little line between consciousness and sleep.

---

[only-kiwi]

part two to this fic

this is long overdue i’m so sorry. how are u? love u.

[REQUESTS ARE CLOSED]

***

Harry was miserable. He’d never felt like this in his life. He was so unsure of where your relationship would end up and that was so much harder than any breakup. The first few days after you stormed out, he tried calling and texting you but you didn’t answer - he was pretty sure you blocked his number. You hadn’t posted on social media either, which was odd for you. No matter what, you’d always have a story up or a tweet sent. Harry knew he fucked up.

He was so angry at himself, he didn’t know what to do anymore. Usually, he would write a song, or play his guitar... or call you. But he couldn’t do any of that.

As much as he really didn’t want to, Harry went on Twitter. He never did this unless it was completely necessary but he was curious as to what people were saying. That’s when it hit him. You were right. No one was saying anything bad about him or your ex - only you. He knew that would be the case but he didn’t know how bad it would be. They all felt sorry for your ex, claiming how badly he was treated by you. And Harry’s fans were protective of him, saying you didn’t deserve to be with someone as amazing as him. Bullshit, he thought. The things they were saying about you were just awful, and completely untrue.

Harry wondered if you had read all of this. He knew you preferred not to, but with you being on social media all the time it was hard to miss certain things. God, he wanted to call you so bad. His phone broke him out of his thoughts as he got an Instagram notification. You had posted on your story.

Harry didn’t know what he was feeling in that moment. He was sad because you didn’t deserve any of this and he was angry at himself for not being there for you. But ultimately, he was relieved to know that you were okay. Maybe I should try calling her again, he thought. And so he did.

“Hello?” You answered after three rings, your voice was tired.

He was left breathless, “you answered?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “sorry for ignoring you.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, you had every right to ignore me. I should be the one apologising.” Harry could tell you didn’t know what to say. “This is probably a stupid question but how have you been?”

“Honestly, H, I don’t know. I went on Twitter and it was pretty brutal... it’s never been this bad before.”

“I saw, too. I’m sorry.”

“It was expected.”

“What did you mean when you said you ‘think’ we’re still together. We’re fine, right?” Harry hares having to ask, but i needed to be done.

You sighed, taking a moment to figure out what to say. “I want us to be, but are we? I know you feel bad or whatever but I didn’t expect that from you, H.”

“I...”

“You’re sorry, I know.”

“Do you think I could come over, maybe? We can talk properly.”

“Okay.”

Your apartment was a state. You’d barely left your bed in two weeks, all you did was get up to shower and pee. You barely even ate, Harry would probably notice. It was only the last few days where you realised that you couldn’t go on like this. Why would you let your shitty ex have this much control over your feelings when you had a new relationship to fix?

It was just so hard, you couldn’t go on your phone without hearing about it. Not even just social media but messages from your friends asking if things were true. You hated it. You wanted to smash your phone into pieces and never think of it again.

You took a quick shower and tried to clean the apartment as best you could before Harry arrived, you didn’t want to worry him. Even though you said you were fine, you didn’t know if you fully could be until you spoke about it all with him. He really upset you.

Harry walked in while you were cleaning the kitchen, there wasn’t much mess since you hadn’t really been in there much but you were sure the milk was gone off. And it most definitely was. “Gross,” you almost gagged as you sniffed the half empty carton, pouring the rest down the sink.

“You ok?”

You jumped at his voice. “Fuck, Harry. Don’t do that! There’s a bell for a reason.”

“I also have a key for a reason.”

“Right... I was just-“

“Getting rid of your gone off milk?”

“Yeah, and my gone off yoghurt, and my gone off hummus and my-“

“I get it.” Harry chuckled.

“Stop cutting me off!”

“Sorry, you just... you never let your food go bad.”

“I haven’t really been focused on the contents of my fridge recently, Harry.” You rolled you eyes.

You made some black coffee for the both of you, which you hated but you didn’t have a choice. You both sat on the couch, not really sure what to say.

Harry was the first to speak. “You’re not gonna break up with me, are you?”

“I will if I have to.” You sighed as his face fell, he was really worried. “I really love you, Harry, but you can’t be like this. I know you haven’t really had a proper relationship before but I’ve already gone through this and I don’t want to deal with it again.”

“I think I was just jealous. Which I know is so stupid, and there’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have handled it like that, I don’t really have a decent explanation. I’m just so sorry, please know that.”

“I know you are, and I know that’s not you. I get how you must have felt hearing that but at the end of the day, H, I don’t deserve that. Any other situation and I would’ve been able to understand you but this... you really fucking hurt me.” Your eyes begun to sting. You really didn’t want to cry anymore. So you blinked back the tears, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. “He’s probably going to speak about this in interviews, and when he does, I’m gonna need you to be there for me.”

“And I will be, I promise.”

“How do I know you won’t just get jealous and angry again?”

“You don’t.”

“What?”

“It’s inevitable to feel uncomfortable hearing someone say all that stuff about the person you love. I’m sure you feel the same way when you listen to Taylor’s songs. But it’s not about me, is it? This is your situation and I’m gonna be there for you because I hate seeing you like this. I will apologise as many times as I need to until you know how much I regret they way I acted.”

“Well, I accept your apology.” You said after thinking about it for a moment.

“Really?” Harry looked up, smiling widely.

“Yes, but if this shit happens again, I swear to God-“

“I know. I’m gonna make it up to you.”

“Ok... well, you can start by giving me a kiss.” You smirked, making Harry chuckled at shake his head at you. “And then... you can go grocery shopping for me.”

Liked by harrystyles, annetwist and 2,103,792 others

yourinstagram good morning☀️

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ynfan1 you’re back !!!

ynfan2 how are you doing? how’s harry? are you eating / sleeping enough???

yourinstagram @/ynfan2 i’m good, harry’s good. i wasn’t taking care of myself properly at the beginning but i promise i am now!! thanks for checking in, you’re the sweetest.

harryfan1 he’s so cute

harrystyles It was a good morning indeed.

yourinstagram @/harrystyles ;)

gemmastyles ❤️

Liked by yourinstagram, gemmastyles and 2,827,017 others

harrystyles Can I have my guitar back?

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harryfan2 love this

harryfan3 i’m so happy you’re both doing well

yourinstagram no❤️

harrystyles @/yourinstagram ....oh

ynfan3 saving this for interior design inspo

ynfan4 i want what they have ugh they’re perfect

yourinstagram @/ynfan4 we’re not perfect at all trust me

Liked by arianagrande, harrystyles and 2,291,062 others

yourinstagram wow i look good when i stop giving a fuck x

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ynfan5 YESSS QUEEN

ynfan6 periodt

harrystyles Missed that smile x

yourinstagram @/harrystyles me too

harryfan5 love to see it

yourex So u break my heart, move on after a few months and then play the victim when I share my story? Wow.

yourinstagram @/yourex are you forgetting the part where you manipulated me into staying with you for years because you were scared to be alone? get the fuck over yourself. we broke up ages ago, please let it go. i’m finally happy, and i would like to continue being that way. leave me alone. get off my page. it’s embarrassing.

[mahalidael]

Those Familiar Spirits

(*sprints up to the podium* FIRST FLYNN FANFIC. sort of. if you don’t count the phantomrose96 one, but flynn doesn’t actually appear in that one so make of it what you will)

Danny was two years old when the police came to their house. He must have thought the flashing lights were fireworks; he ran outside alone to look.

He saw uniforms, a funny black and white car, and a great deal of shouting between the grown-ups. It was July, and very muggy. Flies buzzed around the police cars’ lights as Mom and Dad talked very quietly, and Aunt Alicia yelled, and the police said ma’am, please, we’re trying to help, could you just, ma’am. Ma’am.

Danny ran up to get a better look but was promptly swept up by a police officer and carried back inside as he craned his neck to hear what they were saying.

Mom went inside for a minute and made him and Jazz sit on the couch. She told them gravely, “We’re just going to talk to the nice policemen, okay? Don’t go out there.”

Danny huffed. Jazz noticed his irritation and spoke up. “Can we watch TV if we stay inside?”

“Mm-hm,” said Mom, looking out the window at the lights again, already standing up and gravitating towards them.

Jazz reached for the TV remote and hit the power button with an ease that a four year old will only exhibit when provided with sufficiently busy parents. Danny started chewing on his shirt sleeve as images flashed on the screen; they were big kid cartoons that he had no interest in.

“Mom?” said Jazz, peeking up over the back of the couch.

Mom paused in the doorway and addressed one of the policemen before turning back to Jazz. “Just a second — yeah?”

“Where’s Flynn? He likes this show.”

“Um,” said Mom.

She cleared her throat.

“That’s what the policemen are going to help us with. I’m sure he’ll be back before it’s over.”

Their cousin was not back before it was over. He wasn’t back at all, but this, like most everything else from when he was two years old, fell through Danny’s memory like it was water.

...

Jack had been wary of his sister-in-law coming over for a week. He’d also been wary when Maddie described her sister’s marriage as “getting better” and said that she was “calling off the divorce.”

Anyway, within two days of the visit Danny had gotten it into his head that his uncle’s name was Damn-It-Bob.

But the most disconcerting thing was that Jack couldn’t do much about the situation. Alicia was a notoriously private person, and considered the matter of her marriage between herself, Maddie, and Damn-It-Bob. Trying to get close enough to be allowed into that inner circle was an exercise in self-endangerment. He had tried exactly once in college, and the dislocated wrist he’d gotten out of that arm wrestling match nearly cost him his scholarship.

Getting through to Damn-It-Bob was even more frustrating. Alicia, at least, cared about Maddie’s studies. She didn’t understand them, but looked on with interest as Maddie expertly extracted a sample from the latest ghost specimen and held it up to the light for her sister to see.

Damn-It-Bob was worse than an outsider. He was a snob.

Damn-It-Bob looked like if Alicia didn’t already have a pickup truck, he’d drive a Prius, and if he ever tried tikka masala he’d brag about it. Jack had to assume that if Alicia married him, they had to have some kind of common ground, but damn if he couldn’t figure out what it was. And apparently neither could they.

He had a degree in aerospace engineering, which he constantly emphasized was a really useful science. Alicia didn’t even have to work at the logging company if she didn’t want to keep up the family business.

He tried to charm the kids with pictures of the rockets he’d designed. It worked on Danny, which, yeah, okay, he was two years old, but Jazz seemed to pick up his intentions and tried to steer Danny away. Jeez. If Jack left her alone for five minutes, she might be doing calculus when he came back.

And then there was the kid.

He didn’t even notice that he was there until the Walkers were standing in the living room. Jack had walked behind Alicia to hang up their coats and suddenly saw him standing right behind her.

The kid hadn’t said a word in the entire thirty-minute production of his family coming inside — or if he had, he hadn’t been listened to. He had this sort of rust-colored hair that stuck out in all directions, like they tied up a big ponytail on the top of his head and chopped it off instead of giving him a real haircut.

Getting closer,  Jack finally saw why the kid wasn’t talking. He had his nose buried in some book. Oh, so he was one of those, Jack thought. He hadn’t personally been a child who devoured books like a woodchipper, but Vlad had.

In any case, silent reading hour was over. “Hey, bucko!” said Jack. The kid nearly jumped out of his skin, one hand snapping the book shut like a cell phone at the end of a tense call. “Thirsty for knowledge, I see? We’ve got more down in the lab.”

He shrunk away. Alicia noticed and put a hand on his shoulder as she turned her attention away from Maddie. “—so that’s how the union settled. And you two remember Flynn, right?” she said, ruffling the kid’s hair. “We brought him to Danny’s baby shower. He was so shy back then you thought the table was set by a ghost for a solid thirty minutes.”

Maddie’s eyes landed on Flynn and lit up in recognition. “Oh, yeah! I remember. You were at least a head shorter last time we saw you.”

Flynn nodded, staring at his shoes. He hugged the book to his chest like it was a stuffed animal.

Alicia and her husband chuckled politely. “Well, you might have seen him earlier if you didn’t pull out your toys to try and find that ghost,” said her husband, less politely.

“Bob, could you please be civil?” Alicia said under her breath.

“The event was delayed by an hour and we missed our flight over a bunch of—”

“Damn it, Bob—”

“It was a poltergeist, technically,” Maddie laughed nervously, stepping between them, a note of oh lord not this again in her voice.

“Hey, kids, how about we go down to the basement and check out some cool gadgets?” Jack was itching to take Flynn and the children downstairs. He had to ditch the conversation before it went south. “Wanna see what ghost bones look like?”

Flynn actually looked like he was going to respond to that, but Damn-It-Bob cut in. “Flynn probably wouldn’t be interested in theoretical science. He likes studying useful things.”

Yeah, ectoscience was theoretical. You could tell it was bad because it was italicized.

Jack resisted the urge to get passive-aggressive right back. Not in front of the children. “There’s plenty of physical things in the lab that I’m sure Flynn’s gonna love. Every kid loves lasers. Right, Danny?” he queried his son, who was chewing on the leg of the coffee table.

Danny blew a raspberry, which he assumed was a yes. Jack managed to whisk them away before the Walkers started swearing at each other.

He put Jazz and Danny down in the little area of the lab that they’d sectioned off with a foldable plastic dog gate, where Jazz made herself busy putting all the crayons in a straight line before Danny picked them up and started scribbling on the rubber tiled floor.

“So, Flynn! We’ve got some whosits and whatsits to check out. That catches ghosts,” Jack said, pointing at the gadgets skewed across the counter like exploded, “this blasts ghosts, that catches and blasts ghosts, and this is a hot dog maker. What do you wanna see first?”

Flynn shrugged and shuffled an inch backwards.

Okay, this wasn’t going anywhere. Which was odd — they’d opened up the ops center to tourists in the past for alternate revenue, and kids always seemed to be the most excited about the gadgets.

Plan B, he guessed. “What’s that book about, anyway?” he said.

Flynn hesitantly held out the book. Jack took it. It was a big, heavy book, with a hard cover titled The Collected Jack London. Jack went to open it to a random page, but was interrupted when his leafing caused something to fall out from between the pages.

It was a flower. Flynn quickly snatched it off the floor and took his book back, scowling. “It’s sabatia geu — sabatia geutianoides,” he muttered. “It’s one of the rarest flowers in Arkansas, so I can’t pick another one.” He then very carefully flipped to another page in the book, counting the page numbers in whispers until he found the one he was looking for and slipped the flower back inside.

Ah. He could work with that. “Really? Is it the rarest one you’ve got?” he said, posing a challenge.

“Uh, I have Stern’s medlar, but just a leaf I got off the ground. They’re cruh — crit — crit-i-cal-ly endangered.”

“We’ve got some samples of a pretty rare plant ourselves.”

Flynn’s eyes lit up. “Can I see them?”

Jack took Flynn off into a side room. This room was mostly like the last, though being closed to visitors, it was far less organized. He picked Flynn up and lifted him over a heap of spare parts on the floor. “Watch your step.”

A cacophony of containers were heaped on a table in the center of the room. Only a few of them were planter pots that they’d already owned; the rest were old shoeboxes and burned-out pots and pans. They were all filled with soil. Their occupants stretched their purple-black stems towards the overhead sun lamp.

“Rosa sanguinea, also known as the Massachusetts blood blossom,” said Jack. “They were grown in the 1600s — apparently they release an anti-ghost vapor. Unfortunately, we can’t prove whether it works, since we don’t have any intact ghosts to test it on, but they’re delicious.”

“That’s so weird.” Flynn rubbed a black leaf between his fingers, as if he expected the color to come off. “Roses aren’t normally hardy enough to grow inside. And the leaves are naturally black?”

“Yep. Well, maybe. We think they were mutated by long-term exposure to ecto-energy. The biggest patch of them is around Salem, and that place is a hotspot for the natural portals to the dimension ghosts live in,” he said, pointing at the pictures of such that they’d pinned to the corkboard across the room. Jack himself couldn’t believe some of the places that they’d found natural portals in. One of the pictures on the corkboard was of a portal they’d found in a public toilet. “They’re stubborn little buggers, but only in ecto-energized soil — we had to cart the dirt in these pots all the way back from Massachusetts.”

Jack snapped his fingers.

“I’ve got an idea.” He picked up a blood blossom growing in a mason jar and handed it to Flynn. “That’s yours now. Take it back to Arkansas, and it’ll protect you from ghosts.”

“Really?” said Flynn, seemingly more awestruck by the plant itself than any properties it might’ve had. “I can have it?”

“All yours! After all, who knows when you might need it?”

...

Flynn hadn’t wanted to leave Arkansas. He hadn’t wanted to sit in Mom’s funny-smelling truck for ten-odd hours while listening to them argue about money, and ghosts, and damn it Bob, would it kill you to put the toilet paper in the holder the right way just once?

At some of the rest stops, Flynn had stood in the bathroom and stared in the mirror. The door was right behind him and Dad hadn’t left the stall yet. He could just turn around and run into the woods, so Mom and Dad would talk about something other than their horrible marriage.

Because Flynn was ten years old, and the problem that he saw was nothing as complex as an incompatibility of personality, or people growing apart. The problem he saw was that they needed to shut up about the divorce.

That was all he wanted. Something to come in and make them shut up, and make the divorce go away, and put things back where they were supposed to be.

But obviously that’s not how things work. Flynn went outside and picked dandelions that were growing at the edge of the parking lot, and he held them outside the window while they were driving so the seeds would scatter all along the road, and he still ended up visiting Uncle Jack and Aunt Maddie in New York, and Mom and Dad were still fighting over stupid stuff.

Flynn kept trying to put off the tour. He knew that Dad would hate the lab. He stuck with real things, metal and chalk numbers — never mind that one of the major points of contention was the slew of Young Living boxes sitting in their garage. A better statement was that Dad rejected any science he didn’t think he could exploit. Like, son, wildflowers are nice and all, but you know that the real money’s in saffron, right? It sells for twenty-five hundred a pop and it’s not getting any cheaper. Just think about it, son.

“ —converts ectoplasm into a power source.” Aunt Maddie was showing them something embedded in the lab wall. Flynn didn’t really like ectoscience either, but that was mostly because the topic freaked him out. He didn’t like when his friends played that pencil game that let you talk to ghosts, much less when his uncle talked about ripping them apart mmmolecule by mmmolecule.

It just felt kind of rude. They were people, at some point. Everyone knew a dead person.

“Quaint,” said Dad, turning over the hot dog maker he had found on the counter. “Very quaint.” It was his usual word of condemnation. “What’s that hole in the wall?”

It was barely a hole. Not so much because of size, but because it was so badly occupied by a tangle of wire that actually entering it would be impossible. Aunt Maddie said: “Our prototype for a stable portal into the ghost zone.” Dad scoffed, but she smiled tightly and ignored it. “With a reliable and stationary portal, we can collect data faster.”

“And it took you ten years to think of that?”

“Bob, if you don’t want to see it, you can just wait in the guest room,” said Mom, rubbing her temples.

“No, it’s fine, Alicia.” Aunt Maddie sighed. “We’ve been thinking of it. It just took this long to make sure building a portal large enough for a human to enter would be safe. A few years ago, a friend of ours was injured by one that wasn’t any bigger than a car tire — precautions needed to be taken—”

Dad put up his hand in a ‘halt’ gesture. “So, wait. You know that those things can hurt people, and yet you build a big one in your basement, and let your kids in here ?”

“They’re at a safe distance — they’re not even on the same side of the lab,” said Aunt Maddie, eyes narrow.

“Oh, thank goodness you let your toddlers play some paces away from a potential biohazard! ” Dad threw up his hands in fake relief. “I guess that makes it okay, then!”

Aunt Maddie looked like she was gearing up to shout. But she glanced at her kids in their little corner hutch, and seemed to think better of it. “Look, Bob, I — help me understand. Five minutes ago you were calling ghosts ‘fairy tales,’ and now you’re getting on about potentially endangering my children with something that, by your own logic, shouldn’t do anything. What’s your real problem?”

“My ‘real problem’ is that, ghosts or not — and there are certainly not — the fact that someone got hurt at all tells me that you’re tampering with something that you don’t understand—”

“Bob, that’s enough —”

Seed dispersion was one of the fundamental adaptations of the plant world. A seed that dropped straight down from its parent plant was a dead seed. It wouldn’t be able to access sufficient nutrition, water, or light so close.

Mom exiled him and Dad from the lab so she could have a good talk with Aunt Maddie. Uncle Jack awkwardly let them sit on the couch and watch NCIS with him.

“I just think that pseudoscience has no place in being the primary income for a family,” said Dad.

Uncle Jack nodded with a poorly disguised grimace.

“Anyway, have you heard that lavender has anti-autism properties?”

Uncle Jack suddenly excused himself to go to the bathroom. Luckily, Dad seemed to think that the distant laughter was coming from the TV.

Dandelions had a nasty taxonomy. They were wind-dispersed, able to fly up to sixty miles away from their parent plant, where they isolated and readily speciated. This was a large part of the reason why Flynn couldn’t appreciate them without every adult in an eighty-mile radius screaming it’s a weed!

By Sunday, Mom and Dad couldn’t be in the same room together without shouting.

By Wednesday, they wouldn’t speak to each other at all.

By Saturday, they started calling the divorce lawyer again.

That night before they went back to Arkansas, Flynn slept on his aunt and uncle’s couch. He could hear Mom and Dad talking in the guest room above. At indoor voice levels. He didn’t know whether that was good or bad.

The potted blood blossom sat on the end table atop Jack London.

He was woken up at two in the morning when something spritzed him in the face like he was a cat. Flynn squinted in the darkness for what it could be and was immediately spritzed again. He wiped the spray off his face and jolted at the sight of a red smear on his wrist.

A faint hiss was coming from the end table. Flynn watched as the blood blossom emitted a quiet red steam into the air.

He looked around the room nervously. Then he looked out the front window.

At the very end of the street, between the buildings, there was a faint green glow that looked very much like Uncle Jack’s pictures.

Well, of course dandelions were weeds. When something survived too well, humans inevitably got all up in their business, trying to trammel them in. It was a weed because it didn’t cooperate with that.

Flynn didn’t need to pack his bag; he had already loaded everything from the trip back in, but he added some more anyway. He got a knife, a frying pan, and a BIC lighter out of the kitchen. And of course, he took his book and the blood blossom.

Then he walked out the front door for the last time.

It was a muggy July night, and all the lights in the windows were out. The streetlamps pooled in the road. The green light creeped into the alleyway on tiptoe.

Flynn stood before a hole in the world and found himself alone. The hole didn’t appear to properly occupy the alley. It looked like a bad photoshop in person. Just standing a foot away from it, he could feel the static electricity. It felt like it was ruffling his hair in a gesture of approval.

There was a deep hum that might have been the portal, or the flies buzzing around it, or Flynn’s heart getting ready to tear itself from his chest in excitement or fear. He did not know which.

The blood blossom was beginning to overflow its mason jar with red condensation. Flynn poured it out onto the ground. It mixed with the dank puddles in the mundane depressions of the concrete that, absurdly, continued to exist in the presence of something so otherworldly.

Flynn reached through the portal. It felt like cold water — strange, but not icy enough to be unpleasant.

This was what he needed. Something he didn’t know, somewhere his parents couldn’t find him. He could find shelter with those familiar spirits for a little while, and his blood blossom would protect him as his parents looked for him, and then he would come back and they would be so happy and angry to see him that they wouldn’t talk about the divorce again for another year at least, and it would be nice, and it would just be so nice, it would just be so nice when he got back.

And then the light consumed his vision.

...

Twelve years later.

“Jazz? Did you just come through the portal?” Danny squinted at the readout on the specter speeder — the constant green light of the ghost zone made it hard to read at times.

“No?” she said over the speeder’s radio. “I’m still in the lab, why?”

“Because the radar’s picking up signs of life.”