#ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY SHOTS STOPPED THIS WEEK

[lover-of-mine]

That's my emotional support goalie who stopped 45 shots in his 4th straight start this week including a back to back your honor

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

hii, I‘ve already made two requests and you‘ve written them so so beautifully <33 Your work is really amazing and I think I would consider you one of my favorite blogs💞💞 I do have one more idea :)

Reader and Jason are in a relationship, yet they don’t know about his vigilante identity. Reader works the night shift as a barista.

One night, the café gets robbed during reader’s shift, but Jason isn’t there to take care of the robber since he went on patrol only later, meaning the GCPD is the first on the scene.

When Red Hood passes the café and see’s all the police lights, his heart drops. He comes to check up on reader, but they’re so shaken up that jason scares them.

It’s all fluffy in the end, and perhaps Red Hood reveals his identity 😚

Promises

Hi, nonnie! Thank you! ~1.8k words

There was a gun to your face about ten minutes ago. Well, it might have been ten minutes ago, you're not exactly sure how long it was now. The idea of time seemed to phase out when two masked robbers stormed into the little Café you worked at.

Who even robs a coffee shop? You had maybe thirty dollars in the till, everyone uses cards or just taps their phones anyway. That point didn't seem to get across to the men as they waved their pistols in your face and shot off rounds into the air.

You showed them the safe, and a few hundred dollars seemed to calm them down. They took the money, took your wallet and phone. But none of that stopped them from shoving you to the ground as they ran off. You just sat there– dazed, scared, and overwhelmed– until a patrol car from the GCPD and an ambulance rushed to park outside.

No one was hurt, maybe some bruises from being pushed around, but you and the two unfortunate people who wanted coffee half past midnight were more than a little shaken up.

You stumble through the questions the cops ask you and let the paramedics guide you to sit on the back of the ambulance. They drape a shock blanket over your shoulders as you murmur about needing to call your boyfriend.

Someone presses a hot drink into your hands, and you barely register the quiet conversations over this being the fourth small business to get robbed this week. Your eyes only leave the spot in the distance you're fixated on when gasps resonate throughout the air. Your gaze shifts up, and your breath leaves your lungs. Red Hood. Red Hood is stalking towards you like lives depend on it, avoiding the medics and cops that try to talk to him, to get his attention.

You're proud of the fact that you don't flinch when his gloved hand meets your face, carefully tilting your chin up to observe your face. His body is rigid, you can tell something's wrong even through the muddled, shocked state of your mind.

He's crowding over you, a barrier between you and the rest of Gotham. You know he's a vigilante, you know that he helps. But the moment frays the last of your nerves and tears fill your eyes.

You just want to go home. You just want to feel safe. You want your phone back and you want to call your boyfriend and have him make everything okay again.

Red Hod freezes and you can audibly hear his breath hitching. His fingers twitch against your skin before dropping, but he doesn't step away, "Sorry. I'm sorry– Did I– are you hurt?"

That only makes you want to cry harder. He's apologizing to you. This stranger hasn't done anything, but check if you're okay, and you're crying all because he looks big and a little scary. You shake your head, trying to find the words to apologize back, that you don't know why you're crying.

You shift back, even if there's no room to go anywhere. Your heart is pounding and you're scared even if you shouldn't be because there was a gun to your face and you could have died and the man that smells like gunpowder and leather can't fix that.

His head doesn't move, you know his eyes haven't left your face. You don't know why. He doesn't gain anything from lifting his hand to catch the tear that spills down your face. "You're okay. You're safe," he murmurs, steady and full of promise, "tell me what you need. Let me make it better." He says your name, says it softly and gently and damn near yearning.

"I need– I want my phone. I want to call you boyfriend," You answer shakily, blinking back the rest of your tears and trying to figure out why a vigilante knows your name.

His head turns, presumably looking for your phone, "Is it still inside the Café?"

You shake your head, voice heavy with emotion, "It– they stole it."

"They?" He questions, mask tilting back towards you.

"The robbers?" You answer weakly, Isn't that why he's here? To get information? To catch them?

His hand finally leaves your face, and you exhale softly in relief, "I'll take care of it."

He wavers in front of you. Another thing that doesn't make sense. You don't get another word out before he's disappeared into the shadows.

Your shoulders slump. You're so tired and so, so drained, and not even the hot drink in your hands is making you feel more in your body.

Someone calls your name. Jason. You stand up on shaky legs, nearly spilling the cup in an attempt to put it down quickly. Jason's here. You don't care why or how, but he's here. He has you wrapped up against his chest and face buried in your hair before the cops can even try to stop him.

He says your name over and over into your hair, and you try to ignore the way your tears stain his shirt. "I've got you, you're okay. You're okay, baby. Promise. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you," he murmurs, arms tightening around you.

He feels safe. He smells like– he smells like leather and gunpowder. He's big and warm and a barrier between you and the rest of the world. And it all clicks.

"Let's get you home," he says softly, gently, so careful with a voice full of yearning and love. You recognize it. And you know.

Jason knows your shift ends in forty-seven minutes. But patrol has been slow tonight, and he's going to walk you home even if it wasn't. So why not show up a little early and keep you company? Spoiler seemed eager enough to cover his territory for a few hours, anyway.

He'll go back out after he sees you home safe and watches you fall asleep. Jason's idly trying to decide if you're going to be too tired to shower with him, when the flashing lights outside the Café catch his attention.

He thinks his heart might have stopped. He doesn't even think to call Oracle or text you, he just knows his feet hit the pavement and he's running.

There's only one ambulance, only one cop car. His eyes dart. Where are you. Where are you?

He's barreling towards you as soon as he finds you. He doesn't have a plan. Doesn't need one until he knows you're safe. "Move," he snaps at the medic that tries to stop him, never stopping his path towards you.

His hand is tilting your head up before he even considers the possibility that it's a bad idea, that he's just a stranger in a mask armed to the teeth with knives and guns.

He can't help himself. He needs to touch you, needs to ground himself and make sure you're not hurt. He doesn't manage to get his words out before you're tearing up.

Jason's heart breaks at the sight, bile rising in his throat. He removes his hand, even if every instinct he has goes against it. He thinks he chokes out an apology, but he's too busy looking at every inch of you for injuries.

You shake your head and a piece of his soul shatters. He reaches up to wipe your tears, as if he could do anything else, "You're okay. You're safe," he murmurs, and wills it to be true, "tell me what you need. Let me make it better." He wants it to be better. He wants your tears to stop and the tension to leave your body and the anxiety to disappear from your eyes.

"I need– I want my phone. I want to call you boyfriend," You answer, and he wants to drop to his knees when your voice shakes.

Your phone. He can do that. His eyes dart from you, looking for the familiar phone case, "Is it still inside the Café?"

"It– they stole it," You answer and his focus snaps back to you.

"They?" He questions, doing his best to keep the anger from dripping into his voice, to bite back the threats on his tongue for whoever scared you.

"The robbers?" You answer weakly. Robbers. Robbers. Robbers did this. He files that away for once you're home, once he knows you feel safe.

He pulls his hand from your face reluctantly, "I'll take care of it." Jason doesn't want to step away from you. All he really wants is to wrap you up against him and promise everything will be better. But you don't need Red Hood. You need Jason Todd.

He forces himself away from you, moves faster than he should, struggling to shed his armor and mask. He drops his guns to the roof, anything recognizable left in a pile for someone else to deal with.

He's back on the ground and rushing back to you. He says your name. You look up at him and he sees the relief flood your face.

Jason catches you when you step towards him, arms wrapping around you to keep you close.

He whispers promises against your skin, tightening his grip on you. He can feel you crying. It makes concern and anger and the overwhelming desire to protect you twists in his stomach, "Let's get you home."

Jason– Red Hood– talks to the police for you. Insists that there's no more questions for you to answer as he hooks his arm firmly around your waist. He guides you home. You barely process a word he says.

All you can really focus on, as you watch him unlock the apartment door, is that he's Red Hood. How did you miss it? Why didn't you know?

You feel disoriented. But Jason's perfect, exactly what you need in the moment. He doesn't ask you questions, doesn't press or make you move too fast as he helps you change. He nods and gets you water when you say you don't want to shower, that you're not hungry.

He lets you curl against his chest and he kisses the crown of your head when you finally crawl into bed, "I was scared," You admit quietly into his skin.

"They'll never scare you again," he promises. Your stomach swoops. It's the truth. You know it's fact. They'll never scare you again. They'll never scare anyone again. He'll make sure of it.

You fall asleep to his comforting whispers and vows, the feel of his fingers tracing your skin. When you wake up, he's still next to you, still holding you flush against him. Your wallet and phone sit on the nightstand next to your bed. Neither of you mention it as the sun begins to shine on the familiar leather jacket folded over your chair. Neither of you mention it, later, when the news reports that two bodies were found in Gotham Harbor.

[petalsofyouth]

koi no yokan / part 1 | ran haitani x reader

tw: set in early 00s-10s, flawed characters, unreliable narrator, mentions of drug use, mentions of assault (nothing graphic) | i literally hate tagging so much because i feel like i missed something; anyways, if you think i really did tell me and i will include it.

wc: 18.516

author's note: i actually didn't want to post 'kny' on here and wanted my tumblr to be strictly for one-shots and drubbles, but now i haven't posted in so long & i desperately want to, so here we go.

~

part 1. 

The new place promised a new life with new memories and new friends and new basically everything. It was too much. It was suffocating to the point where your breathing wouldn’t even out and every next breath seemed not enough. You tried to calm yourself with your favourite cup of coffee and your read half through [page one hundred and thirty five] book. 

You brought a lot of books with you from your home. Them, all along with your other stuff still neatly packed in boxes had a faint smell of flowers. So mawkish it made you nauseous and despite heavy rain outside you wide opened every single window in your apartment. You wondered how you never noticed this (almost, not yet) stench back at home. 

At home everything smelled like this, because your father had a flower shop and your mom loved her enormous garden more than anything else. She spent hours outside. He was at work all day. You and your older sister were at home alone. 

You loved your family even though sometimes you wondered what was lacking. What was it that your heart was longing for. In all your years there you never found an answer to such an obvious question. Now, standing before a window wall, overlooking one of the many side streets of Roppongi in your late grandma’s apartment, you thought how amusing it was that when you escaped your native Obihiro you missed it so dearly. Do psychologists have a name for this feeling? As if knowing a name for something would provide you with shelter.  

A small rather inaudible sigh left your lips. You opened a balcony door smelling wet air. It will rain soon. Hopefully for hours and well into the night. But for now you will drink your homemade iced coffee and read your almost finished book. 

Because you are eighteen and it’s the end of March of 2006 and you will start lawyer school in less than two weeks and everything is so new and bright and sad at the same time. 

Being young is really truly overwhelming.

part 2. 

In the next two months you try to make new friends so you don’t feel that lonely. 

You go out with them a lot. To the cinema, to karaoke, to bowling, to their small apartments and huge mansions. Name it and you’ll be there. Just to feel a bit less lonely. Surrounded by people, with drink in your neatly manicured hands, you are almost a part of that raving crowd. 

Almost. 

It’s never enough and returning back to your own place that finally started indeed looking like your own place in the early morning when sky is pink and cold blue and your legs are so heavy you can barely stand is relieving. To the point you promise yourself it’s your last time going out. You would believe yourself, but then again you said the same thing last week and two weeks before that too. 

When friends don't magically appear after all these months you stop. You start attending all your classes, you read manga and books on your balcony, do homework and extra work to earn more credits. You cook and the smell of homemade food circulates the three storey building. Your neighbors must be mad at you because you usually play chef late at night. They either hate you or love you, you think. No complaints come though so you continue steering pots at three in the night. 

Your mom calls you twice every week. Your dad almost every day. Your sister never. She sends you messages instead. They are stupid and small. 

i am fine  (x_x)                                   (emojis she’s using never correlating with the text) 

it’s empty without you at home  

(/▿＼ ) 

found your stupid manga today & read it & why is this shit so sad. u r so depressing.  

i am fine  

[ ± _ ± ] 

don’t worry i won’t threw it out  

mom’s roses are withering she’s mad  

i am fine 

It’s never anything important so you reply the same nonsense back or sometimes nothing at all. You have a funny feeling you are missing out on something. You don’t catch what it is. 

You'll never do. 

part 3. 

Life in Tokyo is not easy, but it’s not that difficult either. You fall into a perfectly constructed routine quite quick, without any problem . 

You wake up. You make yourself your favourite iced coffee, throwing a little bit too much ice, and with a satisfaction you watch how ice melts, cracking under the warm hug of espresso. You drink your coffee on the balcony and then you go to university where you spend most of your day. 

In the evening you return home. You eat. You read or draw and then you go to bed. 

Somewhere in the middle of all these you find a friend. A true friend. She doesn’t go to parties and prefers to spend her free time in a coffee shop, walking around the park or reading a book. It sounds somewhat boring at first, but she’s a truly good person (and you haven't met a lot of those lately), so you succumb. 

She’s a Tokyo native which is insanely good, because she shows you a part of the city that was hidden from you all this time. Together you go to have the best ramen and yakitori and imagawayaki. You visit art galleries because you both are into the art and you both are lawyers to be, but you’d rather be an artist. You go to libraries and bookshops. You draw in the park together and at your apartment since she lives with parents and it’s more convenient to hang out at your place. 

Your new best friend is the one to warn you about gangs and all the criminal activity that is lurking in Tokyo’s darkest parts. It sounds more like a distant far away world that won’t ever touch you. You don’t feel frightened. After all you left it all at Obihiro with your sister and her stupid ex boyfriend who too was a part of the local gang. 

Didn’t you?

The calm voice of your friend continues naming all the gangs and then she fills you in on what they do and what territories they control and how exactly they do it. It’s crazy to think she knows that much about it. Especially for a future lawyer.  

You tell her just that. 

She smiles and says that her eldest brother is in the gang hence she knows so much. His gang is cool though. They don’t beat women or children. They challenge other gangs and they do try to be fair to everyone and everything. They are good guys. 

The way she talks about them you might think they are Robin hoods of Tokyo. 

You know for a fact it’s (probably, you have your doubts) not true. 

part 4. 

It is early in the morning when you wake up one day in July. It’s scorching hot and gladly you have no school today so you spend half of the morning in bed staring at white ceiling. Thinking about nothing. It’s an easy morning and you appreciate the calm - though very very hot - air that surrounds you. 

Laying around in bed proves nothing. It’s boring and soon your thoughts get too complicated. Too difficult. And if anything you don’t want today to be difficult.

It’s gotta be a nice day.  

That much is decided, when you slowly rise from the bed, fall on it again, lay there for two minutes listening to the clock doing its little, but loud tik-tak-tik-tak dance. Eventually you get up and stretching midway march into the bathroom. 

Bathroom is like a cold oasis in the desert. Your feet touching cool marble tiles, you cross a small room aiming towards a rather spacious but square form bathtub. Why and how your late grandma chose this ridiculous design is now history. You regret you never asked. 

After taking a long bath, you throw a towel around yourself and go to the kitchen. To make yourself a cup of iced coffee, of course. You don’t do breakfasts and now it’s well past the time people eat their gohan, natto and whatever else they have for their first meal of the day. You’ll cook something a little bit later. Or call your friend and go out to that now favourite place to have sushi. 

Summer breeze is gentle on your naked shoulders when you sit down on the balcony. The view is not much. Just another grey living building with luxury cars in the parking lot. Roppongi is surely different from your native Obihiro. Well, it’s even different from Tokyo itself. The contrast is subtle and you can’t tell what it is exactly, but it’s there. Present as ever. 

You love Roppongi.  

The quiet alone time ends suddenly. You hear something tearing and then a caustic smell of vinegar welcomes itself in the air. You groan. Loudly. Trying to guess what it is you stand up from your bamboo chair and look around as if it could reveal the sudden intruder. The unexpected intruder reveals himself. 

“Oi! It’s chips.” The voice comes from your left and you look that way seeing nothing, but a plastic beige partition. You never noticed it being there before. 

“How did…” You start, tilting your head so you could see the owner of the voice - he sounds young and you are quite curious because for all the months you live here you never knew you had someone your age living in your building. To be frank, you only met the old lady upstairs, but that’s because she was your late grandma’s friend and introduced herself first when you just moved in. 

“You make a lot of noise.” He stops, mulling something over and you can almost hear thoughts being born in his head. Instead, he snickers and says nothing. 

The barrier between your balcony’s space and his is nonexistent. The only thing dividing you two is that plastic beige partition which you easily look over from, steadying yourself on steel railings with one hand (the other one is holding the towel wrapped around your body) and furiously peer at your neighbour.  

You totally never saw him before because you have a feeling that you would have noticed and remembered him. He is quite a character.

Blond hair with almost neon blue highlights is what you see first. Then his glasses that cover his peculiar coloured eyes. From the distance you can’t quite tell what colour they are, but it’s not brown, hazel or blue. It’s some other colour or maybe it’s the mix of all of them. They catch your attention the most. Until, your gaze travels south, to his chest full of tattoos. He is not wearing any t-shirt; fair enough it’s too hot and he is home. 

Being too busy observing him you don’t notice him squinting his eyes and giving you almost the same identical look. The difference was though that he has seen you before. A lot of times actually. Now, he was just getting a better look. 

“Salt and vinegar? Really?” 

“Wanna some?” He offers you to which you wrinkle your nose and he snorts at you. 

It’s more of a laugh than anything else so you don’t even register it. You don’t reply and get back to your chair in the safety of your own balcony. The whole situation seems ridiculous but the more you think about it - sitting some metres away from him hearing him eating his chips - the more it feels like it was supposed to be like this. 

It’s your first time feeling something like this. 

It’s deviating. 

part 5. 

After this encounter you see him everywhere. 

On the flight of stairs. At the convenience store next to your house. In the parking lot under your building. You even bump into him on Keyakizaka street and once catch a glimpse of him at Roppongi Station. 

It’s not unusual. You are neighbours. It should feel normal, but it doesn’t. It’s almost like he follows you around prying into your daily life. You know it’s not true because he doesn’t have a reason for it. Well, he doesn’t even know your name. Maybe it’s just fate that wants you two together. 

Most of all, you meet on your joined balcony. He’s quietly eating his salt & vinegar chips while you read or paint. Sometimes he listens to his music. He does it wearing huge white Audio-Technica headphones. He blasts music at full volume and after some time you memorise his playlist. You must admit it. He’s got a nice taste in music. 

You say it to him once and when he replies you can hear an easy smile intertwining with his words. “No shit. I wanna be a DJ. I do have a full DJ setup, it’s just that I rarely use it nowadays.” 

“Why?” 

It’s a simple logical question, but he doesn’t answer right away. Silence settles between you two and soon the only sound you can hear is that old lady on the floor above speaking to her husband. She asks him what he wants for dinner. It somehow reminds you of your home in Obihiro and swarms of cicadas rise in front of your eyes. Their сhirping fills your ears. The sound of home and summer. 

The 2B pencil in your hand moves on its own while you wait for him to say something. It’s only after you sketch your yard full of cicadas on the pavement he finally speaks. 

“Just being busy with work and Ran doesn’t like it when it’s too loud and my music is too loud for him”. 

“Ran?” 

He waits again before responding. This time it’s shorter. You don’t manage to draw anything. “My older brother.” 

“He has a pretty name and I agree with him. Your music's too loud. I can hear it through your headphones all the time.” 

“It suits him. His name.” He ignores you siding with his brother and doesn’t give you the satisfaction of being teased by you. “Mine though doesn’t suit me. Do I look like a Rindou to you?” 

You laugh. He laughs too in a i told you so way. He doesn’t see you drawing gentian and orchid in the left corner of your sketch. 

You also think his name suits him well. 

part 6. 

When Rindou meets you outside he always acknowledges you in one way or another. 

It depends if he is alone or has company. 

If he is alone he’d chat you up, asking you meaningless questions about your day. If he is with someone he’d just nod at you. 

You don’t dwell on the subject. You don’t think he might be embarrassed of knowing you or some stupid shit like this. It doesn’t hurt your pride because you don’t know him that well after all. Besides your occasional balcony conversation you have nothing. You are barely even friends. 

He doesn’t know your name. He never asked. At this point you are almost strangers. 

part 7.

Your life carries on. 

You attend classes, go out with your best friend, read books, draw and chat with Rindou. Over time you two become more accustomed to each other. Conversations turn effortless. Personal information shifts to shared. Neither of you mind it. Oversharing and spilling secrets doesn’t exist in your comfortable bubble in the middle of Roppongi. 

Rindou is cosy. 

No matter how close you two grow to each other, you (not him too, but you don’t know it) tell your friends about your little friendship. A grim feeling of inevitable stops you every time you try to tell your best friend about him, his blue locks and round glasses. If you tell her something bad will happen. What you can’t tell. This ominous prediction follows you around. Never leaving. You keep your mouth shut. If anything, you don’t want to ruin your nook. 

He, on the other hand, doesn’t tell anyone because they won’t understand his desire to feel like a normal person for once in his life. He never mentions to you that he is in a gang. What he is doing with his brother and friends at night. He never shows you just how violent he can get and this side of him is hidden from you. Rindou likes it this way. This way you are friends with him because he likes vinegar & salt chips, wants to be a DJ and goes to gym every once in a while. 

You are not afraid of him and you do not pretend. 

He wants to keep it that way. 

So he, just like you, keeps you away from his world. 

By the end of the summer he learns your name. 

part 8.

Despite all your accidental meetings you’ve never bumped into Rindou when he was with his older brother. Despite that, you feel like you know him already. 

Rindou talks a lot about Ran. As it supposed to be, you assume. 

You don’t talk about your older sister that much though. 

You wonder if Rindou wonders why. 

However it may be, he never asks you about that.  

“Ran is a pain in the ass.” Says Rindou looking at the small screen of his Nokia 6230. He shoves white phone - every piece of technology he owns appears to be white and you want to ask if it is consciously done - in the pocket of his wide black sweatpants. “He is staying out today”. 

The intonation and tone he chooses are suggestive to where his brother might be staying and what he plans on doing. You laugh and don’t press too much. It’s not your business and you are not interested in how Ran spends his leisure time. 

“At least he could’ve told me earlier. Kakucho invited me to go to Atami, but he is already on his way and I don’t wanna go on my own all the way there. It’s what…  like two hours? Three?” 

He says all that in front of the convenience store where you both met some minutes ago. It’s well after six in the afternoon and street lamps are barely emitting any power yet. Soon the streets would be draped in these nostalgic azure lights and the whole Roppongi would come alive while other parts of Tokyo would slowly fall to sleep. 

There are no people outside and no cars pass by you two. Your small nook is silent. Even the ventilators of refrigerators at convenience store stopped producing noise. The next thing you know it’s raining. A little drizzle. You sigh. “Wanna come over? I’ll cook.” 

“Real homemade food?” 

“Yeah. What a stupid question.” 

He smiles a bit, thinking to himself that, well, maybe missing out on hot springs in Atami wouldn’t be so bad. He knows for a fact nor Ran nor Kakucho would eat anything smelling so delicious like your food. For a bunch of delinquents without family a plate of soup made specifically for them is a huge deal. 

Of course, he doesn’t say any of these. He shrugs, his shoulders going up and down, and takes a huge paper bag with groceries out of your arms. 

Together you walk towards your apartment building. 

part 9. 

You didn’t make soup that evening. 

In the role of the guest Rindou took it upon himself to decide what you both should have for dinner. As you guessed before he wasn’t a shy type so feel yourself at home words died on the tip of your tongue the second he took his adidas sneakers off and went ahead of you to the kitchen. Strangely enough he went in the right direction. Maybe the layout of your apartments were the same. You were neighbours after all.  

When you showed up in the kitchen, dressed in your for home shorts and your dad’s old t-shirt, he already stuck up everything you bought earlier in their places and was now patiently waiting for you, playing snake on his phone.

“I think you can make us soba with vegetables. And some chicken too, but I like it without skin”. He said, not raising his head in your direction. He appeared strangely familiar in your kitchen. As if he was there every day. 

You nodded, not sure if he was paying any attention to you at all. “I have chicken breasts. Do you prefer enoki or shiitake?”

“Put both. I like both.” 

Cooking is not a quick business. Rindo grew bored of watching you doing the same thing with different products and took it upon himself to tour your apartment alone. You didn’t mind. You had nothing to hide. Your paintings, mangas and books were all there was. Doubtful it would be of any interest to him you didn’t worry. 

To Rindou it was different. He felt like he was intruding your personal life. Probing himself to become a part of it. If not that accidental meeting and Ran’s spontaneous decision to stay god knows where he wouldn’t be here at all. Looking at your canvases with unfinished paintings woke inside of him a dreadful feeling of unbearable closeness to you. 

In all his life he never befriended anyone. All people came and went out as they pleased. Nobody stayed for long. He didn’t give them a reason either and not a single person asked for it. 

Nobody made an effort to stay.  

Looking at your pencil sketch of the valley full of gentians he already knew he wouldn’t forgive himself if you went away too. 

part 10. 

“I was in a juvie with Ran”. The confession comes out of him suddenly. He looks you in the face trying to decipher your reaction. There’s none that he could pinpoint. “We got out recently.” He adds as an attempt to fill the silence that lingers around the corner. 

You put chopsticks aside and pressing your lips into thin line attempt to guess the motive behind his words. 

Why did he say this now? 

What is the reason? 

Why did he decide to open up now that you having a quiet dinner at your apartment?

You find all the answers in his eyes. They are like amethyst. Blue and pink mixed together in a beautiful peculiar shade that suits Rindou just a little too much. They are intent and pleading. He has decided something for himself while you were busy cooking and what it is he doesn’t let you know yet, but you sure it has something to do with your hasty friendship. 

“Why?” 

“We beat up the leader of the gang and his vice to take over Roppongi. The vice didn’t make it out alive. Ran might have gone overboard a bit.” 

“So it was an accident?” Your words are not of justification, but about stating the truth. 

“Pretty much, but I don’t regret him dying.” He waits a moment and then adds. “If I knew the outcome before I would’ve done the same thing”. 

The silence that settles between you two is heavy, but not uncomfortable. It changes the inevitable course of your relationship and you both let it do it. Whatever said is said. There is no turning back. 

You avert your gaze to the steaming food in front of you and take a deep breath before saying what you want to say. Rindou gets ahead of you interrupting what yet to be said. “Do you think differently of me now that you know it?” 

“No.” Your response is immediate. No delays. No hesitation. “Still the same Rindou as before. Some of us have to do fucked up things to survive.” 

“Did you kill someone?” 

Your laugh fills the room and cracks in his heart that were there because of worry. He is ridiculous, he knows it. 

But it’s easy to be ridiculous with you. 

part 11. 

In the month to come you learn more about Rindou Haitani. 

He and his brother are in the gang, but they are by themselves. They rule over Roppongi alone and every single person there is theirs. [This is said in a proud voice and when you ask if you are theirs too since you too now live in Roppongi Rindou goes red. It’s cute.] Their parents are not with them. If they are dead or alive, if they were forced to leave them or abandoned them out of their free will, Rindou doesn’t elaborate. The wound might be still too fresh or maybe it would never heal at all. 

After every bit of information he asks you if you are still seeing him the same way. You always say yes. 

You open up to him too. You tell him more about Obihiro. Your parents that are married and that there’s no love in that marriage anymore. That you believe your dad has a mistress and that your mother knows and that this is a reason she is so attached to her garden full of roses. She tends to flowers and loves them in a way she can’t care and love her husband. 

One evening when Rindou stops by your apartment and sits on the bar stool watching you cook chicken katsu you tell him about your sister. How she got involved with a guy who was in a local gang and that your parents blame him for her drug addiction. It’s a touchy subject and he is the first person you ever discussed this with. 

“You don’t think he is to blame?” He asks in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. 

“No. I think my sister knew better than this. She was her own person before she met him and after she met him. You can’t blame somebody for a decision you solely made.” 

Rindou senses your anger. He thinks [knows] you’ve never been in love. 

part 12. 

It’s November when you are introduced to Ran. 

By this time he’s heard about you [and you yourself albeit muffled by thick glass of balcony door] numerous times. The occasion to meet you never presented itself. Even though it would be a lie from his side if he says he wasn’t dying to meet you. His interest was as high as Fugaku. Not because of you as of you, - he didn’t know you and he’s hardly a curious person - but because of his brother’s soft demeanour and lack of usual disdain he presents around other people. Never you. 

It nags Ran more than he would care to admit. 

The absence of interest in him from your part was a bit suspicious. It depended on what Rindou had told you about him so it might be just his brother's fault and not your mere disregardless of Ran. Who in their right mind would purposely ignore him? 

Their cupboard where they store instant noodles are empty and Ran groans when his palm touches the dusty wood surface. He is tired. And sleep deprived. Too many responsibilities weighed  heavy on his shoulders. Last night he returned home around five in the morning and went immediately to bed. His only meal of the day was tuna onigiri he bought at 7/11. It tasted sloppy and rice was not cooked the way he liked it to be cooked. He complained about it all to Rindou who just clattered. To him, onigiri seemed fine. Not the best he had and certainly not worthy to whine about the whole night. 

Ran was just being Ran. Now he was starving. His empty stomach churning. 

“What did you eat today?” He turned around and suspiciously eyed Rindou who was sitting back to him on their newly bought white sofa watching TV. The show running there was unfamiliar to Ran. 

“Rice, two eggs and plum pickles.” 

The last time Ran had plum pickles happened a long time ago he couldn’t even remember when exactly, less alone the taste. His mouth watered all the same. The non-bothered expression [he could sense even while looking at Rindou’s nape] on his brother's face only added to his starving agony. “You went out?” 

“No. Well… technically yes, but not really.” 

Whatever the meaning of Rindou’s answer, Ran doesn’t catch it. He thinks of asking for an explanation, but senses Rin furrowing. Too focused on the jumping screen of the TV. His whole attention focused on a documentary about wildlife of South America. Ran’s mouth sprawls into an oh-i-know-what-you-are-thinking-of-now sly smile when he goes around and catches Rin bite his lower lip. It makes Ran forget about his minor problems. For the next couple of minutes if so. 

Teasing his little brother about his new female friend is more important. And fun. 

“Why are you being so defensive when it comes to our new neighbour?” 

The question is simple, but the devious tone it's being asked suggests it’s more than this. Rin wants to punch his brother, but instead he sighs. He can’t understand why he is being so protective over you too.

“I am not fucking being defensive. It’s your way of asking about her that makes me angry.” 

“My way of asking?” 

“Yes. It’s like you wanna ask me if we fuck or not?” 

“Do you?” 

“For fuck’s sake, Ran. No. She’s just a friend.” Rindou rises from the sofa and storms off to his room. He doesn’t forget to slam the door so Ran understands the level of the anger he feels towards him now. 

He does. 

So, Ran sprawls on the white sofa. Pillows here are so fluffy he might fall asleep for an hour or so. After he wakes up he’ll knock at Rindou’s door and together they will go to the convenience store. Rindou won’t be angry anymore. He’ll whine and complain and maybe won’t speak with Ran for fifteen minutes or so, but eventually he’ll put the whole conversation about you aside. 

After all they are brothers and Rindou can’t stay mad at Ran for long. 

It goes the same for Ran too. 

part 13. 

When Rindou warned you about the dark alleys of Roppongi you should’ve listened to him. 

But as all people, you too, you believe you are invincible. You believe it won’t happen today or with you. Anybody, but you. 

When you go out that night to meet your best friend at Kagurazaka, there’s not a slightest worry in your bones. You chat freely, drink two cocktails on an almost empty stomach - your impromptu dinner with Rindou happened around four and now it was approaching midnight - and politely decline your friend’s invitation to stay over. She doesn’t live nearby, but her house is relatively closer than yours. It doesn’t matter to you. 

You want to go home. 

You catch the last train. It’s empty. The night is clear and beautiful. The glimmering lights of Tokyo are more than mesmerising. They are surreal. Nothing around you suddenly is real. You have an urge to draw the scenery. You dig into your bag, but there’s no pencil there nor there’s a piece of paper. It's almost like a lost chance, but instead of giving up, you memorise the view. How houses look, their lights, neon banners and small nooks. 

High on Tokyo you arrive at Roppongi station. With a picture before your eyes you don’t notice three young men following you home. If you would, you probably would’ve thought better than cutting your way home and instead would've chose the main road. But you don’t and they feel incredibly lucky.

A beautiful girl and a purse with money. 

Firstly, they yank your bag and when you don’t give it up easily they push you hard to the ground. You fall on the wet pavement utterly confused. Sharp pain goes through your ribs. You try to stand up, not hearing their mocking laughs and your keys falling to the ground. 

It should be humiliating, but you don’t feel humiliated at all. Not even when the hands of one of them goes under your dress. It’s cold and wet and your body starts shaking with anger. You are silent when your first crashes onto his face. The stench of blood is suffocating and the skin on your knuckles brakes with a loud thud. 

You doubt they hear it or care about it because one of them slaps you across your face. Your nose bleeds and blood plops down. It brings a salty taste to your mouth. It covers your collarbones and stains your dress. At this moment you know that there’s nothing you can do and that it is better to give up so you run to the convenience store. It’s two blocks away and there’s always a cashier inside. They won't dare to do anything in somebody’s presence won’t they? 

It’s a fact that those who attacked you are cowards. Nobody else, but a coward would attack a girl in a dress returning home. 

part 14. 

Rindou sees you first. 

He is without glasses - forgot them somewhere between arguing with Ran and forgetting to grab keys from their apartment - but he can clearly see the blood on your face and clothes. He drops the iced peach tea bottle and storms off past confused Ran. 

It’s too late for Halloween parties and he knows you well enough to know that this is not some trickery. It’s the real blood coating very real you. He puts his palms on your shoulders, you are stiff underneath him, but you don’t cry and he takes this as a good sign. “What happened?” 

“They…” You stutter, confused expression on your face, you don’t look at him, but between your bodies, at his nike shoes. They are white. As expected. You don’t want to stigmatise them red. “Somebody just attacked me. Three of them.” 

“Who and where?” The voice is unfamiliar. He sounds similar to Rindou’s, but is more high and persuasive. Rindou never speaks like that. It might be somebody else. 

This somebody else lingers behind his brother. His gaze never leaves your face and despite the situation he finds you very beautiful. There’s something about you that knocks him off immediately and when you raise your eyes at him he knows he is doomed. 

Ran being Ran he shows none of it. Neither do you. 

“Down the street to the left then again to the left and then to the right.” You explain, ignoring the intensifying grip of Rindou’s fingers clawing at your shoulder blades. “There were three of them.” 

Ran flashes you a smile. It’s genuine and you are confused at what exactly is here to smile. “Rin take her home. I’ll be back soon.” 

“Do you have it with you?”   

Ran smirks. He follows the directions you gave him and disappears under the blue lights of lamps. 

Not without showing his baton to worried Rindou. He makes a whole show of it, taking the weapon out of his sweats’ pocket and raising it up so it is visible. He doesn’t turn to look at you to see if you are watching him. He knows you both do. 

part 15. 

It’s your first time being inside their apartment, but no matter how much you want to tour it, Rindou shows you into the bathroom. It’s tiny and you pass a small dressing room to get inside wondering why there’s a sink in it, but you don’t get to ask because Rindo tells you to wait a second. 

He brings you a change of fresh clothes. It’s black sweats and a grey oversized t-shirt. You want to ask to whom they belong, but somehow you understand they are Rindou’s. He wouldn’t just pass his brother’s clothes like this. 

Before getting into the bathtub you examine your body. There are bruises on the left side that mark your skin from where your breasts are and all the way down to your leg. It’s almost like Rindou’s tattoo. You smirk and try not to move much, because once you see the damage it starts to hurt as if your brain only detects what can be seen. Fucking fascinating. 

The door to the bathroom is not locked. You remember it when the first drops of hot water fall onto your aching body. You doubt Rindou or his brother would barge in though so you aren’t worried. Methodically, you wash your face, clean your scraped knee and watch blood mixed with water disappear through the drain. Once again everything feels out of place. Your blood, your black painted toenails, scratches and bruises it feels like they aren’t you. Like they aren’t yours. But the hurt reminds you very vividly that this is simply not true. It’s all you. 

What happened today happened to you. And there’s nothing you can do about it. 

You look around yourself searching for the soap or something else that will scrap this day off you. On the white plastic shelf you notice two soaps, one shower gel and god knows how many hair products. There’s no way to tell what belongs to whom so you take whatever smells better to you. 

Inside your head it’s silent. No replaying of the events. Nothing. It’s not that you do that deliberately. You are not sure you possess that kind of will. It’s extremely hard to choose what you want to think about. Thoughts are not like trains. You don’t get to miss some and then hop on the next, because you like it better. You’ll board every single one and live it thoroughly. 

Want it or not. 

“Did they smack you in the face?” 

It’s the first thing Rindou asks when you emerge from the bathroom. He observes you carefully from the bar stool. Better than anybody else he knows what it’s like to deal with strong emotions and unpleasant situations. He is surprised though when you roll your eyes at him and laugh. Shouldn’t you be crying? Or is it that bad you numbed yourself? The sudden alert in his eyes sells you to him. 

“They did. And they also pushed me to the ground. I have a huge bruise right here.” You show him where, pointing your hand from breasts to your leg. “Nothing to worry about though.” 

He doesn’t understand why you are trying to comfort him when it should be the other way. He sighs. “Get on the sofa I’ll bring you an ice pack and this cream Ran got at the pharmacy the other day. Works like fucking magic. It’ll stop swelling and the colour won’t be so bad.” 

You don’t ask him why they have this cream or so many other medicines. It’s pointless. It's common knowledge to you now what they are doing. You sit on the sofa where earlier today Ran took a short nap before he and Rindou went to the convenience store. Just at the right time to meet you. Coincidence or not you are really grateful you saw them there. You tell it to Rindou. 

He shrugs. A small smile breaks out on his lips and he sits next to you handing you ice wrapped in two towels. “You would’ve come to me anyway. Even if we weren’t there. Right?” 

“Probably yes. I dropped my keys and the trains stopped by now.” You put ice on your face. Gently. It hurts nonetheless. 

“Probably.” He mocks you. And then silence feigns over you as he spreads cream for bruising between his palms. 

It’s an unusual silence full of words and noise. Neither of you disturbs it. Each listening and hearing what they need to. You take this as a chance to observe the living room and small bits of kitchen. It’s behind you so you don’t turn and look at it afraid Rindou might find it noisey. He obviously wouldn’t. 

“Is this your DJ booth?” You ask pointing at a huge table with what looks like a small laptop, DJ’s setups and so many other things you don’t know the proper name of. “I’ve never heard you using it. I bet you can hear it from my apartment”. 

He turns around looking at and you find his gaze amusing. He looks at it like a man in love. Then an annoyed expression where his blonde eyebrows are furrowed and lips shut tight grace his features. “It’s because Ran is not allowing me to bring my friends home. Says we are too loud. He only likes it when Kakucho or Sanzu are here. He is not even letting me bring girls home. Says there are love hotels across Tokyo for a reason.” You laugh and your laugh is contagious because in a couple of minutes Rindou laughs too. It is rare to hear him laugh so wholeheartedly. He is usually most reserved and tries to keep everything to himself. You always wondered if it has to do something with how he was raised and how his older brother affected him? Keeping emotions stocked up inside yourself isn’t a biggie. The problem starts when they are too much and with them you too are getting too much. 

To Rindou a way to loosen up and let go is a fight. You suspect just as much, but he never says it out loud. It’s an awful thing to say, he believes. 

“Do you mind lifting your shirt up a bit? I warmed the cream for you.” 

You do as he asks. 

The situation would’ve been awkward would it be insinuated under different circumstances, but neither of you twists the meaning of what he is doing. He just tends to your wounds. In a very moderate and tame way. This is how you learn that despite his harshness and violent commitments, Rindou is a very kind - soft-hearted for his people even - person. It’s a shame you think of him like this only now when he was being like this all the time. 

When everything is set and done, Rindou brings you a pillow and a patched velvet blanket. The blanket looks out of his style. All bright with knitted flowers it’s like a white spot was placed on Malevich’s “Black Square”. You realise, there are a lot of details and things you don’t know about him. Today’s events, however damaging they are, bring you closer to each other. Another milestone. And you finally met his brother. 

Speaking of whom. 

“Would your brother be okay?” 

Your sudden question takes him by surprise. He goes to the kitchen and puts the kettle on the stove. He intends to make a green tea for both of you. It will help him calm his nerves down and hopefully ease your headache and stress. The wave of it still hadn’t hit you. It is always the same for most people going through traumatic events. We all postpone the inevitable, bottle up emotions inside us, and on the second day or third week - it doesn't really matter when - do we accept that whatever we went through was real and valid. It happened and we need to live it through one more time before we let it go. 

For some people, like Rindou, it never goes away. It builds him. It becomes one with him. 

He hopes it won't happen to you. 

He hopes you eventually forget all about it. 

“Yeah. He is Ran Haitani.” You are yet to comprehend the meaning of the weight Haitani surname carries around Tokyo. Gangs, criminals, delinquents and their world is still uncrossed territory. Whatever you know you know from Rindou and your best friend. Both don’t say much. “Those who attacked you, did they want something else from you too? Did they try to do anything?” 

Rindou settles a hot water pot and two cups on the table in front of you. Inside the cups there is dried tea. It smells delicious. Calming and reassuring. 

“No. Even if they wanted to, I ran away before they could.” You lie. The print of the hand of the other man on your thigh is one of the few things you could recall. “By the way, these shower gel and shampoo you have, they smell amazing. I’ll buy the same.” 

Squinting his eyes, he leans towards you and putting his hand on your head brings it closer to him so he can smell it. “I swear… Don’t tell Ran about it. He is already more cocky than he should be.” He sits back, relaxing on a plush sofa. “Mine is good too. It’s like a…” 

“Like a mint.” You tease him. 

He scowls. “Drink your tea and try to get some sleep.” 

You bite another smile to yourself and do as he says. 

Before you fall asleep you see those mesmerising lights of Tokyo. 

You remind yourself to draw them. 

part 16. 

You and Rindou fall asleep before Ran comes home. 

It’s almost dawn. The sky is shrugging off the black of the night and dresses in pretty pink, yellow and baby blue. In the city, one needs to go somewhere high to meet the sunrise or sunset. In Tokyo there are numerous locations for city viewing that usually attracts tourists. Because of that Ran hasn’t been to any of them. He thinks, going out for stargazing or to watch sunset or sunrise is stupid, anyway. He prefers to stay in and sleep. 

He doesn’t like to be up all night either, but now, returning home he looks up at the sky and for the first time in his life, he might agree he was wrong. It’s gor-ge-ous. 

The baton in his right hand is stained with blood. At first when he arrived at the alley where you were supposedly assaulted he got disappointed. No one was there. Drops of blood and your keys along with other stuff like lip balm, spiral hair tie and empty wallet with discount cards and coupons proved to him that he has not been mistaken. It was exactly where everything happened. Just no one was there anymore. 

Carefully he picked everything up, checking twice, just so he didn’t miss something. Then, Ran called Sanzu. If you ever need to find someone, Sanzu is your choice. 

He and Sanzu found them in an hour. They begged for forgiveness, but Ran was so tired and Sanzu was already so high. Nothing they could’ve said would be of any help. By the end of it all, they gave all the money they took from you and even more. Ran made sure they apologised enough. Pity, you were too far away to hear.

Now, the solemn apartment greets him with background noise only TV could make and Rindou’s soft snoring. Ran takes his shoes off, neatly puts them in the shoe box, places your bag on top of it and goes straight to the bathroom. It reeks of blood and his shampoo. On the tile floor lays your bloody dress. It’s pretty and stylish. Not too girly in his opinion and he likes it, but thinks you chose just the worst day to wear a beige short dress. 

He lifts your dress and throws it in the basket where they store their dirty clothes. Doing so has a strange feeling to it. It shouldn’t be that natural. He should be weirded out by your presence in his sanctuary where he is at his most vulnerable and he knows you are here because he feels tiny little needles poking at his body. 

Maybe he is just tired. 

Or maybe - and Ran is sure it is the real reason - there was something so gut wrenching sweet about your face covered in blood under the neon sign of a convenience store, it was all he could think of since. 

The immediate attraction he sensed towards you was now giving him hard times. You were Rindou’s friend. No. You were a very good friend of Rindou and while Ran couldn’t know if his brother liked you - like liked liked you - he could clearly tell that he cared about you so much he didn’t want you to meet Ran. 

He fills the bathtub and slides into hot water. His skin is burning but it is a pleasant feeling. From the bathroom he can’t hear if he woken you or Rindou and he hopes he didn’t. He doesn’t have any energy to talk or look presentable or do anything really. What he desires is to fall asleep right here in the bathroom in warm hugs of water. He wishes someone could hug his tired brain the same way. 

On his way to his room he can see the glimpse of you. He stops. It’s funny how you sleep where he slept not so long ago today and just now he was taking a bath where you had been taking it. Too, not so long ago.

He shakes his head.  

Sometimes he thinks about the weirdest shit. 

It’s crazy. 

part 17.  

Rindou wakes up first. He lets you sleep well past afternoon and when you open your eyes and emerge in his room he gives you back your bag and keys to your apartment. 

He says he can’t find your dress anywhere. 

He asks how you feel. 

“I feel like my body was put through a meat grinder.” You shrug. “Other than that it’s fine. I am gonna go home now and prepare something to eat. You and your brother are welcome to crash at my place later.” 

“Ran would appreciate it.” 

You nod at him. With a bag in your hands you go home. 

part 18. 

It’s peculiar how yesterday evening another you was going out of your apartment and now this different version of you crosses threshold again like it’s nothing. You hang your key by the screw near the door, you take your shoes off, sit your bag on the backless stool right by the entrance and go inside. 

You don’t lock your door. You doubt bad luck would strike you twice. And to be honest after what happened you don’t feel afraid at all. [Not that you were before.]

The image of night Tokyo is still in front of your eyes and it jumps in your heart alive demanding to be painted right this second. It’s very difficult to tame your creative urges, but you do your best and go straight to your bathroom. To shower and see how much bruising has progressed. 

In the pale white light, with purple splotches and scratches your body looks different. It’s you and at the same time it’s not. You observe your reflection closely trying not to miss any detail. You want to remember this version of you. Harmed, but not beaten. But all there is is a strong sense of alienation. You lift your right arm up and the person in front of you does the same. You do the same with your left arm, then you stand on your tiptoes and then you jump and then you turn turn turn until your head feels fuzzy and you fall to the ground. 

Afraid, you sneak a glance at the mirror. What would you do if there’s a person in the reflection? The mirror is clean. There is nothing that shouldn’t be there. 

You let out a breath. 

Everything is good. 

Everything is going to be okay. 

part 19. 

The washing machine is half way through its programme when there's a knock at your door. 

“Oi. Why didn’t you lock your door?” It’s Rindou. You can hear him taking his shoes off and making his way to the kitchen. By now he knows your apartment like the back of his hand. “You should be more careful.”

You shake your head, disapproving. “I doubt someone would break into my apartment.” In your hands you form a ball of rice. Large handful. Your already made onigiri lined up on the kitchen table look perfect to Rindou. You however see every bit of essential rice poking out. You sigh and add. “Besides, what would they find here? My canvases? My pastels? My collection of coloured pencils? I don’t even own a TV.” 

“You.” He deadpans, stealing a mouthful of shredded tuna mixed with mayo. “Just lock your door. That’s all. Two fillings? Is this one salmon teriyaki?” The spoon he found in tuna goes all the way to the - indeed - salmon with teriyaki sauce and spring onions. He doesn't bat an eye that he is doing something wrong when he puts the spoon back. Instead he looks around. Almost anxiously. He raises up from the table and goes all the way to the pots sitting on the stove. WIth one swift motion he lifts lids and checks what’s inside. He gasps. “Did you make rice with eggs and spam? It’s Ran’s comfort food. He would eat anything now though. He hasn’t had a proper meal in days.” 

“He doesn’t seem like a person who would skip a meal.” You mumble, contemplating between taking a new spoon or continue using the one Rindou had so nonchalantly put in his mouth, devouring onigiri fillings. 

“I said a proper meal. He was surviving on ready-to-gos.” 

“Still better than salt and vinegar chips, I guess.” You shoot him a teasing smile which he warmly accepts with a mocking scowl. 

You choose not to change the spoon. 

While you continue to prepare dinner Rindou disappears somewhere inside your apartment. Judging by his heavy loud footsteps he is in your bedroom. 

There is only one thing he could do there and it’s checking your sketchbook. Earlier today after the quick shower and getting laundry set up you sat down on your bed wrapped in a large towel that felt like a cloud and drew for an hour. Creativity, that art provided you, eased your mind. Soon enough the ache in your mind and body started to fade. In that urban drawing you were sketching, events of yesterday never happened. There, you were never assaulted. You were still on the train going from Kagurazaka to Roppongi. Thinking about nothing and feeling everything. 

There, you still haven’t met Ran. 

Why you think of him at that moment is confusing. There is no logic behind it. Something somewhere inside of you just brought his being out. Thinking about it, you didn’t even have a chance to properly introduce yourself to each other. You never planned on meeting him so you never thought about how it would go, but still there’s a hint of disappointment that the first time he saw you, you were covered in blood. 

The painting in your lap is unfinished. It’s half way through. Or even less. Urban sketches demand a lot of time because of all the tiny details they consist of. Pursing your lips, you look at the drawing, not sure if you like it or want to rip it apart. Abrupt throw - which is Ran Haitani - halt the whole process to an end. You won’t draw a single line today. That much you understand. 

Now, sitting on your bed, gazing at your sketchbook, Rindou for whatever reason it may be recognizes not the Tokyo or its lights or its small alleys, but his older brother. Yes, it’s buildings. Yes, it’s street lamps. Yes, it’s hundreds of windows and lanterns of the small alley where in the morning merchants will sell fresh fish, vegetables and street-food. And yet, all he sees is Ran. It’s so evident it knocks him off. He almost has trouble breathing and he so wants to ask you if you did it deliberately. Knowing what you are doing and still doing it on purpose. 

He is afraid you might find it stupid because it’s a landscape. And more than anything Rindou doesn’t like to put himself in a situation where someone would think he is stupid. He hates the feeling. 

Silently, he closes your sketchbook and places it on your nightstand where he notices a manga. It’s the second volume of “Kagen no Tsuki” by Ai Yazawa. He grabs it and brings it with him to the kitchen where he sits across from you. You are still making onigiri. 

“Don’t read it. It’s a really sad story. I cried for days. And every time I reread it, I still cry like the first time.” You warned him noticing the manga in his hands. “I am almost done. Will your brother come soon or do you wanna go fetch him? The food will go cold.” 

The reminder of Ran coming from your mouth unsettles him. There is no reason for him to feel this way, but he still does. He clenches the book so much his knuckles go white. If you notice you don’t say anything. “Why do you keep reading it time after time if it’s sad and makes you cry?” 

“I guess I love sad stories.” You say simply, licking your lips after. You finish the last onigiri, put it on the plate and rise from the chair. Your body aches, but you stretch anyway. “And it’s Ai Yazawa, Rindou. You can’t help, but return to her stories.”  All of a sudden, a thought that you would never find him stupid, flashes through his mind and eventually he relaxes. 

The book slips from his grip. 

part 20. 

Ran is wearing a dark grey loose knitted sweater - it has the same colour as pavement outside your building - and a pair of baggy black sweats. His hair is tied into two neatly done braids. If you thought Rindou has long hair it’s just because you haven’t seen his brother’s yet. Yellow tails of his braids reach just below his thorax. 

They are probably hella long undone. 

Ran looks cosy and sleepy. His downturned eyes scan the room almost curiously, but there’s no lively emotions just yet. Until he stumbles at you and Rindou. The corner of his lips tug upward. Just a bit. Then his lips form a shape of “o” as he sees Rindou helping you set the table. Something he hasn’t seen in… forever? Domesticity was a foreign concept to them both. 

“The door was unlocked.” He says, leaning on the countertop with his elbow. 

Ran looks as if he hasn’t spent a single thought on his looks and came right away as he was. Rolled out of bed and emerged in your apartment. This however couldn’t be true. You’ve seen the enormous variety of shampoo, gel showers and other cosmetic necessities [totally unnecessary for Rindou though] in their bathroom. 

Hearing about the door you shoot Rindou a smug glance which immediately sparked an interest in Ran. He has never been with you two together and now seeing you interact so smoothly, in a familiar way, naturally created a lot of assumptions. Were you and Rindou that close? 

Despite yesterday's question he could now admit that there was not an ounce of romance between you and his younger brother. Ran almost felt sorry for asking. 

“I didn’t lock it because I am here and Ran was coming too.” The tone of his voice is flat like he is explaining the most obvious thing in the world to a two year old. You raise your eyebrows at him and grin, handing Rindou a disk with different kobachis on top of it. It has pickles, onions, and sauces. 

“First of all, he could perfectly open it even with it being locked. Secondly, do you always cook so much or is it just because we are here?” 

He wants to say something else, but Rindou is quick to interrupt him. “Nah. She’s always like this. She just likes cooking.” You nod at this because it’s true. You do like cooking. Very much. “She also likes drawing. And reading. And flowers.” 

These all are true too and you are amazed that Rindou is quick to tell all of your interests. It’s either you are blant or he is very observant and caring. 

Unlike his younger brother, Ran doesn’t wander off around your apartment. He stays at your side at all times quietly observing you. The truth is in the small details and that’s why he doesn’t take his eyes off you, noticing every single little one. Those that stood out and those that were well hidden. His act is impulsive and he is not very well aware of it. Rindou is and he thinks that this is why he wanted to keep you off his world.  To Rindou it’s like his brother is tainting you. 

At the table they sit across from you. By this time it’s mostly you and Ran speaking. He properly introduces himself and you do the same. Even if there’s no need for you too because Ran is not hiding that he heard about you before. Still it’s a polite thing to do. So you tell him your name, your age and that you came from Obihiro to Tokyo to study law. He jokes that he is good at breaking the law and you both laugh while Rindou rolls his eyes. 

“Did you paint it?” Ran asks, showing the picture behind you. It’s an oil painting of Kyoto Temple. There is a lot of green from the trees in front, but even with that the painting looks solemn. Grey stormy skies and dark facade of the temple carry something ominous in it. 

“No. My late grandma painted it. I don’t use oil paints. I actually never got to work with them so I don’t know how to control them. I am more into dry materials. And I’ve never been to Kyoto.” 

“Like pencils?” Ran is on his second portion of rice with spam. It’s delicious and though he is not a big on eating like Rindou, he can’t stop himself. Everything you cooked melts on his tongue. “I wanna see your drawings.” 

“Yeah. Like pencils, pastels, charcoal. Something like that.” 

“Since when do you know anything about art?” Asks Rindou. He puts his chopsticks aside and steals onigiri. You assume he took the tuna one, but you can’t be sure because when you were arranging them, Rindou volunteered to help, then mixed up the plates and put everything together. A total mess. 

Ran shakes his head as if he is laughing. No sound comes out of his mouth though. He turns to his brother, eyeing him. “I don’t know anything. But! I like fashion and contrary to you Rin I have this natural feeling for…” He stops talking and carefully chooses his next words. “For beautiful things.” 

Rindou groans in frustration and covers his face with his hands. Ran laughs. For real this time. His laugh is elegant and light. You can’t decide if it suits him or not. Ran is like a closed book. You can’t read him and you have no idea what is going on inside of his brain. He doesn’t seem like a dangerous person to you and despite knowing that in fact he is pretty much dangerous you have this feeling - call it a premonition - that he won’t ever hurt you. Nonetheless his closeness bothers you. Not to the extent of keeping you on your toes, of course. But still, it’s not the most pleasant thing. 

While they bicker you slip out of the table and go to your bedroom. There you grab your recent sketchbook and some older ones. You also bring out the last canvas you’ve done. On it is a half-way finished forest with a shrine. The only coloured part of this drawing is a forest. Everything else is still a sketch. You think you might return to it today. If you aren’t that tired, that’s all. 

In the living room Ran polishes off what seems to be another portion of fried rice and spam. Rindou didn’t lie when he said his brother was hungry. They both raise their eyes at you when you enter the room. Munching on the food, Ran is quick to stand up and offer you some help. This is a mere polite gesture from him. Few sketchbooks and a canvas aren’t that heavy. You and him both know that. 

And so does Rindou. 

He also knows his brother well enough to understand that this action was spontaneous. Something Ran wasn’t really expecting of himself either. 

It’s already past ten when Ran finishes looking through your works. He doesn’t compliment them or actually say anything at all. His long fingers skip page after page going through months worth of drawings. When something catches his attention he rests his sleepy eyes on it and studies it for some minutes. Besides furrowing his eyebrows and biting his lower lip, Ran's face remains impassive. Once again you can’t even imagine what goes on inside of him. 

Does he like your art or not? Anxiety crawls inside of you. 

“When I am rich enough, like a multimillionaire kinda rich, I’ll buy every single one of your art.” Ran says it without raising his eyes at you so he doesn’t catch how you nervously swallow, your throat doing a bulb motion, fingers locked. Instantly after his word the tension evaporates from your body. Why were you so jittery? Opinions of other people rarely touch you in an important way. Let alone about your art. “What is this drawing about?” 

Between his thumb and an index finger is your latest sketch. The one you started today. You tilt your head so you can see it better. As if trying to see it through his eyes. [You obviously fail at it.] You take a deep breath before explanation pours from your lips - or your heart. Rindou next to Ran stiffens. He is too interested in this particular sketch. For a different reason than Ran. “When I was returning home yesterday I took the train and I saw this view outside. The train was going slow so I could take a mental picture and I just liked it, I guess. You know, all those lights and side streets, stars. Looked quite memorable.” 

He hums presumably agreeing and positions the sketchbook with the drawing on the table, leaning it against your glass full of grape soda. Then, Ran puts his elbows on his knees and props his chin on his intertwined fingers; they look like a bridge. He observes the drawing delicately before he sighs and turns his head to you. “It reminds me of something, but I can’t tell what it is. Can I have it?” 

It’s out of character for him to ask permission when the whole evening he was doing what he wanted and giving dismissive orders. 

“It’s not done yet, but when I finish I’ll give it to you.” 

“Wait a damn second. Why did you never offer me some of your drawings? I want the one with cats.” Rindou is quick to reach out for the old sketchbook of yours. He gives the impression to have memorised their insides by heart as almost immediately he finds what he was looking for. It’s an A4 vertically turned sketch of various cats in the grass. He angles it and pokes at it. “This one.” 

“I never offered because you didn’t ask.” You laugh. “You can have it, Rindou. Do you want me to give you a frame for it? I think I have one just in the right size.” 

The rest of the evening goes steady and slowly. You cut out the ‘cats sketch’ out of the sketchbook and frame it; indeed you have a frame that fits like a glove. Or does the sketch fit the frame? You have no clue. It doesn’t really matter when for the first time you feel so calm and at peace. 

None of you mention yesterday’s event. 

None of the boys eye your peeking through your spaghetti strap tank top bruise. Neither of them addresses your slightly discoloured face and an evident rip of the skin under your nose. 

They go home at two in the morning. 

You give them remaining onigiri for breakfast. 

part 21. 

You sit on your sofa, legs prompt under you, pencil in hands when you hear the doorbell ring. It’s dark outside, even though it’s barely five in the evening. Winter is almost here. And day by day it gets colder and colder.

Apparently, the chill air eats the daylight away. The allegory appears funny to you. 

Today you missed the classes and declined the invitation of your best friend to go on a double date with her brother to Hamarikyu Gardens. You said you might have caught a cold yesterday on your way home. You haven’t told her about the assault and you don’t think you will. 

Nothing really bad happened and she would worry in vain. Right or wrong, it is what you believe in the moment. So you keep your mouth sealed tight. 

The bell rings the second time. Impatiently. You sense that if you won’t open the door immediately the person on the other side of it would break in regardless. Groaning, you stand up from the sofa and pad to the entrance. Pencil and sketchbook forgotten on the floor. 

It’s Ran. When you open the door without asking who it is on the other side you see him, wearing a light coat over a green sweater and black jeans. His outfit looks expensive and well composed. In his hands he holds two paper bags. Those are from the nearest supermarket. He grins when he sees you. 

“Do you know how to cook tonkatsu?” 

“Did you buy eggs?” 

“Yes. Pork, eggs, flour, cabbage, some sauces…” He lowers his eyes down and peeks inside the bags. “Oh! Sangaria Hajikete for you. Mushrooms too. Green onion. I think I forgot noodles.” 

“I have noodles and rice at home. Come on in.” 

He grins again when you invite him inside your apartment and you can’t help it, but smile back. He hangs his coat near your jacket, takes off his sneakers and follows you to the kitchen where he places bags on the countertop. You help him take out groceries noticing midway how relaxed he is. The confidence might run in Haitani’s genes because Rindou is exactly the same.

As if reading your mind - you can’t be sure he doesn’t possess such power - he informs you on Rindou’s whereabouts. “Rin is with Kaku at the gym. You know those guys that would rather live at the gym than at their house? Those are them.” 

“Rindou told me he likes exercising. I mean at least it’s healthy, right?” You take the meat out of the container and rinse it in the sink. From the corner of your eyes you see Ran reaching out for the plate where you could put the meat later. Somehow it didn’t cross your mind. “Thank you. And what do you like to do in your free time?” 

“Sleeping. Napping. Shopping.” He helps you lay the meat by bringing the plate closer to you. “And barging into apartments and making girls cook for me.” 

“Funny.” You do actually find it funny. Not as a poor joke itself, but rather as a lame excuse for flirting. If he even considers it flirting. “Okay, now while I'm doing the meat would you take over chopping vegetables? It's not hard at all.”

“Do I look like a person who can’t cut vegetables?” 

He raises his eyebrows at you and for the first time you notice their colour. Blonde. You almost ask him about why he decided to dye his hair half-half, but hold yourself back. Even if he welcomed himself into your house, even if he is acting as if you know each other for a long time and even if he is Rindou’s brother, you can’t just ask him whatever you want. 

Ran, of course, thinks otherwise.  

He thinks the silence you keep is because of his eye colour. 

“They are amethyst like. Rindou’s are more on the lavender side.” 

“What? 

“Why were you staring at me?” 

“Your eyebrows are blonde. I was thinking you would look good with blonde hair.” 

His eyes go wide and then he grins for the third time this day around you. Ran shakes his head in amusement and fishes out of the drawer long silver knife. He checks it with his finger to see if it’s sharp enough. He takes his time to choose the right knife. One might think he has an opinion on them. You give him the cutting board. He probably knew where they were stored too. You are not worried about it. He might have memorised everything from yesterday. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever go fully blonde again.” He confesses after some time. You turn to him waiting for what he has to say. Ran’s full focus is on cutting green onions - you must admit he does it easily, every chop is neat and of the same size - when he resumes. “When I killed that guy my hair was blonde and long. They shaved everything off at juvy. I hated it. Gladly my hair grows out fast.” 

There’s almost nothing to say without probing further on this unsettling topic. Rindou told you about it just once and then you’ve never returned to it. There was no need and it was evident that Rindou didn’t like to talk about it. Nor did he particularly speak a lot about their days at juvy. Everything was brief. But one thing you remember clearly. Rindou said they killed them when Ran said that he did it. 

Despite your attempt to remain neutral you frown. 

“Rindou told you we did it together, didn’t he? He always presents it like we did it together, but in fact it was me. I knocked out the captain with one blow and then I killed the vice. You couldn’t recognize his face. It was Rin who told me to stop. All he did was just hold him down and maybe dislocate one or two joints. Rin is hella strong.” 

“Yeah he likes to prove it all the time. Opening all jars, bottles. You know.”

In fact, Rindou is a caring person and he does all of this not to validate himself, but to help. Nonetheless, the warmth spreads in his chest everytime you tease him that he likes to appear strong. 

But today it’s not about Rindou. It’s about Ran and so he asks the obvious. “Aren’t you scared of me?” 

“No. Why would I?” You bring out three small bowls and fill them with flour, eggs and breadcrumbs. Thoughtful Ran brought them made so you didn’t need to crumb the bread. “And my point still stands. I think you’d look good with blonde hair.” 

She’s unbelievable, he thinks, and the feeling he had the night before only intensifies. This small premonition of love haunts him, but try all he wants, he can’t shake it off. It’s already made a nest inside of him. Like a little lost bird who neglects his lame excuse of a heart.  

“I have old pictures. I’ll show them to you.” 

“Sounds good. Now grate the cabbage. I’ll deal with the meat.” 

He only hums in response. 

In thirty minutes everything is ready. Ran is more helpful in the kitchen than Rindou, who leaves you alone and spreads on the couch going through your manga or book, is. It might be because Ran is older and he needed to take care of his younger brother all this time. It’s unknown since when they started to live on their own and where their parents are and if they had them in their lives at all. Rindou had never breached the topic so naturally you thought that he avoided it. Those memories got to be the most painful ones. 

You set the table alone. It’s a monotonous task. Bring the cutlery, plates, place all the food and glasses. Nothing too difficult. It bores you a bit. From the living room you can hear Ran speaking on the phone with Rindou. He told you he’d give him a call to tell him everything is ready. His voice is muffled and you have no desire to eavesdrop on them. Privacy is privacy even inside your apartment. 

The steam coming off tonkatsu makes it appear all the more delicious. You contemplate stealing a piece to try if it’s as tasty as it looks, but assume it will ruin the whole composition of nicely laid out meat you spent a good ten minutes arranging. Shredded cabbage seems fresh and savoury too. You wonder if you are just too hungry or it’s been ages since you’ve had tonkatsu and that’s why it looks so delicious.

You are glad Ran stopped by. 

“You know how I wanna name this sketch?” He stands at the entrance of the kitchen - a place where the living room and small dinery are connected; a safe-zone - holding the sketchbook you left on the floor when he rang the doorbell. “Koi no yokan.” 

“A premonition of love?” 

All of a sudden it seems fitting. The best name anyone could think of. Honest and raw. Just like your sketch. Just like you. Just like Ran. In front of each other without embellishments. 

“Yeah.” He nods, coming closer with a sketchbook still in his hands. His eyes widened in surprise as if he wasn’t preparing dinner with you. “It smells too good. Let’s eat. Rin said he will be late. They just started on the second set of whatever the name of that machine was.” 

At the dinner table you sit in front of each other and just like yesterday Ran devours everything he lays his eyes upon. You both chat freely and effortlessly. It’s you who does most of the speaking and he who asks all the questions. Ran learns a lot about you. He discovers he loves it even.  

At last, he asks. “Do you wanna know what happened to those guys?” 

“No, but thank you. You didn’t need to do that, but yet you still did.” 

“Sanzu was with me.” 

“Who?” 

“Nevermind. Maybe I’ll introduce you one day. Do you like burgers? We could make some tomorrow. What time will you be at home?” 

“I am not planning to go anywhere. So anytime. And yes I love burgers.” 

He winks at you. “Noted. I’ll bring everything you don’t need to buy anything.” 

Smile graces your face and you take a sip of grape soda he bought just for you. 

It tastes more delicious than ever. You can’t help, but wonder why. 

part 22. 

Of course, the very next day Ran is at your door again. As promised.

He carries grocery bags and behind his rather broad shoulders, you can see Rindou’s blond hair pulled up in a messy bun peeking at you. Ran grins, pushing forward as he welcomes himself in your apartment. Rindou rolls his eyes, fascinated at both - how cosy and comfortable Ran is with you just after your second meeting and how cosy and comfortable you are with him. 

But then, there’s nothing too unanticipated. Ran’s charisma and charms are well-known all over Tokyo. He is very handsome too which only ever worked in his favour. And, more importantly in Rindou’s opinion, Ran’s is not gloomy. If anything, his usual expression is a beautiful mixture of melancholy and sadness that seems to make every girl fawn over Ran. 

Not that Rindou ever had any problems with girls. He is Haitani after all. They will always remain popular. 

What you don’t know and haven't seen yet is that Ran is an absolutely vicious person. He can be cruel without limits. A lot of times, in fights, it’s Rindou who stops him. He believes - and rightfully so - he is the only one who can. Once raged and challenged Ran doesn’t know the limits. 

Not that Rindou is any better. 

They just maintain control over each other like brothers should. 

After burgers, comes mentaiko pasta and after it ramen and then gyoza - which Ran surprisingly can seal very well and Rindou once again for the thousand-ish times in his life feels lesser than his almighty older brother is - then some other western dish and then it’s just an insanely delicious food carousel neither of you can remember. 

Once Ran brought some old photographs he had. Looking at them Rindou had a vague disorienting ache that transmitted that he was looking at strangers. There were their old friends. Them before juvie. Other people and the same places in Roppongi that now were again theirs. All his life everything Rindou was dreaming was to be like Ran and then own Roppongi, a place they called home. But as Ran passes pictures to you, explaining what is forever imprinted on them and who all those people are [some of them are dead despite being so young; and now they’ll forever remain so] Rindou feels sudden abruption of everything he holds dear to him.  

Was it all really worth it? Does he like what he does? Aren’t all his goals and envisions for the future of those small bulky boy in the picture, but not him as of now? Would he always follow Ran? 

Yes. Yes. No. Yes.  

He chants as a mantra.

One day, late at night, after another delicious dinner at your place, Rindou is sprawling on the sofa when Ran wrapped in a towel shows up from the bathroom. They look at each other and the excruciating thoughts going on inside Rindou’s head are so evident they appear to Ran like neon signs. Bleeding. Ran loves his little brother so he asks first knowing that Rindou would never dare to approach the topic first. At least not today. “What?” 

“What do you mean what?” Fends off Rindou sitting up. His glasses slide down over his nose to his lips and Ran bites down a laugh. 

His little brother. His own flesh and blood. “I know what you want to ask so ask away and stop tormenting yourself.” 

“What is the point of me voicing it if you know what I wanna ask anyway?”

Ran sighs and sits opposite of him, spreading his arms on the sofa’s back and crossing his legs. He rests his head on one of his arms, tilting it at an awkward angle that just looking at him makes you feel uncomfortable. “Because I want to hear it from you.” 

“Can you promise me not to do anything with her?” 

Who is her goes without saying. It’s you. 

Before answering Ran shrugs, licking his insanely perfect white teeth and tilting his head backwards, he closes his eyes, sighing. “Why?” 

“Because we don’t have a lot of trust-worthy nice people around us, Ran. I don’t want to end up choosing between you and her, because the choice is fucking obvious. Let’s keep it friendly coded.” Rindou sounds desperate. His words are crude and raw and honest. He calls out to his brother, already knowing, that whatever plea he invokes it’s lost in the vast void of Ran’s feelings. Rindou is confused, but he wouldn't be who he is today, if not for his ability to stand his ground. So he takes a deep breath and continues. “Listen, Ran, do you think it’s safe to date? Like we are not what we were before when it was just fucking around and punching randoms outside. Tenjuku is serious. Izana is fucking serious. Shion is a mad fucking dog and Kanji is crazy. Sanzu is only behaving when he sniffs a line. Out of them only Kaku and Koko are the only…” 

“Rin.” Ran raises a hand to stop his brother. He sits straight and for a very long time looks at Rindou without saying anything. He searches for the right words and then his mind is going blank because all he knows is that there’s something rotten inside of you. And Ran wants to carve it out. He saw it the first time you two met face to face the night you were assaulted. From that day all he wants is to tug at your insides, clean what hides behind your ribs, reach your soul and make it his. Make you pure and perfect again. He has no idea how to communicate all of this to Rindou so he says the most blatant shit neither of them believes, but they both eat it up anyway. “I wasn’t planning on doing anything. And most definitely I wasn’t planning on dating her or anybody else.” 

“Good.” Rindou purses his lips and his face loses all its colour. His tan is not helping him a bit. “Thank you.” 

They sit not moving or speaking for a little bit, settling in a comfortable usual silence. Ran looks at the table in front of him and Rindou stares at the huge floor to ceiling window. He can’t see shit from his place. Just a bit of neon lights and the building across. Better than nothing. Those simple things keep his mind occupied until he hears Ran standing up. He turns his head in his direction and catches a towel slipping down Ran’s hips. Rindou screams. 

“Why. Is. This. Shit. Always happening to you? Are you doing it on purpose?”

“Why are you always reacting like you’ve never seen it? We go to sento every other week.” 

“Doesn’t mean I wanna see your dick! It was a fucking jumpscare!” 

Ran grins. “Big and scary?” 

“Don’t be fucking stupid. Go put some clothes on.” 

The atmosphere shifts and suddenly everything is back to normal. 

They both love each other very much. 

part 23. 

The desire not to let his world incorporate you fails. The fall is sudden, not expected at all and Rindou thinks it was him who jinxed you all, because once you get obsessed with something - in both ways, negative and positive - it will for sure crawl its way into your life. 

That’s why when Ran points at your back asking Rindou if his eyes are not lying to him and it’s really you, he is not surprised. Perhaps he was even expecting something like this to happen. Just not so soon. 

It’s the middle of December. The weather is so cold and windy you feel it in your bones. At least it’s not snowing and roads are walkable. Not that Rindou or Ran walked. They both arrived in Ran’s new Honda NSX-R he bought second-hand not long ago. Though he never cared for cars, his white slick Honda became his obsession. He doted on it more than he ever had on any other thing. Besides Rindo, that’s it. 

The small, but still spacious club in Roppongi is full with people. Loud music hits every wall and then gets back to the middle of the dance floor, shaking everything that gets in the way. The floor is constantly vibrating and the smell of alcohol is so sharp it intoxicates even those who aren’t drinking, boosting the wild environment. People dance and drink, most of them being underaged, but because they are part of one or the other gang, they are in. 

You are not the one to complain though. You got in only because of your best friend’s brother. 

From where they stand - a VIP zone - Rindou can’t really see if it’s you, but his gut feeling tells him yes. He knows for a fact that you were supposed to go out today and now he regrets he didn’t ask for details. Maybe somehow he would've talked you out of it or not show up himself. Half of the Tenjiku are here and what is the worst of all S-62 generation too. Except for Izana, but he was never big on clubs or parties. 

Would it be too impolite to not greet you? Would you even notice that? Have you noticed them at all?  Neither of them can say. Communicating only with their eyes, Ran urges his brother to follow him. He is both intrigued at what are you doing at famously delinquents only club - not that ordinary normal people are never here - and why are you doing chatting up Toman members. So he pushes forward to you through the crowd. Rindou is closely behind him. 

When they approached your group, the smile from everybody’s faces vanished. Haitani brothers are never good news. It seems everybody knows that, but you, because you grin and a bit tipsy you give your hand out to Ran. He laughs, his laugh is velvety as usual, and shakes your hand for longer than needed.  Now everyone's eyes are on you. 

“I didn’t know you would be here!” You say surprised, clearly happy to see him. Much to his delight and your friends' confusion. “Is Rindou here too?” 

“Yeah, of course he is. I saw you from there.” Ran slightly turns his body and shows you where he and Rindou have been up most of the night. You listen to him attentively, focusing really hard on what he says and lean a bit closer when you can’t hear him. “... decided to say hi. For how long are you gonna stay here?” 

The answer is lost on your tongue because Rindou, clearly pissed, shows up right in front of you. His cheeks are slightly pink. It might be from alcohol or from the heat of enclosed space with so many people in it. That you too can feel. 

Rindou waves at you and glares at Ran. You laugh at their interaction. You’ve never been out with them both before rather than at your convenience store near the house and seeing them behave exactly like you are used to when they are at your place or you are at theirs is pretty relaxing. 

“Those are my friends. My best friend is here and this is her brother.” You introduce your company having no idea that they already know each other. “And this is Ran and Rindou. We are neighbours and really good friends.” 

Neither of them shake hands or smile at each other. The tension that fills the air is tangible. It’s slicky and warm. You want it gone. Puzzled you look from Ran to your best friend’s brother and then to your best friend who shrugs her shoulders. Lastly you look at Rindou whose eyes are not angry anymore, but sorrowful. You frown and step closer to him, wanting to ask what’s going on, but Ran speaks first. 

“It was nice to meet you. You all have fun.” 

With that he waves at you and disappears into the crowd. Rindou, not saying a word, goes after him, throwing a haste look at you. 

He thinks what just happened was fucking embarassing. 

part 24. 

This club is a neutral territory - it’s in Roppongi so informally it’s controlled by the Haitani brothers - but misunderstandings still happen. 

Neither of your friends said much to you after Rindou and Ran left. Two questions asked were how did you know them and if you were close. That’s all. The party continued and the gloomy face your best friend’s brother wore for a short time dissolved under the influence of alcohol. 

You tried to search for either of the brothers scanning with your eyes the dance floor, the bar and the DJ booth. Nothing. The VIP zone was closed off and no matter at what angle you looked you couldn’t see past its dark curtains. 

Sudden encounter left you with a bitter taste. You felt like you did something wrong. Said something that you weren’t supposed to say or acted in an unexpected way that everybody hated. The cruel flavour of iron is strong in your throat. Distress doesn’t depart from you the whole evening. 

The fight that happens that night inside of the club is almost fatal. You didn’t see much of it starting, but music comes to a halt and then lights are on and it’s blinding and the shouts and sound of skin being ripped and crushing bones are speaking for themselves. Some people rush out of the doors which causes a massive panic. Somebody is calling the police and then when this fact is made public the panic intensifies. 

You freeze clutching your best friend’s hand. She hurriedly speaks to her brother, nodding her head when he responds. There’re  shouts from everywhere and people are rushing by you to the exit. Everything and everyone falls to silence when a guy jumps off the stairs to where the fight is happening - in the middle of the dance floor. He is around the same height as Ran and might be the same age or close. What catches your eyes is his tattoo. It goes all the way from his temple to his neck. The V-neck sweater he wears is perhaps on purpose so everyone can see it. Just as the shaved left side of his head. 

“It’s Shion Madarame, one of the Heavenly Kings.” Now that it’s so silent you can hear your best friend’s brother whispering it. “We need to get out. It’s gonna get really violent.” 

That is when you notice that the entrance is blocked. Nobody’s moving or speaking or perhaps even breathing. Everyone’s attention is on Shion. 

“Whatcha you guys think you were fucking doing?” He spits at the floor before pulling out metal brass knuckles. He puts it on his right hand almost teasingly. So lazily, his every move seems to be captured in slow motion. He laughs when he raises his head and sees pure animalistic fear spreading on the faces before him. Adrenaline is kicking high. 

Those two guys that started the fight are no longer opponents. They might even forget what they were fighting about. 

When Shion without any warning lands a fist to the first guy's chest, the poor creature flies to the wall behind him hitting people standing there. This guy is taller and more muscular than Shion, but still he doesn’t fight back even when Shion straddles him and punches his face. Nobody really does anything. They all watch and watch and watch. Violent smell of blood evaporates every other.

Somebody cries. 

The fight - which in all honesty is not a fight at all, but a massacre since no one stops it or intervenes and neither of the boys show any resistance - turns into killing. From where you stand you can’t see the details and now you wonder what those two unlucky boys looked like. You can’t tell and probably none will in two months or so; the damage Shion has done to their face is beyond recognition. 

You spot Rindou sitting on the stairs. Ran stands next to him twirling the baton in his hands. He is talking to some guy you see for the first time. They all are unbothered by what’s going on beneath them. Rindou is the only one who intently observes every move of Shion. But it doesn’t seem like he is regretful or anything like that. He scrutinises every move with a purpose of remembering it so he can use it against someone else later. That much is evident. 

The guy next to Ran has a buzz cut and huge peculiar scar that you think he might have earned in some fight. Receiving it for sure hurt like hell. It doesn’t make him appear ugly though. This guy looks almost gentle. Especially when he smiles at something Ran said. You wonder what in this situation might seem funny to them, but then you have no clue what they are talking about. 

Soon, another guy with long white hair shows up on the stairs. He wears a mask and you can’t see his face, but he seems young. Younger than you. He too is obviously in a gang. Masked as he is, he shoves himself in between Ran and the guy with a scar and says something. Rindou hears it as he turns his head into their direction. 

“Shion! That’s enough. Let them be.” Ran gets down the stairs and stands behind Shion’s back who continues punching the guys as if he is not hearing Ran. Probably he is not. The excitement in his body is too much; it clouds every other feeling. “Shion! Stop! Police are on their way. Come on. It’s enough.” 

Still, nobody moves. Nobody tries to escape. The next thing you know is Ran raising his baton and the sharp sound of air sliced in two fills the club. He strikes a couple of times. That much you counted, but it got to be more, because blinded with rage Shion throws himself at Ran. 

Rindou is quick to assist his brother as well as the guy with the scar. The only one who remains on the stairs is the guy with the mask. You hear the baton working again and then Shion is screaming. Ran laughs. 

“Come to your fucking sences, Madarame.” Spits the guy with the scar and then he turns to the crowd. “What are you all still doing there? Get those two to the ER and… Shit!” 

His last words are lost in the noise of the police siren and people shouting. Whatever that paralysis was, it's now gone. Everyone is pushing and kicking again. You hold your friend’s hand for dear life. It’s easy to lose each other. 

Somebody’s hand is on your shoulder when you are halfway to the exit. You think that someone mistook you or was just grabbing you to remain on their feet. However the person tugs you at them and annoyed you look back to see who it is.

It’s Ran.

He says something and you shake your head indicating that you can’t hear him. Not with what’s going on around you. It’s a mess. He visibly sighs, his chest going up and down. He then steps forward and says something to your best friend’s brother. They exchange some words quickly and then you all are led back from where you came by Ran. 

Hand in hand he takes you through the personnel area to the emergency exit. 

Outside it’s colder now than when you came. You shiver and he looks at you. His eyes inspect every bit of you as if he wants to make sure you are okay. You are. He seems satisfied by it. 

“We all should be going. How did you come here?” He again speaks to the brother of your best friend. 

“By car.” 

“Good. Get your girl and friends and get going.” Ran turns to the left where his own car is parked in the distance. Your hand still lays in his. Without second thought you go after him. 

No one thinks of correcting him that the girl is his sister not his girlfriend. No one cares.

Police sirens are getting closer when your best friend speaks up. “Isn't she coming with us?”

Ran stops, confused, he looks at you and then at your friends as if he doesn’t understand why she is even asking that. “No. We are neighbours. I’ll take her home.” 

“Did you even ask her?” It’s your friend’s brother. There’s irritation in his voice. You’ve never heard him speak like that to anyone. 

“Are you trying to pull this Toman noble cavalry shit on me now?” You see the baton for the second time today. It has red stains on it. He stretches his hand with it pointing at your friends. “Cause I am really tired and not in the mood to…” 

“It’s okay.” You intervene by putting a hand on Ran’s wrist. “It’s okay. I don’t mind going with Ran. I trust him. You have nothing to worry about.” 

There’s another smug expression of satisfaction on Ran’s face. His body relaxes and he drops your hand. Without saying anything he lazily goes to his car, unlocking the door for you first. You get inside.   

As you pass by your friends you give them a wave and they nod at you. 

Everything seems to be okay.

part 25.

After fifteen minutes in Ran’s car you notice that he isn’t in fact taking you home. 

You were busy looking at his car, its leather interior, the busy lights of Tokyo and Ran himself. 

“I am taking us to my favourite ramen place. It’s a bit too far, but they serve the best shoyu ramen and are open 24/7. Me and Rin are regulars there.” It’s Ran who breaks the silence first. His voice is soft and he is back to being Ran you are used to hanging out with. Confident and firm, and almost a little bit gentle. 

“How is Rindou going to get home?” You ask what worries you the most. “Will he be safe?” 

“Totally. He’ll stay with Kaku. You probably saw him today. The guy with a scar?” 

“Oh. Yes.” 

“He got it in an accident when he was a kid. Kakucho is the coolest. He might seem scary, but he is very loyal and even kind.” You stop at the red light and Ran looks over at you, you who is staring at him. “Were you afraid today?” 

“No.” 

“No?”

“Were you afraid when you met those bastards in the alley?” 

“Not really.” 

“Not really?” 

“Yes.” He is clearly waiting for more explanation, because it’s not normal to not being afraid. Everyone would be afraid. You both understand as much. You sigh, crossing your hands around your chest and straighten up in the seat. You look at the road ahead when you start to explain. “My sister’s boyfriend is in the gang. They aren’t just simple motorbike gangs that are fooling around, throwing punches and you know the rest. They are full on criminals. He got my sister on drugs. She overdosed five times. He got her pregnant too. She aborted the kid. And I’ve seen him and his people doing worse than Shion did to those guys today. These all are not new for me. I’ve seen it before.” 

Ran hums. His long fingers caressing the leather of the wheel. He accelerates, rushing forward before traffic lights change. A few cars that are on the streets at this hour irritatedly honk after you. Inside the car the outside world gives the impression of decorations. Nothing seems real. You get this feeling for the second time. 

Once on the train and now again. With Ran in his car. 

“How’d you know Shion’s name?” Ran asks, his attention again on you. Whatever he was thinking shoved aside.  

“Everybody was whispering his name when he jumped on the dance floor. Are you in the same gang?” 

“You can say so.” 

“And the guy with the mask too?” 

“His name is Sanzu and yes he is in Tenjiku too.” 

“He seemed young.”  “He is sixteen. Two years younger than you and Rin so don’t brag.” 

You scoff and Ran smiles. Then he gets serious. You sense it with every pore of your body. His car is a sport type - or so you think - and there isn’t much space. It’s comfortable though. You aren’t feeling confined or trapped. But that must be just Ran. His mood is transmitted well enough. That too, however, must be just Ran.

“I might come off as a hypocrite, but they are toxic to each other. I don’t know how it’s in Obihiro, but here in Tokyo every other guy in a gang I know, treats his woman well if they have one. Those who aren't, they don’t have a girl. Shion for once. He fucks around, but nothing serious. Girls who are with him know they aren’t forever. Are they still together? Your sis and that guy. What position does he hold in the gang?” 

“They are or at least they were when I left. She doesn’t speak about him much, because I hate him and throw my hands at him every time he is in my way.” You stop, suddenly remembering how once you slapped him in the face in front of everyone in your school. He didn’t lay a hand on you, said some stupid shit about how fierce you are, hopped you sister on his Kawasaki and left. You were small and that’s why you believe he didn’t hit you. You weren’t sure he wouldn’t now, but maybe you just never knew him at all. You roll your head on the headrest and look at Ran. “He is some kind of executive or so I heard. I have zero clue about hierarchy and how it goes in the gangs. What position do you and Rindou hold?” 

“I am one of the four Heavenly Kings and Rin is my second-in-command. Kakucho and Shion are the other two and then we have Mochizuku, but you haven’t seen him yet.”  

Yet. 

Ran parks the car outside of the small shop. You have no idea where you both are. You’ve never been to this part of Tokyo. It’s very peaceful here. There are no people outside and the buildings around show no sign of their inhabitants being awake at this late hour. In front of the shop, just a couple of metres away you spot a middle aged man with bright red tenugui tied around his head. The man is smoking sitting on his hunches. When he sees Ran’s car he smiles wide and stands up, waving his cigarette at him. 

The conversation is lost and you are somewhat happy about it. Discussing Tenjiku with Ran, you crossed the line Rindou so carefully built and guarded. It almost feels like a betrayal of some sort. You still were much closer to Rindou than to Ran. Wouldn’t it be more right to discuss all these with him and not Ran? 

Whatever is right or wrong doesn’t matter anymore. You all don’t belong in the world where it does. 

Inside the ramen shop it’s warm and the smell of broth fills your nose helping you realise how hungry you really are. What alcohol you had at the club is out of your system, but the after starvation it always brings is here. You wonder how amazingly our bodies work and how it can sober up and get rid of any influence when a dangerous situation is inflicted upon it. Amusing. 

The man happily chats with Ran and you follow them both to the distant booth in the back of the room. It’s closed off and has a curtain for privacy. Another VIP zone. 

“You sit here. I’ll be back in a minute.” 

With that you are left alone. Not for long. After a couple of minutes Ran returns with a menu, a bottle of sparkling water and a grape soda. He puts soda and a menu with a pencil in front of you and sits on the red and brown leather couch opposite you. The menu is one of those where you need to check what and how you want your food to be done. You take a pencil in your hand and read, your eyes following different variations of ramen they have here. 

“Order tonkotsu ramen. You’ll like it.” Recommends Ran. He opens the bottle of water and takes a very long sip. “Even the water here is god-like.” 

“Isn’t it Suntory?” 

“It is, but it’s more delicious here. Wait until you try their ramen and you'll understand what I am saying.” 

Naturally, when ramen arrives and you make a first sip of the broth, Ran is looking at you expectantly. You try noodles, pork belly, onions and enoki mushrooms - you put those additionally because when you came upon them in the menu you suddenly realised you were craving them - on its own. And then you try everything together. The taste is rich. It is delicious. 

You look at Ran and nod your head, smiling. 

“Told you. The best ramen in Tokyo. It’s sad they do not make Mont Blanc here. The Mont Blanc I like is in another part of Tokyo.” He pouts. 

“We can try to make it at home if you want.” 

“Really? You can make Mont Blanc at home?” 

“Ran, you can make anything at home. Like literally anything.” 

He grins at you thinking he might marry you right here on the spot. 

He doesn’t say it out loud. Instead he closes the curtain and indulges in his shoyu ramen. And your company. 

part 26. 

On the 24th of December you leave for Obihiro. Your parents are excited you are coming and for once they seem like a proper family when you call them beforehand to inform what time you’ll arrive home.

Rindou is the one to take you to the bus station.  “You shouldn’t have made all this food for us.” He tells you when you sit on the bench near your bus. Your small luggage at your feet. “And you went out and made this insane dessert for Ran. He is totally not worth it.” 

You laugh, but your laugh is sad. You don’t wanna leave. “I made twelve of those. Each day I’ll be missing. And I made all this food so it won’t smell like salt and vinegar chips on our balcony. You gotta eat normally, Rindou. And I also left gifts for you two.” 

His eyes widen. He adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “You are way too kind to us. Do you know when was the last time someone gifted us something? Never. You shouldn’t have.” 

“It’s in the small bag. I wrote your names on top of it. Shoot me a message if you like it.” 

The lady on the speaker announces boarding for your bus. You stand up, take your small bag and together with Rindou you stand near the door not ready to say goodbye just yet. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it and whatever he wants to say stays imprisoned inside of him. [Forever].   You hug him and he hugs you back. 

Without saying another word to each other you get inside the bus. 

He doesn’t leave until your bus is out of sight. 

part 27. 

You celebrate New Year with your parents and your sister in the warm family house in Obihiro. You all exchange gifts, watch fireworks and take a lot of pictures. Your absences united your family the way your presence never could. 

After the dinner, you and your sister go to visit the shrine as you do every year when your phone beeps. 

It’s a message from Ran. 

my favourite place to eat mont blanc is now your place. can't wait for it to be open again. 

haha. i’d say you are cute if i didn’t know you. 

i think i am pretty much cute and handsome

btw i like the drawing you did of me 

rin is so jealous 

tell him he should take me out somewhere and if the atmosphere is right i’ll draw him too

can i message you later? me and my sister are visiting the shrine

i won’t tell him that

ofc. be safe. happy new year. 

happy new year ran 

Rindou calls you later. He says you shouldn’t listen to Ran and he liked his sweater all right. He says he bought you something too, but no matter how much you begged him to say what it is he wouldn’t tell you. You promise to message him the time you arrive so he’ll pick you up and then he hangs up. 

You miss them too. 

[Ran messages you exactly fifteen minutes after Rindou’s call. You are still at the shrine and your sister isn’t happy you are on you phone again, but you still reply to him. Every time he messages you do.] 

[wizardofarles]

hey guys, no lykmc update today as chapter ten is not finished. 😞 i will leave you with a snippet by way of apology (and also because i completely forgot to post one last week).

LYKMC Ch.10 Sneak Peek:

“Twenty-five dollars?” Lazar complained. “That’s exorbitant!”

Laurent shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”

“You quite literally do.”

Laurent leaned back, resting his elbows on the cold metal accessibility bar that ran along the wall and pretended to consider that for a moment. “You’re right. I’d forgotten. That will be thirty dollars.”

“What?” Lazar’s mouth fell open. “You can’t do that! It was twenty-five a second ago!” Pallas put a soothing hand on his boyfriend’s arm. In his other hand he held a red plastic solo cup, identical to the one in Lazar’s hand.

“I think Lazar deserves a discount for his athletic prowess today,” said Pallas, beaming at Lazar. “He won the game for us almost single-handedly.”

Laurent hadn’t been there, but he’d heard all about it from Ancel. The RVAB varsity football team was down by three points for most of the game, but in the last ten seconds Damianos threw a perfect Hail Mary all the way across the field to Lazar who sprinted past the defenders and caught it in the end zone. The game had eaten up Damianos’s entire afternoon and prevented him from taking Laurent to the stable today.

“I think you should stop talking about football before I turn you away. And as you’ve so kindly reminded me,” said Laurent, “I make the rules, and I’ve just implemented a five dollar attitude fee.”

Pallas snorted, and Lazar let out a breath of disbelieving laughter. “You’re nuts. I’m not paying that.”

Laurent examined his nails. “Then you’re welcome to look for alcohol elsewhere at this Catholic school dance. Maybe one of the priests will give you communion if you ask nicely.”

He saw his victory in the way Lazar’s face fell. Without waiting for an answer, Laurent crouched in front of his backpack, which rested on the floor in the back corner of the bathroom stall, and pulled out one of the three liquor bottles he’d stolen from Auguste’s secret stash in his closet that he thought no one knew about. “Cash only,” said Laurent. His recent predicament with the concealer had gotten him thinking he ought to accrue some capital of his own. Cold hard cash that his uncle couldn’t touch.

Lazar grudgingly forked over a wrinkled twenty and two five dollar bills, which Laurent pocketed before pouring the liquor into his cup. Pallas stepped up with his cup next.

Laurent smiled at him. “That will be ten dollars.”

Pallas grinned at Lazar as Laurent poured a generous shot of vodka into his punch.

“You’re a stone cold bitch, de Vere,” said Lazar, but strangely, he was laughing. He and Pallas left together, and Laurent locked the stall door again once they were out. He could still hear their conversation as they walked past the sinks.

“I’ll give you ten dollars,” Pallas said. “It’ll be like we each paid twenty.”

Lazar cooed. “You’re so sweet to me, babe. How will I ever repay you?”

Pallas’s voice turned wicked. “Just bring that sweet-talking mouth over here, babe, and I’ll show you what—” The bathroom door closed behind them, sparing Laurent from any more of their revolting PDA, and leaving him alone in silence.

He had chosen a bathroom on the second floor of the school to set up shop, far enough from the gymnasium where the homecoming dance was taking place that no one was likely to stumble into it by chance. For a small cut of the profit, Ancel had agreed to help Laurent by subtly spreading the word among the students in the gym. He sent up the customers with instructions to knock three times on the last stall and pay in cash. So far, Laurent had already gone through almost a whole bottle of vodka and made a little over two hundred dollars thanks to Lazar and Pallas’s contributions, and the night was still young.

Laurent leaned back against the metal bar again and scrolled aimlessly through his Instagram feed on his phone. He wished he’d thought to sneak a folding chair in here or something. As it was, there was nowhere to sit but the toilet or the floor, and Laurent was not that desperate yet. His mind wandered as he scrolled, and he felt his mood turning bitter. He was still upset that he hadn’t been able to see Pyrrha today. Damianos had driven him to the stable yesterday afternoon as promised, but the whole trip had been darkened by Damianos’s mood. The Akielon had been uncharacteristically quiet and brooding, barely stringing two words together throughout the entire thirty minute drive to Acquitart. No doubt his brother’s betrayal was heavy on his mind. He hadn’t risen to any of Laurent’s petty jabs, and he didn’t even crack a smile when Laurent—who had been eating sour gummy worms in the passenger seat—threw one of the worms at Damianos’s face. “Here, to go with that sour mood,” he’d said, but Damianos had only brushed the sour dust off his face and scowled harder. He made for such poor company that Laurent almost regretted telling him of Kastor’s plans in the first place.

Those plans should have played out this morning, unless Damianos had interfered. I wonder which way he chose; his father, or his brother? To speak up or to stay quiet? Based on his previous observations of Damianos, Laurent suspected he already knew the answer, but the brute sometimes surprised him. Laurent wondered what he would do if it were his own brother plotting against his uncle. The thought brought him close to laughter. Auguste wasn’t much of a plotter, and he wouldn’t get far against their uncle. But if it were the other way around …

The bathroom door creaked open and let in a shuffle of footsteps. Dress shoes rang sharply against the tile floor, growing closer to the stall where Laurent was lurking. The shoes appeared in the wide gap under the door, black and polished to a sheen, just as three terse knocks rattled the door on its hinges.

“Lo? It’s me.”

Swallowing his irritation at the nickname, Laurent unlatched the door and pulled it open to reveal Ancel in a slim-fitted emerald suit with a sheer white lace shirt beneath his jacket. Adorned with fake gold and glass gems, he looked like a cheap whore.

Laurent himself did not have a single piece of jewelry on his person. He had dressed plainly for the dance in a classic black tuxedo with satin lapels, for once in total compliance with the dress code—aside from the makeup on his neck that covered his bruises. The employee at the store had been right, it was a perfect match. It blended in seamlessly with his skin, showing no hint of the discoloration underneath.

Ancel tucked a loose strand of silky red hair behind his ear and grimaced, not meeting Laurent’s eye. “So,” he spoke to the wall behind Laurent, “there’s a slight hiccup in the plan.”

The hiccup stepped out from behind Ancel, all dressed up in a little black tuxedo, and decorated in blue. The bow tie snaked around his delicate neck, the bruise that stained his cheek, and the handful of glittering teardrops that dangled from his ear—blue, blue, blue. And his eyes, the bluest Laurent had ever seen, glared out of his round face like two deep wells of contempt.

“I know what you’re doing,” declared Nicaise, “and I’m going to tell your uncle.”

[bethany-hart]

Bethany Hart

Response to prompt 01

Trigger Warning: water, drowning, slight body horror

She's underwater. They both are. Twisting. Gliding. Slick as fish. The red slip of Abigail's bathing suit flashing like a muleta before a bull, the spray of her dark hair a halo in the bright water. And they hold their breath. Ten seconds. Twenty. Forty. Beth's lungs burn with the effort and Abigail's hand starfishes outward to lock with hers. To squeeze. Sixty. Bubbles burst about them Seventy-three. In the end, it's Beth that gives in. Beth that kicks to the surface.

Deep Breath. Repeat

Dianne sits at the foot of her bed with her American Girl doll in her lap, a smudge of toothpaste at the corner of her mouth. Her indignance comes out in spurts and stops. Her questions loop in on each other. Why can't I come? Don't you want me there? I'm not too little. I won't be lame. Why can't I come? And she's a rock wrapped around Beth's ankle, dragging her down. And maybe she should be gentler when she says, "Can you stop being such baby?" or when, two weeks later she spits out, "Don't you have anyone else to suffocate?" When the tears come they are fat and thick, two bright spots of shame on the apples of Dianne's cheeks. But Beth doesn't apologize. She's thirteen and the magic in her tastes like sugar. The last thing she wants is a little sister at her heels. The last thing she wants is to muzzle herself with politeness. And that morning, posing at the mirror in their bathing suits, they tease Dianne for her Mikey Mouse shorts and laugh and laugh.

Deep Breath. Repeat.

The first time. The first time is pure magic. It is summer and she falls asleep on the sun-kissed grass while her mother reads out loud. "In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit . . ." She dreams of earth worms and honeysuckle, of pine needles stuck between toes and overripe fruit bursting with seeds. When she wakes, the grass around her has grown six inches, the dandelions pop open like umbrellas about her head. She remembers the pride on her mother's face. She remembers the hand cupped about the nape of her neck and the kiss bestowed like a blessing. Passed from mother to daughter. And, she remembers Dianne plucking a dandelion, spinning it between her fingers. What a curse to be second.

Deep Breath. Repeat.

At the funeral, Abigail's brother wears a suit. He stands with his hands in his pockets. A dimple flashes in his cheek. Hands pass over his shoulders and condolences, murmured and sweet, drop in a deluge, bending his head downward. Fit to drown. Fit to drown. Fit to drown. She could scream. Should scream. The force of it turns inward, digs a hole through her, and she buries herself there. Years later, he will unearth her.

Deep Breath. Repeat.

The first time. The first time is chaos. It is summer and she is happy. She is thirteen and her legs ache from growing. She thinks she might never stop. She might outgrow her clothes, her sister, her town, her name. And, they ignore her sister's calls. "Wait. Wait." Would it be different if she hadn't? Would it be her instead? It almost is her. Water like a turrent, like a whirlpool sucking her down. Clinging. Clawing. Grabbing for anything. The air in her lungs turning hot. The carbon dioxide in her veins burning like acid. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. But she can't. Not underwater. The sand, sharp as glass over her skin as she is dragged along the bottom. Eighty seconds. One hundred. One-thirty. She knows Abigail is scared at that last second, because she is scared. And when it's over, when she's coughing and shuddering in the surf Abigail is there bloated and blue, slick with rot. She opens her mouth and a scream pours outward like a waterfall.

Deep Breath

--

Beth shot up in bed, the sweat cool on her brow. She reached on reflex for Sam, but the bed was cold beside her. Of course it was. He was spending the evening with his friends. A boy's night. He'd kissed her neck before leaving, murmuring a thank you for the flowers she'd left him at work. Shaking, she curled her legs inward until she could rest her forehead upon her knees. The air felt sharp and cold in her lungs. She counted downward from ten, and then repeated the process. She murmured a spell as she cupped her hands to her chest, temporary warmth. One breath later, heat bloomed like a miniature sun.

A dream. Only a dream.

But she could still feel the water sucking her under, still hear Abigail's screams. When she could move, she tossed her blankets to the side and crept down the hall to her father's room. He was sleeping. Snoring. And, he was tucked on the far side of the bed as if her mother might come and slip back into the empty space. In a whisper, she reached for her magic. It was like opening a window to let the air in, and it rushed to meet her. The enchantment she whispered was simple. For calm. For sweet dreams. For peace.

Her sister's door was locked and she placed her head against the wood for a long moment. The words she pressed there are no magic. At least, not anymore than can be conjured by a human at least. They were a plea. They were a ritual. There were a prayer.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

[theoriginalladya]

Rolling In The Deep (fanfic)

Title: Rolling In The Deep

Summary: Commander Caleb Shepard returns from Despoina with his biggest ally in the war against the reapers to date, yet Kaidan Alenko wonders if the price of that partnership may be too high.

Relationships: male Shepard/Kaidan Alenko

Characters: male Shepard, Kaidan Alenko, Steve Cortez, Javik

Tags: ME3: Leviathan DLC, post-Leviathan, PTSD, angst, new relationship, established relationship, canon-typical violence

[tags will be updated as later chapters post]

Chapter 1 Excerpt:

“Cortez, any word from the commander?”

Kaidan can barely hear his shout above the din of battle as he peers over the top edge of cover just long enough to take a couple of shots at the latest incoming wave of husks and cannibals.  The pouring down rain isn’t helping either, leaving a faint haze drifting across the battlefield that blurs his line of sight.  The grunts and screeches that fill the air are the only assurance he’s hit his targets.  To his left, Javik is engaged with a nearby brute.  If it gets past the prothean, he’ll be the only one left to stop it from getting to Cortez and their shuttle, and Kaidan has his own hands full.  Before he can decide whether to stay where he is or assist his squadmate, the beast goes down, shaking the deck.

Cortez’ voice rings across comms.  “Nothing yet, major!”

Shepard’s been gone for thirty minutes or more; Kaidan doesn’t guess how long it’s been, he knows.  Each thump of his heart tight in his chest as he fights off more and more reaper creatures while constantly swallowing back the acidic burn of panic in his belly. 

What if he doesn’t make it?  What if he drowns?  What if…?

Kaidan grunts harshly, swallowing again.  He can’t die yet, not until he gives Shepard a piece of his mind over this lateststunt. 

A crashing thud about a hundred feet away signals the arrival of yet another round of reaper troops, complete with at least one bellowing roar to indicate another brute to deal with.  Forcing his thoughts away from Shepard – there’s nothing he can do about it until he’s back, anyway – Kaidan slams another heatsink into his Revenant and takes aim. 

Two more husks stumble into the growing pile less than five feet ahead of him.

Yeah, Shepard’s gonna owe them big time after this mission.

Read Current Chapter || Read From Beginning || Read Series

I've finally decided to start posting Caleb's story as the ideas come to me instead of waiting to post them chronologically!

This piece takes place at the end/just after Leviathan DLC which occurs right after Rannoch. He and Kaidan have been romantically involved for a few weeks at this point.

HUGE thanks to @elleweird for the quick beta on this chapter! <3

[mlmxreader]

Don't Think Like That | Bridget Von Hammersmark x m!reader

anonymous asked: Hello there could you write "I love you, doesn't that matter at all?" whit an m!reader and Bridgette Von Hammersmark?

She's my best girl and I need more content whit her <3

Also thank you very much in advance!

summary: you want your last thoughts to be of her, but she's not going to let you think about dying just yet

tws: smoking, mentions of death

Winter was coming, the air was so cold that even five minutes out in it without proper gear would and could result in colds and flus and shivering for hours on end, with frost coating everything; hiding out in the woods wasn't any fun, but thankfully, your girlfriend Bridget had a little safehouse where you and your men could go. Part of the allied forces, you had been marched into the city during the spring, and although people had been expecting wintery conditions, they didn't expect anything like this in the slightest; your men were cold, and when Bridget welcomed them into her home, she made sure that there was enough firewood to keep everything nice and warm for you all.

But while you were snuggled up to her beneath a thick duvet and a blanket that was ever so soft and ever so warm, you couldn't help but to swallow thickly. "What'd you do if I gets shot and killed?"

"I'd mourn you," Bridget replied, "I'd mourn you until my last breath, Scharfschütze."

You nodded, knowing that it was a strong possibility; while she was working on your side, about to go and help a group of Americans in a few weeks, spying on behalf of the allies... you knew it was all too possible that you would never see her again. A sniper, you knew that it was possible that you could easily be shot at any given time, any given moment. Your days together were numbered.

"Maybe we should escort you," you started, "y'know, make sure that you at least safely meet the Americans."

But Bridget cleared her throat, and moved so that she was leaning on your chest, tracing it with the tip of her index finger as she shook her head. "Mein Mann... can you stop worrying for eins moment?"

You smiled, reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind her ear as you licked your lips and allowed your gaze to drop to your dog tags hanging around her neck. "It's my job to worry."

"Not right now," she insisted. "Later... I haven't seen you in so long, I want to be with mein (y/n), not the army's... be the army's (y/n) later. Bitte. Für mich."

"Es tut mir Leid," you whispered, gently tracing her jaw as you nodded. "I'm all yours, Schatz."

"Danke," Bridget leaned down, capturing your lips for a quick moment. A smile came to her as she pulled away, holding your chin as she studied your features as if she wanted to remember them until she had been dead for a hundred years. "Are you hungry? You've hardly eaten since you've arrived."

You shook your head. "We've lived off of less... we'll be fine."

But Bridget wouldn't accept that as she got up and made her way over to her wardrobe, digging through it until she found a small box; she smiled to herself as she brought it over. The perk of being famous was that her rations meant she could have extra treats, and there was no one she wanted to share them with more than the man she loved so dearly.

She placed it on your thighs, sitting on the edge of the bed as she lit up a cigarette and gestured for you to open it; inside wasn't much, just some cheese and some chocolates, but it was more than you had had for years. Since you had joined up in thirty eight.

You looked at her for a moment, wishing that you had a camera that would give you a picture of that exact moment; her smile, her hair slightly messy, your dog tags hanging around her neck. She didn't look like a film star, she didn't look like some immortal being; she looked like Bridget. She looked like the woman you always thought of when you passed by a zoo and remembered your first date. She looked like the woman who could make you laugh so hard that you had tears in your eyes and your stomach ached. She looked like the woman who could kick your ass and make you thank her for it.

She looked like your Bridget. And all you could hope for was that, if a fascist was going to shoot you, your last thoughts would be of her. Your last words would be a soft "I love you, Bridget" as your life was ripped from you.

"Eat," she told you. "You're starved, eat."

"I love you, doesn't that matter at all?" You asked with a soft laugh. "Can't I just take one look at you so if I get shot, this'll be the last thing I see?"

"Nein," she replied, "you mustn't think like that."

You smiled, maybe she was right.

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

[riflewounds]

Whumptober, day 29 | What Doesn't Kill Me... (sleep deprivation)

His hands jittered and he couldn't sit still. He couldn't quell that need to move, mind running at a thousand miles an hour while nothing was happening.

Staring out of the window in twelve-hour shifts. Watching over a freight yard, looking for any signs of cop presence. And it was a little difficult with his mind wandering to places he usually reserved for downtime.

And for once, Durant wouldn't be opposed to Fuchs running his dirty fucking hands over his body. Sneaking under his clothes. Touching him in the hottest ways--

Jesus fucking Christ, no. No. What the hell was he thinking?!

He couldn't deny the heat rushing to his cheeks, and... other parts of himself.

He wished, he fucking wished he could occupy himself in some way, not just... have to sit in a window, looking down at a dead-silent shipyard. 

How long's he been awake?

He couldn't tell, but his gut suggested it's been more than thirty-six hours.

Whoa. A day and a half in a row, spent wide awake. Granted, he couldn't have possibly accomplished this without copious amounts of coffee, and... meth. A lot of meth. Shit he bought off that Tommy Wiseau-looking ass. What's his name? Ray?

And where's he gone, anyway?

Well that... didn't matter anymore now, did it?

None of the containers had shifted. No new boats on the horizon, no cars pulling into the lot, no movement down in the 'yard.

He messed around with his fingers, rubbed his fingers together to do something while the seconds dragged on.

Even with the rifle in his arms (some old Winchester, fitted with a sixteen-power scope) he still fiddled with his fingers, he pawed at the bolt, fiddled with the little piece of hardened steel it had for a handle.

Maybe he could take pot-shots at the seagulls down there, fucking sandwich-stealing feathered terrorists.

But he kept his eyes peeled for the yard activity instead. Removing one or two gulls wouldn't help anyone, and he'd waste precious ammo.

Wasn't easy to get thirty rounds of .308 to feed this thing. Three full magazines of the precious brass, full-metal jacket teeth ready to shred and maim.

He tapped his fingers against the wooden stock, he played with the trigger, pulled until he hit the safety (fuckin' pinnacle of gun safety right here) and then he let go of it, only to repeat the whole process mere seconds later. 

His gums itched and crawled, as if an ant colony burrowed under the firm flesh, and the only thing that seemed to help was gnashing his teeth together, grinding side to side

Durant had to stop himself each time he noticed himself doing it. His teeth weren't the greatest, even if they were pretty much intact (going ten-odd years without a dentist visit would do that to even the most mineralized of teeth), and smoking some two packs a day wasn't helping either.

He even felt the beat of his own heart in his teeth, a feeling he knew, but deeply hated. But at least he could tell his heart was going far too fast. Even when he sat still (or as still as he could, among the shivers and constant fidgeting he couldn't stop), even then he was twitching with every beat, all hundred and sixty of them per minute, if he guessed right.

How much longer will he have to sit here?

Too long, he mused. Even fifteen minutes felt like days in his state. An hour felt like a week. Ten hours - a year.

Durant hated to admit it, but he was losing his mind, doing nothing. Where was the thrill of the chase he so craved? Where was the adrenaline? Where were those fuckers who wanted his boss' shipments?! Even though the rifle in his hands didn't belong to him, wasn't a part of him, it screeched and wailed with a bloodthirsty fervor, it wanted to bite and maim and kill!

The gunman sucked in a tight breath. He's too high, nearly overdosed on meth, trying to keep himself from going utterly nuts.

And all the caffeine wasn't helping.

He stared at his hand. Still trembling. Still twitching with every beat of his heart, just like the rest of him.

Bite it, puppy. Feel it between your teeth. Chew with your sharp molars.

Suddenly, the door behind his back clicked and Durant nearly jumped out of his seat. 

Silhouette in the doorway. A man. Familiar shape, he knew that jacket. "Fuchs?" 

"Time's up, we have to go," the man uttered, motioning with his hand. A quick little wave towards the door. "And grab the rifle."

And as his boss turned on his heel to leave, Durant got up. There was that whine again, escaping with the lungful of air he involuntarily exhaled.

Finally. Finally he could rip and tear (let the doped-up rabid dog run free), kill at his master's Fuchs' command!

The rifle in his arms itched with excitement, vibrated with insatiable bloodlust and he rested it against his shoulder, frigid metal resting against the fabric of his shirt.

Oh he couldn't wait.

But he could tell the high wouldn't last forever, Durant could already feel the meth begin to wane. Soft licks of a brewing headache.

He wasn't new to this, he knew there was a crash coming, and with how much he took, he'd be out of commission for three days. Just sleeping. And when he wakes, his whole body will be sore, and achy, and he'll wish for death before Fuchs interferes. Pumps him full of different uppers, to make the crash a little less horrible.

Puppy, you know this won't last forever. With his claws so deep in your flesh, you're nothing but a puppet.

Durant stopped for a moment, resting his face against the wall.

Nothing but a loyal gun by his side, an obedient pet. Where's your pride, puppy?

Gone.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Penitentiary Reported Calm After Second Riot,” Montreal Star. November 8, 1932. Page 3 & 11. --- Keeper Suffers Broken Arm as Convicts Make Second Demonstration in Week ---- CONVICTS in St. Vincent de Paul Penitentiary were again confined to their cells this morning following a sequel yesterday afternoon to Friday’s fire and riot. Prisoners working in the stonecutting shop made a rush at Keeper Albert Miron, who was in charge and in the ensuing fracas the guard's arm was broken by a blow from a sledgehammer wielded by a convict whom name has not yet been revealed. Armed guards led by Col. P. A. Piuze, warden at the penitentiary, subdued the rioters and led them to their cells. Not a shot was fired. 

Col. Piuze could not be reached by telephone this morning, being occupied in the prison yard. No fresh outbreaks were reported by residents of the village and save for the absence of the hard labor prisoners from the work on the penitentiary addition, conditions appeared normal. 

TROUBLE QUICKLY STOPPED Yesterday's trouble was of brief duration and within 29 minutes of its beginning all convicts were safely in their cells. 

Just how it started or what caused it would not be revealed by the warden. Keeper Miron was in charge of convicts in the stonecutting shop when a group of prisoners staged what was apparently an organized rush towards the guard, armed with the tools with which they were cutting stone. During the melee which ensued, the keeper's arm was broken by a blow with a sledgehammer. 

The orderly element among the group of convicts cried out in protest at the attack but were unheeded by their fellows. By this time, however, the alarm had been given and a force of armed guards headed by the warden himself appeared on the scene. The mutineers wavered before the row of levelled rifles and gave in. There were led back to their cells and Miron was taken to Ste. Jeanne D'Arc Hospital. 

The guard, who is 35, apparently received other injuries in the fracas, for when seen at the hospital his head was swathed in bandages. He declined to be interviewed but let slip the fact, however, that on Saturday and Sunday nights, he had been one of the detail of guards who had kept Chester Crossley, the Negro convict who started Friday's fire and riot under surveillance in the prison infirmary, 

News of the outbreak, which was suppressed without demonstration on the part of the other convicts, did not leak out into the village surrounding the penitentiary until late last night. The first word came from Ottawa, where Hon. Hugh Guthrie, Minister of Justice, had been immediately notified by Warden Piuze. 

There is still uncertainty as to whether an open inquiry into the disturbances at both Portsmouth and St. Vincent de Paul Penitentiaries will be held according to latest dispatches from Ottawa. There have been five, two at each of the Institutions named and the fifth at Stoney Mountain Penitentiary, Man., within the year. 

OTHER RIOTS Riots in Canadian penitentiaries during 1932 have been as follows: 

April 17, at Stoney Mountain Penitentiary. One prisoner killed and four injured. The outbreak was quickly quelled. 

October 17 at Portsmouth Penitentiary: Three hundred prisoners rioted in the workshops and trapped the warden. Royal Canadian Horse Artillery stationed at Kingston were called out but withdrew when the convicts threatened to set the shops on fire. Three prisoners were wounded. 

October 20 at Portsmouth Penitentiary. Two hundred convicts rioted, half of whom were released into prison corridors by overflow prisoners. R.C.H.A. were again called from Kingston and after some gunfire got most of the condemned men beck into their cells. Two convict were wounded. 

November 4 at St. Vincent de Paul Penitentiary. Thirty prisoners in tailor shop attacked guard with knives and hammer in an abortive escape attempt, led by Chester Crossley, Negro prisoner, sentenced to four years. Workshop building destroyed by fire warden reporting loss at $20,000. Fireman from Montreal prevented spread of blaze. Nine guards and six convicts reported injured. No lives losot and not one shot fired. 

November 7 at St. Vincent de Paul Penitentiary. A group of convict working in the prison stonecutting shop turned on their guard. Keeper Albert Miron's arm was broken by a blow with a sledgehammer delivered by a prisoner. Men finally brought under control by appearance of Warden Piuze and a force of armed guards.

[utahbastards]

❛ 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞… 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧, 𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞. ❜

On day thirty-one, Blair found out Jax had survived the outbreak reaching campus. Someone had heard from someone else that a bunch of the "football guys" had ended up with Coach Durmić. Her brother included. On day one hundred and seventy-two, Blair heard from Killian that Jax was thankfully still alive. He'd also been quick to let slip that he'd gotten some girl pregnant. It had put her in a quietly sour mood for days. She told herself it was because he was supposed to be smarter than that and that she was worried about a little baby coming into a place like this.

To some extent, that was true. But mostly she hated that it was Maya. Blair had gotten used to seeking Jax out at parties, even though more often than not finding him consisted of standing around hoping he'd notice that she was here so she didn't have to work up the nerve to say hello. He was quicker to spot her each time. However, once her brother caught on, Beckett had stood literally a foot away from her the entire evening, steering Jax to the other side of the room. Straight into Maya. He'd glanced at her a few times, but by night's end, he had been railing back shots with the brunette, laughing together. Where Blair was shy, Maya certainly wasn't. Vivacious, playful and a little mean she watched them bounce off of one another all night. Two weeks later at the stupid Valentine's day party, she had expected everything to return to normal but there they were again. She watched with a knotted stomach and tried to tune out her brother's progressively slurring rambles.

Blair had stopped counting the days, but almost ten months ago the world had ended. Blair stared out the same window she'd been looking out of since the tensions with her brother had escalated with a gloomy pout. The view of the campus gardens was as pretty of a cell view as one could ask for and Shiloh was kinder to her than most would be with a potential traitor, but she wasn't a member of this faction anymore. She was a liability who knew every entrance and exit, who knew every trap and member, who had a brother who almost burned down their most valuable food source for a taste of revenge. For an awful week, she heard a constant rumor that a bunch of the Jocks had died as a result of poisoning, no names, just vague descriptions that could've been Jax or just about any of the others. She'd heard nothing about him in months with Killian firmly out of the loop. That could mean anything but most of the time around here, it meant you were dead.

Her name sounded through the door, it wasn't uncommon for Shiloh or Cain to check in on her in the afternoon, but it was a little early for that. The door creaked open, greeted by both instead of one or the other as Cain followed at her heel. Their little good cop, bad cop routine was sort of sweet. They said a lot of words, too many words honestly when it all boiled down to a simple statement: Jackson Lambert is down stairs willing take you off of our hands. Blair felt dizzy. None of it sounded correct, least of all the part where they asked her if she wanted to go. When did she start getting options? Shiloh said that the humanities would watch over her, Cain added that they would ensure that Blair kept things to herself.

She walked past watching eyes with an itchy feeling of dread. A punchline to a weird, offensive joke they'd somehow zeroed in on. Like someone had read her thoughts and found the perfect bizarre gotcha! Even worse was the dread that it wasn't Shiloh's trick, but Beckett's. What if he sent someone here for her finally, knowing she wouldn't have come down for someone she didn't trust? The butterflies in her stomach unsheathed their little daggers and began pricking away at her insides.

"Are you sure?" Shiloh asked a final time, tilting her head cautiously. Blair nodded a little too fast, her anxiety knocking the air from her hungs as she stared through the door breathless. Shiloh and Cain exchanged a final look before he sighed, shrugging lightly and ending whatever silent exchange that passed between them.

"Hands up and back away from the door," Cain ordered, gun raised around face height as Blair began to tremble. Half elated, half petrified. It swung back and there he was, hands raised in surrender. His eyes didn't linger on the muzzle pointed at his head, instead swinging down to her. There was scruff on his jaw that she'd only ever seen clean shaven and his hair was longer too but it was Jax. It was Jax and he was only a meter away, she could reach out and smack him on the arm if she tried and her fingers wouldn't ghost through.

The door shut behind her and five long heavy seconds passed as she processed being outside again for the first time in months; the smell of something other than stale, dirty carpet and a litany of sweaty young bodies. Every part of her shook, her teeth even clattering lightly as a million sensations hit her at once. "I don't... understand," She mumbled hazily, finally glancing up at his face. He looked back, half at odds with himself like he didn't quite know how to help. If he should touch her or if it wasn't welcome.

❛ 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞… 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧, 𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞. ❜ His voice was so warm, trying to soothe what he thought was fear. She wasn't afraid. She didn't know quite know what she was, but it wasn't afraid. It sounded so woe is me in her head, but truthfully she couldn't believe that he'd actually even thought of her since this all began. Her own brother left her here, why the hell would Jax of all people give a remote fleeting fuck what happened to her? Let alone actually show up... A small laugh of disbelief burst through her lips, her expression softening all at once. Someone came for her. Not just someone, he came for her.

It was lucky he had fast hands, a Super Bowl touchdown would've flown at him slower. One second her feet were on the floor and the next Blair launched herself up into him, her arms thrown hazardously over his shoulders as he caught the hug securely, a soft noise from the impact in the back of his throat before his arms squeezed tightly around her waist in a crushing motion that knocked the air out of her all at once. "Are you insane? What the hell are you doing here?"

[namuneulbo]

week one hundred and thirty two

had my last class for the term on monday! since then i've just been working on the essay exam thingy. it's both fun and frustrating. it's fun until i have no idea what to say to reach the word count.

tuesday i went shopping with mom! it was a fun day and we had burgers and i got a shirt. i really tried to pay for the food and the shirt but she still wanted to pay for it. i felt bad but i'm still glad about getting a free shirt. it's so pretty but the weather's too hot for it right now so i can't wear it.

we went on a lot of walks while my mom was here. i had to miss out on a few of them to work on the essay but the few i went on were nice. my sisters boyfriend lead the way and he took us to so many hills and it was so tiring TT we saw a hot air balloon up close and that was really cool. i've barely even seen one from far away before.

on friday i somehow ended up finishing my essay stuff for the day suuuuper early. i don't know how i got such flow but it went by so quickly and i had the rest of the day for myself. guess how i spent it? doomscrolling. ah, i love 2024.

also had a wash day on wednesday but i got there a bit late so i rushed the machines and then ended up having to stop the white one midway but turns out that's not a great idea because they were SOAKING wet. like dripping. wow. innuendo. anyways... i tried putting them in the dryer but it didn't help and they were soaking still after the dryer. i think it might've never turned on because of how wet the laundry was. so i went back with the soaking laundry and scrunched out all of the water and hung it to dry but turns out taking your laundry out mid-clean and letting it poorly air dry makes it smell horrific. well, slightly. it had like a slight constant pee smell. i don't know how. i was stressed out trying to find what caused the smell and ended up sniffing every fabric in my room. i changed my duvet and pillowcase and went to bed but still smelled something so i changed sheets and boom. no smell. glad it's over.

i'm getting really pissed off on people on dating apps. WHY do you reply six hours late MINIMUM per message. i suddenly feel like a creep answering messages within 10 minutes. i've matched with this one guy who's super harveycoded and he's canadian and cool and stuff but he replies SO FUCKING SLOW.

also matched with a super hot person and we bonded over games and now they ghosted me like damn.

also looking for an actual relationship rather than casual is ROUGH. like sorry i absolutely cannot get invested with someone and not catch feelings. like why do i feel insane for still missing l? he probably doesn't even think about any of the things we did anymore. it's weird in a way having someone be your first everything and you not being their first anything.

peepeepoopoo blahblahblah get over him, girl.

sotw: e-40, the click, d-shot, b-legit and suga t - captain save a hoe

[hansensgirl]

salvatore. | vi.

series summary. | Bucky Barnes doesn’t believe in love anymore. Especially after the tragic, unknown death of his wife, Natasha. He thinks it’s stupid and a waste of time and- oh my. Hello there, you. There you were, with your notebooks and your novels, writing your heart away. He’s hellbent on saving you from this nasty world, his elusive neighbor that has him under the stupid spell of love. You soon find yourself trapped in a tragic love story with Bluebeard, not Prince Charming.

warnings. | NONCON/DUBCON, dark themes, manipulation, gaslighting, arguments, toxic relationships (reader and steve), cheating, nightmares, violent behaviour? (no actual hitting), spying, voyeurism, stalking, use of cameras, angst, fluff, soft!dark!bucky, protectiveness, obsessiveness, creepy bucky, perversion, + more. 18+, MINORS DNI.

word count. | 2.5k

pairings. | Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Steve Rogers.

a/n. | i know i haven’t updated in a while i’m really sorry!! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog!

“Doll, please calm down. You’re scaring me,” Steve begged, sitting on the bed. “How can I calm down, Steve? Huh? You only just came back, and now you’re going away again,” you spat, crossing your arms. Your stance was almost adorable, but Steve knew that if he made a comment, he’d just push you further away. He couldn’t let that happen. “Why can’t you ask for a vacation, Stevie? We haven’t done anything romantic since my birthday, and that was six months ago.” You turned your back to Steve, and he sighed.

“I’m sorry, Doll, but I have to go save the world,”  he solemnly told you. His voice carried a faux sadness that shouldn’t even be there in the first place. “Bullshit, you have so many more people to do it. Sam, Wanda, Tony—don’t lie, Steve. Why are you going to Sydney? There’s no way you have to travel to another continent to mess up some sort of drug deal. Isn’t that what the police are for?” you questioned him.

Tears stung your eyes. They were ones of anger, but you couldn’t lie. In the midst of them, were sad ones ready to leak, too. Steve stayed silent. “For fucks sake, Steve, you can’t even give me an answer?” you asked in disbelief. You gasped as the tears began to fall. “I knew it, I knew it the whole time,” you whispered under your breath. “Knew what?” he asked, walking up to you. You backed up into the corner of the room.

“That you’re cheating on me,” you mumbled quietly. “What? Baby– no, listen.” He paused to take a deep breath, meant to calm his nerves down. “I don’t want to hear anything, Steve. I know about you and Natasha. All those trips? Those text messages? God, the only person I feel bad for is myself. How could I be so blind to it all?” you shook your head as you spoke. You walked around Steve’s strong figure and headed towards the door. “Where are you going?” He called out, following you behind.

“For some fresh air, I can’t handle this,” you yelled back, but Steve only sped his steps up. “You’re not leaving me, Doll,” he growled, stepping in front of you. “I never said I was, but now you’re tempting me,” you snapped back. “You’re not leaving me, Doll. You never can.” Steve gripped your shoulders tightly, and you winced in pain. “Even if you did, I’ll go to the ends of the Earth to get you back.”

Your eyes shot open. Gasping, you struggled to catch your breath. Your heart pumped like no tomorrow. Each time your chest raised to the highest point, you felt like you had a heart attack. You fell back onto your pillow, and you couldn't care enough about the slightly painful thud that came with it. Nightmares were never pleasant. Though they give amazing writing inspiration, they still were not nice.

Unfortunately, your nights seemed to be filled with them. Every time you fell asleep for the past week, you’d wake up in a panicky mode. At that point, you were okay with settling for a weird dream that resembled surrealistic art. Who wouldn’t want to have a Dali-inspired dream? You rubbed your eyes roughly and could feel the exhaustion in your every movement.

Your phone rang loudly. The sound made you jump in shock, and you reached to your bedside table for it. The screen read Bucky’s name, and you sighed. You answered the phone and brought it to your ear. “Hey, Bucky,” you croaked tiredly. He laughed, and you could hear the exhaustion in his voice. But the sound of tiredness differed from yours. “Did I wake you up?” he asked, and you moaned. “No, I just woke up,” you told him. “Why would you wake up at one in the morning, Doll?” he asked.

“Nightmare,” you breathlessly told him. You could swear on the daisy that began to bloom two weeks ago that you started to feel a weight being lifted off your shoulders. “Talk to me, Doll. Was it bad?” he questioned. “Yeah, it was worse than the previous ones.” You hadn’t even realized that you just spilled your secret. “You’ve been getting them for the past few nights? Doll– I’m so sorry, but you know you can always talk to me, right?”

His words were more reassuring than anything Steve ever said. “I know, it’s just… The nightmares—they’re very personal. You might not understand how scary they are. Plus, I don’t want to bother you,” you sheepishly admitted to him. He sighed heavily. “I understand, Doll, but you can never bother me, okay? I’m the one who’s supposed to feel that way, not you,” he chuckled, just to ease the tension.

“Now, I’m gonna be there in the next twenty minutes. Do you think you can sort yourself out by then?” he asked, and you started to stutter. “Uhm, sure, yeah, sure,” you agreed obediently. “Good girl, I’ll be there in a few.” And with that, he hung up. Your eyeballs bulged out of their sockets at those two words he uttered. Steve never said anything like that. He’d always just nod, even if you couldn't see it.  You simply wrapped yourself in one of your most favourite blankets because changing seemed pointless to you.

There was no way he was not in pyjamas… right?

You turned the lamp on next to you before you could convince yourself that your chair was a monster. Your back was cold but also covered in sweat. You hated that feeling, and your mother always had the best way to describe it. “It’s like heating something in the microwave but failing nonetheless. The outside of it is warm, but the inside is still cold.” She’d tell you as she’d wipe down your back with a towel.

That was before everything went downhill. Before you turned thirteen and before she married him.

You sighed and got out of bed, willing yourself to put the kettle on. Maybe you’ll make some hot chocolate, or perhaps some tea… In your mind, twenty minutes always seemed like a long time. It sounded as though you could get quite a lot done in a third of an hour. The reality always felt like getting ice water poured on you as a method for waking up.

Unless your life was significantly put together, those one thousand and two hundred seconds are equivalent to five minutes. The ceramic lid for the jar clinked as you set it down on the counter. You grabbed two chamomile tea bags and closed the pot with a ‘ping!’. You grabbed two cups from the cupboard and then groaned loudly when you realized that you hadn’t turned the kettle on.

With a flick of your finger, you turned it on and leaned onto the counter. You sighed pretty loudly. Your head fell into the cup that your hands made, and you closed your eyes. You didn’t have a headache, and your eyes didn’t hurt either; you were just exhausted. You sighed once again, and the kettle clicked, telling you the water was done boiling.

Timing was everything, as always. And sometimes “timing” is just a coincidence, just like how Bucky rang the doorbell as soon as the water stopped boiling. You rubbed your eyes and walked to the door slowly, not caring that he may have been standing out there for thirty seconds too long. You opened it—not all the way—but wide enough for him to catch a glimpse of your tired form. “Hi,” he greeted, letting himself in.

Bucky looked around your home as if he was waiting for someone to round the corner with a knife and shotgun. “Nice place,” he said with an awkward smile on his face. “Thanks, even though our homes are formatted the same way,” you chuckled. He nodded, and then a few seconds after, he let out a forced laugh. You looked up at him and gave him a meek grin, and then went back to making the tea.

“I’m so glad I have two bags of chamomile left. It’s like the universe has decided to bless me again,” you breathlessly said. “What was the blessing before?” he curiously asked. “You.” You poured the hot water inside the cups, and then the bags of tea followed. “Honey or sugar?” you asked, and he pointed at the sugar. You passed it to him wordlessly, and the only sounds that filled the room were from your lungs and cups of tea.

“So… Do you want to talk about it?” he asked after a few more wordless moments. “S- sure, thank you once again! You’re so kind,” you sighed as you brought the cup of tea to your mouth. Bucky copied your movements, but just a bit slower. “It was about my ex,” you admitted once you set your cup down. Bucky struggled to keep his eyes from popping out of their sockets at your mention of him.

“It was so similar to an argument we had a few months before I broke up with him… The only difference was that he wasn’t as… terrifying. And yet he still scared me,” you solemnly spoke. Bucky stretched a hand across the counter and placed it on your shoulder. He pleasantly squeezed it a bit, and you were tempted to lean into his touch.

But you just can’t, because Steve is in the back of your mind, taunting you.

“What really happened in the dream?” he asked, and you took another sip of tea. “Well… We were fighting. He had to go away for a while, even though he just came back. He’d always do that; it’s what helped destroy our relationship. He valued his job over me, and also, someone else,” you sadly recounted. Bucky listened in carefully, because he wanted to help out his best girl in any way possible.

“I caught him in his lies because his excuses became so… Inexplicable. I always had that nagging feeling that he was cheating on me with his friend, his coworker. That argument confirmed everything. I couldn’t handle it all being true, so I tried to leave for a walk,” you paused to take a shaky breath. “He got angry and stopped me, and then he threatened me,” you bluntly finished.

Bucky was so glad that his hand was no longer resting on your shoulder because Goddamn was his fist clenched tightly. You brought the cup of tea up to your mouth, and Bucky just watched you as you diverted your eyes away from him. Once you set the cup down, Bucky grabbed your hands. In contrast, his were extremely hot, and yet the flesh one was dry. Yours were a bit cold, but they were soft and a bit dewy. You looked up at him, only to lock eyes.

“It’s just a dream, doll, okay? And it’s in the past, it won’t happen again, our minds can be crazy sometimes, so try not to worry about it,” he whispered lowly, bringing both of your hands up to his mouth. He pressed a kiss on both sets of your knuckles. You nodded softly, and you leaned down to press a kiss on his flesh knuckles in return. You smiled against his skin, even though it was bruised and slightly red. You wanted to ignore the weird feeling of his metal arm against your sweaty skin, but you couldn’t help it.

“Can- Can I do the thing to your metal hand?” you asked him, hopeful that he would say yes. Bucky nodded, with a slight smile on his face, of course. You closed your eyes and puckered your lips just a bit, pecking the metal. His breathing hitched, unbearably so. It was something he would always catch himself doing whenever he’d think about you or whenever he was simply just in your presence. You opened up eyes and looked back up at him, and you could see the way his eyes glazed over.

He let go of your hands abruptly, allowing them to fall onto the marble countertop. His fingers slotted themselves against your cheeks, and he grabbed your face gently. Bucky pulled you close to him, and he smashed his lips against yours. The kiss was messy, but it was full of passion. You kept your lips locked against his, and your fingers carded through his long hair. There was no other movement apart from the way Bucky kept trying to pull you closer and closer.

It was almost like he wanted to merge bodies, minds, and souls with you.

A few more seconds passed, and Bucky eventually pulled away. He rested his forehead against yours, and you exhaled a shaky breath. “Steve… His name is Steve, and I hate him,” you admitted to him, and Bucky kissed your nose. “And I hate him too, doll,” Bucky said before parting ways from you. There was a bit of tea left in his cup, but you had finished all of yours. “Get some rest, okay? Or just close your eyes for a bit. You need it,” he advised, and you nodded. “Thank you, Bucky. I really appreciate you being there for me,” you expressed to him.

“Anything for you, doll, now go tuck yourself in,” he urged once again before walking past you to the door. You placed the cups in the sink, and neither of you looked back at each other. You heard the door shut with a loud echo, and you sighed heavily. Maybe you were going to listen to him. Sleeping in isn’t that bad after all.

Bucky always believed that being vulnerable was stupid. He also believed that opening up was stupid. But, to be fair, he believed that anything involving emotions was stupid. But when it comes to you, he felt the opposite. Maybe vulnerability was good. Perhaps it was exactly where you needed to be for him to finally be able to love you.

And it was then when he realized that he hadn’t been loving you properly. He hadn’t been loving you the way he wanted to love Natasha, and that just ended up with her six feet deep with flowers growing above her body. He needed you, but you clearly needed him more than anything else. Bucky was desperate for you at times, of course, but you matter more to him than anything else.

Bucky looked down at his desk, staring at the single plane ticket that would take him all the way across the state of New York. He hadn’t been there in over a year, and that was when he first learned of Natasha’s promiscuity. Philandering around with his best friend, fucking said best friend in the most memorable locations he had taken her.

He honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if he found out that the reason why Natasha showed up to the wedding venue late was that she was too busy lifting up that poofy white gown for Steve. He thought that by emptying out Pandora’s box when she passed, everything would be okay. That he’d be able to move on without a care, and he wouldn’t have to shed any more tears for her. Bucky won’t. He promised himself he wouldn't.

He just had a few loose ends to wrap up before he made you his. That was all.

[mde1011]

some quotes from the first hour and a half of wilburs stream today

⁃ “dONT LAUGH AT THAT RANBOO SEX IS NOT FUNNY” “sex is only funny if you’re age thirty two or over”

⁃ “IM A FEMININE EMINEM”

⁃ “ranboo if we win will you say a swear word” “....yes” “which one will you say wil you say piss or shit or fuck or wanker or what about cum is cum a swear word” “that was a beautiful verse”

⁃ “COME ON KING GO KING BLOW UP KING”

⁃ “PHIL I DONT KNOW YOU ANYMORE youareaghostotme”

⁃ “phil as the rookie around here you are impressive”

⁃ “RANBOO IN EXACTLY TEN SECONDS TUBBO IS GONNA SLAP YOU IN THE HEAD DUCK” “.....phil”

⁃ “we’re gonna make this the worst bestseller ever even bigger than the bible”

⁃ “tubbo approves this book” “and the next page is a page of awful quotes and it’s ‘tubbo approves of all these quotes’”

⁃ “if i hit space bar harder will i jump further” “phil if i click faster will i fly?”

⁃ “sALLY WAS A SALMON CHAT- sorry carry on”

⁃ “WILL DID U HAVE THE HOTS FOR MILO”

⁃ “all i’m saying is you found milo and a year later you’re messing around with a fish”

⁃ “everytime i see more and more fanart i like the idea of a shapeshifter more” “yeahhhhh less cursed”

⁃ “i still like the salmon thing.....phil you got down and dirty with a fridge” “NO”

⁃ “why is tom cruise your favorite minecraft content creator” “i love thomas cruise”

⁃ “his tooth is in the middle of his face” “.......what”

⁃ “that’s so cool :D how do i do that”

⁃ “when you enjoy scientology your face becomes symmetrical”

⁃ “phil how do you feel about scientology in front of hundreds of thousands of people-“ “i fucking HATE it” “phil this is how you get assassinated king”

⁃ “heaven premium. heaven plus. heaven prime.”

⁃ “yOULL GO TO HEAVEN IF YOU PRIME IN TOM-ISM”

⁃ “iM GOiNg tO wRiTe A pEaCefUL sOnG aBoUt yOu”

⁃ “he told me i couldn’t swear that much in chat and then i saw the tier list and i thought ‘nah’”

⁃ “for ever second that i don’t have op in saying another swear word”

⁃ “you can swear in chat it’ll just be censored” “wHY WOULD I WANT THAT”

⁃ “WHY IS PENIS BANNED” “what game would you-“ “BATTLE BOX IS PENIS SHAPED”

⁃ “OH BUT YOU CAN SAY VERJINA THIS IS MODERN DAY SEXIsm”

⁃ “woman are always right but that doesn’t mean i shouldn’t be able to say penis in chat”

⁃ “i just googled old fashioned swear words and snails is one”

⁃ “tommy flash bangs hermit craft whenever he had to swear in chat”

⁃ “gosh dang it tommy stop flash banging me”

⁃ “it’s respectful to the creators who are pg” “yeah but it’s disrespectful to me” “you will never be in a team with grian”

⁃ “ this conversation is really going by the double-barrel-jumping-jimothy if you ask me”

⁃ “it’s because i fancy wil-“ “oooooooohohoho” “but you wONT GIVE ME OP”

⁃ “tommy being a chat moderator is like a nun being a stripper”

⁃ “do you think theres scientologist nuns?” “what i wouldnt do to take a scientolognun”

⁃ “i love scientology i love scientology so much and the thing i like about religion is the amount of money i give to it”

⁃ “i’m gonna make the bible two”

⁃ “you can write the new testament two” “i’m gonna make jesus go through an angst arc”

⁃ “the bible ends with a bunch of deleted scenes” “it ends with a dreamXD video”

⁃ “i’ve still never heard georgenotfound swear” “i have.” “....sorry everyone”

⁃ “someone in my chat said ‘where’s heaven’ i’m sorry i cant help you” “...i can. in my new and upcoming book”

⁃ “32° 35° is probably not heaven it’s on the contested border of israel and palestine so.....yeah.”

⁃ “according to my book: why i’m right” “why i’m right according to tommyinnit”

⁃ “what i wouldnt do to go to space with tubbo” “next vlog” “if i could go to space with anyone it would be tubbo” “he’d have such a humble grin. he’s be content” “and then he’d die. he’d burst”

⁃ “dude. phil. i- stay safe. cuz- cuz i know we joke but you- you ARE old”

⁃ “scott to you ever worry that you’ll die alone” “every. day.” “i don’t”

⁃ “so you think i’m gonna die alone?” “.....i don’t wanna talk about this”

⁃ “....so, in conclusion, scott...he’ll marry anyone” “.......i’ve really sat here just trying to process the last few things tommy has said”

⁃ “scott you won’t die alone i’ll zoom you on your death bed”

⁃ “you can’t live cast your death bed it’s again twitch TOS” “wHAT DOES IT MATTER IM DEAD”

⁃ “i am not going to die” “i just will not die i am a god” “you are an idiot you do not believe in tom cruise”

⁃ “one of the higher things in scientology is you can revive things-“ “pPPPPPPHAAAAA”

⁃ “toooommm this is the third time this week you’ve just stood there and not called an ambulance and just. hummed in a high pitch”

⁃ “i love my fans like i love my crypto”

⁃ “time is a social construct king”

⁃ “grian told me THINK FAST and then SHOT MY FATHER”

[brandyllyn]

Validation

Summary: Santi comes home early to find his new roommate a little undressed.

(Santiago “Pope” Garcia x f!Reader) Part 2 : Corroboration

My Masterlist

Word count: 5600 (I don’t know what the fuck happened). Read it on AO3.

Rating: NC17 (Explicit) 

Warnings: oral (m & f receiving). alcohol.

Santiago slammed his truck door shut, leaning forward for a moment to press his forehead to the steering wheel. He needed to stop online dating. The chicks he picked up after hours in bars might not be the kind he ended up keeping around - but at least there he knew what he was getting into. The woman he had met tonight was using a picture of her granddaughter on her profile. And yeah, he didn’t have a problem with older ladies, but twice his age was really too much.

He groaned as he started the engine, swearing to himself and backing out of the spot. All he wanted to do was go home, get drunk, and maybe watch some basketball in his underwear. But he couldn’t.

Because you were there.

The light turned red and he coasted to a stop, mulling the issue over. It was a favor for Frankie. Put his sister-in-law up for a couple of weeks. Maybe a month while you were looking for a job in town. They didn’t have room at the Morales house, what with the baby and all, and Frankie had begged Santi to let you use his guest room for a bit. He’d agreed. 'Cause he was a nice guy and Frankie was a brother.

And to be honest, you weren’t exactly a horrible roommate. You cleaned up after yourself, spent most of your time in your room, and just generally gave him his space. Unless it was one of the nights you offered to cook, he barely saw you.

Which was a shame because you were exactly his fucking type.

"Do not fuck her." Frankie’s warning had hit him like a fist to the gut and he’d looked at the other man incredulously.

"Fish, you think I’d do that to you? She’s fucking family."

Frankie had eyed him dubiously. "Damn right she is. You fucking remember that when you meet her hermano."

It had taken approximately three tenths of a second for Santi to realize why Frankie had given him the warning. Standing on his front steps with a bag in one hand and a wide smile on your face Santi had had to resist the urge to throw you up against the front door and claim you then and there. The first day he had been a mess, alternating between staring at you and avoiding you. He knew you must have thought he was strange but he didn’t know what else to do.

And then you’d come out to get coffee the next morning wearing a tank top and a pair of tiny cotton shorts and every ounce of blood had shot straight to his cock and never come back.

Tonight was supposed to be a relief. A fucking date, his first since your arrival. But the octogenarian was a bust and he was pressing the button for the garage by barely eight thirty. He was home much earlier than he expected. Earlier than he had told you. He didn’t think about that fact as he parked his truck and entered the house through the side door. Didn’t think about it when he toed his boots off and wandered through the laundry room and into the hall, making a beeline for the kitchen and the bottle of tequila on the shelf there.

Maybe he should have.

If he’d have thought about it he might have called ahead. Texted to let you know he was going to be back sooner rather than later. Given you a heads up so that he didn’t walk in on you sitting in his favorite armchair wearing the skimpiest lingerie he’d ever seen in his life and about to take a photo of yourself.

There was just a moment before you noticed him. A moment where the phone blocked him from your view entirely and he couldn’t help how he froze, his eyes scanning over your body. And then your hand dropped, your brow furrowing as you looked at the picture. Another second ticked by before you looked up at him and then you screeched.

Santi spun on his heel, turning to face the wall and squeezing his eyes shut for good measure. "Fuck, sorry," he said, the words spilling out as he pressed one hand through his hair. He could hear you scrambling, muttering curses under your breath for a minute before your laughter shocked him out of his secondhand embarrassment.

"For Christ’s sake, turn around Santi."

He did so slowly, half hoping that maybe you were still… but no. You had a robe on, sash tied tightly around your waist. Yet even then, it was short. Barely covering the tops of your thighs. He’d seen that much leg before, those little shorts that made his fingers itch. But there was something about this expanse of skin. Of knowing that if he lifted the hem of the robe you’d be wearing just a lace-

"I thought you were going to be out late?"

Your voice cut off his train of thought and he tried to slip into his normal charm like it was a mask. "Yeah, date was a bust." He shrugged, walking past you into the kitchen. He really needed a drink. He slammed a cabinet door a little too forcefully while he searched for the bottle he swore he just bought.

"Want some wine?"

He raised an eyebrow when he looked at you, then at the nearly empty bottle of wine you were offering him. Well, that made things make a little more sense. You didn’t seem the type to take nudes - but maybe after a bottle of wine…?

He took the bottle, emptying the remainder into a glass and clinking it to yours before taking a sip. "Sorry I startled you."

You shrugged and the sleeve of the robe fell down your arm, exposing the wide straps of whatever the hell it was you had wrapped around your neck and dipping down to your breasts. It wasn’t a bra. Santi had seen hundreds of bras in his life. Whatever it was you were wearing did not qualify for the name. You pulled the sleeve back up with a casual tug, but now the front was gaping open and Santi could see the hint of your breasts.

"Sorry you walked in on that."

He wasn’t. In fact he was already mentally planning how he might set up this same situation again. What else might you do in the living room if you thought you were alone for the night? "Don’t worry about it, I told you to make yourself at home." Jesus Christ had he really just said that? "Who’s the lucky guy?" He grinned to cover the slight note of envy that crept into his voice.

"Who?"

"Whoever you were taking photos for," he gestured at your phone.

You bit your lip and then shook your head. "No, it’s not… there’s no he."

"She," Santi corrected with a shrug. "I don’t judge."

You laughed and Santi watched the way your throat worked. His beer at dinner and the wine now must be interacting in some strange way because he felt drunk. Light-headed. Like he wanted to lean into you and make some very bad decisions that Frankie would fucking castrate him for.

"No, it was… for a friend," you clarified.

Santi’s eyebrow rose. "You send your friends nudes?"

"They’re not nudes," you corrected him with a glare, "they’re just. You know… you send your friends photos and they hype you up. It’s validation." You sighed softly, "And it’s been a while since I got that."

Santi did not know. At no point in his life had he sent anyone he knew photos of himself. With clothes or without. Hell, he’d never even sent anyone a sexy message - he knew too well how much information someone could find on you if they wanted to. He kept things simple with a 'Mind if I come over' or if he was feeling particularly adventurous 'wanna fuck?'

No one ever complained.

"Validation," he repeated, rolling the word in his mouth. "Huh."

You sighed, setting your elbows on the kitchen island and leaning towards him. You didn’t seem to notice how the action pressed your breasts together or that he could see it in the way your robe gaped open. But Santi noticed. Santi noticed every detail.

"Not that you’d know anything about that." You said with an eye roll. "But some of us aren’t as cocky as you are. Some of us need our friends to reassure us we’re attractive."

Santi opened his mouth then paused, thinking about the next thing he was going to say. You didn’t seem to notice, finishing off your wine in a gulp and moving over to the sink to drop your glass. He shouldn’t do what he was about to do. He knew it - in fact he had promised he wouldn’t. But that had been before. Before he knew you or what your laugh sounded like or the way you smelled. Before the opportunity to do more than just want you had landed squarely in his lap and Santi was left with the easiest decision of his life. And he was nothing if not decisive.

After all, there was no harm in looking right?

"I’m your friend."

You froze in place and Santi swallowed, staring at the back of your thighs and what he thought might be the start of the swell of your ass. He let the words sit there before he said them again. "I’m your friend, querida."

You turned back to him, hands braced on the counter behind you. "What do you mean?"

"If you needed validation, why don’t you ask me?" Your lips parted as you stared at him, the soft gesture enough to send blood rushing to his cock. As if he weren’t already hard enough.

Finally, after what felt like eons, you smiled, huffing a laugh and moving to walk past him. "Funny."

He moved just slightly, not enough to block your way, but enough to force you to have to work to avoid him. He breathed deeply, smelling your soap and a faint overlay of something richer.  "I’m a red-blooded man," he pointed out. "I think I can be reasonably counted on to appreciate a woman’s body."

You were so close. Close enough that he would only need to lean in to taste you, to run his tongue along your plush lips and sink inside of you. You blinked, looking away, and Santi realized that maybe he was coming on a little strong. Especially for someone who until recently had expressed no interest in you whatsoever. In fact had gone out of his way to give every impression of not being interested.

He held his hands up, moving to make plenty of room for you to continue by. "I’m only saying, if you’re looking for someone to admire your lingerie I’m right here and willing." He waggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly, hoping the comical effect would lighten the mood and thank God it did. Your nose crinkled when you looked back over your shoulder at him, stopping near the kitchen table.

"I mean, I suppose you are my target audience," you mused out loud and Santi resisted the urge to adjust himself. He knew what you meant - but damn the idea of you buying lingerie for him was like gasoline on an already raging inferno.

He leaned his hands back against the island, facing you now. Feet crossed in front of him to hide the bulge in his jeans. He shrugged nonchalantly, listening to the blood rush in his ears, his eyes glued to your face. "Only if you want."

Your fingers were hesitant for just a second on the tie of your robe and Santi held himself still, keeping his eyes on yours. He wanted to see you. Fuck he wanted to see you. But he wanted you to want him to see you even more. Wanted you to feel the sense of power in turning him on. He was already there, you just hadn’t seemed to notice yet.

He saw your lips part. Saw the moment your lips quirked, as though you were laughing at yourself for even thinking of doing this. But your fingers pulled the sash and you shrugged and both it and the robe fell to the floor in a heap at your feet.

Santi tried. He really did. He tried to keep his eyes on yours until he saw that you were ready. That you were comfortable. But one of your hands twitched up to cover your stomach for a moment and his eyes followed the path immediately and then he couldn’t look away. There was probably a name for what you were wearing. He should definitely ask you at some point because his porn for the next month was going to feature this thing and it would make the search easier if he knew what it was called.

A wide band of lace - maybe two inches, in deep blue - starting behind your neck and running over your breasts to cover each nipple. The lace continued downwards, framing your stomach before meeting and disappearing between your thighs. There were small straps that went from the lace behind your back, out of sight, that must be holding the thing in place. In the front two sets of straps criss-crossed, one just below your ribcage and the other between your breasts. And right there, right between two of the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen, was a ribbon tied into a bow. Like a present.

He wanted to pull it apart with his teeth.

This… outfit had no practical use. If you moved too quickly you’d be falling out of it six different ways. It’s only purpose was to frame your body in the best light possible. To take your assets and offer them to someone else. To entice someone to commit several different sins with you all at once.

Santi was fucking enticed.

He realized abruptly that your fingers were twitching at your sides and more importantly, he had been just staring at you with no expression at all for what felt like several minutes - although it probably wasn’t that long.

"You’re beautiful," he blurted out.

Oh fuck, it wasn’t the right thing to say because you’re laughing and the motion is doing frankly amazing things to your breasts. But you were also crouching down and gathering your robe and yes that was definitely the wrong thing and he stepped forward, reaching out and grabbing your wrist before you could move further.

"Sorry, that was… you look…" he tried to find words that weren’t going to make you run away but all he could think about was how much he wanted to fuck you and if that lace actually joined together over your cunt or just skimmed around your thighs. "Fuck," he finally bit out.

"Well, that’s better," you said, picking up the robe with two fingers and standing up again.

"It is?" He asked incredulously and you laughed again.

"Santi, if I wanted someone to call me beautiful I’d take a photo on a Sunday morning and send it to my mom." You tried to make a gesture with your hands but he was still holding your wrist. You both glanced at it but he didn’t let go. "I want to hear I look hot. Like I’m smoking. Like you think you’ll come in your pants just seeing me." You gave him a wry smile and started to pull away. Started to put your robe back on and Santi rushed to stop you.

"Querida if you knew what I was thinking…"

You paused, partially turned away, and gave him an assessing glance. "Oh?"

His thumb stroked across your wrist while he considered his next words. He wouldn’t ordinarily. Fucking hell you were Frankie’s sister-in-law and he’d already been promised consequences for messing around with you. But your pulse was wild beneath his fingers and you were standing there looking like that and he just couldn’t bring himself to care about the consequences.

"You look like a fucking wet dream."

You dropped the robe, turning back to him fully. But he was too close. Too close to see you so he took a step back, then another, not letting go of your hand but holding it up between you while he let his eyes crawl over you.

"I’m going to jerk off later thinking about you," he said simply, watching you so closely he saw how your breath stuttered at the words. "Think about twisting my hands into that lacy bit of nothing and using it to hold you to my mouth. Is it scratchy or is it soft?"

"Soft," your reply was so low he barely heard it but it flowed across his skin like honey regardless and he didn’t bother biting back his moan.

"Fuck, of course it is," he nearly spit the words out, his fingers clenching around yours. "But you look even softer. Can I see the back?" He tugged on your hand as he asked and you didn’t hesitate before spinning around.

There was nothing there.

Well, not nothing. But five pieces of string no wider than fucking scotch tape was so close to nothing as to make no difference. He wanted to touch. Wanted to snap those strings against your body. Get on his knees and bite the globes of your ass that were perfectly exposed to him around the lines of what might charitably be called a thong.

"Fucking hell querida, I want to bend you over that table and fuck you until you can’t remember your own name."

You moaned. He heard it, clear as a bell in the room and he turned you back to face him. "When I say you look beautiful, that is what I mean. That I want to lose myself inside of you and not come out for days."

"That’s…" you trailed off, lips parted, your breath lifting your breasts in rhythmic motion.

"Validation?" He asked with a grin and laughed when you smiled in return.

"Yeah."

You were still holding his hand and he was sick of standing so far away from you. He pulled in the same motion he stepped towards you, encouraging you closer to his space. Looking down he could see your bare feet just a scant inch from his toes. If you took a deep breath your nipples would brush his shirt, hell if he took a deep breath they might. Ever so slowly he raised his free hand, hovering it over your chest before asking, "May I?"

"Please."

He groaned. Not 'yes,' but 'please' - said with a breathy moan that struck right to the heart of him. You were begging for his touch, your mouth slightly agape and your lips trembling with each breath. No man on earth could fault him for giving in. When his fingers touched the band of lace you took a shaky breath, eyes closing.

"It is soft," he commented, slipping his hand beneath to rub the fabric between his fingers. He slid his hand down, gently tracing over the lace until he felt the hard peak of your nipple pressing upwards. He paused for a second, lightly stroking, your entire body shifting underneath his touch, before he continued the path downwards. Over your stomach, your hip, just barely stroking at the top of your cunt.

"Soft," he said again and pressed his fingers a little harder, slipping between your lips and nudging at your clit. Your head fell back on a choked gasp and Santi’s control snapped. His hand wedged further, feeling your wetness coat along his fingers and forcing you to take a step back. Your ass hit the table behind you and he gently nudged your knees apart with his own. Now he had his answer, the lace never did join together between your thighs. There was absolutely nothing to stop him from twisting his fingers and pressing them up inside you.

You gasped again, his name this time, and he let go of your wrist to cup the back of your neck, jerking you forward and into his mouth. His tongue thrust inside, met immediately and enthusiastically by yours. Your hands came up to clutch at his shirt, twisting the fabric so hard he heard a faint rip at the seams. His lips quirked as he pulled away, his free hand falling to your wrist again.

"Seems I might be overdressed."

You nodded so earnestly he couldn’t help but grin, swooping in to kiss you again and pressing your hand to the buttons of his shirt. He could do it himself but that would mean pulling his fingers out of the hottest and wettest cunt he’d ever had the pleasure of being inside. And he wasn’t ready to do that yet. Instead he traced his fingers over the bow between your breasts, pulling gently before breaking away to ask, "What happens if I undo this?"

You had his shirt pulled free of his pants, the buttons undone and the fabric pushed back over his shoulders. He’d be more cocky about the lusty look on your face while you stared at his chest but he wanted an answer to his question so he tapped beneath your chin and forced you to look up. "The bow? What happens if I pull it?"

Your brows pulled together and you glanced down. "I think it’s decorative."

He hummed to himself and pulled, slightly disappointed when you turned out to be right. The sound of you undoing his belt hit his brain before he fully processed what your hands were doing and he finally pulled his fingers away from you, catching both of your wrists in his grip. You pouted, lips pursing and brow furrowing. Chuckling, he brushed his lips over yours and let you go, leaning down slightly to cup under your ass and lift you the few inches up onto the table.

"You got me distracted," he scolded, hooking one of the dining chairs with his foot and pulling it over. "I promised you my mouth, didn’t I?" Your eyes were hazy and he pressed a kiss to your temple before sitting in the chair, using his hands to spread your thighs wide. He stared for just a moment and then looked up at you, your breasts right at the level of his face. Never losing eye contact, he leaned forward and set his teeth to your nipple.

Christ, you made the most delightful faces for him. And noises too. He reached up and cupped your jaw in his hand, running his thumb along your lower lip where your teeth were digging into the soft flesh. He groaned when you pulled it into your mouth, your tongue caressing it and then sucking softly. He pressed his forehead to your chest, taking a deep breath.

"Lie back." He didn’t move as he said it, just mumbled the words into your cleavage. But he followed you when you did, catching a set of straps with his teeth and then letting go to turn his cheek to lay on your stomach. Slowly, he drew his fingers out of your mouth and down your body, grinning to himself when you shivered beneath his touch. Ticklish - he’d have to remember that for later.

He pressed a quick kiss to your navel and sat up, pulling your knees over his shoulders in one movement. You arched beneath him and he wasted no time tangling his fingers in that lacy bit of nothing you were wearing and pulling you closer to the edge of the table. He could see how wet you were, hell he could fucking smell it. That heady scent of arousal that made his cock jerk and his mouth water.

Santi moaned when he tasted you for the first time. It was partially technique, he knew the vibrations would riot across your nerve endings and drive you wild. But it was also just because he couldn’t fucking help it. He slid his tongue through your folds, pressing his tongue flat to you and burying his face into your cunt. He loved this. Loved making a woman squirm and moan for him. Loved the feel and taste and sound of it.

Loved that in this moment you were his.

He jerked his fingers tighter into the straps of your lingerie, digging into your hips and holding you still while he worked you with his tongue. Pressing his lips to your clit and shaking his head side to side, flicking his tongue over it, pulling it between his lips and humming. He pulled out every trick he knew, watching you heave and thrust and arch in his hands while he learned what you liked, what you didn’t like, and what drove you absolutely wild.

When he found that he kept at it, driving you higher and higher. Listened to you calling his name out while he coaxed your orgasm out of you. He wanted to be inside of you, wanted to feel the clench and pulse of your muscles while you came on his fingers. But before he could consider it, before he could try to untangle his fingers from your lingerie, your back arched a final time and he felt you get even wetter, your thighs clenching on his head.

Santi kept his mouth pressed against you while you came back down, gently licking deep inside you and staring up your body. You rose, propping yourself up on your elbows and giving him a bemused half smile and a huff of laughter.

"That was…" You started to say but he thrust his tongue inside you, pulling you closer and grinned when your back arched and your head fell back. "Fucking hell Santi…"

He turned his head to each side, placing soft kisses on your thighs before leaning back to look at you. "What else are friends for?"

God you were beautiful when you laughed, your eyes crinkling and your face breaking into a huge smile. "I feel very validated," you commented wryly and he nipped at your stomach, watching you flinch away from him and try to move backwards along the table. He twisted his hands in your outfit tighter, pulling you back.

"Now now," he tsked. " Where do you think you’re going?"

You stared at him and then sighed, reaching out and brushing a curl off his forehead. "You’re too close."

Santi felt his brows pull together. "What do you mean?"

Sitting up fully, you cupped his face in your hands and leaned down to kiss him, tongue stroking along the seam of his mouth. Tasting yourself on him. You pulled away with a small hum. "You’re too close to the table, I can’t fit in your lap."

The screech of the chair legs was loud in the room but it was covered up by the sound of your laugh. Santi pulled you off the table and onto his thighs, catching the joyful noise with his lips. You wrapped yourself around him immediately, settling onto him like you’d done it a thousand times before. This was… all of your bare skin. On him. Around him. At his fingertips.

He groaned when you pulled your mouth away. "I know there was talk of bending me over the table…" Okay, yes, he was listening. "But I was thinking maybe a softer surface, something more conducive to taking our time…"

The hesitancy in your voice hit him hard and he squeezed your sides and pulled your mouth back to his. "That is a fantastic idea," he mumbled against you. "I know of this great place just down the hall. King size bed. Just changed the sheets yesterday."

Your giggle sent pulse points of sensation through his body and he helped you stand up, unable to stop himself from leaning forward and pressing a kiss between your breasts before he did the same. He motioned you ahead of him down the hall. By all rights he should be leading - it was his room you were going to - but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to walk behind you. To watch all of you dip and sway as you sauntered in front of him. He reached out and cupped under your ass, pinching slightly and watched you jump and turn around right in his doorway. He didn’t stop, kept walking, shrugging out of his shirt and letting it drop to the floor. His hands fell to your hips, holding you close and dipping his head down to kiss you while he continued to back you up towards his bed.

He had a moment of disappointment when you ducked out of his embrace before you got there, side-stepping him and trailing a hand across his chest while you moved behind him. He leaned back against you when you wrapped your arms around his chest, groaning as your hands glided over him. You pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, licking up to his hairline. A shudder wracked his body and his hands covered yours, pulling you tighter around him.

"I want to see you," he heard you murmur into his ear, dropping one hand to his belt. "Help?"

"Anything you want," he promised quickly, pulling the belt free and jerking his pants and socks off together. He was left in only his black briefs and his thumbs hooked on them before he felt you stop him with a light touch. You ran your hands around the band, toying with it slightly. His fists clenched at his sides while he resisted the urge to turn around and toss you over onto his bed.

"May I return the favor?"

"What fa-" he started to ask but the words ended in a groan when you slipped your hand beneath his briefs and cupped the hard length of him. Fuck yes. Whatever the favor was you could return it as many times as you liked. As long as you kept stroking along him with those soft fingers and your other hand pushing his underwear down, down, down… much further down than you should be able to reach. It wasn’t until he felt you nip gently just at the top of his thigh that he realized you were kneeling on the floor behind him.

He turned without prompting, kicking his briefs off and nearly fell to the ground himself when you immediately took him in your mouth. "Oh Jesus fuck querida," he moaned, cupping the back of your head in his hands, "you’re going to kill me."

The pleased little hum that vibrated along his cock made his spine tingle. It turned into a shudder when you slid your mouth down him and felt himself nudge the back of your throat for a moment before you pulled away. Your hands were on him, thumbs pressed to the tops of his thighs as you guided him into a slow steady rhythm. Fucking in to your mouth and your tongue working against him.

He ought to close his eyes. The visual of you kneeling on the floor, that scrappy bit of nothing that was going to haunt his fucking dreams, your lips wrapped around his cock - it was too much. He jerked one hand off your head to grip the base of his cock tightly, giving you a half smile when you stopped sucking on him and gave him a quizzical look.

"You’re too good at that," he said with a shrug.

There was no way he could miss the pleased expression on your face, or the way you took the tip of him back into your mouth, swirling your tongue around him. Your hand knocked his out of the way, guiding it back on to your head and then going back to stroke along him. It felt like you were taking all of him - every last inch into that perfect mouth. He let go of his tightly held control and just surrendered to the pleasure. Mentally cataloguing the sight and sound and feel of you and the best goddamn blowjob he’d ever had.

When he came it was sudden, he didn’t even have time to warn you. His toes curled and his eyes rolled back in his head and he grunted - the only sign before he was coming in to your mouth but you didn’t seemed phased, just sucked and fucking hell swallowed as he shuddered and cursed and stroked your face.

When the last drop of pleasure was wrung out of him he stumbled backwards, knees hitting the bed and he sprawled across it. His chest was heaving, one arm over his eyes while he tried to remember what his name was. He peeked out from under his forearm in time to see you rise to your feet, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb and licking it.

"Fucking hell woman," he groaned, lifting his head slightly to look at you.

Your hands rose to the neck of the lingerie you had on. "Should I-?"

"Don’t you fucking dare," Santi growled, pointing at you for good measure and flopping back on the bed. "I’m not done with you," he said to the ceiling. "Just give me like… thirty minutes."

Your laugh floated across the room to him and he felt your weight shift the bed to each side of him. Suddenly his vision was you, straddling his waist and leaning over him. "Thirty minutes huh?"

He grinned and reached out to pull your hips closer. Smiling to himself he ran his fingers under the lace, rubbing it between his fingers. "With this thing? Maybe ten."

Frankie was going to murder him.

Somehow, he couldn’t make himself care.

-

Part Two : Corroboration

[juletheghoul]

Oblivius Chapter 9

It hurt to write this but it needed to be said. I love these dummies and I'm glad you all love them too. Love hearing from all of you - dms/asks are always open!

Likes & reblogs are appreciated

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Pairing: Frankie x F!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: angst, language (let me know if I missed anything)

Masterlist Series Masterlist Prev Part Playlist

------

Can your brain be at war with itself? When he considered his feelings he found that it could. Her declaration was a balm, the missing piece of the puzzle. A cavern within his soul that had been empty for far too long and desperately needed filling. The other side was pure rage. A hurt so deep and intertwined with the anger that it burned him.

It swam through him with an ardour that was palpable, sweating out of his pores and puffing out with every exhale.

Maybe that same cruel, hurt part of him wanted to make her wait, see if there was truth in her honeyed words.

I’ve waited for you half my life, Spills; let’s see how long you can wait for me.

The thought would always shame him in its cruelty. A spiteful little dig at her that he imagined would sooth the hurt he felt but it never did. Just made him feel worse. It was strange to him that the one thing he’d wanted for as long as he’d known her would be to hear those words. I love you too Francis, and the first time they’d almost knocked him over. Even seeing them written out in her message had taken the breath from his lungs for a second, but it wasn’t enough. There were so many things he needed to get off his chest.

One week turned into three, and after a month he’d had enough.

---

His nerves were shot as he made his way over to her place, his guts twisting up with anticipation and when she opened the door his heart was racing. He had so much to say, so much to get off his chest and when he saw her his first instinct was to kiss her. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and take her to bed, bury all his frustrations into her body but he couldn’t go down that road. It took every ounce of self control to deny her embrace.

“Please Spills, don’t - please don’t, if I hug you now I won’t stop there and I’ll lose my resolve. Please - we need to talk first.” He held his hands up to forestall her advances and the hurt look on her face almost broke him. There was too much to say.

——

Seeing him at your door, deep frown on his face and unwilling to even come close was like a punch to the gut. He was here, finally, after everything that had happened and his absence he was finally within reach. Or at least that’s what you thought at first, seeing him now it was clear that although he was here physically, he was somewhere far away emotionally.

The euphoria you’d felt at finally hearing from him, the text he’d sent asking if he could come over was now replaced with a nervous fear. Was he here to tell you he didn’t want you?

No, this is Francis, my Francis and things will work out. Please let things work out.

He made his way through awkwardly, a far cry from the confident Francis who brought you food for your hangover. It made you uncomfortable, made you nauseous - a swarm of flies buzzing in your stomach.

“Did you want something to drink?” It felt so foreign coming out of your mouth, you’d never had to ask him before. If he wanted something he’d usually just help himself.

“No thanks.” He sat on your couch and you came to sit beside him, careful to keep your distance and when you were both facing each other he sighed loudly. His eyes were focused on you but they were sadder than you’d ever seen.

“I was supposed to be married.” He came right out with it.

“I know.” It was all you could say. It was hard not to wring your hands, the anxiety was running rampant.

“Right now, I’m guessing Claudia and I would be arguing over where to live - on our way home from our honeymoon.” He sighed loudly. “She ended up going anyway.”

He was staring at you and you couldn’t really describe the expression. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t fear or distrust. “Spills, what am I supposed to think? I know that you’ve always known how I felt about you.” He was trying not to get too agitated, trying so hard to reign in his feelings and you couldn’t argue, all you could do was sit and let him get it off his chest.

“It’s so hard for me not to think that this is all a ploy you concocted to keep me for yourself. Never actually wanting me, but not letting anyone else have me. Please - tell me I’m wrong.”

You chewed over his words, as much as they hurt - you couldn’t blame him for thinking these things. Your timing had been abysmal.

“I know Francis. I know why you’d think that and if the roles had been reversed I’d probably be thinking the same thing but you have to know it’s not like that. You have to know how I feel about you, how I’ve always felt about you.” You wanted to reach over and touch him, maybe if you could just hold his hand, run your fingers through his hair - he’d be able to feel what you felt. Transfer it onto his skin somehow but you couldn’t yet. He was still too raw and it would make him angry. Would see it as another ploy to entrap him.

“How? How would I know that? How could I possibly see this as anything other than manipulation? Your timing is bullshit.” You saw it then, the look on his face was anguish.

“Do you have any idea how much I worked to convince myself that this would never happen?” He was gesturing to the two of you. “How hard it was to be so far away from you, and hear that you were just happy to be with someone else? How fucking hurtful it was for you to suggest that I be your last resort in case you were single at thirty? What am I supposed to think?”

His emotions were getting the best of him now and you saw his eyes shining. He was so angry, and you deserved this. “Claudia was there when you didn’t want me Spills. We may have fought, and disagreed on things but she wanted me from the get-go. It didn’t take her fifteen years to admit that she might feel the same way about me that I felt about her.”

“Francis I-”

“No. Let me finish- please. Let me say everything I need to say because it’s eating me up inside and I won’t be able to look at you if I keep it in another second. I need you to understand that although I love you - with everything that I am, I was ready to let you go for someone else. I had a life planned with that someone and that just a whisper of you possibly feeling even a fraction of what I’ve felt for you all this time, fucked me up. I threw it all away, I ruined my wedding. I did something I never thought I’d ever do - I betrayed her.” The tears were rolling down his face, he couldn’t stop them and your body burned to console him. Your hands itched to wipe them away and you had to take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“I am so angry, Spills.” His voice was cracking and he couldn’t look at you, he was hunched over, elbows braced on his knees as he held his face in his hands. “I’m so angry and I want to forgive you and just ignore all these feelings and love you, take you to bed and show you how much I’ve wanted you but I can’t right now.” Your eyes were burning, a painful lump burning in the back of your throat.

Am I too late? Please Francis, please look at me.

“Francis, please - I know you’re angry, and I know I hurt you, but you know in your heart that I love you. Please look at me, please - we can fix this.” You tentatively scooted closer and he looked up at you. Big brown eyes sparkling with tears over the hurt you’d caused.

For a moment you saw him much younger. You saw the sweet, beautiful boy you rejected staring back at you and you couldn’t help but touch him. Softly putting your hand on his shoulder, feeling it tremble beneath your palm and he slowly shifted towards you. That was all you needed. You pulled him to you, letting him crush you in his embrace.

“I’m sorry Francis, I love you and I’ll wait as long as you need me to wait. Please don’t push me away.” His face was pressed into the crook of your neck and you could feel his anger and his sadness as he held you close. You were rubbing his back and scratching at his scalp, trying to soothe him as best you could while whispering your feelings. Everything - anything that would convince him that you were on his level.

“Let’s start slow, and figure this out together. I shouldn’t have waited so long and I shouldn’t have denied my feelings for you. You’ve always been the one for me and I should never have made that stupid pact with you. I should have kissed you back. I’m sorry, I love you, believe me - please.” You were holding onto him tightly, pulling him to lay on you on your couch; he was wrapped up in the space you made for him.

“I want to, god I really want to Spills, you’re the love of my fucking life and I need you.” He was squeezing you tightly and you couldn’t help but pepper his face with kisses, little kisses between I love yous, your lips stained with the salt from his tears and you saw the deep breaths he took with every declaration.

“Keep telling me, please just keep telling me.” His eyes were closed, his words were whisper soft.

“I love you Francis, I love you.” You must have told him half a hundred times and you’d keep going until he believed you.

---

You both lay there for a long time, quietly soaking in each other's warmth, he’d kicked off his shoes and made himself comfortable with you underneath him. His weight was reassuring and you pulled his shirt up slightly to rub the warm skin of his back.

All of the time wasted apart was devastating, you could almost see it then. The alternate timeline of your lives together. Maybe you’d have gotten married before he left. Maybe you’d have a couple of kids by now. A house. A dog.

“I don’t want to be, but I’m still hurt and upset." He sighed.

"I believe you, and I love you, but I think we should take things slow.” He pulled you out of your reverie, lifting up off you as he spoke. You missed his warmth instantly but he pulled you up with him and sat back on your sofa, tucking you into his side.

“I’m okay with that. Slow is good.” You kissed his cheek as he rubbed your back.

“I should go.” He was reluctantly getting up and for half a heart-beat you held onto him, he gave you a little smile. “If I stay, I’ll never leave. Slow, right?” He was putting his shoes back on and walking towards your door and everything in you wanted to beg him to stay but you knew he was right. If you’d jumped into something right now without giving him a chance to heal and come to terms with his choices he would hate you.

“Francis?” He turned towards you. “Will you take me out on a date?” You wiggled your eyebrows in the way you knew had always made him laugh, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“I’d like that.” He kissed your cheek, just barely grazing the side of your mouth and he was gone. Leaving you with your heart, and skin burning for him.

We can go as slow as you like.

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

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[meteors-lotr]

My favorite Friends scene but as Lotr

I present to you, Humans vs Elves, the quiz, with mah girl Tilda as the quiz leader

Tilda: Okay, each team will answer ten questions. The first team to answer the most questions, wins

Tilda: The categories are Fear and Pet Peeves, Ancient History, Literature, and It’s All Relative

Tilda: Now, as a human raised by elves I can provide an unbiased judgement, but not everything is fair so I’m just gonna say that Éowyn and Aragorn will start

Arwen: What why?

Tilda: I don’t know, I just feel like messing with Princess, anyways give me a category

Aragon: Fears and Pet Peeves

Tilda, taking a card from the Fears and Let Peeves pile: What is Arwen’s biggest pet peeve?

Éowyn: Hair hanging in front of someone’s face

Tilda: That is correct

Tilda: Elves?

Arwen: Same category!

Tilda, taking another card: According to Aragon, what phenomenon scares the hell out of him?

Legolas: Riverdancing!

Tilda: Correct!

Arwen: Yes!

Éowyn to Aragorn: Dude what?

Aragorn: Their legs flail about as if independent from their body!

Tilda: Guys your pick

Èowyn: It’s all relative

Tilda, grabbing a card: Legolas and me has a brother who recently had a child that you’ve both met, what is the name of the child?

Aragorn:

Èowyn:

Legolas: Seriously?

Éowyn: Uh, Brand!

Aragorn: Brand?! What are you doing?!

Éowyn: I took a shot!

Aragorn: You’re shooting with Brand?!

Tilda: Brand is correct

Aragorn: Nice shooting!

Legolas: We’ll take literature!

Tilda: What is Aragorns official title in the southeast village of Erdathrat?

Legolas: Oh! His title is Aragorn of Gondor!

Arwen: No!

Tilda: I’m afraid his title is Argonor of Gonrod

Arwen: I knew that!

Arwen: Legolas! Use your head!

Aragorn: Actually it’s Queen Argonor of Gonrod

[Time Skip]

Tilda: Alright, the score is nine to eight in favor of the humans, elves of you miss this the game is theirs, pick your category

Legolas: It’s all relative!!!

Tilda, taken back: You don’t have to shout everything

Legolas: I’m sorry!!!

Tilda, picking up a card: What is the name Éowyn uses when she disguises herself as a man?

Arwen: Dernhelm!

Éowyn: How do you know that?

Arwen: You are very bad at acting

Tilda: Dernhelm is correct

Tilda: But now we have a tie, and luckily I have prepared for such an occasion

Tilda, pulling out a bunch more cards from her pocket: The lightning round!

Arwen: Ohhhhhhhh

Tilda: Thirty seconds, all the questions you can answer

Arwen: You two are dead! I’m so good at lighting rounds!

Éowyn: Oh yeah? I majored in lightning rounds!

Éowyn: We’re gonna destroy you

Arwen: Wanna bet?!

��owyn: I’m so confused of what we’ve been doing so far

Arwen: How about we raise the stakes a little? Say, one hundred and fifty?

Tilda, dramatically behind her: One hundred and fifty castar

Èowyn: Say, two hundred?

Tilda, still very dramatically: Two hundred castar

Legolas: Stop doing that

Tilda: Sorry

Legolas: Arwen I don’t want to loose two hundred castar

Arwen: We won’t!

Legolas: Okay

Arwen: Three hundred!

Legolas: Arwen!

Arwen: I’m just trying to spice it up!

Legolas: Well add some paprika or something, but stop spending my money!

Arwen: Wait, I got it!

Arwen: How about if we win, you two have to take at least three baths per week!

Legolas: Ooooh, that’s interesting

Aragorn: Hey no way, that’s just a waste of time

Arwen: It’s basic hygiene!

Aragorn: Some of us have more impor-

Éowyn: Alright hold on!

Éowyn: If you win, we’ll start doing your hygiene thing

Aragorn: What?!

Éowyn: But if we win, you two have to limit yourselves to three baths per week

Aragorn: Ooohohohoho

Legolas: Well there’s no way we’re-

Arwen, taking Éowyn’s hand: Deal!

Legolas: WHAT?!

[More time skip]

Legolas from off to the side: Arwen, I don’t think I could handle something like that, why would you agree to it?!

Arwen: Legolas, I have not missed one question the whole game, I own this game!

Arwen, holding up her hand: Look at my hand

Legolas: Yeah your skin is amazing, but it wouldn’t be like that if we only bathed thrice a week!

Arwen: No, I mean they’re steady as a rock! Now are you with me?!

Legolas: ...Alright let’s do it!

Arwen: Yes!

Tilda: Alright humans, you’re up first!

Tilda: You have thirty seconds to answer as many questions as you can

Tilda: The lightning round begins...now!

Tilda: What does Sigrid call Legolas?

Éowyn: Every name except his own

Tilda: Correct

Tilda: Arwen claims this is her favorite story

Aragorn: Beren and Lúthien

Tilda: Correct, her actual favorite story is...?

Aragorn: The children of Húrin

Tilda: Correct, Legolas had a pet as an elfling who died, what was that pet?

Éowyn: Uhhh, a warg?

Tilda: What? No!

Legolas: Dude

Tilda: A chameleon

Tilda: Arwen categorizes her towels, how many categories are there?

Éowyn: Everyday use

Aragorn: Fancy

Éowyn: Guests

Aragorn: Fancy Guests

Tilda: Two seconds

Éowyn: Uhhhh, eleven?!

Tilda: Eleven, unbelievable, eleven is correct!

Aragorn: Yes!

Éowyn: Fuck yeah!

Tilda: Alright, that’s four for the humans, Elves you’re up!

Legolas: Alright come on!

Tilda: Thirty seconds on the clock, five correct questions wins the game, the lightning round begins...now

Tilda: What is Aragorn’s favorite animal?

Legolas: Horses

Tilda: Correct, Éowyn was how old when she first killed a man?

Legolas: Nineteen?

Tilda: No fourteen

Aragorn: Valars...

Tilda: Aragorn had an imaginary childhood friend, her name was...?

Arwen: Tega

Tilda: Correct, her profession was...?

Legolas: Godslayer!

Tilda: Correct, what is Éowyn’s official title?

Legolas:

Arwen:

Éowyn: Wait really?!

Legolas: Oh wait, it has something to do with Rohan

Arwen: And it’s kinda regal

Legolas: Is it like horse related?

Tilda: Ten seconds, you need this or you loose the game!

Arwen: It uh, it has something to do with shields

Legolas: Oh uh, she’s the shielder of Rohan!!

Arwen: THAT’S NOT EVEN A THING!

Tilda: And that’s time!

Legolas: NOOOOOO!!!!

Aragorn and Éowyn: YESSSSSS!!!

Ugh this was exhausting