#bringing us back to too polite to impose

[alltheyearsblog]

You ever think about how 03 Splinter literally didn’t have to stay in third earth New York? Like, he knew how to make a portal to travel to the Nexus, was sit-at-my-right-hand level of friends with the Diaymo. It feels like he literally could have rolled up shortly after mutation, said ��Hey Bro, this wild thing happened and I need a place to go where me and my brood won’t be dissected if caught”.

I reason it is because Splinter is too wildly polite that he couldn’t force himself to impose on his friend like that. Or by the time it occurred to him, they were kind of already settled as a family and it felt more disruptive to try and move. It’s just something I think about sometimes.

[biblicalhorror]

Thinking about one of the loser men I dated directly post-college who, after I showed them Dirty Computer [the emotion picture] by Janelle Monae, said they "prefer rap that has something to say"

[n1ght0f-nyx]

woven bonds

pert'ah (orc oc x gn reader) pt 7

tags/warnings- over the time you two have been together his english has gotten better, arranged marriage, human female x male orc, gentle giant, you're finally with him, tattoos, nonsexual marking

When you finally confessed your feelings, Pert'ah reveals a sacred orc tradition: a bond tattoo, symbolising the intertwining of two lives and the strength of their love. As you both journey to the clan’s mark artist, Pert'ah shares the stories behind his own markings, revealing his past and the future he hopes to share with you.

i am begging for someone to give me requests for anything

The warm, flickering firelight cast soft shadows on the walls of the small home you and Pert'ah now shared. You were curled up in a corner, lost in thought, while he sat across from you, his massive form bent slightly as he worked on a weaving project. It had been months since the day your father had sold you into an arranged marriage with the orc weaver, exchanging your life for a political bargain. You had been furious and devastated at first, feeling trapped in a strange world, and you fought hard against your feelings for Pert'ah.

But something had shifted over time. Pert'ah had never been the terrifying brute you expected him to be. Despite his size, his hands were deft, and his voice was soft, even in its broken English. He was patient, showing you kindness you hadn't anticipated. Each day he would bring you food, trying to coax you into eating when you refused, and he spoke softly, attempting to ease your fears and frustrations. Over time, your resentment began to thaw.

It started small—accepting the food he offered, exchanging a few words, and eventually, joining him at his work table. You'd sit there, quietly watching as he wove intricate patterns into cloth, his fingers moving with surprising delicacy for someone so large and imposing. Slowly, you realized that your anger had faded, replaced by something else, something that felt warm and safe,

Now, weeks later, your relationship had settled into a peaceful routine. Tonight, Pert'ah's hands were steady as he worked the loom, but every so often, you caught him glancing up at you, as if he had something on his mind. Eventually, he set down his work and cleared his throat.

"Y'know," he began, his accent still thick but more familiar to your ears now, "in my clan… there is something we do when… we love someone. after we bond." He paused, searching for the right words.

You looked up, curious. "What do you mean?"

His large hand gestured vaguely toward his chest, where his skin was marked with swirling, intricate markings. The patterns wound around his biceps, across his chest, and down his back, each one seemingly part of a larger story. You had noticed them before, of course, but you had never asked about their significance.

"markings," he said, tapping his chest. "They mean much. Each one has… story. Spirit."

You sat up straighter, intrigued. "Like what?"

Pert'ah's eyes flickered with something—perhaps pride, or reverence. "In my culture, we mark our skin to show our life. Our bond to family, to clan, to… love." He paused, letting his words sink in. "When we choose someone… we get marking. One that shows the bond between us."

Your heart skipped a beat. The idea of a marking symbolizing your bond with Pert'ah was unexpected, but the thought of it thrilled you. The permanence of such a mark felt like a declaration of your feelings, something you were no longer afraid to express.

"You mean… you'd get a marking for me?"

Pert'ah nodded slowly. "Yes. And… you, too. If you want."

The weight of his offer settled over you. It wasn't something to be taken lightly, but the thought of carrying a symbol of your love for Pert'ah, of your place in this new world, filled you with a quiet excitement.

"What do they mean?" you asked, your eyes tracing the markings on his skin. "Your markings. What are their stories?"

A small, thoughtful smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back, gesturing for you to come closer. You moved toward him, sitting beside him as he began to speak.

"This one," he pointed to a swirling, knot-like pattern on his forearm, "is for my family. My mother and father, my brothers. It shows where I come from. My roots."

You nodded, your fingers lightly brushing over the design. The lines were bold, yet elegant, winding together in an unbreakable bond.

"And this?" you asked, tracing the edge of a jagged, lightning-like marking that stretched across his chest.

"This one is for battle," he said, his voice taking on a somber tone. "A long time ago, I fought for my clan. This mark is for the fights I survived, the people I lost."

His gaze darkened for a moment, and you squeezed his hand gently, understanding that those memories were difficult for him to revisit.

"But here," he continued, pointing to the pattern that wound around his bicep, "this is for my future. It is not finished yet." He glanced at you, his eyes full of meaning. "When I choose someone to be with for life, the mark will be complete. It will show our bond, our future together."

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized the significance of what he was saying. This marking, this incomplete symbol, was waiting for you. And now, he was offering to finish it, to mark himself with a permanent symbol of your love.

"I want it," you whispered, your heart racing with the weight of your decision. "I want to share that bond with you."

Pert'ah's face lit up, his golden eyes shimmering with warmth. "Then I will take you to the marking artist tomorrow," he said softly. "It will be an honor."

---

The next day, Pert'ah guided you to the heart of the orc village, where the marking artist's home was located. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and smoke as you entered the small, dimly lit hut. The artist, an older orc woman with intricate markings covering nearly every inch of her skin, greeted you with a nod, her sharp eyes studying you and Pert'ah carefully.

"You come for bond marking," she said, her voice raspy but kind.

Pert'ah nodded. "Yes. We wish to be marked together."

The artist smiled knowingly and gestured for you to sit on a low bench. She turned to Pert'ah first, inspecting the incomplete design on his arm.

"It is time to finish this one, then," she said, motioning for him to sit as well. She began to mix inks, her hands steady and practiced.

As she prepared, Pert'ah turned to you, his voice low and soft. "Our marking will be special. It will show our bond, but also our strength. Our journey together."

You felt a wave of emotion rise within you as the artist began her work on Pert'ah's skin, her needle carefully tracing the lines of the existing design. He barely flinched, his face serene as he watched the artist work.

"This marking," Pert'ah said quietly, "will show the two paths we took. Yours and mine. They will twist together, become one. Stronger together."

You smiled at his words, touched by the symbolism. "And what about the part for the future?" you asked softly.

His eyes met yours, filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache in the best way possible. "That part… will be blank. It is for what we will make together. Our life."

---

When it was your turn, you felt a mix of excitement and nerves. The artist guided you gently, explaining the meaning behind each stroke as she inked the bond marking onto your skin. It was a mirror of Pert'ah's, yet unique to you, representing your own journey.

As the needle pressed into your skin, Pert'ah held your hand, his presence grounding you. The process was both painful and exhilarating, each stroke of the needle reminding you of the permanence of your decision—of the love you had chosen to embrace.

When it was done, the artist stepped back, admiring her work. The bond marking twisted around your arm, the two paths intertwining beautifully, just as Pert'ah had described. At the center, there was a blank space, a place for your future together, waiting to be filled with the stories you would create as a couple.

Pert'ah lifted your arm gently, his fingers tracing the fresh ink with reverence. "It is beautiful," he murmured. "You are beautiful."

You smiled at him, tears pricking your eyes. "So are you," you whispered.

In that moment, you felt a deep sense of belonging, not just to Pert'ah, but to this new life you had built together. The marking was more than just a mark on your shoulder—it was a symbol of your love, your bond, and the future you would share. And you knew, without a doubt, that you had made the right choice.

As you and Pert'ah walked back to your home, your hands entwined, the weight of your shared marking felt both grounding and freeing. You were no longer bound by the past, no longer trapped by the decisions of others. This bond was yours, forged in love, and it would guide you both into whatever the future held.

[maxwell-grant]

The Penguin Episode 4: Cent'anni Breakdown

She goes through all these different levels of all these different personas: excellent daughter, overachiever, and this horrific feral state in Arkham. And it's not until the yellow dress that she finds the one that fits.

Kind of like sharks can't stop moving or they sink. It's that relentless pursuit of justice.

This changes her forever. She never comes back. Something so much bigger than her takes over in order to survive - Cristin Milioti

This was pointed out to me by my friend and, show of hands everyone, who else thinks it's unbelievably fucking sick that it is Sofia who gets to show up at the Falcone dinner table, wearing a thematically appropriate embodiment of her childhood trauma, and do a "None of you are safe" speech?

(Episode 1) (Episode 2) (Episode 3) (Episode 5) (Episode 6) (Episode 7) (Episode 8)

It probably felt odd to spend time with Sofia when we’re in a show called The Penguin. But I think it’s just as important so you can understand Oz psychologically. Even though I don’t view Oz as a hero or a villain, he is a greater villain in the show than anyone else. And for you to feel that way, I think you have to understand his primary antagonist more. And that’s Sofia.” - Lauren LeFranc

I gotta say I'm generally not enthusiastic about Penguin being depicted as overtly disgusting, like drooling and eating raw fish and all that Burton stuff (actually I do think the black bile is cool, but only so far as as that version goes), but for that opening scene, that was a spectacularly well-placed bit of grossness. Like this sheer craven animalistic ugliness of DeVito's Penguin descending for a second to show us how Sofia sees Oz, and even how right she is to do so at the moment because holy shit hahahahahaha

From what we can see of Sofia's pre-Arkham life, she was basically the Meadow Soprano of the family: The smart, overachieving golden child, whose social standing and eligitibility for leadership wouldn't even be up for debate if she was born a man like her loser brother (love AJ, relate uncomfortably to AJ, he's not at all morally comparable to Alberto, but he is very much a loser). Socially conscious and sticking up for victims but only if you don't poke too closely at her victim-generating family business, aware of some things but willfully blind to her own hypocrisy and insistent that daddy is still in average a good man who isn't as bad as people around her may say he is. I'd even say that the Sofia we see here is a more moral person than Meadow, although obviously being the daughter of Carmine Falcone is a much scarier, more isolating and horrific prospect than growing up the daughter of Tony Soprano (the ways in which the two Sopranos kids diverged and majorly prefigured American socio-political developments that kicked off after the show is a topic for another post).

(Also, I don't really want to bring up Sopranos comparisons because the shows are similar, they're really not, but I finished The Sopranos yesterday so they're gonna come up still)

I think Mark Strong does a really good job here filling in for John Turturro's role, even if he's not quite as good in it as Turturro. I think he plays the character differently in a way that works really well for this being a past version of Carmine, filtered through Sofia's vision. He is imposing and quiet and mighty, a lone titan of unquestionable power over the entire world, not even remotely someone to be defied or displeased. Turturro's Falcone was charismatic and affable and oozing with unspeakable yet casual cruelty, and I would have liked that here, but I like the idea that we're seeing a Carmine from before he was invincible, when he still needed Sofia to help him get Congressman Hill on the phone and still worried about the future of the family at Alberto's hands, a Carmine from when the Maronis were still around and he wasn't the sole ruling power in Gotham, who could still possibly lose even without vigilante intervention.

He is larger, more imposing, a stern and stoic father who had little use for pleasantries, and with no mirth to be had at the expense of the little people who think they can do anything against him that matters, even if he is getting there. I think the difference here adds a nice little arc to Carmine: there was a time where he needed to keep up appearences, there was a time where he raised his voice above a whisper to get things done, and there was a time where he wasn't the real mayor of Gotham. There was a time where he was a "proper" Don, when he acted like his comics counterpart, and none of that really became necessary over the following decade, when he grew more and more invincible and isolated and comfortable in this nightmare he made the city into.

They also confirm here that apparently the Iceberg Lounge/44 Below existed way back when Oz was just Sofia's driver, and it was already Carmine's prostitute slaughterhouse even then and Alberto knew about it. Possibly explains why Oz was handed the club in the first place, because the Falcones already called him Sofia's penguin and putting The Penguin in charge of the Iceberg Lounge would fit their idea of a laugh (and given how much Oz hates being called Penguin, he would hardly come up with the name himself)

Lmao, those dog comparisons I keep making really don't stop justifying themselves.

Credit again to Mike Marino and the prosthetics team for this younger Oz make-up, he strikes a very nice middleground between current Oz and the one we see as a kid.

Really like what we see of Sofia and Oz's dynamic here, again reinforcing that for all intents and purposes he was the sidekick in her HBO protagonist life. We see how Sofia likes his company and how she even kinda defends him from the family, but she really cannot bring herself to respect him very much and disdains him from the same very upper-class perspective the rest of the family does, she's just nicer about it. And in turn we see parts of where Oz's resentment to her comes from, and also the extent to which Oz was always lying in wait for an opportunity to get ahead regardless of her, his justified grievances as well as him being a conniving fuck. The really thin line this treads though, is that it establishes that neither of them were lying about how they meant something to each other, even if it doesn't help.

Sofia did have her life ruined partially because of Oz, she did endure horrific things while he got a promotion because he ratted her out to Carmine, and he very much did in part because he wanted to get ahead and saw an opportunity to do so. But also, Oz genuinely had no idea that this is what Carmine would do, and I think in large part this was also about keeping himself safe. It's not even that unbelievable that he was genuinely looking out for her, because holy shit you do not talk to the press about Carmine Falcone, daughter or not, and he tried warning her in the car before she rebuffed him and insulted him pretty deep for good measure. If Sofia talked to the press and would not stop talking (since he didn't know in the car that she rebuffed Gleeson) and shit started happening because of her snooping around, he would have absolutely gotten punished/murdered for it, it is not at all a stretch to assume that Carmine would have done something to Oz as punishment to Sofia.

Oz didn't plan any kind of misfortune, at no point did he mastermind her admission into Arkham (or even help keep her there with the letters, like the rest of the family), he just told Carmine something he shouldn't have, and neither of them expected anything too terrible was gonna come out of it. They both wildly underestimated what a complete scumbag Carmine is, but with Carmine (and the others) gone, there's nobody else to turn those grievances to.

Even if Oz could claim deniability for the Arkham thing, which he kinda can't but Sofia even tried to grant him anyway, he sure as shit can't for everything else he does in the opening minutes.

Oh hey it's Mr Mustache With The Broken Nose.

A thing that came to mind when I was watching the episode was the story of Rosemary Kennedy, JFK's sister whose father arranged for her to be institutionalized and lobotomized at age 23 as a reponse to "difficult" behavior. I'm not recounting it in more detail here because the rest of it is just too horrific, look it up yourself if you're curious. I remembered it because reading about Rosemary Kennedy ruined my fucking day and it still pumps up the breaks in my train of thought every now and then, so it came to mind watching this story about a young woman horrifically institutionalized and butchered for the sake of her wealthy family's image. Later I heard the podcast, and turns out that actually was exactly what Lauren LeFranc based Sofia's story on, which was nice. I'm glad it also fucks Lauren LeFranc up and that we both agree she should have gotten to wreak revenge on the entire family over it, thank you Penguin Show that continues to be made for me, this was nice.

Oh hey, Magpie. Just the name, yeah, but that was another nice surprise. I used to have a bit of a soft spot for Magpie, occasionally I thought there was something to get out of her and Penguin together, so a part of me likes that they put Magpie in The Penguin show even if just in name. Yes, she only exists to be annoying and die, but that's what she already tends to do anyway. And y'know, much as I may like her, she is still a John Byrne character, so she doesn't really deserve much more than that

Jesus Christ this episode gets uncomfortable.

I like that this establishes that Julian Rush kinda did make an effort to help her and kinda felt bad about it, but not nearly enough, and that he is very much a complicit contemptible creep who has it coming as much as any of the people who put Sofia in there.

Cannot state enough how much I appreciate that they didn't put any actual named Batman villains in the Arkham Asylum episode, guarantee a lot of creators would not resist the temptation. I mean okay I guess there is a Ventris already in Batman but, come on, you know who I mean. This did not need any references to like, Jeremiah Arkham or Jonathan Crane or Hugo Strange or any of that, and that's not a diss on any of those guys, it's just that unlike pretty much every other Batman story, this episode does not undercut it's point about the horrific institutional horrors dehumanizing and destroying Sofia by pinning it on a chief boogeyman supervillain that Batman is going to fight later. Dr. Ventris is not responsible for the systemic rot that got her there nor is he the sole orchestrator/perpetrator of the abuse it's inmates suffer, he simply answers to those, and thus perpetuates them, by doing his job in a mental institution.

I am still haunted by the inmate committing suicide with a fork. It is so fucked up that Sofia was tortured and goaded by the doctors into murdering another inmate, and when that failed, they tortured her again and again and again until she snapped. The whole point was to push Sofia beyond the breaking point to justify further incarceration. The doctors just standing there letting her kill Magpie.

I want Dr.Rush to die.

I have more thoughts on Arkham, but I'd call this the most horrific take on Arkham so far, because it is the most honest take on Arkham so far. Even at it's most run-down and monstrous, it is usually never at all into question that Arkham Asylum is necessary, because if it wasn't there, all the crazies would run rampant in Gotham. Over the years, it's monstrousness has always been tied directly and specifically to it's inmates, and whenever people have pointed out the shoddy conditions and inhospitable environment of Arkham as a factor for repeat offenders, it's pretty much always as a fandom joke outside of Batman stories proper, and if there is anything wrong with the way the Asylum works, it is always the fault of particularly evil villains attached. A Lock-Up, a Jeremiah Arkham, a Hugo Strange, etc. Arkham Asylum is in general a Batman concept that's raised a lot of discussions and calls for revision over the years, and a lot of the issues with it tie into larger issues around superhero depictions of the carceral system, that @artbyblastweave went into here.

Here, in large part because this is a realistic world and a Gotham without a rampaging supervillain contingent of repeat offenders who can magically break out constantly, it is never into question that the patients are the victims of this system, and if they are being turned into potential supervillains, it is because of Arkham inflicting this on them. This is an Arkham Asylum that remains a nightmarish, horrific force in this world, but not because it's Castle Dracula where all the crazy villains hang out, not even just because the rest of Gotham is hopelessly rotten and corrupt, but because it's a mental institution and depicted accordingly. It gets to dig into the real life horrors mental institutions inflict on it's patients without having to justify those measures as benign or necessary to keep crazy crimes from happening. Frankly, this take on Arkham Asylum has been long overdue.

In every form of Batman media, just about the worst thing that can happen at any given moment is Arkham Asylum falling and it's inmates escaping into the streets, that's generally what happens when Batman needs to deal with apocalyptic stakes (which is why of course it happens all the fucking time now). Here, that scenario would be regarded with cheer, because the worst thing that can happen in this universe is being sent to Arkham Asylum. It isn't just Batman's unofficial personal prison / punching gallery, if anything it massively raises the stakes on this Batman's next adventures, because now we know this is what's waiting for him if he gets caught and unmasked.

I like that Sofia and Oz are both trying to save/protect those they see as younger versions of themselves, while inflicting on them the kinds of tragedies that ultimately created them

Oz reached out to this poor disabled kid from the streets and is showing him the ropes, while also belittling him as a nobody and distorting his worldview and dragging him into life or death cornered scrapdog situations chipping away at his morals. Sofia saves her little niece who laughs at bad table manners and doesn't quite do what her family says, gently lulling her to sleep so she can kill her mom and her entire family.

Extremely important that Sofia Falcone makes her formal arrival as a villain by showing up dressed in a sexy yet fitting extension of her trauma / cultural reference (The Yellow Wallpaper / the walls in her mother's bedroom), before putting on a mask and enacting Gotham's first Mass Casualty Gas Attack, we love to see it.

I was frankly already calling Sofia one of my favorite Bat-villains even before this episode, I'm just glad everyone seems to be on the same page with me now. I'm seeing a lot of posts on Twitter and Instagram talking about how they're rooting for Sofia instead of Oz, that she deserves to win this war, and good, fucking amazing that they're doing this, again, this show is hitting home runs I could not have foreseen.

It is incredible what a character they've made out of Sofia, and the fact that we now see Oz as her antagonist as much as we see Sofia as his, and the fact that if Penguin wins, he will win this as a villain. He will steal a victory he does not deserve and rub it in your face and he will make the children of the world cry for it as any villain worth his name should be doing, and it frankly wouldn't be much of a fight if Sofia wasn't every bit the complicated, engaging protagonist he is. Lauren LeFranc claimed that she sees Sofia is the closest the show has to a hero even if she is not, and this is the episode that sold everyone on it.

Halfway through the show and it's only gotten better and better, can't wait for what's coming next.

[bythepen98]

Doodles || Tomarry || Childhood friends/Growing Up Together au

(Ignore the not-so-time-period-accurate outfits)

Think of this as a timetravel au where Harry accidentally gets sent back to the past in Wool's orphanage at a young enough age where he barely notices the changes caused by the time displacement and thus grows up nonethewiser to his destiny as the Chosen One. Even when, objectively, his life at the orphanage could be considered worse considering the growing lack of food, his environment's state of decay and overall unrest happening outside the orphanage's walls, something about his situation felt right(?).

He'd always felt disconnected and out of place based on the few memories he still had from living with the Dursleys but now, it felt like he was home in a way. Like something finally clicked in his brain, his soul.

His instant connection to Tom helped cement that fact. It wasn't easy at first because the pull they felt when they first met was so strong that it scared Harry shtless and Tom, already half-full of resentment by this point, was horrified feeling anything to anyone that wasn't disgust. In the end, it didn't take long for them to meet halfway since they were still children and curiosity at the connection lured them in like candy; Harry wanted a special friend of his own and Tom convinced himself that Harry was worth his time because there was no way anyone ordinary could elicit such a soul deep response from him.

Tom has a mean streak and is more bloodthirsty than his charming facade would show but is honest about it with Harry. Although he doesn't have much to his name, Tom is serious about his self-imposed role as Harry's provider, giving him gifts (from the money he steals) during his birthdays and keeping him as warm and well fed as possible (by bullying the other kids into surrendering their share).

Sometimes, Tom....worries.....that his methods would eventually drive Harry - who has such an inherent goodness in him, so often kind to people who don't deserve it - away but what he fails to understand is that Harry's love and loyalty to the first friend he's ever made trumps any kindness he has for others. He'll never like needless violence and won't react if he was being targeted but all bets are off if he even a catches a whiff of plots against Tom. If he has to help hide a body or two in the future so that they won't be separated by something as inconvenient as jail or the law, then that's nobody's business but his own.

P.S. This Harry will probably go to Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin like in other fics. It just feels right. Probably should've drawn him wearing a yellow tie but only just got the idea as I'm typing this. Tom would rather eat slugs than go to the Hufflepuff common room but he's more than willing to entertain Harry at the Slytherin common room at every available chance. They have their own seat there and everything.

P.P.S. They also co adopt a tiny(??) baby snake when they realize they can both speak parseltongue and bring him along to hogwarts. Imagine being parents at the big old age of 10 to a possibly magical snake that may or may not grow past nagini-level size.

P.P.P.S. Future power couple in the making. Didn't think that far ahead whether I wanted Tom to go the political route or Dark Lord Voldemort style minus the horcruxes. Don't ask for me the details, just know that with Harry's help, Tom finds a way to prolong their lives without the consequences that come with using horcruxes. They may or may not discover that Harry is in fact a horcrux of Tom already but will never get the answer as to how it happened. Harry worries but Tom just chocks it up as the universe's way of paying him back for his shtty pre-Harry childhood. Ironically the type to believe in soulmates and destiny while Harry is a bit more skeptical on that front.

Alternatively, they could also decide not to do anything too significant -politically- at all and instead retire to the country side while doing research on as many branches of magic as they can. A bit laughable because of Tom's world altering ambitions and Harry's indulgent, enabling behavior but at the same time, anything's possible.

[icanbringyouinhot]

Take something bad and make it into something good - Chapter 2

Paring: retired!Javier Peña x F!reader

Summary: After leaving Colombia, Javier slowly but surely slides into a post-burnout depression that he tries to self-medicate with alcohol and self-imposed exile. However, his friend Steve Murphy and his wife Connie are not having it. Turns out, their endless nagging got him in a very interesting situation that turned out to be exactly what he needed. (Though, he’ll never admit they were right.)

The song of this chapter: Breakers by Local Natives

Warnings: mentions of trauma, PTSD, depression, alcohol abuse, smoking, very brief, very vague mentions of blood, death, political injustice, Javi being a total fluff ball of insecurities. No physical descriptions of the reader. No smut (yet?). Lemme know if I forgot something.

Word count: 4k (last chapter literally said double it and give it to the next one)

A/N: Since Javi is having the big D word (depression) I am playing fast and loose with his physical description. So if you get the feeling that I am describing the Joel Miller from the first episode of TLOU, you are absolutely right and I am not sorry about it. And it will probably happen again.

<< Chapter 1 — Chapter 3 (coming soon in theaters) >>

Let's begin, shall we, ladies? *smirks charmingly*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Javier woke up as if from the dead with a groan. His head was pounding – no, that’s putting it too mildly – his head felt like someone spent the whole night going at it with a jackhammer and it finally cracked open. His whole body ached in a familiar way, making him feel glued to the mattress, even the mere attempt to untangle himself from between the sheets was fruitless as his arms felt heavier than the day before.

Nothing was new though.

In the last four months Javier woke up feeling like absolute shit at least three days out of seven, each time having the same reason – drinking himself stupid until he fell into a dreamless state. After that, things succeeded in the same order each morning – head about to explode, a splitting, pulsing pain behind his eyes, his body sticky-wet from a repulsing sweat that reeked of alcohol and the annoying feeling of his tongue and throat cushioned with cotton. Each and every damn time, without fail, but it wasn’t a good enough reason for him to stop doing what he was doing.

At first, he lied to himself saying that he was just letting loose, finally out of the government’s heavy boot that was pressed on his chest for so long, celebrating his retirement. He promised to himself that once he got it out of his system, he would get back on his feet and start doing something with his life.

Then, when the festivities were over, he used the excuse that a glass or two of something wouldn’t hurt on the days he was feeling a little under the weather.

Now he was drinking just to help himself sleep.

He didn’t care enough to try to come up with new excuses anymore. All he cared about was numbing the hollow cave he had inside of him, until he forgot it was there. Life was bliss when he couldn’t feel the tip of his fingers, his nose, or the demons of the past that gnawed at whatever was left of his soul.

Why the ever-loving fuck was he awake right now? His body sure didn’t feel like it was ready do to so.

Right when he was about to come to his senses, or fall back asleep – he wasn’t sure which one, Javier realized that the phone, which hadn’t stop ringing this whole time, was the reason of his premature conscient state.

He groaned, rolling onto his stomach, burying his face into the pillow. It smelled like whiskey and cigarettes. His whole damn apartment did.

The phone stopped for two seconds. Then started again.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, reaching blindly, knocking over a half empty glass in the process. The smell of stale liquor hit his nose as it spilled onto the floor. He finally found the receptor, bringing it to his ear without even opening his eyes.

“Wha-…” his voice sounded like he chewed gravel for fun so he cleared his voice before trying again, “What?”

A pause. Then, Steve’s voice, sharp and unimpressed. “You sound like shit.”

Javi grunted. “What do you want, Murphy?”

“I want to know where the hell have you been last night.”

Javi exhaled deeply, running a hand down his face. “Christ, Steve. What, you checking on me now?” he muttered, now rubbing his eyes, hoping that applying a light pressure on them would ease the pulsing pain. “I was right there at that damned gallery you and your woman dragged me into.”

There was a pause for silence on the other line, but Javier knew that silence. It meant Steve was trying to recollect himself before talking again, already sick of his bullshit. He could almost imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose and brushing his hay-colored moustache with a pissed off expression.

“You know that’s not what I meant, Javi… You just disappeared halfway through the night, you didn’t answer your home phone, never left a message, seriously, what the fuck?” Steve scolded him like he was a troubled teenager and Javi had to resist the temptation to grind his teeth – he didn’t want to worsen his headache. “Connie and I thought you left to crawl into a bottle again. You’ve been real fuckin�� predictable lately.” His voice was calmed down in intensity, disappointment taking over, “I really thought you were making progress here, and there you go pulling the same shit again.”

If he had any energy or fucks to give, Javier would have snapped back defending his honor, but he had neither, so he kept his mouth shut. Even so, Steve’s words stung, reminding once again of the disappointment he’s become.

“I didn’t do that.” He muttered into the speaker. “I really tried to stay there the whole time. It’s just…” Javi debated if he should tell the truth, and hell, for a second he considered the option of letting Murphy think he was slipping back into his own problems, but after all the support he’s given him, it would have been just plain cruel. “I met someone.”

“You met someone?” Steve echoed incredulous with a hint of amusement that didn’t go unnoticed by Javier.

Damn right he met someone. The most fascinating woman he’s ever talked to in God knows how long. The night before was one of the few times when he felt good – really fucking good – for a large number of hours.

After the two of you ditched the art exhibition, you picked up a leisurely pace walking down the busy streets, your arms brushing against each other at all times like there was a gravitational force pulling you towards one another. But never holding hands. God no. The first and most obvious reason for both of you was the fact that you barely knew each other, yet the second reason – the one only Javier knew, was the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to tainting your spirit with all the shit he carried around.

So, the two of you just walked and talked, well – most of the time you talked, like a damn chatterbox that you were, but he loved every second of it. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why he was so fascinated by you. Sure, you were an incredibly intelligent woman, funny, humble, self-aware, real – and to say that you were beautiful was an understatement. But above all these things, there was something about you, something that didn’t have a word but felt almost tangible. You were a breath of fresh air for a man like Javier, who lived for far too long feeling suffocated.

“Well? Who the hell did you meet?”

Oh, right.

“Just some woman at the gallery.” Javi tried to keep it simple.

“So, you picked up a chick and brought her back to your place.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, like when you say the sky is blue, water is wet and Javier’s mental health was in a serious decline. Just stating the obvious.

Not this time though.

“Actually, no I didn’t. Just went out for a drink, spent some time talking, then walked her home.”

“So you didn’t fuck her?” Steve’s words made Javi slightly flinch.

“No, moron, I didn’t fuck her.” he grunted.

He would’ve though. He wanted to. But he couldn’t, simply couldn’t. You were standing in front of him all soft, kind and pure, he would have never forgiven himself if he allowed his blood-stained hands to ruin your perfect soul.

And it sure wasn’t easy sticking to his motives. At one point during the night, you’ve given him enough hints that you most definitely wanted more.

                                                            -

“I swear, it’s older than you!” you defended your very old bottle of whiskey at home, earning yourself a pearly grin from Javi, one that came with a dimple on the right cheek.

“How the hell did you get your hands on something like that? And why didn’t you drink it already?”

“One of my grandma’s exes was collector and just randomly gifted me one for my birthday. He was so set in his ways to impress her that he just gave me like it was no big deal.” You shrugged and at this point in the night Javier already learned that your grandma wasn’t a typical grandma. “You know, Javi,” your voice suddenly dropped an octave, “we could always go over to my place, try that whiskey together.”

He smiled, ignoring the fact that he was actively screaming on the inside, shrugging it off. “I think I’ve had enough to drink for tonight. Maybe next time.”

                                                            -

And then he went back to his place and got fucking plastered trying to fall asleep and forget about you.

“Since when Javier Peña turns down an opportunity like this?” Murphy’s voice creeped inside his hungover mind.

He didn’t know what to say, what lie or cheap excuse to offer him, because all he had was the painful truth – he didn’t want to ruin someone good.

“Just didn’t want to.”

Another pause. “You gonna see her again?”

Javi didn’t answer.

Steve exhaled sharply. “Jesus, Javi…”

He sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His head throbbed and his mouth tasted like a goddamn ashtray.

“Okay, let’s cut the crap. We both know why you are like this, and I keep telling you, this is not Colombia. You’ve gotten out, you are free, alright? Stop kicking yourself and ruin your life over it.” It was the first time Murphy addressed the elephant in the room ever since Javier came back to the states. “Do you think any narco, sicario or some big government weasel loses any sleep over you?”

Javier didn’t say anything. He didn’t need anyone to lose sleep over him because he didn’t lose any sleep for them either. The civilians, the innocent kids, women and men alike, his coworkers who had families they needed to take care of, even Murphy’s fucking dead cat, those were the ones he dedicated his sleepless nights to. Those were the ones who didn’t deserve to die, but they did, many of them because of the fucked up decisions that he made. He dedicated his insomnia to every poor soul out there who was a victim of this fucked up system and who thought that the government was working to help them. What a fucking joke.

He may be out of Colombia now, but everything that happened there stayed with him.

                                                            -

“You always this broody, Peña?”

“Only on Tuesdays.”

You laughed at that, the sound warm and genuine. ”Lucky me, catching you at your worst.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He smiled bitterly, taking a sip of his drink. “This ain’t my worst.”

                                                            -

Steve, either sensing something in his silence or just being relentless as usual, kept going. “Look,” he said, his voice lowering, “I get it. I was there too, I know how shit was down there. I know you can’t just – just move on like nothing happened, pretend that part of you didn’t exist.”

Javi clenched his jaw.

                                                            -

“So what’d you do before?” you’d asked, tracing circled on the rim of your glass.

He’d taken a long sip of his whiskey before answering. “Worked as a cop.”

You tilted your head. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

He could feel your eyes on him, like you were trying to read between the lines, see past the half-truths. But you didn’t push. You just nodded, accepting it at face value.

That was the thing about you. You made it easy.

                                                            -

Steve was still going strong with his pep-talk on the other side of the line, “… - but you can’t waste your life like this, man.”

Javi scoffed, rubbing his temple. “I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.”

Silence stretched between them. Javi ran a hand through his hair, staring at the floor, at the empty bottles, the scattered cigarette packs and dirty clothes abandoned in random places.

Feeling that Javi wasn’t willing to answer, Murph just went on talking, “Listen, how ‘bout you come over tomorrow, we’ll make a barbecue, have some beers, maybe tell us some more about your new friend from the gallery. And-… “ Steve’s voice suddenly turned a lot sweeter and softer than the one he used on Javi, “…-yes, babygirl, I’ll tell him – Uncle Javi, Olivia is very excited to show you what she’s learned in her ballet class.” Javier could hear the muffled voice of his niece buzzing somewhere close to her father, which almost made him smile.

“Listen, man-…” he wanted to say but Steve cut him off briefly.

“It’s not a request, Javi.”

Javi gritted his teeth. “I don’t do barbecues.”

“Well, tough shit, you do now.”

Javi groaned, flopping back onto the bed.

Steve’s tone sharpened. “You don’t show up tomorrow, I’m coming to your place, beat some sense into you and drag you here myself.”

There was a long pause, followed by Javi’s curses and something mumbled that sounded a lot like I leave those commanding assholes just to be ordered around by this washed out shit.

“Fine”

“Fine?” Steve echoed in disbelief.

Javier grumbled, again, by this time his headache’s gotten even worse. “Yes, jackass, fine. I’ll be there.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Said Murphy and abruptly ended the call.

He didn’t want to see anyone. Didn’t want to make small talk, pretend to be a functioning person. He was too tired for that.

He sat there in his bed, staring at the ceiling for God knows how long. He wished he could say he was thinking about something, but he was too tired and numb to do that. So he just sat there, listening. He heard the TV of one of his neighbors, he could hear the buzzing of the street outside, cars, people, the world moving on while he felt frozen in time. He listened to his own breath, feeling that rotten muscle pump the blood in his body, blood that should have been spilled on some dark and dirty alley in Medellin a long time ago.

He didn’t feel real. This was a reoccurring thought for him. He didn’t feel real, not for some time now.

Yesterday he felt better though, good enough to let himself be fooled that maybe things are finally starting to move into the right direction. For a few hours he wholeheartedly believed that maybe Murphy was right, he just needed fresh air, a change of scenery, some light. Oh, how easy things would have been if he had the mental complexity of a plant.

But it wasn’t that what made him feel better. He’s been dragged around by the Murphys plenty of times in the last few months and it didn’t change anything. No, it was you. As awful and unfair as it would sound, you were the sole reason for his bettered state of mind.

And for half a second, he believed it was real.

Your name alone sat warm in his mouth, something soft and sweet in a world that had nothing left but jagged edges.

You talked too much, that was the first thing he noticed.

You filled the air like it was your goddamn job, talking about art and books and your strong opinions on everything, talking about the world like it still had a prayer, like the world wasn’t a miserable, fucked-up place, like people weren’t selfish, cruel, broken things.

And your laugh. The way you’d leaned in, eyes bright, telling some ridiculous story about your childhood. The way you’d made it sound like everything in your past was warm and easy, like you didn’t have a single ugly thing weighting you down.

How could he ever let himself ruin that?

And the way you looked at him – Jesus.

Like you thought he was someone worth looking at. He hated it.

Hated how easy it was for you to smile at him, how quick you were to tease him, how you sat there in that dim lit pub, laughing at something he said like he was just some guy, some normal fucking guy and not a ruined, hollow shell of a man.

Most importantly, he hated himself for how you made him feel and the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about you. What has he – a boy? A fucking boy? Going all gooey and enraptured over you just because you treated him like a decent human being?

Javi grumbled something, shifting in his bed, then, with a heavy breath, he pushed himself up and stumbled toward the shower.

The water ran cold for the first few seconds. Not that it mattered. Javier just stood there, one hand braced against the tile, forehead resting against his arm, eyes shut against the sting of last night’s whiskey and self-loathing.

By the time the heat kicked in, scalding against his skin, he still didn’t move.

His head throbbed in sync with his heartbeat. His stomach churned, threatening to revolt. He should eat something, but that required effort. And he didn’t have the energy for that—not when his own fucking brain wouldn’t shut up. On top of that, he already used all his energy to get into that shower

            He could still hear your laugh. Still see the way you’d thrown your head back, all teeth and warmth, touching his shoulder anytime you’d bend out in laughter, something so damn genuine about it that it made his chest ache.

                                                                        -

           “He flew right into my room. Just – boom, right into the window. Poor thing was too stunned for a solid minute.”

           “Bet he regretted that one.”

           “Oh, for sure. But I took care of him, you know, let him hang upside down in my closet for two days and fed him apple sauce until my grandma found out I was keeping a bat as a pet.”

            You said it so simply, so easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world – to see something broken and hurt and try to help it.

            He chuckled – actually chuckled, at your innocence. “You could’ve gotten rabies!”

            “I could have also gotten a life-long friend, Javi!”

            “I think you would have been the only five grader with a rabid flying rat for a friend.”

            “When you don’t have friends as a child, anything would do.”

            He just looked at you with compassion, with fondness.

            After a beat, you added with a small, sweet voice, “His name was Timothy.”

                                                               ��        -

          "Tell me more about your grandmother and her gallery" he asked after a beat, glancing around at the sea of people in the pub. He was dying to know more about you, but at the same he didn’t want to be too straight forward about it. If he was to be honest about it, you almost intimidated him.

You smiled warmly. "She's had this gallery since before I was born. She still curates a lot of the exhibits, even though she keeps saying she's going to retire."

"And you? Not in the family business?"

"God, no," you said with a dramatic shudder. "I love my grandmother, but this is not my thing."

"Could've fooled me," Javi muttered.

You tilted your head with an amused grin. "Because I can make up a bunch of nonsense on the spot?"

"Exactly.”

You shrugged. "Just a skill I picked up along the way."

Javi narrowed his eyes slightly, studying you. "You a writer?"

"Not professionally," you said, almost shyly. "Just... stories, sometimes."

"Huh." He looked you over again, like you were a puzzle piece he hadn't quite placed yet. A storyteller. That made sense. You had that kind of mind – the kind that found patterns, that turned nothing into something, who turned something bad into something good just with a little wordplay.

                                                                        -

Javi exhaled sharply, pushing off the tile, scrubbing a hand through his wet hair. The shower was too damn small, the walls too fucking close. He felt restless, a dull, crawling sensation under his skin that no amount of water could wash away.

                                                            -

“So, what, you don’t paint? Or play piano?” you’d asked, eyebrows raised over the rim of your glass.

He’d snorted. “Sweetheart, I don’t do a lot of things.”

“Tragic.” You leaned forward, elbows on the table. “A man with hands like yours should know how to do something.”

                                                            -

Something had twisted in his stomach at that.

Because you didn’t know. Didn’t know what his hands had done, how much blood they had on them, how much of it he still felt even now, months after leaving Colombia behind.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, the water still running too hot.

He shouldn’t have let it get that far.

He shouldn’t have walked you home.

And he sure as hell shouldn’t have stood there like some fucking idiot when you’d tilted your chin up, leaning in just slightly, that subtle invitation hanging between the two of you.

Javi had kissed plenty of women.

Hell, he’d spent the better part of his time in Colombia doing exactly that—distracting himself with soft mouths and eager hands, chasing oblivion between someone else’s legs. But last night…

You’d been right there.

Your lips, just a breath away. Your eyes, half-lidded and expectant. Your voice, softer than before, still playful.

“Are you coming up? That old ass whiskey is still waiting to be consumed.”

He should have said yes.

Should have let you pull him inside, let you press up against him, let you—

Javi slammed the water off, gripping the edge of the shower wall, chest rising and falling too fast.

He had wanted you. Fuck, he had wanted you. Of course he did, he was depressed, not dead.

But not like that. Not like some drunk asshole looking for a quick fix, for something—someone—to chase away the ghosts.

You weren’t built for that. And neither was he. Not with you.

He wanted to be able to give you something real, because you were real. And he? He was a coward and a liar who hid himself under a mask.

Javi ran both hands down his face, inhaled deeply, then stepped out onto the cold tile.

He grabbed a towel off the rack, rubbed it over his face, through his hair. The mirror was fogged up, but he didn’t bother wiping it. Didn’t need to see himself right now.

Didn’t want to check if the kind of man you might’ve thought he was, was there, only see the complete opposite.

He didn’t want to see how he let himself go, his iconic moustache already blended in with a thick beard and his hair wild, unkept, curling in all the wrong directions.

Javi was still damp when he collapsed onto his couch, a towel hanging loosely around his neck, hair dripping onto his shoulders. His body felt heavy, his skin too tight.

His apartment smelled like stale liquor and cigarettes. He should clean up. Take out the bottles, wash the dishes, maybe even open a damn window.

Instead, he reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table, lit one and took a long, deep drag.

The nicotine settled uneasily in his stomach.

He let his head tip back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.

You were gonna forget about him. Probably already had.

Women like you—bright, soft, good—they didn’t waste their time on men like him. And that was for the best.

But it didn’t stop him from wondering, though.

Didn’t stop him from thinking about the way you’d smiled at him in the dim bar light, eyes shining with something he didn’t deserve.

Didn’t stop him from wishing, for one brief second, that he was someone else. Someone who could have leaned in, kissed you, taken your hand, let you pull him into something warmer than he’d ever known.

Javi exhaled, smoke curling toward the ceiling.

He needed another drink.

But Steve’s words rattled around in his skull.

“You can’t waste your life like this.”

Javi huffed a humorless laugh. Too late for that.

Still.

Tomorrow, he’d go to that stupid barbecue. He’d sit there, let Connie make a plate for him, let Steve give him shit, let their kid run around the yard like life was something easy, something good.

And then he’d go home.

Drink. Smoke. Try not to think about the fact that, for the first time in a long time, he’d wanted something more than just another forgettable night.

And fail.

Because he could still taste the ghost of a kiss that never happened.

And he wasn’t sure he’d ever stop wanting it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Now, let me explain myself before you start throwing the tomatoes.

Did I rob you all of their date? Yes.

Am I sorry? No. Because more sneakpeeks will come later when the reader's gonna have her turn on the pov.

Or at least that's what I tell myself, because most of the time I have no Idea what the fuck I'm doing or what's the direction I wanna take until I'm already there.

Also please don't be shy to drag me down and give me your honest opinion, I promise I will take it like the good girl I am like a champ.

[sscieloz]

Until you come back home

Minatozaki Sana x reader

Synopsis: Sana meets you when you come to Seoul to present her company's new American shareholders, falling for you immediately. You get married and have plenty of ups and downs until your marriage finally seems to get happy and stable. That is, until she realizes her son looks exactly like her best friend and shareholder, Momo.

Warnings: g!p Sana, g!p Momo, cheating, toxic relationships, drinking, pregnancy, children (?), cursing. they’re all little shits. if any of that doesn’t appeal to you pls don’t read it.

Word count: 6.6k

Notes: this is v messy, but I wanted it to be messy. it was written in a different style, but that’s because I wasn’t supposed to explain reader and sana’s entire relationship... I understand this can be an unpleasant topic so pls remember it’s only a work of fiction; I don’t condone toxic relationships or any type of cheating. Also I wanted to say this was supposed to be 600 words long n i do hate myself

—

Sana knew you were special from the first time you entered the room. You were tall, lithe, and imposing—your presence immediately making everyone’s eyes dart around your curves and exquisite appearance. You entered the company—her company, like you owned the place, making it your personal runaway as you paved your way through the hallways, bored eyes critically judging each and every spot of the building like nothing you’d see there would ever surprise you.

Their attention was all on you, from the moment you placed your papers on the table to the last minute of the conference. There was something about the way you held yourself: as if no one was worthy enough of more than a few seconds of your attention. You’ve barely given her a proper look, which fueled a fire within Sana. How could you not immediately fall on your knees for her? She was The Minatozaki Sana, after all: CEO and biggest shareholder of JYP Entertainment. People fought for a single second of her attention, a mere look from her making them immediately do anything she commanded. Yet, you didn’t pay her anything further than a polite, professional conversation, as if she gave a fuck about the meeting. It hurt her pride to have you look so uninterested in her presence, your posture perfectly contained as you took whatever criticism she’d made about your presentation with a neutral face. Of course, you’d exposed your points with excellence, but that wasn’t in the matter anymore: Sana wanted to bring a reaction— anything, out of you… and if she had to use humiliation to get it, then she’d gladly do it.

It was on that very moment, once you were done with your lecture over the potential American shareholders for her Korean-japanese company, that she decided to have you to herself.

Sana had to admit she was a complete jerk, though, being too harsh with you as she gave you her immediate feedback. However, it wasn’t like she was the one to blame for that: it was you who provoked her, trying to act all indifferent and unbothered. You deserved it.

Deep down, Sana knew this wasn’t the simple game she was used to playing whenever people wanted her attention. You genuinely couldn’t care less about her— yes, she was ridiculously hot, but so were thousands of people in your life. Besides, she was too full of herself to your liking.

That aroused her. Secretly pleased her, too.

Still, you didn’t indulge her obvious offense at the conference room, simply nodding and waiting for her employees to leave so you could too.

“I will make sure to take your words further to the shareholders, Mrs Minatozaki. Have a pleasant evening.” You told her, returning her smile with an even more poisonous one.

She could go fuck herself for all you could care.

And so you left, leaving Sana urging to get under your skin and your sheets, the image of your disdained face etched in her brain.

-

Minatozaki Sana made the transactions to the shareholders way more troublesome than and they should have been. The woman made sure you (and she accepted no one else) flew to Seoul a ridiculous amount of times over months to gather little documents, deliver signatures or simply discuss frivolous contract lines that could’ve been solved with 1 hour long online meetings. It delighted her to see you in tight pencil skirts, discussing whatever she problematized as if Sana wasn’t being the biggest bitch on earth. Not once did you complain — not to her, not to her employees, who you’ve made acquaintances with from how often you saw them. Instead, you played along in her game, returning her poisonous stares with equal fire. You were getting paid to travel, attend luxurious hotels and work significantly less, since your bosses had assigned you to focus solely on this specific matter. Sana might be a bitch, but you could sure benefit from it.

In fact, the unbuttoned shirts and the low necklines you wore were all for her. You enjoyed how worked up she got with the minor things you did. You weren’t stupid: you knew she wanted you, and you partly enjoyed teasing her, too. It was only a matter of when. Which was why, when the woman finally asked you out on a date, you shrugged, agreeing on it without much excitement. The contract was almost closed, and you’d finally be free of this terrible city. You hated Seoul: the cold bothered you too much and the people were much more reserved to your liking, a clear contrast to your beloved San Francisco.

She took you to a fancy restaurant (since, naturally, Sana only went to the best.), and you were surprised, perhaps a bit bitter, too, to know that she was a surprisingly interesting woman— not quite the shallow bitch you first thought. She liked art, nature, movies and she listened to you attentively too, not like people would usually do. It was like she actually listened, and you felt completely exposed at her gaze. Soon enough, you’d spent hours talking to her freely, finding yourself enjoying the evening. It was a pleasant surprise, to have a nice night in Seoul for once. Besides, it was only for some fun, and you were pretty convinced she only wanted to get under your panties because you didn’t pay her that much attention ever since the two of you met. You’d soon go back home and forget about it, so why not? She was a pretty and successful woman, after all.

Besides, Sana did know how to fuck a woman, you got to give her that. You let her drive you safely to your hotel, so it was only natural you invited her over for some fun. She fucked you senseless, her big cock thrusting hard and without mercy onto you until your throat was raw from screaming and moaning her name for hours. You hated to admit, but it was indeed the best sex of your life. Only because of that, you decided to accept her request for a breakfast date before you parted to the airport, surprised she was not disinterested after getting the attention she so desperately wanted. Hadn't she proven her point, already?

Thankfully, you’d soon return to San Francisco, and the little rendezvous would soon be just a fun story to tell your friends on a night out. You said your goodbyes to the woman (and of course, you fucked again; as if you’d ever waste the opportunity of having a good fuck. The café’s bathroom was a bit too small, but you made it work. You fell apart at her cock just the same, the intense orgasm shuddering you.) and made your way back home, feeling content to be back.

-

You should’ve known a woman like Minatozaki Sana was not one for leaving things behind. Before you knew it, she was coming to your company personally (to discuss critical matters, she explained, as if you were stupid enough to fall for that), and you found yourself under her once again. You quickly learned the two of you were just about the same: proud, cocky, impatient and spoiled women, both used to getting things your way without much effort. Which was what got her so into you, you think. The chase, the game. Sana enjoyed chasing you, but —and she hated to admit that— she also loved how, you always provoked her back.

You were both fire, fighting just as much as you fucked. Sana was too possessive for her own good, making sure no one even paid you such thing as a light stare. She spared no efforts into humiliating and firing anyone who dared to do so, anyway: You were hers. Her jewel, most prized possession. And she’d make sure every single person knew it. That you were hers only to toy with, love and ruin.

All to herself.

On the other hand, you were just as possessive, engorging her with your bratty and insufferable persona. You just had to have things your way, and you made sure Sana gave you just that. Battling lashes, sweet looks, lusty promises… You’d give her anything to have her completely under your mercy. Every so often, it worked: she’d quickly oblige and do whatever it was that you wished her to. Other days, however, she’d shut you down, making you gag on her cock until the only thing on your mind were a series of phrases that made sure you were reminded of who owned you and who fucked you best.

You were always quick to make Sana the crazy one in your fights with your manipulative persona, rambling to your friends about how possessive she was, as if you weren’t just as crazy. After all, being snobby, full of yourself, impatient and spoiled were all traits you never denied having. You were a menace, a nightmare hidden by long, soft curls and an angelic face. You knew what you wanted, and you’d always do anything to have it. At least Sana made her personality clear, no gaslighting involved. You, on the other hand, thrived on it. On making her look like the crazy one (not that she wasn’t; you just weren’t the angel you so painted to be, either).

She offered you a crazy salary to have you working for her firm, which you repeatedly denied — even if the zeros kept adding. Again, you weren’t fond of Seoul, and the thought of leaving everything behind: your friends, your sisters, California… she’d have to do better than simply coming to your firm and fucking you crazy good until she had to go back to her normal routine, if she wanted you to follow her to a whole other continent.

To which, of course, she did. Sana would spend as much as needed to have the things she wanted, and currently, she wanted you.

After months of romantic getaways, taking you to balls and ceremonies so you’d get to know her employees and investors, massive bouquets handed by your doorsteps daily, talking to your friends and family (the hardest part out of all of it, Sana would always say) so they’d convince you to try out the new opportunity, secretly begging you to join her in Korea every time you were just about to reach your high whenever you fucked… You’ve made her work for it, surely.

Eventually, she won: within a year or so, you had a fancy ring on your left hand— since you’d told her it was either marriage or nothing, and Sana was quick to comply. — and you found yourself moving all the way to Seoul, to join your fiancée and her company.

You finally got to meet her friends and shareholders: they were wary of you, naturally, but were still pretty polite and welcoming. Not that it bothered you; you had better things to worry about than seeking Sana’s childhood girlfriends’ approval. If they didn’t like you, they’d have to talk to Sana about it, and nothing would be done, since the woman was crazy about you. In the end, it didn’t matter.

You did get close to Nayeon and Momo as time went by, though. You worked in the same section, and would often gossip in fancy cafés after work. They were the only ones you genuinely liked in this cold city, the only ones interesting enough for you to listen to. It pleased Sana, to see you putting an effort into being close to her friends, which you enjoyed, too, since you loved to please your fiancée.

Things were working out just fine: you were still adjusting, but slowly learning to enjoy your current life and the newly made changes.

-

It was only natural that you fell into a routine. A few months into the marriage, you and Sana were both too stubborn to sit and talk things out, only presenting each other with confrontations and cold shoulders instead of communicating.

You were constantly mad at her for spending so much time at the company, flirting with her coworkers and being such a whore when she was yours already. Everything irritated you: from the whole floors she’d let you redesign, the outdated furniture and, mostly, all the bastards that worked there and had you competing for her attention, just as you knew she liked it. She was such a bitch, thriving with the feeling of being wanted by many and loving the attention.

Not even having Sana fire her old secretary (that fucking whore who was always presenting herself to your wife) had made that uneasy feeling leave your guts. No matter how hard you worked, how many new places you saw, the itch in your skin wouldn’t go away, never allowing you to truly rest and relax.

So you distracted yourself with other things, much to Sana’s dismay.

In response to getting on your nerves daily, she’d shower you with gifts and affection until you were satisfied enough for your fake pout to go away. You’d fuck, sleep, and the cycle would restart on the next morning.

Oddly enough, you found it comforting. You knew Sana would indulge your wishes, regardless of what other people though about it, and your dynamics provided you with the stability you so desperately—and unknowingly, craved, even if it wasn’t exactly healthy.

-

“I want a child.” You told her one day, sitting idly in her lap as you rearranged the pens on her desk. They were always messed up, stacked in the wrong color order and in the wrong place; too close to Sana’s computer, just waiting for her clumsy hands to drop them.

Sana’s brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“I want a baby.” You repeated, scoffing. Sweetly enough, your hands traveled through her neck and hair, trailing wet kisses against her jaw. “Your stupid accountant is even in a license after his wife popped out one. I want it, too. Give it to me.”

Sana laughed at your comment, lifting your chin so you’d look at her properly. She knew it wasn’t good to indulge such behavior, specially since you could be even worse when you wanted to, but she couldn’t deny it: she loved it. Sana could feel her cock getting harder by your pettiness; the way you were always immediately extra sweet to her after being mean to everyone else. All hers, indeed.

“Can’t you wait a little more, love?” She asked you, twirling a strand of hair out of your face. You rolled your eyes even harder, pushing her shoulders to get off her lap. If she wasn’t going to do what you wanted her to, then there was no reason for you to waste your time being in her office at all. Her strong hands flew to your defined waist, though, keeping you in place. “It’ll be summer in just a few months, and you know how crazy things get around here with promotions and overnight meetings, to decide the groups’ comeback strategies.” Sana’s hands squeezed your thighs, making you whine. “Come on, princess. Don’t be mad, ok? I just want to dote on you the best I can. I can fill you up now, though. You’d like that? Want me to breed you full?”

You nodded, eager to have her cum. Soon enough, she had you completely stretched for her; your long, acrylic nails scratching her back without care as she pounded on you so hard her desk ornaments all fell to the ground, the sound of her thrusts echoing loudly through the room. You didn’t care— if anything, you wanted all of her employees and coworkers to know she belonged to you just as much as you belonged to her, too. You hummed with satisfaction as you felt her cum welcome your insides, your pleading forgotten for now.

You’d handle it later. It wasn’t like she ever said no to you anyway.

-

Your wishes died soon enough.

As summer came, Sana’s workload got her so immersed in her job you barely saw her anymore; she left home early and arrived late, always murmuring she was too tired to even talk to you about anything. You knew she wasn’t that busy— you still worked at the same company, no matter how shorter your work hours were compared to hers. She made little to no effort to go to your daily lunch dates, and didn’t even seem fazed by your cold shoulder.

“You should just talk this through.” Nayeon told you, fixing the papers in her desk as she listened to your rambling. “Tell her what’s bothering you, Y/n. I know she’s playing into your game, but Sana’s not an oracle either; you have to tell her how you’re feeling if you want it to work out.”

You sighed, knowing your friend was right, but didn’t follow her advice either way— too proud to talk to your wife. Her indifference stung, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. She refused to indulge in your usual little fights and arguments, too busy with work to focus on your relationship.

You still fucked like rabbits, even though you refused to moan her name— knowing how she specially liked how vocal you were, and she insisted on marking you a little too harshly. It was a tiring cycle, one of not speaking to each other at all, not even about work related stuff, but none of you seemed willing enough to solve it out.

You noticed her coming home even later than usual, disheveled hair and smelling like different perfumes each time. You weren’t stupid: the almost unnoticeable lipstick stains in her shirts were clear evidence of her heavy “work” load. Still, you refused to simply ask for a divorce and move on with your life. You loved Sana, and you’d stay with her, whether it was good for both or not.

She belonged to you, you’d soon remind her of it. Even if it were to make her life a living hell.

-

You didn’t keep your promise. Eventually, your energy drained out, and you were no longer interested in playing the coy game. Nevertheless, you were far from your friends and family, living in a cold, harsh city you openly hated. Without Sana’s warmth, you felt fragile and alone, not quite knowing what to do in your massive—yet empty apartment when you left work each night.

That’s how Momo found you: alone in your living room, a cheap wine in hands and smudged makeup. Momo had never seen you like this, not since you’ve become somewhat friends, sharing the same workplace. She was so used to your confident, manipulative persona she forgot you had feelings as well.

It was on that moment she realized it was all a façade, carefully made to protect your sensitiveness.

You threw yourself in her arms, sobbing on her shoulders for hours before your cries were finally resolved to tiny whimpers and your heartbeat was steady again. Your head hurt badly, and you felt like your body was going to explode, but Momo was patient enough to wait for you to calm down a bit more before talking to you.

As she ruffled your hair to soothe your deep nerves, you took a deep breath before telling her everything: how your relationship was going downhill, how much you hated Seoul and missed California, how lost you felt, and specially, how you couldn’t let Sana go, no matter how much you wanted to. You hadn’t realized how much you simply needed for someone to see completely through you until you felt Momo’s comforting embrace, her soft questions and hums as you just kept on talking and talking.

She was a good listener, letting you talk your heart out before saying how strong-willed you were and how she was pretty much inspired by your powerful aura. Momo told you to take your time with everything— including Sana, and take little steps. Everything was going to turn out just fine, she assured. You nodded at her small speech, thankful to have her by your side, and truly not knowing what you would’ve done if she hadn’t come to your apartment that night.

Which, now that you thought about it further, was pretty odd. Odd of her, to visit your apartment on a late Friday night, knowing you were all alone.

She blushed violently when you pointed that out, stuttering to explain she had noticed the change on your behavior and wanted to make sure everything was alright.

However, you weren’t thinking straight anymore. Pulling her by her necktie, you kissed Momo hard and urgently. She tried to resist it, at first, grabbing you by the shoulders and reminding you this was wrong: you were her best friend’s wife, for God’s sake. You only sighed, though— too lost in pleasure, with your head light and hazed.

You murmured she was right, because she was: this was so dirty, so wrong, but it wasn’t like Sana was not doing the same thing out there, either. You weren’t stupid, and that’s what you reminded Momo, who tried to keep you still in her lap as you pressed your butt into her already hardened cock.

It was the first time you openly acknowledged your wife’s escapades, and you knew Momo was aware of them since the beginning— and still hadn’t told you. You understood, of course: before being your friend, she was Sana’s childhood soulmate and shareholder. She would always be first in Momo’s priorities.

But it gave the raven-haired woman no right to say anything about being in the wrong.

And you were so needy and fucking horny, you couldn’t even think straight. If Momo didn’t fuck you at that very moment, you’d surely get out and find your fun elsewhere.

Her eyes darkened as you told her just that, hands interlocking your wrists above your head as she pinned you down on your lavish sofa. Momo allowed you to slip your tongue in her mouth, moaning when you kept pressing yourself on her, giggling as you taunted her. She gave in, fucking you messily and with a whole amount of guilt as she made your cunt her own personal cumdump.

You felt so good, though. Just as she dreamed of ever since she’s had her eyes on you, on that very first meeting Sana had claimed you as hers. It had been impossible not to.

No matter how much Momo loved and respected her best friend and your relationship, it never kept her from jerking off at the thought of fucking you in every position possible. Not when you always went to work in those shirts that evidenced your perfect breasts, or when you wore shorter, revealing skirts simply because you could, pulling it off flawlessly and with much elegance.

It was so wrong, but she jerked off hard to her dirty thoughts every time.

At this point, Momo’s body moved on its own, desperate to breed and take care of you. She was blinded by pleasure, both hers and yours— with your loud moans and pleads. She knew there would be consequences, but she wouldn’t take it back. Your pussy felt too good, hot and welcoming for her to worry about that.

It could wait. All of it.

At least you though so, rolling your eyes as you reached your high for the first time of the night.

-

It was clear something had changed after that. If you weren’t speaking to Sana before (as you often did, whenever you played your twisted little games), you were actively avoiding her, now; Your eyes would never meet hers, and you’d mumble an excuse to leave the room as soon as she entered any place. You and Momo hadn’t talked about it, either. Neither of you wanting to acknowledge said episode.

What surprised you was your wife’s attentiveness, as she suddenly wanted to clear it all up, calling you to her office after lunch break.

“Something’s wrong.” Her tone was sharp, as she stared right through your soul. You sent her a look just as sharp, eyebrows furrowing in disdain. Long gone was the crying, broken woman of days prior: your impeccable self was as strong as ever.

“Something has been wrong for fucking months, Mrs. Minatozaki.” Sana clenched her jaw at your way of addressing her, your voice dripping venom. However, she knew better than to pick on little things when there was still so much to unravel. So she gulped, trying to stay calm.

“Busy months, indeed.” She answered, with a neutral face.

You rolled your eyes, getting up from your chair. “So I’ve seen.”

“I didn’t give you permission to leave, Y/n.” She said, just as you reached for the door, making you clutch your fingers to keep them from scratching her face nastily.

God, she knew how to get under your skin.

“I don’t need your permission, Sana.” You muttered, gripping hard on the doorknob as you turned around, facing her front. Your bodies were close, making you instinctively try to get some distance, failing as you were already pressed to the door.

“You don’t?” She feigned innocence, her grip tight on your neck like a collar; not yet keeping you from breathing, but her long fingers were sure threatening to do so, running lazily through your neck. “It’s Mrs. Minatozaki to you, dear.”

You left her without an answer, storming out of the room before you had the chance to give in to lust and just fuck your problems out, like always.

-

It surprised you to see her home so early, a nonexistent occurrence in the last few months. Still, you said nothing as Sana entered the bedroom and took out her coat, placing it in her closet. Your eyes are trained on the TV, even though you were no longer paying attention to the program playing— your body was all tensed up, watching her every move from the corner of your eyes.

“So you do know your way home before midnight.” You teased as she turned the tv off, staring at you in the middle of the room with crossed arms, “And here I was, questioning your intelligence.”

Sana scoffed, sitting beside you. She took a deep breath before starting, eyes locked on the ground.

“Those months have been busy at the company. I know I’ve been neglecting you, us, and I’m sorry.” She turns to look at you, and you surprisingly see sincerity in her eyes. “I’ll do better.”

It wasn’t exactly an apology, but you knew it was the best acknowledgement you could get out of her, currently. So you hummed, tracing her clavicle with your fingers.

“I want a better apology, then.” You demanded, even though you allowed her to scoop you up on her lap, trailing kisses through your neck. Your guilt was eating you alive, but you only gulped in hopes to swallow it away; you wouldn’t say anything unless she did it first. “Apologize for leaving me here all alone, when you promised not to.”

You hated how your voice quivered, betraying you to announce to your wife how hurt you truly were. You’d rather to have never met her— this way, you wouldn’t be so heartbroken. By her betrayal, by her broken promises of never leaving you on your own in this new, terrifying city.

Most importantly, you hated how ardently you loved her.

“I’m so, so sorry, my angel.” Sana muttered, kissing you deep each time. Her hands cupped your breasts and you could only think about how much you craved her touch—starved for it for so long, and how much it burned. “I missed you so much. That fucking company will never keep me too busy for you again, I’ll make sure of that. I’ll just fucking remind them who owns it when they start to get on my ass again.”

Her words were filled with sincerity, you could feel it through the way she held you: hard and urgently. You couldn’t stand it anymore, though. It was suffocating, poisonous. You forced yourself off her lap, pushing your body towards the end of the bed as much as you could without falling.

“You’ve been with others.” It wasn’t a question, and Sana knew it. She didn’t deny it, either. The older woman knew you, and you wouldn’t say something like that if you weren’t sure of it.

“I have.” She nodded. It hurt like hell to have her finally admit it, but again: you were no saint, either.

You closed your eyes, playing with your shirt to avoid her gaze. She was staring at you vividly, now. “I have, too.”

The room went quiet, and Sana could swear all the wall colors were red. To think someone had touched you skin, your thighs… your cunt, her cunt. It made her want to burn the whole city down.

How dare someone fucking touch you, her angel. Her fucking wife.

“Who?” She asked just as quietly, but you knew better than to be relaxed at her passiveness. You knew how Sana’s cold, calculating posture was a hundred times worse than her explosive tantrums.

You are to blame. you wanted to yell at her, shaking her by the shoulders until you lost your energy.

I know. she’d answer. But so are you.

A broken marriage, indeed.

“Momo.” At least you felt like you were a thousand pounds lighter, even though Sana’s stare was strong enough to set the whole Seoul on fire. You waited for her to say something, anything, but the silence remained. “Are we over, then?”

Your tone was frail, filled with uncertainty. Despite it all, the last thing you wanted to do was let go of her. Your eyes were glistening with tears as you felt her arms embracing you again, trying to take deep breaths to keep yourself from crying. If the first tears fell, you knew it wouldn’t be long until you were sobbing hard.

“I was serious on our wedding day, angel.” She said, her tone calm as she caressed you hair, ever so gently. “I’m not letting you go, and this won’t break us apart.” Sana kissed your tears away, murmuring against your neck. “We’ll start again, ok? With no lack of communication, distance or cheating between us. I’ll commit to you, completely, just as you’ll commit to me, too. I won’t fail us anymore.” She looked you in the eyes, lifting your chin up. “What do you think?”

Your hiccups could be heard through all the apartment as you nodded, kissing her with love. Your relationship was doomed and so very broken, but you were determined to fix it up.

And you knew Sana was, too.

“I’d like that, yes.” She smiled as you shared another kiss, with her almost swallowing you whole as she whispered how much she loved you and how hard she missed you.

You fucked until morning, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, you were glad to wake up to your wife by your side. Your heart no longer burned with her absence or with guilt, and you were both determined to fix all of the mess with new beginnings.

Sana would have to talk to Momo about what had happened, though.

-

“I have something.” Sana looked at you from her desk, confused. You were smiling brightly, which made her relieved, but she still couldn’t figure out what was going on.

Months passed since you had decided to give your marriage another chance, and it was actually more than ok. You were putting an effort into telling her whenever something made you upset— no matter how small and frequent the situations were. You were spoiled and one prone to conflicts, after all. — and Sana cut her work hours significantly after summer ended, with the plans for JYP’s groups’ comebacks being successfully concluded. Her flirting resumed, too, as did your provocations with her coworkers and employees. You were trying, both of you.

And you were finally happy after so many gloomy months.

“Ok…” She asked, turning her computer off as she motioned for you to continue. You placed a small box in front of her, giggling like crazy.

“It’s a gift.” You clarified, with Sana inspecting the box like it was going to explode at any given moment. It was rare for you to gift her something: she was usually the one doting on you constantly, just as both of you loved it.

“For me?” You were getting impatient with her shaking and feeling up the damn box, but let her have the moment.

“For us,” With your brows furrowed, you corrected her, “Although it was something I asked you for long ago.”

Finally, Sana opened your gift, revealing a small pair of shoes and a stick with two red lines marked up. Her mouth hung in a perfect “O” as she stared at your stomach, looking for a bulge that was still too small to notice.

“That’s…” She was still at a loss for words as she got up to hug you, lifting you up form the ground. “Are you happy, my angel? Is it what you want?”

You laughed, suffocated by her kisses. “I’m very happy. I’ve really, really wanted this for a long time, Sana.” You stopped her mouth from brushing your skin again to take a proper look at her face. God, she was so gorgeous. “Are you happy? Because if you don’t want a baby right now that’s ok, we can—“

“I’m in heaven, beautiful.” Sana gave you her brightest smile, glowing as much as you were. Her hands were evolving your waist, and she leaned to mutter against your belly. “I can’t wait to start a family with you. I love you so, so fucking much.”

You hugged her again, happy to have her by your side.

“I love you, Mrs. Minatozaki.” You teased her, laughing freely as she twirled you around her massive office.

“I love you more, angel.”

-

“Ben, please don’t run—agh!” You yelled at the energetic little boy. Four and a half, almost five years old, now. He pretended not to listen, though, trying to wriggle out of your touch to go back to terrorizing the guests. “Baby, please tell him not to run? He’ll fall like that, and it won’t be pretty. You know it.”

Sana smiled at your whiny voice, pecking your lips as she ruffled the little boy’s hair (earning herself another hard glare. You’d spent so long fixing his raven hair with gel at home.) with affection. “You heard your mom, bud. Save your energy for later, ok? We can play videogames when we get home if you manage to stay awake.” Your son’s eyes sparkled at the promise, making you roll your eyes and Sana giggle. He obviously wouldn’t make it, but the thought of being allowed to do something that was usually strictly forbidden was enough to get him to calm down, steady in his mother’s arms.

It was JYP’s New Years’ event, the big ballroom adorned with white and grey ornaments. Everyone seemed to have attended, this year: the place was already massive, yet it seemed cramped with the amount of people. Workers, idols, partners… everyone was apparently enjoying themselves, with lots of food and a sweet, along with some calming background music to soothe the nerves.

Sana walked around the place, greeting and making small talk with so many people she lost track of time. Being the CEO and biggest shareholder had its perks, surely, but having to waste such time she could use to be with her little family wasn’t one one them. The woman only relaxed when Dahyun scooped to her side, allowing her to sigh in relief.

“Not having fun, unnie?” She teased, nudging her friend.

“I don’t know how you do this so flawlessly, Dahyun-ah.” She complained, eyes darting around the room to look for you. Sana smiled when you tossed her your champagne glass from afar, on the other side of the ballroom chatting with a very excited Nayeon and Momo.

“It’s one of my many qualities.” Dahyun shrugged confidently, making them both laugh.

The woman caught sight of her son once again, now accompanied by a few of her employees’ children as well, as they ran through the waiter’s legs and almost made the poor man fall to the ground. They muttered apologies and extensive bows, but soon returned to run and giggle as the waiter dismissed them.

“He’s so tall already,” Sana complained, scrunching her nose. “I swear he’ll be taller than me before he even turns ten.”

“He will.” Her friend agreed, smiling at the little boy. “If he doesn’t get too tall, though, then he’ll have at least one thing similar to you.” Dahyun teased, smiling. Sana smiled back, too, even though hers didn’t quite reach her eyes. Dahyun didn’t seem to notice. “With his hair dark like this and that sneaky smile, he looks so much like…” she paused, trying to think of someone. “like Momo! Oh Sana, don’t you think? He’s exactly like her, all distracted and clumsy but so caring and loving. One would think they’re the ones related, instead of you or Y/n.”

Sana’s mouth tasted bitter, with her thoughts running inside her head at a hundred miles per hour. Dahyun couldn’t possibly know, but it wasn’t like she was lying, either. If Sana thought about it further, her son looked exactly like Momo, specially at this age. They all grew up together; of course Sana remembered her friend’s appearance and mannerisms.

And they were the copy of her son.

“Yes,” She answered, taking two drinks from the nearest waiter and downing them in one gulp. She tried to look for you in the crowd once again, but you were long gone, lost in the sea of people gathering in the middle of the dance floor. “You’re completely right, Dahyun.”

Momo had some explaining to do. And you did, too.

[uchu-no-bashira]

𝔅𝔢𝔶𝔬𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔬𝔯 - Gyomei x Fem!BlackReader

Authors Note: I’m fixating. Send help.

TW: Minors Do Not Interact. Consensual sex between two business adults.

Maybe it was the way that his shirt squeezed his deltoids, or the way the thin fabric cradled the biceps on his arms. You stopped making excuses for why you’d go in his office to see him a long time ago, bringing him his nth coffee that you both knew he wasn’t going to drink. You picked up that… Maybe he just wanted you around, since he never complained despite the x amount of full cups on his desk, but that’s just y’all’s little secret.

For him, it was your pencil skirt, the way it hugged your curvy thighs almost majestically. It’s not like he couldn’t envision your robust outline - one he’d grown accustom to around the office since you were the “Vice President’s little helper.”

Or, Maybe it was the tone of your honeyed voice when you offered him things. “Here’s your coffee with no creamer, Himejima-san.”

God how he loved that sound. So much so, that today was the day he took a particular interest in why and how you sounded as divine as you did. One thing led to another, and he politely told you;

“Don’t ever stop speaking to me. You sound so beautiful.”

As if you could speak.

How could you? What with the bearable stretch tearing the formulation of words clean from your throat.

Heavy, stifled breaths dwindles the amount of time you have before hypoxia kicks in, or maybe you were just giddy from the pang of your g-spot being imposed on over and over as your nails grip the fabric of his dress shirt.

Your mind is spinning, apparent from the way your body leans back against the wooden shelves rocking behind you, your gasps and moans bouncing off the walls of the broom closet as the clatter of metal cans on the polished flooring warrants a shared gasp.

Gyomei slowed his pace for half a second, his finger pressing against your thick kissers while listening to the sound of determined heels clicking outside of the door. He sheathes himself deeper, pushing the air out of your lungs while pulling your knee up and away from the cleaning supplies.

“Has anyone seen Himejima? What about that new intern?! Where the hell is everyone?! I needed my iced latte and newly trained staff members yesterday!”

Shinobu shouts, veins rippling around the side of her forehead before she lets out a frustrated groan and continues past the solid wood door with the “Please use other closet” sign swaying slowly.

Once the footsteps fade, Gyomei removes his finger from your maw, chuckling softly at the way you sucked and hummed against it desperately. He tucks his forearm behind your other knee, pulling your legs further apart and angling his hips enough to make you whine in pleasure.

“Shhh.. We’ll get in trouble if you’re too loud.” He teases, squeezing your thighs tighter the closer you get to your limit.

Soon, the sound of panting fills the room as shelves beat in cadence with desperate moans, your left high heel dangles from the tip of your toes as composure slips free, you give in to your body’s carnal need for pleasure and allow him as deep as he can go.

The pit of your stomach flutters, sending a heat through each muscle, each tendon, each nerve. A high pitched squeal squeezes through your voice box, the back of your legs clench his forearms as your thighs vibrate against him.

A deep, guttural moan vibrates against your ear and the sensation of heat pooling in your stomach makes you shudder. Trails of white trickle between the two of you and drip onto the marble floor, leaving a mess for the janitorial crew to clean later…

[weirdkpopgirl]

Waiting | Dream Reaction #13

Reaction: when their gf wants to save sex for marriage

Genre: Um mostly fluff

Warnings: slightly suggestive, making out in Jeno's, and mentions of sex (but nothing graphic at all)

Word Count: ~2.9k

Author's Note: I feel like it's been so long since I wrote a Dream reaction. The following scenario was a request sent by someone. To be honest, I was a bit hesitant about doing it because I know this concept isn't that popular today. However, it is a personal value I hold and I'm not trying to impose it on those who have different opinions. But it is something I've always secretly wanted to write about. So here you go, I hope you like it ^ ^

~ ~ ~

mark

After being under the weather for weeks now, Mark thought it was time to get you checked up. That was how you found yourself sitting in a pristine white room on a Monday morning. You scanned the room anxiously, nervously drumming your fingers against the chair’s armrest. However, the nerves you were feeling calmed down a little when Mark placed his hand on top of yours.

Finally the door creaked open, and the doctor exchanged polite greetings with the two of you. Taking a seat at her computer, the doctor ran through the customary procedure of inquiring about your symptoms and any recent changes in lifestyle.

“Have you two been sexually active recently?” the doctor asked, causing a slight shift in the atmosphere. 

Heat instantly rose to your cheeks as you turned to your boyfriend with a surprised glance. 

“Oh—no, we haven’t even…” Your voice trailed off, almost as if you were too flustered to finish your sentence.

The doctor nodded understandingly and moved on to the next question. Once the check-up was finished, she just advised you to get some more rest and take some time off work to recover.

Back in the car, you and Mark burst into awkward laughter, finding humor in the unexpected nature of that encounter.

“I was so embarrassed,” you cried, covering your face, “I thought I was going to die back there.”

Mark laughed along, “Yeah me too. I don’t know why I was so surprised when she asked us that.”

A brief silence hung in the air as Mark steadied his hand on the wheel, and you gazed out of the car window. Although you believed you handled the situation reasonably, some more serious thoughts lingered in your mind. Even though it’s only been a few months since you two started dating, the doctor’s question made you realize that you hadn’t discussed the subject before.

“Speaking of though,” you said, broaching the topic cautiously. “I actually want to save sex for marriage.”

You were already bracing yourself for a negative reaction when Mark didn’t respond right away. But then he shrugged nonchalantly and said, “Okay.”

“Really?” You stared at him wide-eyed. “You’re okay with it?”

Mark nodded thoughtfully, “I mean, I can’t say it’s going to be easy. But if waiting is important to you, then it’s important to me too.”

A wave of relief washed over you, comforted now that this conversation went a lot smoother than you had anticipated. 

“Thank you, I really appreciate that,” you said, a smile lighting up your face.

Mark reached over to squeeze your hand. “No problem, babe.”

In his mind, it really wasn’t a big deal. He definitely planned on marrying you someday, so he saw it as something to look forward to in your future together.

‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿

renjun 

He was the only one to actually bring up the subject first. Although it wasn’t something he had greatly dwelled on beforehand. After being together for a few months, your relationship had proven to be relatively stable. However when it came to physical intimacy, the two of you never progressed beyond making out. While Renjun wasn’t particularly bothered by it, a sense of curiosity lingered in his thoughts.

One evening as you both walked back to your place after a date, he decided to bring it up. “(Y/n), can I ask you something?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Curious as to what this was about, you nodded. “Sure. What is it?”

“I just…I was wondering when we’re going to have sex?” He scratched his head, as the words awkwardly tumbled from his lips. You observed his cheeks turn a light shade of pink, and you could also feel your own face warming up coincidentally.

You knew this conversation was inevitable, and you’ve spent a decent amount of time preparing what you would say if it came up. Despite the mental preparation, you were a little wary of what Renjun’s response might be.

“I’m glad you brought that up,” you said, attempting to mask the nervousness in your tone. “The thing is, I want to wait until marriage for sex. I hope that’s okay with you.”

To your surprise, his response came quickly as he nodded in understanding. “That’s no problem for me. I'm happy to wait for you,” he assured.

“I know people might think we’re crazy,” you continued with a sense of unease in your voice.

Before you could finish your thought, Renjun stopped walking to cup your face with his hands. “I don’t care what people think. Our connection and the boundaries we set are more important than anyone else’s opinions,” he said assertively. “I respect your decision, and I’m here with you no matter what.”

As his words sank in, a grateful smile formed on your lips. Sighing, you leaned in to place a sweet peck on his lips. 

“What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Renjun chuckled and affectionately patted your head. “Cutie.”

His hands intertwined once more, and the two of you resumed walking back to your apartment. The both of you felt a lot better now that the topic had been addressed.

‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿

jeno

The evening started out normal, really. You were having a movie date in his apartment, which was a regular occurrence for homebodies like yourselves. Yet, an almost suffocating tension lingered in the air, subtly bringing the two of you closer.

Before you could blink, blankets were tossed aside and you found yourself lying on your back as Jeno’s lips devoured yours in a series of passionate kisses. His hands found their way to your waist, and yours wrapped around his neck, drawing him nearer. The room was filled with a soft hum of your chemistry, creating a moment that seemed to make time freeze.

Your conscience started to come back as you felt Jeno’s hands begin to roam your body. Although a part of you didn’t want to stop, you placed a hand on your boyfriend’s chest and gently pulled away. Jeno glanced at you with a puzzled expression. 

Sighing, you sat up. “I’m sorry…it’s just…there’s something I think we should talk about.”

You hated seeing Jeno’s face flicker with confusion. But he nodded for you to continue.

“If…if it’s okay with you, I want to wait until we’re married to have sex,” you admitted, your gaze unwavering. 

Jeno’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise, and it took a bit to process your words before responding. “Oh, okay,” he said in an understanding tone.

You looked at him, searching for any sign of disappointment or frustration. “You’re not upset about it?”

Jeno shook his head, as if it were obvious. “There’s no rush, baby. And I would never want to pressure you into doing something you’re not comfortable with.”

“Thank you for understanding,” you expressed, eyes softening with gratitude. You had expected a different reaction from him, fearing that he might feel restricted. But his kind words put you at ease.

Jeno returned your smile, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “But we can still make out, right?” 

The mischievous sparkle in his eyes made you laugh. “Of course we can,” you chuckled, pulling him down with you.

That was all Jeno needed to hear before his lips were on yours again. The chemistry from before was quickly reignited, and the two of you savored the intimacy of the moment.

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haechan

The two of you were just cuddling in his bedroom, after he had convinced you to take a break from studying. Nestled comfortably in his arms, he traced lazy circles on your back, creating a soothing rhythm to accompany the moment. You snuggled against him happily, enjoying this peaceful moment with your boyfriend.

“(Y/n),” he spoke suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

You glanced up in response. “Hm?”

He stared at you momentarily, tenderly brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. You were curious as to what he had to say, you found it hard to read his expression.

“Have you ever thought about…you know, when you want to have sex?” he asked, deciding it was best to just be straightforward. 

Your cheeks flushed slightly, caught off guard by his question. “Um…well I think I want to wait until marriage,” you admitted.

Biting your lip, you searched Haechan’s expression. The corner of his lips curled into a teasing smile. “In that case, will you, (L/n) (Y/n), marry me?” he asked dramatically.

“Lee Haechan, don’t joke about that,” you scolded, smacking him on the shoulder. The boy laughed, and pulled you closer to him. 

“Okay, okay I’m sorry,” he apologized, giving you a quick kiss on your forehead. “We’ll take things at your pace, baby. You don’t need to worry.”

You murmured a thank you, relaxing into his arms once more. As playful as Haechan was, you were grateful for his understanding. There really wasn’t much to worry about when you were with him.

‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿

jaemin

The gentle glow of the candles sitting on the coffee table created a warm and inviting atmosphere in Jaemin’s living room. You sat snugly on the couch with his cats, waiting for your boyfriend to come back from the kitchen. Although you appeared calm on the outside, as you ran your fingers through Luna’s soft white fur, your mind buzzed with anxious thoughts. You wanted to have a serious conversation with him tonight, but you were a bit apprehensive about it.

Your heart began to race as Jaemin reentered the room, carrying two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. It only took a single glance for him to detect your unease. Placing the cups on the coffee table, he took your hand in his and offered a comforting smile.

“Is there something on your mind, love?” he asked with such tenderness that it almost made you feel guilty.

Exhaling briefly, you tried to return his smile. “Yeah, there’s actually something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

Jaemin’s eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and concern. “I’m listening,” he replied, reaching over to gently scratch under Luna’s chin.

You took another deep breath, gathering your thoughts. “It’s just that we’ve been together for quite some time now, and I know you’ve probably thought about this. But I want to share with you that I’d like for us to save sex for marriage.”

There was a brief moment of silence as Jaemin absorbed your words. Afraid of a negative reaction, you started to back yourself up.

“It’s just that I’ve never done it before, and waiting until I’m married has always been important to me,” you continued, going on a slight tangent. “It has nothing to do with you or an attempt to restrict you.”

The warm smile Jaemin gave you felt like a game changer. He lightly squeezed your hand, his eyes reflecting nothing but understanding. “You don’t have to worry, Princess. I understand completely, and I agree it’s best to wait too.”

Instantly relief began to wash over you. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” he nodded, his smile unwavering. “I want our first time to be something we both cherish. And when we’re both ready to take that step, I promise it will be a special moment for both of us.”

His eyes gleamed with a sincerity that made you want to burst into tears. Suddenly, you questioned why you were so nervous in the first place. Every action of Jaemin’s was out of love and kindness from the depths of his heart.

“You’re so sweet,” you murmured, cupping his face with your hands. “I wish all men could be as understanding and caring as you.”

Jaemin’s gaze softened more, and he leaned in to leave a lingering kiss on your lips. “You give me too much credit, princess. As your boyfriend, it’s my job to ensure you always feel respected and loved.”

“Stop it, you’re going to make me cry,” you exclaimed, using your hand to fan your eyes.

He chuckled in response and pulled you closer to cuddle. As you remained in his embrace with his cats nestled around you, you realized how lucky you were to have Jaemin by your side. 

‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿

chenle

You had been avoiding the subject for as long as possible, mostly because it was a little awkward for you. This was your first serious relationship, and you were sure Chenle’s thought about it before. But he was waiting for you to say something first.

Then came an evening where the two of you were watching a movie at his place. You didn’t exactly plan on talking to him about it that day. It kind of just slipped out.

Neither of you had a specific preference for what to watch, so Chenle randomly selected something on Netflix. However, halfway into the film, a provocative scene began to unfold. A knot tightened in your stomach, and within five seconds, you averted your gaze. Chenle chuckled nervously beside you, wisely opting to change the movie.

Even though something new was being played on the screen, you found yourself making occasional sideway glances toward Chenle. The realization struck that you had been putting off this topic for so long, and the nagging feeling inside you knew it would keep bothering you if you didn’t address it now.

Before your nerves could get the better of you, a heavy exhale escaped you. “Chenle, there’s something I want to talk about.”

His eyebrows raised slightly in concern, sensing the apprehensiveness in your voice. “What’s up?” he asked.

The movie’s ambiance served as a backdrop to your hesitancy. But determined not to chicken out, you closed your eyes and blurted out, “I want to wait until marriage for sex!”

You opened your eyes to see Chenle’s face swiftly transition from a surprised expression to a more composed one. For some reason he thought you were going to break up with him or something. So when he processed your words, in his head he was like “oh, that was it?”

“Okay, that’s cool,” he said, figuring that was all and leaned back on the couch.

His nonchalant response left you looking at him in disbelief. “You’re not upset at all?”

“No, why would I be?” he chuckled, playfully nudging you. “Sex isn’t everything. If waiting until marriage is important to you, then I’m on board with that.”

The way his eyes reflected genuine sincerity, gave you more reassurance. “Gosh, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that,” you exhaled.

He grinned, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He couldn’t resist teasing you a little.

“Well what can I say? You’re dating a great man.”

You rolled your eyes, earning a laugh from him as he pulled you closer. Secretly, you had to agree that Zhong Chenle was indeed a great man.

‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿︵‿୨✧୧‿︵‿

jisung

It really wasn’t a big deal to him. But he did think about it from time to time. The both of you were somewhat new to being in a relationship. However, after being together for a few months, Jisung thought the two of you should’ve had sex by now. 

He was almost afraid to ask, because the two of you had never directly discussed sex before. But the desire to know your thoughts was becoming overwhelming, and Jisung knew that he’d explode if he didn’t bring up the subject.

As you lounged together in your living room, Jisung absentmindedly fiddled with the drawstrings of his hoodie. Occasionally he stole glances at you, who was scrolling through social media posts on your phone. He almost choked when you said something.

“Is there something on your mind, Jisungie?” you asked, without even looking up from your phone. It was as if you could sense he had something to say, solely by his body language. You had to hold back from smiling in amusement as his eyes widened in surprise.

The boy beside you laughed nervously as he sat up a bit straighter. “I—um want to talk about us. You know in terms of…”

“Sex?” you finished his sentence, throwing him off even more. 

Jisung looked at you with a perplexed expression. “Are you a magician? How did you know that was what I wanted to talk about?”

“I don’t know, lucky guess?” you chuckled, casting your phone aside. “It’s also something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about too.”

“Really?!”

You nodded, flattening your hands across the blanket on your lap. “I know we’ve never discussed it before, but I think it’s best to be transparent with you. Is that okay?”

 “Of course,” Jisung answered right away. “I want you to be honest with me, Jagi.”

Lowering your gaze, you took a deep breath before confessing, “Well, um—I want to wait until marriage for, you know, sex.”

It took a moment for you to gather the courage to look at Jisung again. When you did, you were met with an almost relieved expression.

“You know what? I think that’s a great idea,” Jisung said, assuringly. “We can just take our time, with no rush.”

You smiled in response, “I’m glad we’re on the same page then.”

Jisung’s shoulders visibly relaxed and he sank back into the couch. “Ugh, I feel so much better now that we’ve talked about it,” he said, covering his eyes.

Shaking your head with a laugh, you observed the boy in amusement.

“You’re such a dork,” you murmured, snuggling against his hoodie. Jisung smiled and snaked his arm around to hug you.

Jisung was genuinely relieved that you were both honest about your feelings of intimacy. In fact, he felt like having this conversation brought you even closer. Although you were both young, he felt secure knowing your relationship was built on a sense of connection and trust.

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[livingdreams97]

Eloise Bridgerton - "The Prince" (Part 3)

Eloise Bridgerton x Male reader/oc

Summary: Two people who have never seen each other before, with the same need and desire to be free in different ways. What could come of that when both people meet each other?

Words: 4.181

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Masterlist

POV You

Just as I had discussed with Eloise that night in the maze. I have been showing my interest towards her in a more noticeable way and she towards me too.

Four days have passed since that night and on each of the days I have gone to the Bridgerton house, had tea and thus could spend more time with Eloise in front of her mother. Of course, I have never appeared empty-handed, because if anything it is etiquette and manners regarding situations like these.

The first day I showed up with a lemon cake, along with a bouquet of Eloise's favorite flowers which were daisies, blue roses and blue dahlias. Also along with a bouquet of violets for her mother. It goes without saying that the matriarch was impressed and Eloise gave me a subtle wink as a sign of success.

The second day I turned up with some cakes and Lady Bridgerton 's favorite sweets. Since having a detail with the mother is always well seen and adds points at all times.

On the third day I was a little more daring, bringing a carrot cake made by myself; with the help of the cook and Eloise 's favorite chocolates.

And today I had decided on a book on the natural sciences and their use in medicine, since my studies had come to light in one of my conversations with Eloise and she had shown an interest. So I thought it was a good idea to give her a basic book on the subject, because she likes to read and I'm sure she'll appreciate it more than the desserts.

While for her mother, I brought her favorite sandwiches so that she can accompany the tea with them.

I knock on the door of the Bridgerton house , making sure my black tailcoat is tied securely, my khaki slacks are wrinkle-free and my tie is tied just right.

I put my hat back on and take a deep breath. The door opens, letting me see the housekeeper of the place and she, recognizing me, allows me to pass.

Before entering the house, I receive the gifts from my coachman and I thank him by entering the site. I follow the woman into the living room, where I immediately see Lady Bridgerton sewing something, Eloise reading a book sitting on the sofa in a tomboyish manner, and the younger members of the family playing chess.

XX: My lady, Prince Y/n of Hanover is here. - she informs her of my arrival and I see how the matriarch gets up from the couch immediately.

Violet: What a pleasure to have you back here.- she walks towards me excitedly, passing by her daughter and giving her a light blow to make her sit good; causing a small amused smile from me.

Y/n: The pleasure is all mine Lady Bridgerton .- I assure her, greeting her with a kiss on her hand. -I hope I was right when i choose them.- I commented, extending the box with the sandwiches .

Violet: It wasn't necessary my lord.- she denies with a small smile receiving the box.

Y/n: Don't tell me my lord Lady Bridgerton, we are not in public and honestly I feel a bit old when it comes to it.- I say with a certain humor. -As long as you calls me by my name, we will be more than fine.- I assure her with a smile.

Violet: Okey Y/n, are you coming to have tea with us? - she asks with some emotion and illusion.

Y/n: If you are so kind as to accept me, then I would like to have tea with you. - I respond politely and without imposing myself.

Violet: I'm going to tell them to prepare it outside, since it's a wonderful day and the garden is beautiful. - she warns and leaves the room with a huge smile.

Gregory: When my sister marries you, will I be a prince too? - he asks running towards me, as soon as his mother disappears and with his sister by his side.

Hyacinth: And can I be a princess? - questions excited. - Because if Gregory can be a prince, I want to be a princess too.- she says confidently, receiving a push from her brother and she returns it.

Gregory: You're a copycat.- he reproaches her and I can't help but think about my absurd and childish fights with my brother when we were just kids.

I watch as they playfully push each other, poking each other and can only look longingly at them. I long for when life was as simple as copying your brother or playing a prank on him to annoy him.

Eloise: Stop fighting and making a fool of yourselfs.- she tells them, separating them by the heads. -Second, like "when my sister marries you"? - she asks his little brother.

Gregory: Mom says you're getting married, because Y/n comes every day for you and because he likes you.- he answers as if it were obvious and that causes me to laugh without being able to avoid it.

Eloise: Mom said that? - asks with a surprised expression.

Hyacinth: She and Lady Danbury have commented on it, they compare you with the work they did with Daphne and the Duke.- the youngest of all responds this time and I can't help but look at the oldest with a raised eyebrow.

Eloise: And what makes you think that I will marry him? - she points at me and I pretend to be offended; causing the children to laugh.

Hyacinth: Because you talk to him for more than a minute and you don't complain about him like you do with the rest of the suitors.- she answers as if it were the most obvious.

Y/n: So you don't complain about me? - I ask with amusement . -It's interesting to know.- I assure her, seeing how she kills me with her eyes.

Violet: We can go outside, they are already organizing the tea.- she warns us happily, entering the room and seeing the four of us standing together. -What are you talking about? - interested question.

Gregory: About how Y/n and Eloise are going to get married and I 'll be a prince.- he answers with total sincerity, causing the matriarch to open her eyes surprised and somewhat curious.

Eloise: Don't pay any attention to them, mother, the dwarves are just saying nonsense and commenting on some unimportant things they've heard.- She brushes the matter off with her hand.

Violet: Okay.- she nods not very convinced. -Let's go out.- she points out and placing her hands on her children's shoulders pushes them out.

I laugh at the attitude of the youngest and the conspiracies of Lady Danbury and Lady Bridgerton about my possible relationship with Eloise .

Eloise: Are you okay? - she asks me after a few seconds.

Y/n: Yes of course, why wouldn't I be? - I ask somewhat confused, starting to walk out with her.

Eloise: When my brothers have started to fight, you made a sad and somewhat thoughtful face.- she answers me with a small grimace. -And I wanted to know if you were alright.- she comments and I nod with a slight smile.

Y/n: I just remembered what it was like to be his age and fight with my older brother for any trifle.- I answer with a slightly sad face. -But I'm fine.- I assure her with a small smile.

Violet: Y/n and Eloise sit together on that side.- she points to the two free seats at the round table outside.

I take Eloise 's chair out for her to sit in, tucking her in nicely, then I sit to her right and across from the Bridgerton matriarch .

As soon as we sit down, tea and sandwiches along with other sweets are served on the table. And it is at that moment that I remember the book in my hand.

Y/n: Before I forget.- I speak turning to Eloise and stretching her the book. - The other day we talked about my studies and since you showed some interest regarding natural science and its uses in medicine, I have brought you this book for you to read.- I informed her seeing the smile appear on her face.

Eloise: Thank you.- she thanks me by receiving the book and opening it immediately. -There are things written.- she comments confused.

Y/n: It's my book; well it was, now it's yours. - I pointed out a bit nervous. -I asked my father to send it to me, since it is quite interesting and something basic so that you can understand it better.- I comment with a small smile. -What is written are my notes, which I wrote at the time to better understand the concepts and I have believed that this way it would be easier for you to understand everything too. It took me a while to understand everything, but to be honest; You're smarter than me and I'm sure you won't need the notes. But I wanted to make sure and that's why I'm giving you my old book and not a new one. - I explain to her, pointing to the small paragraphs written by hand on some pages.

Eloise: Thank you very much Y/n, it means a lot that you give me this book.- she assures me with a smile, looking into my eyes and I can see how her beautiful blue eyes water slightly.

Y/n: It's nothing, I know how much you appreciate books; I thought you would like and appreciate a book more than another dessert. - I explain somewhat embarrassed, scratching the back of my neck and feeling observed.

I couldn't tear my gaze from Eloise 's, feeling that if I look away from her I'll miss the happiness and excitement that sparkles in her eyes at the gift. And that's something I don't want to miss for the world.

POV Narrator

What he wasn't aware of, and neither was Eloise , was the look that Violet Bridgerton was giving into the interaction between his daughter and the prince. As she watched with a smile full of happiness, her daughter's face lit up at the detail and the prince's own detail towards her daughter.

Her daughter could deny it all she wanted, but she was falling in love with the Prince of Hannover and her eyes or the way she looked at him couldn't hide it. And for the first time, the former viscountess felt calm about the future of her rebellious daughter. Because she had someone who cared and would take proper care of her.

And Violet Bridgerton didn't just see that look on his daughter, She could also look at the look the prince was giving her daughter and the slightly reddish color of his cheeks. She just hopes that she and Lady Danbury are right and that the proposal is close.

Because her daughter had never looked at anyone like she was doing at that moment with Prince Y/n and she didn't want anything or anyone to get in the way of her happiness.

Eloise's POV

I was determined, I was going to accept the proposal and marry Prince Y/n. Sure, if the offer still stood.

After weighing it carefully for almost four days, I have realized that I win much more than I can lose. And not only will I end up winning, but my family and Y/n will also win; so it's the best I can do.

Also, that Y/n is not so bad and every day I am enjoying his presence and company more. The truth is that I never imagined that I would get married, but it was because it went against my ideals and my growth as a human being.

But I know that with Y/n my growth as a human being and as a woman will not be crushed or reduced in any way. The freedom that I would have is also something that has pushed me to accept, since that is something that has made it clear to me and I can do what I want as long as it is not something that puts my "marriage" at risk.

And lastly, Y/n was a nice company and I can have an intellectual discussion with him . Without feeling insulted by my sex and my "few" studies or level of knowledge.

He had been really great to me. My mother, like every day, has not stopped asking the prince questions and talking to him in an animated way. Like my little brothers, who have not stopped asking questions about the crown and royalty like every day.

Leaving little time for me to talk to him and tell him in a hidden way that I accept the proposal.

Just before he leaves, I stop him and look around making sure no one sees us. Once I make sure that my mother is busy with my brothers and they with my mother; I have the green light.

Eloise: I accept.- I tell him directly.

Y/n: Accept what?- he asks a bit confused.

Eloise: You are supposed to have studied and gone to the university.- I reproached him amused, giving him a light blow to the back of the head.

Y/n: That's not a reason to hit me.- he claims, rubbing the affected area.

Eloise: Exaggerated.- I say because of her reaction to the light blow. -But I accept your proposal.- I clarify and after a few seconds he opens his eyes in surprise.

Y/n: Are you serious? - he asks excited and with a certain illusion shining in his precious emerald eyes.

Eloise: I'm not kidding, you don't see how I laugh.- I say sarcastically causing him to laugh.

Y/n: I don't care about your horrible humor.- he downplays it with a smile. -I have to think about how to ask your mother for your hand, in the ring and in the house.- he enumerates and opens his eyes. -Where do you want the house? - he asks me with interest.

Eloise: Near Aubrey Hall, it's my family's country house and I don't want to be far from them, but I don't want to be in the center.- I answer. -In addition to the fact that my family is only here during the social season, then they live at Aubrey Hall for the rest of the year.- I explain and he nods in agreement.

Y/n: Perfect, well I guess I'll be back tomorrow for the I 'll ask your mother for your hand.- He nods according to his own plan.

Eloise: I'm afraid we won't be here tomorrow.- I comment with a grimace and I see how the smile disappears from his face.

Y/n: And why is that? - he asks confused.

Eloise: We're going to Aubrey Hall for the weekend, to bond with the family and spend time together; and blah blah blah.- I downplay any kind of importance.

Violet: What are you two talking about? - she asks appearing out of nowhere and scaring us completely.

Eloise: For God's sake mother, don't appear like that.- I ask with a hand on my chest and feeling the accelerated beating of my heart.

Violet: Sorry dear, I didn't know you were so engrossed in your conversation and that you hadn't seen me.- she apologized with an amused smile for my reaction.

Y/n: It's okay, the scares help keep the heart beating.- he says with an amused smile.

Violet: So? What were you talking about? - she returns to question too interested from my point of view.

Eloise: About the fact that tomorrow we're going to Aubrey Hall and that we'll spend the weekend there, so we won't be here for the prince Y/n to come for tea.- I answer my mother and see how the gears of her head begin to move.

Violet: Maybe Y/n can join us and be our guest this weekend.- she offers and it doesn't seem like a bad idea to me.

Y/n: I don't want to impose myself on your family weekend.- he denies with a small smile.

Violet: Don't say nonsense, you don't impose yourself and I'm also inviting you.- she assures him happily. -In addition, the Sharmas and Lady Danbury will also accompany us for another year. In fact, I'm surprised that Lady Danbury hasn't told you anything.- she says a little confused and thoughtful.

Y/n: It will be because of Edwina and her possible relationship with my cousin Friederich .- he comments a bit insecure. -From what I know, they spend a lot of time together and since my aunt can't be supervising all the time, it's Lady Danbury's turn to be watching.- he shrugged at the information.

Violet: Then we'll see each other tomorrow at Aubrey Hall.- she assures Y/n. -Let's go out, so I tell one of my drivers to give directions on how to get to your coachman.- she says threading her arm through the prince's and pulling him towards the entrance of the house.

I just laugh, when he looks at me over his shoulder with a face between surprise and amusement at my mother's attitude.

I shake my head and sigh calmly, knowing that many of my problems will be solved as soon as Y/n asks my mother for my hand. And the rest of my problems will be solved when the prince and I give each other the "yes, I want".

Because something is clear to me, if my mother believes that Y/n is going to ask me to marry him and that we are in love; the rest of the world will believe it too. Because if there is something that my mother is in this life: she is insightful.

None of my brothers have been able to deceive our mother, since she always knew when something did not quite fit and we hid something. So if Lady Danbury is being talked to about my possible marriage to the prince; it means that she believed it.

POV You

As soon as I get to the palace after being at the Bridgerton house , I head towards the tea room and where I'm sure my aunt is.

Now that Eloise has accepted the proposal to marry me, I have to start organizing the proposal and I need my aunt for it. I know that Eloise is not her favorite person after the last season, since at first she was sure it was Lady Whistledown and then she dismissed it; when her political position came to light.

Y/n: Aunt.- I greeted entering the room and making a reference. -I have to talk to you in private.- I ask and I see how she nods giving her servants a look.

Charlotte: Sit down dear.- she asks me pointing to the hole next to her on the sofa . -Tell me what do you want to talk about ? - she asks me interested when I sit next to her.

Y/n: You know that I have come to London with one intention, which is to fall in love and marry a woman from high society, right? - I ask a little nervous, because my aunt is the key to making everything believable and if she doesn't accept my engagement; neither will my father.

Charlotte: I am aware of this and that is why I put Lady Danbury as your supervisor, so that you could be successful in this first season. - she nods with a serious face.

Y/n: Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, aunt.- I point out the interest in her eyes. -I have found the person I want to marry and I want to have your blessing to ask for her mother's hand.- I comment with all the confidence in the world.

Charlotte: So soon? - clearly surprised question. -We've barely been in the season for three weeks.- she says, somewhat impressed.

Y/n: I know, but I can't explain what I feel when I see her or when I'm with her aunt.- I start to say to make it sound credible. -Besides that you have always told me that love does not have a predestined time.- I remind her with a small smile.

Charlotte: Are you sure dear? - she asks me and I just nod. -Do you love her? - she asks staring into my eyes and I stay for a few seconds thinking.

Y/n: Yes.- I answer without taking my eyes off his, trying to look sincere and credible.

Charlotte: Then I give you my permission.- she nods with a huge smile. -And can you tell who is the lucky one? - she questions interested.

Y/n: Eloise  Bridgerton, aunt.- I answer confidently and I see the surprise and a hint of annoyance appear on her face.

Charlotte: No.- she denies immediately.

Y/n: Aunt please, I love her and I want to marry her.- I ask, grabbing one of her hands and looking at her with pity.

Charlotte: Can't you choose someone else? Someone who doesn't hang out with political radicals? - she asks in the form of a complaint.

Y/n: She's not a radical girl, she's intelligent and has something on her mind besides the pianoforte.- I defend her without thinking. -The hours fly by when I talk to her, I feel comfortable and I feel that she really wants to be with me because of who I am; and not for being the prince aunt.- I say honestly.

Charlotte: And I'm glad you feel that way about someone dear nephew. But couldn't it be anyone else? - she asks in surrender and I smiled knowing what it means.

Y/n: I'm sorry aunt, but she's the right one for me and I'm sure that if you meet her you'll like her too.- I assure her smiling and seeing how a slight smile appears on her face.

Charlotte: I'll accept her because for me you're like a son and if she makes you happy I can't oppose it.- she finally accepts and I jump on her to hug her.

Y/n: Thanks aunt, you don't know how much this means to me.- I tell her when we parted from the hug.

Charlotte: And how do you plan to ask for her hand? - question interested and excited by the event.

Y/n: Lady Bridgerton has invited me to spend the weekend with them and Lady Danbury at Aubrey Hall; and tomorrow when I arrives I'll ask for her daughter's hand and if she accepts I'll ask her after dinner. - I reply a bit nervous, due to the possibility that she refuses and the plan is spoiled.

Charlotte: And you already have the ring? - she ask and I deny. -Well, come with me dear.- she asks me getting up and I walk next to her.

We walk towards her dressing room, where there is a table full of precious stones on a table in the center and as soon as we stop in front of her she opens a box in the center.

When she opens the box, I widen my eyes to see what's inside and look at her in astonishment.

Charlotte: This was one of the first rings that King George gave me as a gift.- she comments showing me the ring. -The king discovered that emeralds were my favorite stone and he thought it would be a good gift for me; and he was right.- she tells me looking at the ring with a certain sadness and affection.

Y/n: It's beautiful aunt.- I compliment seeing the brilliant stones of the ring.

Charlotte: It has a lot of meaning to me and that's why I want you to have it.- she tells me, offering me the box.

Y/n: No, aunt, as you think, I can't accept something so important and with so much emotional value.- I deny immediately.

Charlotte: I insist.- she says pushing the box in my hands. -I want you to ask that girl to marry me with my ring, for me you are my son and I want this ring to pass into your hands.- she explains and I nod, looking at the ring more carefully .

Y/n: It really is precious. - I whisper, looking hypnotized at the great emerald in the ring.

Charlotte: And valuable, that's why I want you to ask her to marry you with that ring and pass it on from generation to generation.- she assures me and I nod safely.

Y/n: Thank you very much aunt.- I thank her again and hug her again; immediately being wrapped in her arms in an almost maternal way.

Charlotte: I am very proud of you my little one and of how much you have matured; your mother would be proud too. - she whispered safely against my ear and I can't help but tighten the hug feeling the itch in my eyes.

I'm sure you wouldn't be so proud if you knew the truth and the reason for my marriage. She always defended love and from the first day she told me to marry for love. That I would never marry for any other reason than love and here I am, marrying by agreement with my father.

Y/n: Thank you.- I whisper feeling the guilt invade me.

Charlotte: Also, I understand that that girl also likes emeralds.- she assures me amused when we part from the embrace.

Y/n: Let's hope for the best.- I comment amused and looking again at the ring in my hands.

Now all I have to do is pack for this weekend and have Lady Bridgerton accept my marriage proposal to Eloise. I just hope everything goes well.

[nvxzaa]

➜ Chapter one

— JANUARY 20**

The light hubbub of the café had become almost familiar. It was their place, their Sunday afternoon ritual. A little break between classes, responsibilities and the hurts we didn't say out loud.

Sitting opposite her two best friends, Ivy absentmindedly twirled her spoon in her drink. She smiled, more out of politeness than envy, nodding occasionally as her friends talked excitedly.

- There's a blind test on Thursday night, would you like to come along?" one of them said, her eyes shining with hope. Frankly, it would be good for you.

- That's nice, but no," Ivy replies softly, unsurprisingly. You know I'm not really into that sort of thing right now.

Her friends exchange glances. They've learned not to push too hard. To respect this "right now" that's been going on for months.

As if to change the subject, a waiter approaches. Young, with warm eyes, he places a steaming cinnamon roll in front of Ivy without a word, just a discreet smile.

- Thank you," she murmurs, barely looking up.

He nods before heading back to the counter, as he always does.

- You'll end up having to give him your number," says his other friend with a wink.

- He offers you one every time you come here, it's not a coincidence," insists the first.

- It's a cinnamon roll, not a statement," sighs Ivy, cutting off a piece.

They laugh softly, but Ivy keeps her eyes downcast. She doesn't want us to see anything else. Maybe not yet. Maybe not ever.

And yet, even without meaning to, Ivy is an eye-catcher. Her beauty isn't flashy, but she rarely leaves anyone indifferent. There's something about her, something you notice without really knowing why. It's a mixture of withdrawn strength and gentle melancholy. She doesn't want to be seen, and that's precisely what makes her so visible.

Ivy is unaware of the impact all this is having on her. The pressure imposed on her during her last relationship, this constant pressure, ended up trapping her in a spiral of self-doubt. Her thoughts were often lost in reflections on her appearance, on what she was really worth. Her old insecurities, ignored until then, emerged, invading her mind and making her more distant, more silent. Every gesture, every look, became a test.

Jaad and Samarah, her two best friends, try every day to bring her back into the light. They try to make her smile, to give her back the confidence she has lost. With their words and actions, they remind her that she's beautiful, that she deserves the best. But despite their efforts, Ivy knows that this battle is hers. It's a battle she must fight alone, a path only she can take and, she hopes, succeed in traveling.

The café turns into their little haven of peace every weekend, but today something is different. The laughter of Jaad and Samarah intermingles with the voices of the other customers, but Ivy remains immersed in her thoughts. The cinnamon roll she's slowly slicing seems to be the only thing on her mind. Her friends continue to chat, their natural enthusiasm trying to break down the wall she's built for herself.

- What if you went to the blind test, at least for one evening? insists Jaad, a teasing smile on his lips. Who knows, you might have a good time. You don't want to stay in your bubble all the time.

Ivy looks up, her clear eyes meeting Jaad's. A moment of silence.

- I know you're worried, but... it's complicated," she replies, the words hesitating on her lips.

Samarah stares at her intensely, but without judgment.

- We're not forcing you, Ivy. We just want to see you live again, to give you back a little bit of what you had before, you know?

Ivy lowers her eyes to her cup, a slight smile floating on her lips. Her friends know. They know she's struggling. But they can't do the work for her. They don't have the key. Only Ivy has the strength to pull through. She knows she has a long way to go, and that she hasn't yet found the courage to face it all.

The sounds of the café fade again, but she notices a detail she hadn't seen before: the man at the counter, the one who always offers her that cinnamon roll. He looks at her, a furtive but attentive glance. He smiles, and something about his smile makes her hesitate. She feels... seen. Not judged, but simply seen. A simple act, but one that touches her more than she'd like to admit.

The conversation resumes, but Ivy, though physically present, is elsewhere. She loses herself in the sound of the coffee, in the warmth of the cup in her hands. Jaad and Samarah continue to talk, but they know that their friend is already mentally escaping.

- Okay, Ivy, you know what? We won't insist. Forget the blind test. But just promise we'll do something together soon. It's been a long time since we've had an evening just the two of us.

Ivy looks up at her friends, a sincere smile this time. She nods gently.

- I promise. But... tonight, I'm going to the gym. I need to... clear my head a bit, you know?

Jaad and Samarah exchange a glance, but they don't insist. They've learned to understand these moments when Ivy withdraws into her routine. It's her way of getting back on her feet.

- Okay, but we'll see about the next one," replies Samarah with a wink.

Ivy stands up, grabbing her bag. She looks at the cinnamon roll for a moment, thinking she'll eat it later, when she returns from the room. She didn't feel like going to the blind test tonight, but more than anything, she knew her head wasn't in it. She needed to find her space, her inner peace, and the gym had become her place, her ritual.

- See you later, girls," she said, heading for the door. And don't worry, I'll be back with anecdotes to tell. I promise.

The two friends wave, sharing a silent smile. Ivy leaves the café, feeling a little more isolated, but little does she know that this evening may mark the beginning of a change.

Ivy is alone in the gym, as usual. It's already late at night, well after rush hour, when the noise from the machines dies down and the space seems almost deserted. She's got into the habit of coming at these times, when the world seems to be asleep, as if the stillness of the night allows her to concentrate better, to find herself better.

The weights are heavy, but she hangs on, striving to keep going without thinking too much. Each movement is like an escape, a way of clearing her head, proving to herself that she can master something. She feels her muscles burning, but she pushes on, just a little bit more, until she hears footsteps behind her. Footsteps coming closer.

She turns her head slightly. A man enters the room. Rather tall, he wears headphones and walks towards a machine not far from her. She'd never seen his face before that evening. Well, not really. But her gaze settles on him for a few moments. He puts down his bag, stretches, then begins to prepare for his workout.

A slight uneasiness sets in. Ivy doesn't know why, but she feels as if she's being watched, aware of every movement. She tries to banish this thought and concentrate on her own body, but deep down, something inside her remains alert.

He seems to notice her too. One moment too many. Perhaps it's the silence of the room, but their eyes meet furtively. At first glance, it's nothing special, but something in his slightly lopsided smile triggers a reaction in Ivy. A shiver, perhaps of embarrassment. He doesn't look away immediately, and Ivy finds herself watching him a little longer than she'd like.

Then he moves towards her, without hesitation, and breaks the silence.

- Well, you look like you've been training hard," he says, his tone light and relaxed. It's always easier when no one's around, isn't it?

Ivy, surprised by the question, finally raises her eyes and looks at him. He smiles, a confident smile, as if he's not embarrassed to strike up a conversation with a complete stranger.

She's not sure what to say. It's late, she's tired, and this isn't really the time to have a chat.

- I prefer it when it's quiet, it allows me to concentrate," she replies simply, without really wanting to engage more than necessary.

He nods, as if to show he understands, but doesn't seem to want to stop there.

- Do you come here often at this hour?" he asks, his tone more relaxed, almost friendly. I have the impression that everyone has deserted the room.

She hesitates for a moment. Why is he talking to her, at this moment, in this place where she's just trying to escape? But there's something about his manner that confuses her, just a little. She doesn't want to seem abrupt, but irritation is creeping in.

- Not often. Just when I want to be alone," she replies, her eyes turning away briefly, trying to keep her gestures precise.

He seems to get her message, but continues, in a lighter tone, a little too playful perhaps.

- Well, I'm glad you're here. It's rare to come across someone so determined at this hour. You've got quite a discipline, you know?

Ivy doesn't really know how to react. She senses a hint of humor in his words, perhaps a little flirtation too, but she refrains from answering. A furtive smile passes over her lips, but she just nods, not wishing to get carried away.

- It's just a matter of habit," she murmurs, avoiding prolonging the conversation.

He seems to want to say something, but Ivy takes a deep breath, turns a little more towards the machine and starts adjusting the weights. A sign, a subtle but clear gesture. She doesn't want to linger here. She doesn't want this conversation.

- Well... I won't bother you any longer," he finally says, his tone a little calmer, as if he's realized he won't get any more out of her. Good night, then.

She didn't answer right away, contenting herself with giving him a brief glance. Then, after a moment, she murmured almost audibly, without really looking at him.

- You too.

He walks away, leaving Ivy with her thoughts, a little more disturbed than she would have liked. It's a strange beginning, an encounter she hadn't really planned, but which somehow made her feel seen.

She resumes her training, but this time a little more tense, her gestures less fluid than before, disturbed by the encounter that has just taken place. But deep down, she can't help wondering if this is the first and last time he'll cross her path.

Ivy tries to concentrate, but something in the air seems to have changed. The heat of the lights on her skin is the same, the sound of the machines still there, but that encounter haunts her. She can't stop wondering if this is the first and last time she'll come across this guy, this smirk, this quiet but insistent voice. It's not the kind of moment she's used to here, in her sanctuary of solitude.

Her thoughts drift as she tackles another exercise. The burning in her arms brings her back to reality, and she forces herself to put her mind back on the muscles she's working. But she still feels the man's gaze on her, like an invisible imprint on her skin. Embarrassment has settled into every fibre of her body, and she tries to ignore it, but she knows she won't succeed.

Time passes, the room becomes even emptier, and she's finally about to finish. One last effort, and then she'll be able to go home, back to the tranquility of her apartment, her thoughts, her familiar gestures. But just as she's about to collect her things and leave, a voice pulls her out of her thoughts again.

- Have you finished?" asks a calm voice, a little husky, but soft, with a slight Australian accent, coming from behind her.

Ivy gasps slightly. It's the guy. The guy from earlier. He's back at her, unashamedly, as if nothing had happened.

She turns around, and there he is, as relaxed as ever, but this time he doesn't seem to be openly flirting. He looks at the machine she's just left, as if to test it.

- It seems to work well for you," he says, his tone slightly casual, an amused smile on his lips. I'll try that too.

Ivy looks at him for a moment, trying to gauge his intentions. She has the impression that he hasn't totally left his role as intruder, but this time, something in his attitude is calmer, less urgent. She shrugs, but can't help answering, a little distractedly.

- Yes, it works quite well. You just need a little concentration.

He nods with a chuckle, but seems to want to break the silence again.

- You come here a lot, you said. Funny, I don't think I've bumped into you before, yet I come here regularly," he says, stretching, his accent bringing out every word with his typical nonchalance.

Ivy gritted her teeth. She could have replied, told him that this is exactly what she prefers: to be invisible, discreet, unnoticed. But instead, she just nods.

- Yeah, I mostly come when it's less crowded," she says quickly, trying to hide a slight embarrassment.

He seems to pick up on the tension, but he doesn't stop there. On the contrary, his smile becomes wider, a little more mischievous.

- Ah, that's like me then. I like it when it's quiet. But you know, you've got quite a rhythm, I like that," he says, his eyes shining slightly with interest. It's like you're used to it, it's good for you.

Ivy isn't sure where this conversation is going, but she tries to remain impassive. This isn't the time, not here, not now.

- It's just a matter of habit," she murmurs, avoiding prolonging the discussion.

He seems a little disappointed, but keeps his smile, as relaxed as ever.

- Yeah, I see," he says, nodding. Well, I'll try this then, I won't disturb you any longer.

He takes a few steps towards the machine she'd just used, but before settling in, he looks back one last time.

- Ah, by the way... I'm Christopher. Or Chan, as you prefer," he says with a slight but confident smile. As if you'd run into me again, you know.

He looks at her for a second longer, perhaps expecting a reaction, but Ivy remains impassive. The name echoes in her head, but she says nothing. One part of her would like to cut it short, the other is already registering the name in spite of herself.

- Good evening," she says simply, her voice low.

- Yeah, you too," he replies, before settling down at the machine.

And as she walks away, she can still feel his gaze, as if it's still locked on her.

Ivy collected her things in silence, carefully avoiding meeting Christopher's eyes again - or Chan's, as he had suggested. She doesn't yet know which of the two names suits her best, or even if she wants to see him again. But there's that little voice, somewhere in her head, repeating over and over that "as you prefer", said with a quiet, almost familiar assurance.

She crosses the room, then the empty corridors leading to the changing rooms. The air is fresher, calmer. She opens her locker, puts away her training notebook, grabs her baggy sweatshirt and slips it on in a hurry. Everything is slow and mechanical, as it is every evening. But tonight, her heart is beating a little too fast for an ordinary session.

Once outside, the night air gently lashes her face. She pulls her jacket over her head, headphones on, and starts walking. The city is peaceful at this hour. Just a few cars, streetlamps casting long shadows on the sidewalk, and her footsteps echoing softly in the empty street.

She arrives home in no hurry. The building is plunged into darkness, and she climbs the stairs carefully, avoiding the creaking steps. She gently opens the front door, sliding the key in slowly so as not to wake her father. Inside, the apartment is silent, bathed in bluish light from the living-room window.

She removes her shoes at the entrance, places her bag beside them and strides across the corridor. The bathroom is just down the hall. She enters and closes the door softly, until she hears the reassuring click.

She turns on the subdued light, turns on the water, making sure it's not too noisy, and slips into the shower without wasting any time. The hot water runs over her shoulders, taking with it sweat, fatigue... and a little of the turmoil this guy has left in the room.

She closes her eyes for a moment, letting the water slide over her face. She doesn't want to think about it too much. It was just an ordinary conversation. Just a guy at the gym. That's all it was.

And yet, his first name comes to mind. Christopher... or Chan... whatever you prefer.

She sighs.

This isn't the time.

It's not the time.

When she emerges from the shower, Ivy wraps herself in a towel and approaches the fogged mirror. She wipes a corner of the glass with her fingertips, just enough to catch a glimpse of her reflection. She observes herself in silence. Not to judge, not to criticize... just to remember. To remember that she's here, that she's moving forward, at her own pace.

In the silence of the apartment, she dries off quickly, puts on a large t-shirt and comfortable shorts, then heads off to her bedroom, still in silence, the corridor light left off.

Once in bed, she buries herself under the comforter, her phone in her hands, the screen still on. But she does nothing. She doesn't scroll. She doesn't try to write. She just stands there, frozen in thought.

It would be a lie, she thinks, staring at the ceiling, to say he wasn't incredibly handsome. Or attractive.

She bites her lip slightly, annoyed by this realization. It's not what she wanted to notice. It wasn't what she'd come to the room for. And yet, there it is. Etched in her memory. The confident look. The Australian accent. The smirk. The tone too calm to be casual.

She sighs, annoyed with herself. Just because a guy's good-looking doesn't mean he's important. Even less so after all she's been through. She closes her eyes again, determined not to think about it any longer.

But Chan's last words still echo in her head.

"Christopher. Or Chan. Whichever you prefer."

With that tone. That little air as if he already knew she'd see him again.

And against all odds, a tiny part of her... wonders. Just a little.

Next chapter…

She closes her eyes for a moment. The memory returns without warning.

It was a Sunday afternoon. The air was warm, almost stifling, but he had insisted that they walk instead of taking the car. He said it was 'romantic'. She smiled, as always. Because she wanted to believe in their story. Because she wanted it to stick, even when everything inside her was screaming that something was wrong.

- You could wear that top more often," he had said in a deceptively light tone, his hands in his pockets.

- What's wrong with it?

- It's more flattering than what you usually wear.

She remembers the little laugh she let out, almost to convince herself it wasn't mean. But inside, something had broken. Once again.

She also remembered the day she'd posted a selfie, one of those days when she'd finally felt good about herself. He hadn't said anything to her. He didn't say a word. It was only that evening, when she came to his place, that he said:

- Do you really want everyone to see this?

No anger. No jealousy. Just that calm, sharp tone that stung more than shouting.

And she deleted the photo.

She'd started to measure everything. Her words, her gestures, her clothes. She avoided colours he didn't like. She tied her hair up more often because he said it made her face look thinner. She no longer laughed too loudly in public.

And yet he said he loved her. He said it often.

Perhaps that was the cruelest part. He told her he loved her while he silently broke her.

The worst part was that she loved him too.

The flash fades, and Ivy opens her eyes again, her heart a little heavier. It's always like this. It pops up without warning. And even though she's moved away from it, that past sticks to her skin, to the way she holds herself, looks at herself, talks to others.

But she swears to herself, once again: she will never let anyone reduce her again.

Masterlist

[maxdibert]

What do you think the relationship between Walburga and Sirius was like?

I believe Walburga was a very temperamental and dominant woman, clearly the one who called the shots in the household. And I think Sirius was just as dominant and had the same bad temper, and it’s very common for parents and children with similar, strong personalities to clash in an irreparable way and end up with deeply complex relationships. Walburga probably tried to impose herself on Sirius from the beginning, as a form of projection sensing, even unconsciously, that her eldest son had the same temperament she did, and Sirius challenged her from day one because he wasn’t someone who would just accept being pushed around. I think it escalated until it completely destroyed their relationship.

For me, Sirius’s hatred for his family as a child is really just a reflection of his rejection of everything his mother represented. She was the head of the household and the one in charge of ensuring the heirs of the family name turned out “right,” so in a traditional family structure based on legacy, his mother was the family. His rejection of their legacy, values, and dynamics was really a rejection of her as the ultimate authority figure. Later, of course, being with James and seeing him choose a path of political resistance may have pushed Sirius in that direction too, but at the start, I don’t see him as a boy who realised his family was bad, I see a rebellious kid who simply said “no” to everything that came from his mother.

Walburga is still dominant, screechy, and aggressive in Order of the Phoenix even through her portrait. It’s clear her personality was awful, and I can easily picture her constantly on Sirius’s back, trying to drag him back into line with the worst possible methods for winning over a child like him: authoritarianism and constant criticism. That didn’t bring him closer or wear him down, it only pushed him further away and made him more determined to oppose her, until he finally cut ties for good during adolescence, the most defiant phase of all.

I do believe Walburga loved her children, but I don’t think she knew how to love them well. Lots of people truly care about others but lack the tools, or simply the capacity, to build healthy emotional relationships and I think that was her case. She probably took Regulus’s death very hard, and she must have felt deeply resentful about Sirius leaving. But instead of processing that pain in a healthy way — by expressing it honestly — she turned it into anger and bitterness, because that was the only way she knew how to maintain her role as the unshakeable matriarch.

I also think their relationship was deeply codependent, which is pretty common in toxic, emotionally tangled dynamics like this. They couldn’t live together, but they were always drawn back to each other just to hurt each other again, because pain and aggression were the only ways they knew how to relate.

Sirius doesn’t remove his mother’s portrait right away and chooses to live in her bedroom, but not only that: he fills the sacred Black family home with muggle-borns blood traitors and half-bloods. It’s like he’s a teenager again, plastering bikini-clad muggle women on the walls just to piss her off, only now, as an adult, he’s taking it to the next level. He wants her to see it. He wants her to spit fire like she used to when he did something just to enrage her. At the same time, he’s constantly trying to take her portrait down just like he cut her out of his life when he left home.

On one hand, he doesn’t want to see her, but on the other, he can’t look away. He needs her disapproval to validate who he is. He sleeps in her room, but he brings in a wild animal to destroy it. It’s this constant back-and-forth between not wanting to fully cut the umbilical cord and wanting to burn it to ashes that I find really fascinating. That’s why I get so frustrated when people say Sirius simply didn’t care about the Blacks and forgot about them, or that Walburga was just an abusive mother who hated her kids.

Reducing their relationship to these flat, manichean stereotypes misses so much, because their mother-son dynamic was anything but simple, it was practically Freudian in a lot of ways. And if you’ve ever gone to therapy, worked through your own family dynamics, or really analysed your relationship with your parents, it’s obvious that there’s so much more going on between these two than what you see in fanfics written by kids who don’t even try to read the subtext.

[writingfics-passingtime]

hello, for the mixtape ask thing 🤭 i always think about Jake Lockley when i listen to Ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine, can you turn it into fic? 🥺 thanks so much!

Between Comfort and Chaos

This drabble is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a mini series based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!

Song Prompt: ceilings - Lizzy McAlpine

Pairing: Jake Lockley x reader (romantic, no pronouns used but Jake uses the nickname "angel")

Word Count: ~1230

CW: mild bad language, non-explicit sex, kissing, sad story

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a romantic/sexual relationship between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

Note: Thanks, anon! It broke my heart a little bit to write this, but I couldn't escape the picture of a dreamy seaside inn, a quiet and gentle reader, and Jake struggling to let himself accept something good

The air always smelled of salt and lavender, the wild kind that grew stubbornly along the cliffside. At the inn, you’d learned to move at the pace of the sea, a life spent easing into each moment like waves lapping against the rocky alcoves. Guests came here to leave the noise behind, and so did you. Quiet days. Simple things. The creak of the old oak floors, the hum of the coffee pot, the sound of your voice, soft and steady, welcoming strangers through the heavy wooden doors.

The day Jake Lockley walked in, it should have been no different. Yet it was.

He wasn’t like the others, not with his sharp features and the storm he carried behind his eyes. You’d offered your usual smile - gentle, polite, just enough - but his gaze lingered too long, dark and unreadable. He barely said a word, signing the register with an almost impatient flick of his wrist. The name he wrote wasn’t even his, you were sure of it. But you didn’t ask questions. People came here to disappear, and who were you to take that from them?

That first visit, he didn’t stay long. Two nights. He slipped away before dawn, leaving only the faint scent of leather and sea air behind. You told yourself not to think of him. Guests always left. That was the way of it.

But then he came back.

And again.

He wasn’t loud or imposing. In fact, it was his quietness that unsettled you. The way he would sit in the corner of the parlour, his eyes trained on the sea through the wide windows. He rarely spoke unless spoken to, but his words - always low and rough - stayed with you long after.

Every month, like clockwork, he’d arrive. A single bag slung over his shoulder, his eyes tired but watchful. He wasn’t the kind of man you asked questions of - not about why he always came back, not about the shadows that clung to him, or the bruises that sometimes darkened his knuckles. He didn’t offer much in the way of conversation, but over time, the silences between you grew softer. Comfortable.

It started with a morning coffee one visit, then a walk along the cliffs at the sunset hour when the sea looked like molten glass. He didn’t talk much, but you didn’t mind. His presence, for all its weight, felt steady in a way you hadn’t realised you’d been craving.

Each visit, the space between you grew smaller.

The night you invited him into your bed, he was so careful, like he thought you might break under his touch. His hands were rough, his body all hard lines and tension, but there was a tenderness in him that unraveled something deep inside you. You’d never seen a man look at you like that - like you were something he didn’t deserve to touch, yet couldn’t bring himself to let go.

“Are you sure?” he murmured, his voice hoarse against your neck.

You nodded, pulling him closer. “I’m sure.”

The weight of him was grounding, his lips tracing reverent paths along your skin. He held you like he needed you, like your warmth could burn away whatever shadows haunted him

When you woke, though, he was gone.

You stared at the empty side of the bed for far too long, the sheets cold and crumpled where his body had been. He didn’t leave a note. Didn’t explain. You hadn’t even realised how much you wanted him to stay until he didn’t.

For weeks, you told yourself not to look at the reservation book, but your hands betrayed you every time. His name - or at least the name he used - was there. The date circled in your mind like a wound you couldn’t stop picking at. You spent the days leading up to it in a haze of nervous energy, half-hoping he wouldn’t come, half-hoping he would.

When the day finally arrived, you told yourself you were ready. That you wouldn’t let him get close again.

But when the door creaked open and he stepped into the lobby well past sunset, the air shifted. He looked… tired. His dark curls were damp from the misty air, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of something you couldn’t see.

You offered the smallest of smiles, nothing like the warm ones you’d given him before. “Your room is ready,” you told him, sliding the key across the counter.

His hand didn’t reach for it. Instead, his fingers brushed against yours, tentative and deliberate. You froze, caught in the warmth of his touch and the way his eyes searched your face, like he was trying to memorise it.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

Your breath caught, but you pulled your hand back quickly, wrapping your arms around yourself like a shield. “You don’t have to say that,” you murmured. “I’m fine. Really.”

His brow furrowed, his jaw tightening as if your words had hurt him more than they should have. “I meant it,” he said, the roughness returning to his voice. “I missed you.”

You looked away, your heart squeezing painfully. “In the morning, you were just... gone."

He exhaled sharply, his hand running through his hair. “I knew if I stayed, if I woke up next to you, I’d never wanna leave.”

You blinked at him, confused. “And that’s… a bad thing?”

“For you? Yeah,” he said bitterly. His eyes darkened, and his mouth twisted into something almost cruel - almost. “I’m not a good man, angel. You deserve better than a bastard like me.”

Your chest ached at his words, but you didn’t let yourself reach for him, not yet. “I don't believe that. If you were truly bad, you wouldn’t care what I deserve.”

He laughed, but it was a hollow, broken sound. “You don't know me. Not really. I do terrible things."

"Then stop doing them."

"It's not that simple."

"It can be."

You stepped closer, slow and cautious, as though approaching a wounded animal. “You could stay,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Whatever you... do... you could stop. The inn needs a caretaker - we could... figure it out.”

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his, holding it close to your chest. His hand was trembling, just slightly. “Stay tonight. Wake up with me. Then decide.”

The silence between you was heavy, the kind that felt like a choice being made.

He didn’t speak, but when you led him to your little one-room cottage off the back of the inn, he followed.

This time, when he touched you, it was slower, darker, as if he were committing every inch of you to memory. His lips traced the curve of your neck, your shoulders, his hands gentle but possessive. He whispered your name like it was a lifeline, his touch reverent and unyielding.

You fell asleep tangled together, his breath warm against your skin, his hand resting on the small of your back as if he couldn’t bear to let go. As if you were somehow tethering him to this world.

But when the sun rose, the bed beside you was cold.

The room was silent.

And he was gone. As if he’d never existed at all.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Michael Tomasky at The New Republic:

It’s not just a cruel irony that, as many have observed, Martin Luther King Jr. would have opposed Donald Trump and likely been out protesting somewhere today had he been alive. That’s obvious. The cruelty of the joke that Trump swore the oath of office on MLK Day runs much deeper than that, because each man is the epitome of our two American traditions that have been in conflict since the 1860s and will probably be furiously at war in new and worrisome ways, maybe even approaching some kind of Armageddon, over these next four years.

The traditions date to the period right after the Civil War. It has been referred to, notably by the great historian Eric Foner, as America’s “Second Founding,” when the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Amendments finally established the American ideal of equality of law for all—completing, in other words, the revolution that the Founders left unfinished. This has been the standard interpretation of the importance of that era. But as we know all too well these days, there are no longer any “standard interpretations”—a phrase that makes any right-winger reach for his revolver, to invoke another famous right-wing complaint about mainstream small-r republican values. Down South, that never was the interpretation of the Second Founding. In the South, it meant destruction and occupation and, most of all, the transfer of political power from the wealthy class that had held it for 200-plus years to people who had been their property.

That was the Southern interpretation of what we call Reconstruction. And so the South countered with its own narrative, Redemption: the return of white supremacy and the re-subjugation of the Negro, enforced through newly written state constitutions and through the violence carried out by groups like the Ku Klux Klan. We’ve been locked in the battle between Reconstruction and Redemption ever since. No single American has embodied the Reconstruction narrative more fully than King, who, a century after those amendments, finally and courageously brought the country face to face with the ways in which even those bold amendments remained unfulfilled, thus helping to bring about full legal equality—and paying with his life for doing so. And surely no one has represented the Redemption side of the argument more than Trump. To say that is not to attempt to associate him with cross-burnings. But Trump represents, and pledged in his inaugural address to enforce, the American tradition that is handed down to us from the Redemption movement.

[...] And that’s what’s new here. The reactionary movements that have peppered and darkened this country’s history—segregationists, Joe McCarthy, others of that ilk—have usually been opposed by establishment forces. Sometimes that opposition was slow to find its voice, but it never outright supported the Redemptionist strain. Today, Trump has the establishment’s backing. As they went through the motions of tradition and decorum on Inauguration Day, we saw their smile. We’ll see their scowl soon enough.

Donald Trump’s 2nd term is the modern-day version of the Redeemers taking over.

Redeemers in this context refers to a group of White folks who sought to regain power lost in the post-Civil War era.

[scotianostra]

On August 15th 1771 Sir Walter Scott the poet and novelist was born in Edinburgh.

Walter survived polio as a toddler which left him with a limp and he used a cane the rest of his life. He was the first author to have international fame in his lifetime and is credited with inventing the historical novel.

Scott used the great storytelling tradition of the Highlands to help bring back the Scottish identity that had been cruelly crushed by the British. His Waverly novels were very popular in Europe and America starting Romanticism and influencing American writers such as Thoreau and Twain.

As well as popularising the historical novel, his books more or less invented tourism in Scotland. A family holiday to Loch Katrine inspired Scott to write the epic narrative poem The Lady of the Lake; a romantic, stirring tale of secret identity, love and loss. It was a publishing phenomenon and readers flocked to see the landscape Scott had described. Thus when travel entrepreneurs such as Thomas Cook began selling packaged railroad tours in the 1840s, Scotland was one of the most popular destinations. Victorians who had grown up on Scott’s Waverley novels, and now technology made it possible to reach these areas

Scott was a prolific writer, publishing two novels a year. Readers around the globe devoured his tales of historic Scotland and its noble, heroic people.

Composers in particular found inspiration in his work, among them Gaetano Donizetti who was inspired to write the tragic opera Lucia del Lammermoor based on Scott’s novel The Bride of Lammermoor.  Franz Schubert was similarly moved, setting text from The Lady of the Lake to music to create his much-loved work Ave Maria.

When King George IIII visited Edinburgh in 1822 Scott was put in charge of the festivities. This was the first time a reigning monarch had made it north of the border in over 200 years and Scott masterminded a spectacular Scottish show in his honour.

He created a romantic - and, some argued, and still do argue, an unrealistic - vision of the Highlands on the streets of the capital with parades, gatherings of clans and swathes of tartan on display. King George himself lapped up this romantic symbolism, dressing in a kilt for the occasion and, like a 19th century influencer, prompting others to wear it too. It marked a turning point in the way the world saw Scotland, and the return of tartan to fashionable society following a ban enforced by the government in the aftermath of the Jacobite rebellion.

Scott’s influence in society allowed him to lobby on causes he held dear.Sir Walter Scott got involved in a number of political issues. Particularly, his interested in issues where the government was trying to impose things on Scotland. For example, the Bank of England wanted to withdraw the right of Scottish banks to print bank notes, it's testement to the man that he features on bank notes not just today, but going back to the days of smaller nbanks, like the Linen Bank in Scotland, The Bank of Scotland range of notes still carry his portrait. Scott He stirred up such a furore that the government backed down, so you have him to thank that your not carrying English bank notes around with you, imagine a life where we Scots couldn't have a good old moan about businesses in England refusing to take our money as payment!

Scott’s popularity as a poet was cemented in 1813 when he was given the opportunity to become Poet Laureate. However, he declined and Robert Southey accepted the position instead.

Having suffered a stroke in 1831, which resulted in apoplectic paralysis, his health continued to fail and Scott died on 21st September 1832 at Abbotsford, I hope to read and post more about Sir Walter Scott in just over a months time.

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 29: I Hope You're Happy

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

Beep! Beep!

“Get a move on!”

“Watch it, toots!”

The streets of Brooklyn are one of the aspects of home that aren’t the best. But in a strange way the shouting brings a form of comfort to me. All these people, all different backgrounds, scrambling around to make a living. Bunches of people crammed into a giant city.

And the boat docks bring in even more people.

“Grace! Thomas! Hello!” I shout over the noise and wave them over away from the crowd. “Welcome to Brooklyn, where everyone sounds angry but they’re actually not… Most of the time.”

The sight of their joined hands makes my smile falter by a hair. Lovely engagement ring. Relax, Steenstra. You should be honored they chose your country for a holiday. 

“Hello, Verena.” Thomas smiles politely, scanning the bustling streets. “We’ve got one week here. Since this is your turf, what should we know?”

I can handle playing tour guide. “First, you need to see Lady Liberty. Prospect Park is good too. Also be careful in ‘Hattan ‘cause there’s construction for the new Rockefeller Center.”

The whole time I’m speaking Grace looks at me with confusion. “Did you know we were coming?”

“I spoke of it in the letter I sent,” Thomas answers for me.

Grace, still looking at me, nods. “I see.”

Message received. This is my home but I’m not welcomed to visiting with them. 

“You need to have a drink in Irishtown. Find The Wicked Monk, the best Irish pub on the East Coast. And stop by our joint if you want! Father would be happy to meet you.”

Grace doesn’t like that one bit.

“I’ll leave you to see the sights. I’ve gotta get back home to the shop. Tot ziens! Was good seeing you!”

Back into the bustling noise. Good. It will drown out my anger… By seeing people shout who are much angrier than I am. Now my own home, my used-to-be haven, is now stained with jealousy because of their voyage.

Two years later.

Words. Words. Words. The only thing linking me to the Shelbys. After Thomas and Grace went back to Birmingham I waited to hear back from someone. Anyone. Anything saying when they want me back. Nothing was said. Only a few letters describing their new happy lives and how the company is growing. Everyone is happy…

“Verena! Over here!”

And today is another reminder of the happiness I’m leaving behind. The wedding I hoped for but will never have. 

“Thomas! It’s been too long!” I greet as I haul my trunk off the train. “Oh my, you haven’t changed a bit!”

Same clean-shaven handsome face, same sharp suit. 

“And you look stunning, as usual,” the gangster smiles. “Welcome back to Birmingham.”

We start walking off the platform, no doubt to a car he has waiting for us. It’s so good to see him it's all I can do not to hug him. To look at those eyes.

“I won’t be staying too long, I don’t want to impose-”

“Nonsense. There’s plenty of room,” Thomas replies with ease. In the corner of my eye I see him looking. “You’re wearing your hair in braids?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“Guess not. ‘S just you’ve never done it before.”

“I do at home. Just thought I’d show some Dutch culture.”

Thomas chuckles. “You’re not going to start wearing clogs, are you?” 

I dramatically hold a hand up to stop him. “Heavens, no. That part of my heritage I can live without. But enough of me. How are you? This is a big day.”

A little enthusiasm doesn’t hurt. Despite my dislike for the given situation he still needs all the support he can get. I can tell his mind is in many places.

“‘M nervous,” Thomas says, anxiously rubbing his face. “But excited.”

“My brothers thought the exact same way on their wedding days.” With my free hand I give him a comforting pat on the back. “Don’t stress, it passes. Eoin nearly fainted on his wedding day.”

I was right. Today's car is a beautiful black Fiat 501. Thomas still spares no expense when it comes to his cars. He packs my luggage in the trunk and, like the gentleman he is, opens the door for me. A guts and glory gangster yet he still remembers how to treat a woman.

“Thanks for being here,” he says when we start driving. “Ada still doesn’t always see eye to eye with me and the boys just keep joking around.”

“Of course. Glad to be of service.” Time to throw on the American charm. “You’ve probably heard this multiple times but congratulations! These two years are up and now it’s time for you to tie the knot! It’s not every day one gets to witness an English wedding. Is it any different?”

The word ‘wedding’ throws Thomas’ smile off for a split second but the usual catch-up chatter resumes as we make our way out of town. We pass a sign that says Warwickshire. Apparently Thomas bought his own house and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t itching to see it. Maybe a quaint cottage with a nice horse barn-

Or a freaking mansion. That… That works too, I guess.

“Verena, welcome to Arrow House.”

‘House’ does little to describe it. This is an all-out mansion! Thomas’ castle. He drops me off to the front door and has a handyman drive the car away. I walk through the grand entrance and notice the gorgeous decorations for the special day.

A grand long table dressed in white, decorated with colorful flower centerpieces. They even brought out the best china. All around maids and waiters are scurrying to and fro, finishing the last-minute touches. Above the table is a giant portrait of Thomas holding the reins to one of his magnificent white horses.

“Like it? Got a good price for it.”

As much as I want to be glad for him I can’t help but think he’s using his wealth to compensate for happiness. I must be honest.

“This isn’t you, Thomas. All this money? Living like royalty?”

He walks us further into the house to the edge of a large staircase. “I’d say the family’s earned it.”

I shake my head with sympathy. “You can paint many pictures of yourself but you’re still Thomas Shelby. A simple life can be just as rewarding as an expensive one.”

But he’s amused by this. “Ah, Verena. Still philosophical as ever.”

There’s no use trying to change his mind. This is his world. He’s proud of it. We get to the top of the stairs and I see a familiar framed picture of Lady Liberty.

“I see you kept the picture from your trip.”

Thomas sees where I’m looking. “New York is a wild place. I don’t know how you grew up there.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Birmingham is no tamer.”

Thomas smirks. “Touché. I did enjoy it, really. The Statue of Liberty was one of Grace’s favorites.”

“If you liked that then next time I’ll show you guys Niagara Falls. Gorgeous place.”

Thomas starts to reach for my hand. “Do you need help with your bags?”

I quickly pull away. “No no, it’s quite alright. This city girl can haul her own luggage.”

He shows me to a room at the end of the hall. A room so big it’s the size of our living room back home. Um, is this a good idea? Inviting another woman to stay in the house of a newly-married couple? I really should find somewhere else to stay. Grace will have my eyes if she sees me here.

“Is this alright?” Thomas asks.

“Thomas, this- The room is perfect. But I should really-”

“Great! I have to finish up some things downstairs. The wedding starts in one hour, I’ll arrange for someone to drive you.” He strides back down the hall.

“Wait!” I run to catch up and meet him at the top of the stairs. “I know my vote doesn’t count but I must say that I am very proud of what you’ve made of yourself. You’re not the same man I met all those years ago, Thomas. You’re a father. A husband. A legit businessman. May God smile upon your family today.”

This is probably the last time I can talk to him alone, and I really do want the Shelbys to be happy. Today is a day for good spirits.

“Verena, that… That means a lot,” Thomas says, looking up from a few stairs below. “Thank you. I-”

“Mr. Shelby!” A maid calls from the bottom.

“Be right there!” Thomas looks at me one last time before heading down. “I’ll see you later.”

Yes. Later. When he’s married.

“Wow. Royal in-laws? You’ve moved up in the world,” I comment as we drive by multiple uniformed men.

“It’s Grace’s relatives,” John says from up front. “Between us, I’m still not used to the uniforms. None of us are. They’re only here for her.”

“It’s good to have you here!” Finn says for the tenth time.

“It’s worth it to see you all. And Arthur, you look very handsome as the best man.”

The man driving us to the church smiles bashfully. “That’s nice of ya, Steenstra. I can’t wait for you to meet Linda. Will you be here for the toast?”

“No, no. I’ll be around for the reception.”

There’s already enough drama between the Shelbys and Grace’s family. I’ll only add to the mix. A quick congrats, a small drink, and I’ll pop out.

I’ll give it to the Brits, they sure know how to have a proper wedding. This church is marvelous! I take my seat next to Finn and see Polly waving from a few seats down. Such a welcoming reunion. If only it weren’t for this occasion. Thomas strides down the aisle, looking very handsome in his spiffy tux, and stands next to Arthur at the altar. The usual music begins and all eyes turn to the silhouette approaching from outside.

Oh my goodness… That dress! A gorgeous lavender if I ever did see one. And the veil… a cascade of purple lace. No wonder Thomas is so happy. Grace gets to the end of the aisle and Jeremiah approaches the couple.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have gathered here today to join these two together in holy matrimony. Thomas Michael Shelby and Grace Helen Burgess.”

I try to keep listening but my mind wanders elsewhere. He chose her. Not me. I’m the one keeping myself trapped in this world. I chose to come back. It’s my fault for feeling this way. But it’s fine. Isn’t it?

Same routine as all my brothers’ weddings. I do, I do, kiss the bride, cheers. What’s different about this wedding is that the cheers seem one-sided. All of Thomas’ family jumps to their feet and shouts with delight, while the other side remains seated and claps. Thankfully Finn sees my discomfort and drags me outside. Everyone files out after us. The bouquet is tossed and all the single women scramble to wrestle over it.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” Finn and I chant.

“Verena, are you edging them on?” John asks.

I smile sheepishly. “Only a little.”

“Why don’t you try?” Finn asks.

I scoff at his attempt at a joke. “Oh, please. I hardly believe in such superstitious nonsense.”

“Says the woman who won’t sleep without a cross above the bed.”

“Hey! It’s religious, not superstitious.”

Finn shrugs. “Maybe there’s a blend?”

Thomas shouts for everyone to gather and a photographer readies himself in front.

“Go on, take the photograph!” Arthur says.

I’m pushed to the side by Grace’s family and before I can protest the camera flashes. Everyone’s thinking it. I don’t belong here. I could have refused. The only reason I decided to attend was to support Thomas and his family. But she’s part of their family now and more than likely I won't be welcomed as often. 

Oh, my mistake. Pair the gossiping barmaid with the blood-thirsty gangster? They’re perfect for each other! He’s married. It’s done. I can’t have him. I need to let him go.

@meadows5