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orionwhispers · 3 years

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Bravado // Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - its been a long ass time and i wanted to ease myself back into writing but this ended up being long and also super super angsty. sorry that this illness imagine came during covid idk whats going on with my imagination lol. love you guys SO much thank you for always being there. reblogs, comments and likes mean everything to me.)

trigger warnings - LOTS of angst. fluff. implied smut. my hc that tommy has a fear of illness, bad descriptions of hospitals.

He knew something wasn’t right the minute his car pulled into the driveway and you weren’t waiting for him under the great concrete arch, with that smile on your face that made his knees buckle and heart race like he was a love struck teenager.

You were always there as soon as he came home. Barefoot in a broderie dress in the summer with tousled hair and baby pink toenails. Wrapped in a hand knit blanket with fire flushed cheeks and woollen socks in the winter - even running across the gravel and into his arms in the middle of a storm, the ice cold rain whipping across both of your faces as you kissed under the light of the moon.

No matter how shit his day or week or month was, no matter what stained his hands or darkened his heart, no matter what lay heavy and hard deep in his gut, seeing you made everything vanish in the night air like wisps of smoke. You made everything worth it.

He refused to give into fear, he wasn’t that kind of man, so he swallowed all of the nagging thoughts and apprehensions as he came up to the dark foggy windows and the iron cast door. It felt strange turning his key in the lock without the weight of you in his arms or the sticky peach kisses you left down his jaw and neck, the smell of the vanilla in your hair and lavender on your skin.

The second thing that sent a jolt of white hot electricity down his spine was Mary, watching him anxiously and wringing her hands in the hallway. Usually, she was calm and collected, taking his jacket and leather travel bag with her signature placid smile and gentle fingers. Usually she would return to the kitchen and finish up whatever she was making - a hearty roast lamb with rosemary and garlic and glazed potatoes or a pheasant pie with honeyed carrots, always followed by a three layer chocolate ganache cake that was so thick and rich you practically had to saw through the sponge. She would always have dinner piping hot and dripping with gravy by the time the two of you returned downstairs, no matter how many hours it took for you to get... reacquainted.

Now she looked sheepish and pale, her skin almost translucent under the syrupy yellow lights. There was something about the way she stood, as still as a wraith, that made his blood run cold.

“Mary. Where is she?”

“Mr Shelby, I - ” Her voice was strained and hesitant, like a slowly fraying rope.

“Where is my wife?”

She moved forward, creases forming around her eyes. “We tried ringing you in Liverpool but the hotel said that you had already left, so we...”

“You rang me? Why? What’s happened?” He couldn’t hold back the desperation in his voice, and it lingered and festered around them both like a poisonous gas.

“Mrs Shelby came down with something a few days ago, we thought that it was just a common cold but unfortunately she seems to be getting worse.”

He tore upstairs before he could even think, his shoes leaving perfect muddy footprints on the cream carpet. He almost slipped at the top, and he lurched forward, his hands reaching out and holding onto the portrait hanging above the stairs for stability.

It was the oil of the two of you. A soft, personal picture that revealed more than he ever possibly could. The love in your gazes, the hint of a soft, drunk smile on the dangerous gangsters face as you leaned into him, melting into him like butter, him holding onto you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. It was his favourite photo, one that always washed a sense of calmness over him, a reminder of the woman that he loved and the way he felt around you. But now he felt as if was riding out a terrible storm.

He lived his life with no fear, he was capable and practical and used to the sound of bullets and the copper sweet smell of blood. There was really only one thing, one terrible thing that he couldn’t control, and that was what drove him crazy.

Sickness.

It gnawed at his insides like a rabid dog, clawed under his skin and settled behind his ribs. Losing someone he loved was like ripping out a piece of his heart straight from his chest, and he knew better than anyone what it was like to lose somebody to a violent, quick death - the pull of a trigger or the smack of a fist. At least in those moments he could lock them away in his mind, he could leap in front of a bullet or crack the neck of any man who dared to get too close to you, but there was almost nothing he could do to stop sickness, and the devastation it caused.

When you first met him it had been a surprise, almost amusing, that this powerful God of a man had these small little quirks. His house was always sparkling clean and smelling of Lysol, his fruit bowls were filled with citrus fruits and round, plump blueberries. He always made sure you were wrapped up warm in the winter, always placing his coat around your shoulders and bringing an extra pair of gloves in case you forgot yours. It was adorable, the way he took care of you,

It wasn’t till a little bit later when you learnt of those he had lost. His mother and his childhood sweetheart taken away from him much too soon. It broke your heart when he told you late one night of the sallow tint of their skin and the way he could almost see them vanishing from earth, the way that illness had moulded and changed those he loved the most.

You understood.

Your best friends older sister had died of tuberculosis when you were young. The elderly woman across the street from your first flat had passed away from a bout of horrendous smallpox. Your brother lost his first child to pneumonia. Times were changing but the fear of disease was ever present. Medicine was improving and so was knowledge, but still there remained a huge, dark cloud of what could happen, one that always hung around your husbands head.

——————————————-

All Tommy could think was the worst as he ran through the landing. His heart was in his ears and his bones felt loose, like the sweet liquorice the two of you would share at the pictures. He came to a stop by the bedroom door, tentatively pressing his palm onto the wood and ever so slightly pushing it open, listening to the gentle creak it made.

The room was warm. The lace curtains were pulled shut, and your favourite lavender candles were flickering on your vanity, casting syrupy shadows against the wall. He exhaled loudly as he saw you, bundled up under a mountain of satin sheets and hand crocheted blankets, your hair splayed across the pillows.

He moved to your bedside, pretending not to notice the large, untouched jug of water and the tissue box next to you, hoping and silently praying that you weren’t sick - just asleep and waiting for him, ready to wrap your arms around his neck.

You were silent, your lips parting every so often as you breathed, your chest rising and falling. He reached out gently, as though he was picking up shards of glass, and brushed his fingers against your cheek. Your forehead was beading with sweat, your cheeks flushed, and yet your skin was ice cold to the touch. He recoiled quickly, his heart dropping like a weight into his gut, and he inhaled a shaky, deep breath.

He saw something curled up beside your hands, a fluffy white cloud with sparkling emerald green eyes trained on him. Despite everything, he smiled. He thought of your birthday - of strawberry cheesecake and champagne, and surprising you with a ribbon wrapped little kitten as you woke up. He thought of that day often. How you smiled and leapt onto him with tears in your eyes, his whole world blissfully quiet as he spent the day in bed with you and your new best friend.

He would have preferred a big dog, one with sharp teeth and a menacing gaze to ward of visitors whilst he was away. But you were drawn to the tiny, malnourished runt of the litter who was scared of his own shadow. A kitten no bigger than the size of his clenched fist. A little white hairball who only ate and drank from fine pink saucers. A cat that had a very frustrating habit of crawling in the bedroom right as Tommy’s hand was up your skirt and his lips on the sweet spot of your neck, the tiny thing mewling and crying until you picked him up and nuzzled him into your chest.

He was a horse lover through and through, and never saw himself having time for any other pets. But in the summer when you saw the litter from one of John’s barn cats and fell in love with the sweet baby who mewled and cried and crawled right into your lap - he knew that he would give you anything and everything you wanted.

Including a cat who refused to accept that Tommy was the man of the house.

“Hello, boy.” He said, leaning over to scratch Comet under the chin, using a voice he only reserved for the two of you. “Have you been looking after my girl whilst I’ve been gone?”The cat meowed loudly in reply, pressing his head into Tommy’s palm but not moving from his spot beside you.

Tommy suddenly felt you shift under him and his heart lurched into his throat. He turned to face you, cupping the side of your clammy face as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking under the candlelight. A rush of red hot heat built up in his belly as you registered him, that angelic smile growing on your face, your tired eyes glimmering with recognition of the man you loved.

“Tommy?”

“Hi, Princess.”

You smiled sadly. “You’ve been gone for weeks - I missed you.”

He felt his brows crease as he rubbed along your jawline softly, trying to stop you from falling back asleep. He felt panic in his throat as sour as vomit, and he tried to bite back the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.

“No, sweetheart, I’m early. It’s only Thursday. I left on Monday.”

“Oh.” You said softly, your voice as gentle as the breeze rustling through the trees outside. “Well let me welcome you back properly - let me make you a lemon drizzle or a...” You lifted your head from the pillow and shuffled under your blanket, but he pressed his hands against your shoulder and held you down.

“No. You’re staying right here.”

“But - ”

“No.”

“Hmm. Don’t leave me, Tommy.”

“Never.” He said, his tone firm and cast like stone. He stroked your hair softly as your breathing slowed, but it didn’t nothing to quell the hard thump of his heart in his chest.

——————————-

Tommy left the room as quietly as he could after you had fallen asleep in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to move, not when you were pressed against his chest, looking ethereal but vacant, sweat beading under your brow and your face lacking colour. He wanted to stay with you, curled up by his side, his fingers laced through yours, the sound of your heart thumping in his ears.

But he was a man of action, and seeing you there - your lips cracked and dry, shudders passing through your body and goosebumps raised over your skin - he couldn’t fight the fiery urge to do everything in his power to make you feel alright again.

He found Mary waiting outside the door, chewing on the skin of her lips and swaying on the balls of her feet in anticipation. He grabbed her by the arm, harder than he meant to and something he would apologise for later, and pulled her downstairs, determined to let you rest whilst he got some answers. As soon as they reached the drawing room he spun her around, clenching his jaw and pointing a finger at the anxious maid.

“Where the fuck is the doctor? Why isn’t he here?”

“Mr Shelby.” She said, stepping forward calmly. “We phoned Doctor Moore and he came on Tuesday to see her.”

“Tuesday?” He seethed. “My wife has been ill since Tuesday and no one called me?”

Mary raised her hands in defeat, making it clear that the decision wasn’t hers to make. “He said it was nothing of concern . He gave her some antibiotics and told her to rest. She asked us herself not to call you, she knows how you.. worry.”

He ignored her sugar coated attempt to quell his anger, but if anything it made his vision darken. “When it’s my wife, It is always my concern.”

“Mr Shelby, we were just doing what we were told. As soon as we noticed she wasn’t getting better we phoned the surgery again, but Doctor Thomas was out for the day and said he didn’t think it was necessary to come round again, so we -”

“I don’t give a fuck. My wife is the number one priority. Ring every doctor in England if you have to, get somebody out here now to see my wife.”

He stormed away, anger pulsating through his veins, but he stopped suddenly, and threw out over his shoulder:

“And call Doctor Moore’s ’office. Tell him to expect a visit from the blinders soon.”

———————————————————

Once, when you were first dating, you found Tommy at the door to your flat at midnight, with scraped knuckles and blood dripping from his nose. You let him in, cleaned him up and sat with him in the bath until his skin was clear and his breathing was even. He knew that night, as you were pressed against his chest and his lips were pressed to your scalp that he was truly, madly and completely in love with you.

He remembered waking up the next morning, love drunk and blissful, and finding the bed beside him empty. He found you in the kitchen, wincing slightly and pressing a hot water bottle to your belly as you buttered a few pieces of toast. He rushed to your side with eyes as wide as saucers, concern lacing the features that were usually ice cold and hard as stone. You were completely baffled as he held you at arms length, his bright cerulean eyes trailing up and down your body for any signs of injury he might have missed. You were bewildered at the sight of the powerful man practically on his knees as he made sure you were alright, and you bit back a giggle as his warm palms spread over your abdomen.

“What is it? Whats wrong?”

“Tommy. Sweetheart.” You said softly, bringing his gaze level to yours. “It’s just - you know - that time of the month.”

He brushed off your embarrassment and ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a uncharacteristically gentle kiss to your forehead, sending a swarm of butterflies around the pain in your stomach.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, half ready to run down to the corner shop and buy any amount of painkillers or chocolate bars or your favourite lavender tea that you might need; not caring who saw the seemingly terrifying gang leader in the street with an armful of strawberry laces and salt water fudges.

You smiled like the summer sun and he melted, pulling you close as you whispered in the shell of his ear that you only needed him, and that was all you ever needed.

That was the first time you fully saw the extent of Tommy’s fear, but it definitely wasn’t the last. He knew he wanted you forever and always, and it took only six months of neck kisses and pillow talk, red hot jealousy and possessive hands across your skin and dancing in the rain and falling asleep under the pale yellow moon for him to put a ring on your finger. You were both consumed by your love, as though it was the only thing that mattered, it was insatiable and powerful - the wonderful mix of the devil and his sweet little angel.

And with that, came the good and the bad.

Like when you got food poisoning after Arthur cooked you a Sunday lunch to cheer you up whilst Tommy was gone. He came home to you retching over the toilet bowl with Mary holding back your hair, and swore that he would kill his brother with his own hands. Or when you slipped on ice and broke your arm while out with friends in London, and Tommy went ballistic and tried to ban you from ever leaving the house. It was just in his nature, how he always made sure you walked on the side furthest from the road, kept an arm slung around you whenever you were together, kept his eyes alert and vigilant no matter where you were - always looking out for his girl.

But he had never been like this.

———————————————————-

You were falling in and out of sleep. Waking up drowsy and heavy headed, squinting under bright lights, an ache in your skull and a burning in your throat. Every so often you felt a pinch in your upper arm, a squeeze on your palm, a kiss on your forehead - but you always drifted back into unconsciousness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. The room was dark and you could hear the wind howling and whipping rain across the windows. You felt all too hot and all too cold at the same time, and the bed was damp with sweat. You struggled and tried to sit up, your head swaying and feeling as heavy as one of Tommy’s marble statues; as if you had been carved up and moulded. You could hear voices out in the hall, and unsteadily got to your feet, moving towards the noises.

“Pneumonia?” You heard through the thick wooden door, instantly recognising your husbands voice. “That’s impossible.”

“Sir...”

“Fucking. Impossible.” You knew his teeth were clenched.

The other man cleared his throat.“I know that it’s hard to hear, Mr Shelby, but your wife is very sick.”

“Just...” You felt your heart flutter and clench in your chest as the sound of his broken words, could practically feel his desperation and you wanted nothing more than to hold him. “Just tell me how to make her better.”

The second man spoke again, his voice softening and lowering, something you knew Tommy would hate. “Mr Shelby, the first round of antibiotics didn’t work and that means that it’s time for something stronger. Usually I would suggest the Birmingham hospital but I don’t think it’s equipped for...” He paused, trying to think over his words carefully. He wanted to convey the severity of the situation but also didn’t want to risk getting a bullet in his head from your very protective husband. “...This kind of reaction. I recommend we send her down to London for extra testing.”

“London? That’ll take two fucking hours. How the fuck can you recommend letting my wife travel that far? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m my opinion this is the wisest choice to make, but unfortunately that could mean your wife might get worse before she gets better.”

“Worse than she already is? That’s not an option.”

The man you assumed was the doctor was insistent, trying his best to portray the severity of the situation but failing as your hardheaded husband had already come to a decision.

“I’ll look after her here. She’s safest with me.”

Once Tommy had spoken that was the final result, and the doctor slinked away into the darkness and shook his head. You remained peering from behind the door, your tongue between your teeth and your heart hammering.

Tommy took one look at you and frowned, scooping you in his arms like a baby despite your protests. He ignored you, acting playfully and cheerful but you could feel his heated skin and the see flare of his nostrils. You wanted to help him but didn’t know how, and let him tuck you under the covers once again. He kissed your crown and stroked your hair and you wanted to speak but no words would leave your mouth.

“You stay there this time. You know I have no problem with tying you to the bed.”

You rolled your eyes as he left, and his clenched fists and tightened shoulders told you all you needed to know.

————————————————-

Comet watched from his spot beside you as Tommy wrestled with the fire. He had noticed you shivering despite your high temperature, and bundled you up in blankets whilst sparking matches beside the fireplace. There were raindrops across his shoulders, evidence that he had been outside and to the log store right at the end of the property - a job that had always been for the Groundskeeper. Your precious cat nudged the tips of your fingers as you sighed and watched your husband throw kindling onto the coal, a deep unease settling over your gut.

“Tommy, my love, I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly true but you felt he needed to hear it. But you could practically see your words wash over him and evaporate like ocean spray.

He was shaking a metal tin in his palm as he worked, and you groaned and let your head hit the pillow as he pulled out two round chalky tablets. You winced as he placed them beside your glass, your mouth already tasting like the sour talc medicine you had come to loathe. He raised his eyebrows and shot you a look that told you he wasn’t far off plugging your nose with his fingers to force you to swallow, and you childishly stuck up two fingers as you took them.

Your stomach rumbled with nausea and you bit back the bile in your throat as you settled into the pillows. You watched your husband as he pulled off his crisp white shirt, revealing his taut tan stomach and the deep ink tattoos that you loved to trace with your fingertips and your lips. There was something about him standing there, with those damn cerulean eyes and hidden muscles, that boyish hair and slender fingers that you wanted desperately around your throat, that made a million tiny fireworks spark inside of you.

But instead you pushed him away from you despite your body wanting nothing but him wrapped all around you. “Don’t get too close. I might have something contagious. I can’t have you getting sick.”

He ignored you, smiling inwardly at the way you always put others before yourself. It was one of the million reasons he had fallen for you. You were sweating out a high fever and shivering in pain, and yet you always thought of him first. He pressed his lips to your temple and pulled you closer, knowing that skin to skin was a way to bring down a fever - even if it meant he had to restrain himself from tugging off your pretty little white nightgown and whatever frilly things you had on underneath.

“I’m not going anywhere. Fuck it if I catch anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one who will have to dote on you hand and foot, you big baby.” You teased, pressing yourself into him playfully, finally giving in.

He held you like a child, trying to hard to soften despite the way you felt underneath him. Everything on him was running a mile a minute, and he couldn’t help but want to try everything and everything to make you feel better. His hand was pressed against your temple to always try and measure your fever, his other palm across your chest to try and count your heart rate.

He could hear Mary treading across the landing carpet but he ignored his anxious maid, instead letting himself be completely consumed by the only thing that mattered - you.

This was something he had to do by himself. He was the only one who could care for you he reminded himself. And he let the words tumble over and over in his skull until they were all he could hear.

—————————————————————-

You had been asleep for a long time.

Every hour, after pacing the length of the hall and sanitising his hands and wiping the beads of sweat above your brow and above your breasts he woke you up and held a cool glass to your lips. You mumbled and moaned and pushed him away but he kept his fingers across your wrist - harsher than he ever had before - and kept you as close to him as possible.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cooked. Perhaps it was last valentines when the two of you had camped out under the stars, drinking icy white wine and sharing stolen, day drunk kisses. That night he had roasted a chicken over the fire and it had burnt to a crisp as the two of you rolled around the grass, his head buried in your neck as you giggled at the poultry going up in flames.

He was trying now though, easy, plain substantial meals that wouldn’t upset your stomach. Boiled egg and dippy soldiers. Crackers with smooth cheese. Bubbly water and ginger biscuits. Each time he went upstairs you pushed him away, your whole body shuddering and almost retching, and he felt like smashing the plates against the wall at his defeat.

It had been almost thirty six hours since he had come home and it had been almost as long since you had eaten something, and his heart thundered and shattered in his chest when he found you gasping and wheezing over the toilet bowl when you had taken a bite of toast to calm him. He rarely left you alone, only for a few minutes to put the still full dishes in the sink, to ring Lizzie and tell her that he wouldn’t be coming for reasons that he refused to disclose, to smoke a cigarette under the grey stone archway, his shaking hands and bitten fingernails barely visible through the sleepy rolling fog.

He had grabbed handfuls of papers and the brass ink pen you had got him for your anniversary and broke his own rule - bringing work into your bedroom. It had always been a sacred space. For candlelight and soft laughter, aching hands and heart shaped bruises, a sanctuary for him to breathe and to love and to be loved fully in return. But he was afraid if he didn’t have a distraction, he might just completely lose it, and he had to be there for you.

So he sat squinting in his glasses, the room almost completely dark save for a few candles because of the migraines that had started to spread throughout your skull, and let himself be drawn into the mess of squiggly lines and numbers that suddenly didn’t add up, with you still centre stage in his peripheral.

After about forty minutes of rereading the same sentence a dozen times to try and make some sense of it, he heard your voice, like a small crack spreading across a sheet of ice, coming from the bed.

“Tom?” You sounded so weak, he practically flipped your cream vanity as he got to his feet and darted towards you. “I don’t feel well.”

He lifted you as you reached your arms up at him like a child. He almost gasped at the sweat pouring from your body but didn’t want to scare you, and instead held your shaking, shivering body against his own. How could you be so hot, yet so cold at the same time? Your skin was prickled with goosebumps yet you were burning with a fever, and for the first time in a long time, he had no fucking idea what to do.

He left you propped up against the headboard and he entered the bathroom. He ran over to the claw foot tub you loved, twisting the faucet and trying to find the perfect medium between boiling hot and freezing cold. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, just try and soothe your raging fever, and he ignored the shelves of expensive bath oils and scented soaps that you coveted, instead opting for a handful of something meant to ease tension - praying to whoever was listening that it would help you somehow.

There was a brutal, awful moment as he lifted you from the bed, limp as a rag doll, where he imagined what would happen if your heart were to stop. He couldn’t comprehend what it would be like to miss the weight of you in his arms, the smell of your skin, the feeling of your lips against him, the shovels stopping and fading into nothing. It hit him square in the chest, as merciless as a bullet, and he had to lean against the doorframe to stop the two of you from plummeting to the ground.

He undressed himself first. Tugging his white shirt off, sliding off his slacks and his underwear, keeping you as close to his chest as he could. Then he pulled your nightgown up and over your head. He gathered your hair and secured it up with a claw clip so that it was away from your face, the heat radiating off your neck as fierce as the fire now burnt down to ash in the bedroom.

He lowered the two of you into the bath, sinking down beneath the eucalyptus smelling lukewarm water, letting it wash over you both. Your teeth were chattering and you were barely awake. He gathered handfuls of water, letting it drip over your shoulders and pulse points, grabbing a washcloth and running it over your raised skin, hating how you barely registered his touch. As he scrubbed over your collarbones and up to your face he saw your lips had turned to an awful, silvery blue, as vibrant as a fresh bruise. He hissed and tugged on the plug, now determined to get you wrapped up in a fresh towel and tucked back into bed.

You were soft and placid and he helped you out, lacking the usual fire that he adored. Your eyes were glassy and missing their vibrance, like the vanishing spark of a lighter - and he felt miles and miles of invisible distance between the two of you. You were unsteady on your feet and he used his body to prop you up as he warmed your arms with a fluffy white towel. You suddenly stopped, lifting your hand to your mouth as you started to cough - a horrible, dry, gasping cough.

He noticed it almost immediately. His eyes darting to the splatter of red against the white, a smudge of crimson that was as loud and commanding as a siren, a warning signal that something was definitely not right. A bead of scarlet that would linger long behind his closed eyelids.

He managed to get you back into bed, remaining calm as he stroked your hair and kissed your temple. He tucked you under the duvet and waited for your breathing to even before he ran downstairs, his heart thumping in his ears as he practically ripped the phone off of the wall.

“Pol? Fuck. I think - I think I need help.”

—————————————————————-

The room smelt like bleach and metal. Unfamiliar and clinical. There was something hard on your chest and covering your mouth, it tasted like wet pennies and was as heavy as a hand over your throat, but for the first time in days you could finally breathe. You tried to sit up, but there was a needle in your chest, a gown you didn’t recognise cut straight down the middle to accommodate it. You struggled and lifted the thin bedsheet above your shivering torso, trying to look around the cold room.

“Careful!”

It was Polly, dressed immaculately despite her surroundings. She reached out and placed a manicured hand across yours, and you smiled at the woman who had always been a calming influence when you had joined the circus of a family. There was concern in her eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner and lifted lashes but still swimming deep around her pupils. That made you frown, and you moved as much as you could to face her.

“What happened?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, choosing her words. “You gave us quite a fright, love.”

“I did?” Your memories of the past few days were much like a fever dream, blurry and distorted snapshots were all you could really remember.

“Your pneumonia got worse. A lot worse.” She paused, looking over to the door and you followed her gaze. “They found fluid in your lungs.”

“So...” You started, gesturing to the needle in your abdomen and the breathing apparatus around your head.

She nodded. “Yes. You were in surgery. It was touch and go for a little bit.”

“Really?” You were bewildered. You couldn’t remember anything, let alone having major surgery. You looked her straight in the eye, asking her the questions that had been on the tip of your tongue since you had woken up. “Where is he? Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s outside.” She clicked her tongue, reaching deep into her purse and pulling out some hand cream, gently rubbing your dry hands like she was your mother. You leant into her touch despite all of your questions.

“What? Why?”

“I think he blames himself. God knows what goes on in that mans head. All I really know is he was bloody terrified.” She paused, looking over in the distance. “I’ve never seen him so scared, not even on his wedding day.” She smiled sadly, trying to lighten the mood, but it soon faded. “He didn’t leave your side the whole time you were asleep.”

Your heart thumped in your chest, a soft aching that you knew all too well. “I want to see him.”

“I know you do. But right now...” She stopped right as a handful of nurses entered, clad in long blue dresses with white aprons, hair tied back and smelling of strong soap and disinfectant. You lost Polly in the bustle as one spoke softly to you before tugging on the needle right beside your ribs, your eyes just catching hers as she left, a promise to see you soon on her lips.

It wasn’t her you saw next, but Tommy.

The nurses had cleaned you up with wet flannels and bowls of warm soapy water. Your hair had been braided and your face washed, and walked you arm in arm over to the bathroom so you could relieve yourself. A skittish doctor followed after, his eyes darting across you and his touch gentle as he changed your dressings and took your blood - obviously under strict instructions from your husband, and despite everything, you smiled.

You were sat listening to the clock tick. A romance novel you had been given was dangling dangerously close to the end of the bed, but you were too tired to focus on it. You heard the door squeal softly, and the sound of familiar footsteps across the tiling, each small thud sending shockwaves across your spine.

“Tommy.”

He looked tired. Exhausted rather, as though he had been awake all the hours that you had been asleep. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was sallow and bruised. His clean shaven face was dark with stubble and his hair was ruffled and unwashed. You longed to reach out to him and cradle him against you, but he stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost.

“Tommy?” You repeated, your voice almost a whisper, breaking his already shattered heart once again.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

You smiled softly, like spun sugar and sweet honey. No hospital bed or itchy gown could dull your infectious light. “Better now.”

He approached you almost cautiously. He settled down on the hard chair beside your bed and stroked a line down from your temple to your lips, his touch setting you alight like an electrical storm. There was a sadness in his eyes that reminded you of how he got when things were bad, and you willed him to come back to you. His touch was tentative and he inhaled shakily as you cupped his hand with yours, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of his palm.

“Don’t scare me like that. Ever.” He was stern, as though hoping his words would make it true. “I mean it.” He kept his gaze on your pretty face, trying his best not to stare at the harsh bruising on your delicate flesh or the sickly tone of your skin.

“Tommy I’m going to get sick, even you can’t stop that.” You teased gently.

“I can bloody well try.” His hands cradled your face, pulling you into him and kissing you fiercely, still mindful of the wires and tubes taped to your body. There was something about the tenderness and deep longing in the kiss that when mixed with your total exhaustion and love for your husband prompted tears to start falling from your eyes. You sniffled as he pulled away, concern dripping from his beautiful features, his powerful mind wanting to do everything and anything to stop your hurting.

“Hey, hey.” He said, running his calloused fingertips under your eyes and wiping your tears away. You leant into his touch and he kissed your temple, squeezing you even tighter into him. “You know I hate it when you cry.” He toyed with your hair and winked playfully. “Besides, all you need to focus on is getting better. You’re going to have to take care of me when we get home, this week has given me a fucking stroke.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing the inside of his wrist. “You’re a idiot, Thomas Shelby.” You blinked at the clock looming above you both, wanting to stay in your blissful bubble but also knowing that Aunt Pol would probably be in the vicinity harassing a poor nurse over your results. “You should go and find Polly, let her know that everything’s alright.”

He shook his head and nuzzled his nose across yours, an act so innocent that your heart dipped and swooped in your chest. “Later.” He said, breathless and consumed by you. Everything had been too much. Almost losing you had been harrowing, it had punctured him completely and he just needed to feel his girl safe and warm around him. He needed to know that you weren’t found anywhere.

“I just want to stay here for a while. Just me and you.”

You grinned. “Always.”

#tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby oneshot

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soupbabe · 3 years

Note

Could I get the Bucci gang and Diavolo with a ghost sibling? (like the one you did with Dio and the Crusaders) I really appreciate your writing and you've inspired me to try to write my own reader stories sometime!

Ghost Sibling HCs: Bucci Gang Edition! (+ Diavolo)

Oh my god that's so nice of you to say!! I think it's so cool that I actually inspired someone!! Ily so much anon!! <3 My only impression of Diavolo just has been his fight w Bruno, so I just wiki'd everything for him. So I apologise if he's not entirely in character!! Also, I genuinely had nothing for Abbacchio so he's not in this one. I really hope you don't mind

Warnings!: Goes into how reader died, Spoilers for Part 5, and Mentions of abuse from Giorno's part! Please stay safe !

Bruno Bucciarati

You were an older sibling of Bruno and you also stuck around with your father when the divorce came along

You commonly worked along with your father and ended up getting murdered when the gangsters infiltrated the boat

While your father was able to survive, you died at the scene. Your soul set to haunt the surrounding dock

Although it was tricky trying to see you due to the lingering fear of potential gangsters, Bruno always managed to find a way to visit you

It was hard for the younger Bucciarati, he cared about you as much as he did his father

Almost every visit was paired with a somber undertone, no matter how normal you tried to make it

But you were proud of Bruno and the man he's become today and you two still keep in touch

I do believe that as he gets older, he'd look at this place with a bit more fondness. Replacing the tragic memory of you and your father with all the times you tried to be there for him

When he became Capo, Bruno made certain to keep tabs on the small fishing village, making sure your resting place is in pristine condition

He's well aware that you might not get to pass on and he just wants to do what can to get you the best

Giorno Giovanna

You were Giorno's older step-sibling, having there be a 5-8 year age difference between the two of you

You were well aware of your father's abuse and did what you could to protect your little brother

Of course, your father didn't take too kindly to your behavior and it only made your punishments worse

One night, your father took out most of his anger onto you and it ended up killing you

Your soul latched onto Giorno, wanting to keep on protecting him even in death

You were there for him through everything and you were happy that he was able to find better family through the gang

And even in the gang, you were able to find your own peace in a way

(mostly) everyone welcomed you with open arms and it was a nice change of pace from talking to only Giorno for the past 10 or so years

Pannacotta Fugo

You were an older sibling, praised by your parents and used as an example for Fugo to follow

He never really resented you because of it though. You were helpful when he had the toughest lessons and treated him with the care that your parents never gave

I can imagine Fugo accidentally killing you during one of his rages, you got too close and he lashed out at you

As if he wasn't freaked out and panicked over your murder, seeing your ghost wasn't any better

He ignored any note of your presence, leaving it up to some hallucination rather than a ghost of all things

It took him a while to actually accept the fact that you're still with him and it was really awkward for a while

It made his guilt about the situation worse tbh, like it's been too long that he can't really apologize for what he did to you

And I don't imagine you being too happy either. Spending your eternity with your murderer and have him deny your existence for a couple of months does hurt

It's just one of those cases where your relationship couldn't be repaired after death, leaving you both to spend each other's company with an awkward weight on each other's shoulders

Both of you were never well taught in emotions so trying to cope with something as strange as this is not likely.

Narancia Ghirga

You were Narancia's twin sibling

you were just as loyal as him so you didn't bat an eye when he proposed that you both take Polpo's test

It's not like he would do it without you anyways, you two were a package deal

What he didn't take in account was you not surviving the stand arrow

It really did break Narancia seeing you dead and then seeing your ghost, looking like nothing happened

I feel like you haunting him furthers his denial of your actual death. That it doesn't actually matter since you're still next to him and able to laugh like nothing happened

It would be a combination of you and Bucciarati to help him with his grief, but he was still joyful to have you around

Even though you couldn't interact much with the physical world, he still invited you to his math lessons with Fugo and treated you as a valid member of the gang

Guido Mista

You were Mista's younger sibling that haunted his apartment

He'll admit that it was a bit freaky dealing with you at first, but he managed to adapt to it pretty quickly

He was able to live his usual carefree lifestyle, the added money from being apart of Passione was used for making the house a bit more comfortable

He felt bad that you couldn't leave and tried to make it more bearable

Plus he did it as an apology for all the times you cleaned up the pigsty that is his room

He also enjoyed that you were also free home security

He's made a couple of enemies in his time and having someone who can't be injured through typical means was helpful

He always enjoyed the occasional stories you told of the intruder's terrified faces at the fact that their guns and knives had no effect on you

But even if you were already dead, he'd ask for the faces of the idiots who disrespected and tried to kill to you.

Just because you're dead doesn't change the fact that you were still his family and he needed to teach those losers a lesson when you can't do it yourself.

Diavolo

Oh my god I'm so sorry for you

Listen, this man was not above attempted murder of his own daughter to hide his identity. You would've been one of his first targets

When he'd see that you never actually died, he would use whatever he had in his arsenal to get rid of you

But of course nothing worked, having to come to terms that you were a ghost

I don't think this could make his paranoia worse because technically you are gone and you can't go outside without him/Doppio, it's just a great inconvenience

He usually acts like you don't exist, yelling at you if you were to interact with the mafia boss

To Doppio you were only known to be a close friend of the boss and nothing else

He would happily chat with you, blissfully unaware that he was talking to a corpse

I think being anywhere near Diavolo in this state is a fate worst than death

Being around such a dark and negative energy already isn't good for the living, imagine how the dead feels

Plus not to mention the rough period of occasional murder attempts, all in new ways for Diavolo to get you gone for once and for all

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizzare adventure golden wind #golden wind #golden wind x reader #platonic x reader #platonic headcanons #bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno buccerati #giorno giovanna x reader #giorno giovanna #pannacotta fugo x reader #pannacotta fugo #narancia ghirga #narancia ghirga x reader #guido mista x reader #guido mista #diavolo x reader #jjba diavolo

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tommyspeakycap · 5 years

Note

omg could we have more headcanons of tommy (and the whole shelby fam) taking care of little shelby when she was a baby 🥺🥺 thanks

polly stands by the fact that you were the cutest of all the family

you were little and chubby and the most beautiful little thing ever

tiny with chubby cheeks

fat little hands

chubby legs

little baby rolls

everything about you was the cutest thing ever

arthur could be found CONSTANTLY holding you

he was #obsessed lol

he was not one to call out his father

however

the nights he would come in drunk and your crying would annoy him

arthur would challenge him then

“put her the fuck down.”

he wasn’t opposed to throwing a punch after situating himself between your crib and your father

he didn’t like other people holding you

other than like polly and tommy and stuff

“support her head-her hEAD!”

“i’ve got her fucking head, arthur for gods sake.”

“you-just, give her back time. just give her back to me if you’re not going to hold her right.”

and then he’ll most definitely take you back into his arms and cuddle you into his chest with baby you letting loose a happy gurgle

tommy’s very fatherly

he’s just busier than arthur really

but he takes the father role very quickly

especially after arthur senior leaves and their mother died and arthur junior struggles to cope

and so arthur is drunk a lot

john and ada are still basically kids too

so tommy had to take the role of dad

and he honestly doesn’t really mind all that much

because having his baby sister tucked into the crook of his arm is not only comforting for her but also to the gangster

and he’s like?? the softest guy ever around baby you

he even talks is BABY VOICES

i need to see pre war tommy lol

but anyway

and when you start walking he and arthur baby proof every possible area of the house

“you missed the fucking cupboard, arthur! she’s jammed her finger now!” tommy shouts over a screaming baby

“it’s alright, baby, you’re okay.” he tried to insist, to no avail

alas

apparently kissing it better seemed to do the trick that no medical treatment ever would

tommy carries baby you fucking everywhere

people joke that you barley learned to walk until you were like ??

probably five??

because tommy carried you everywhere

i stand by my hc that arthur puts on the best voices for the bedtime stories

but tommy has the most dramatic narrators voice

so sometimes they would partner up and become the dynamic duo of stories

and each member of the family would come in at night to kiss your forehead and tuck you into bed

you were probably secretly polly’s favourite

and ada was obsessed with you

she wasn’t a particularly soft girl

but she absolutely adored you

she loved to dress you up and teach you girly stuff

and steal you away from your older brothers to spend some quality sister time even if you could only say “ah.” back to hear in a baby voice

or sometimes

“aDA!” yelled right at her happily

ada also liked to show off to her friends that you were literally the cutest and smartest baby in all of birmingham

john’s like

a littler rougher with you

but still the softest when you’re with him

when he’s got baby sister on his hip, people know that they’ll die the minute they try to start something

it was like

he’s allowed to tease you mercilessly

he’ll call you dummy baby

and like fun at you chewing on your fist even if you don’t understand and just laugh at him

and he’s allowed to push you back when you toddle towards him as a game

but if someone ELSE tried to tease you or push you

ho ho ho

les just say it would NOT end well for them

even his other siblings

one time john nearly got physical with arthur when he jokingly called you chubby

“she’s just cushioned, arthur, don’t be so fucking rude.”

and arthur was like ????

john then snatched you from his hands and marched away

(insert kim kardashian hitting khloe with her handbag and going “don’t be fucking RUDE”)

and tommy is like....

least we know he’ll protect her?? i guess...

tommy is the one who deals with the snotty noses and pukey days

with the helping hand and the mother guide of his aunt polly

arthur couldn’t for several reasons

1) he tried not to find it disgusting, but did and could not ignore or deny that

and 2) he was a worrier and he was literally too much to handle

so tommy would put on his soothing baby voice and pout his lips as he spoke to you

his itty bitty baby sister

“i’m so sorry, baby. i know, i know it hurts. but tommy’s right here okay, i’m right here.”

and then you scream tom tom because you didn’t take being unwell very easily when you were a baby

babies don’t understand why their tummy hurts

but polly always manages to concoct up some old gypsy method that would eventually lull you to sleep on thomas’ chest

muttering his quiet; “i love you sweet baby.” softly

because yes

he loves all of his siblings

and all of his siblings love him

but there is no greater love

and no greater bond within that family

than had been between you and tommy since you were a tiny tot who knew only “tom tom” in your vocabulary

you’re his sweet girl

and he, your tom tom

forever and always

#shelby sister reader #shelby sistsr #shelby sister headcanon #shelby sister headcanons #peaky blinders #peaky blinders headcanons #ask #anon

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imaginingit · 7 years

Text

seventeen as haikyuu!! characters (pt. 1)

my two worlds collide :)))) this isn’t strictly karasuno, just characters in the story that resemble the boys!

warning: spoilers ahead!! and also... i get a little. .. . .carried....away

S.Coups as Daichi Sawamura

MY TWO GRANDPAS I’M SO READY. as kind and fair leaders, daichi and seungcheol are inevitably very, very similar. in daichi’s approach with tobio and hinata when they first joined, coupled seungcheol’s way of uniting the boys to talk about their issues as frequently and fervently as possible, these two are the epitome of father material. daichi is never afraid to be vocal with the team on and off the court, and naturally is the voice of the entire team when needed. for seungcheol, despite being the youngest member in his family, was promised to debut with multiple groups time and time again, until finally he was put on hold with the rest of the seventeen boys. what this did was allow him to practice his patience and growth as a person, but as well, grow familiar and as an older brother figure for the boys as years went on. maturity aside, both of these boys are easily excitable and love it when their members are having a great time. with their relationship from their same age friends (suga and asahi, jeonghan and jisoo) to the younger guys on the team, they are an amicable sidekick and company to be around, and although they need to be serious on and off the court/camera for the sake of professionalism and victory, these two “old men” are two very dorky and clumsy guys at heart.

Jeonghan as Koshi Sugawara

THEY’RE ANGELS AND THEY FUCKING KNOW IT. but don’t be fooled. jeonghan can tend to be a little shit disturber at times cheeky at times (cheating, cheating, and more cheating) and suga sometimes does enjoy joining in on the banter with the second years, thus making them the most innocent (“wait, who me?” puppy eyes) older brothers out there. but with that aside, both are extremely caring towards the rest of the team and are undoubtedly the mother figures. sugawara, being assistant captain, knows each and every one of his teammates’ strengths and weakness, and always, always, has a sense of calm and patience, slowing the game down to his pace. despite losing his starting position to tobio when he came, he never once had a harsh attitude towards him and instead, cheered him on and did his part when he needed to step in. jeonghan is by far, the biggest mom figure in seventeen, and is extremely affectionate with everyone in the group. kind and attentive, he loves to compliment and tease his members “dino nugu aegi” and is enthusiastic in all their projects. he never seems to complain and be in a genuinely bad mood, like, ever. both are extremely reliable and have a bond with all of their members, making them both the soft, angelic, yet fun-loving members of the group.

Joshua as Asahi Azumane

i put 95-line as the third years do you hear me sob bi ng ASAHI AND JISOO ARE BOTH SO SOFT, SOFT, SOFT, and are the kings of humility. jisoo is seriously the nicest, most soft-spoken, and easygoing person ever. he will never go out of his way to seriously boast about something nor will he claim a title as his own. we all know he’s a mama’s boy and an extremely soft person, resembling a kitten, almost. he loves to embrace his members and his bond with the 95-line is so, so precious. however, on stage, his demeanour is extremely different. he works so hard with his music and has such a determination to make sure everything is perfect, namely being the one to arrange all the acoustic versions of their songs, and making sure to monitor himself extremely closely after every recording. he works hard on his craft and does his best to benefit the team around him, being the master of humility and is undoubtedly in love with love itself. asahi, on the other hand, and a clear difference between the two, looks extremely different from how he is on the inside. being mistaken for a convict, or a third-year that had to repeat school a couple times, or a gangster, he’s 180 degrees different from his appearnce. like jisoo, he cares extremely how he is on the court and makes sure to do his absolute best to benefit his team. being the ace, he never really claimed that title as his and has a hard time believing in his abilities until the near end. he’s so precious to the team, and with his “glass heart”, he’s literally a child that needs to be protected at ALL TIME. these two are extremely soft and kind, knowing no limits to hard work and dedication at their craft to make sure their team comes out on top.

Jun as Toru Oikawa

pROFESSIONAL PANTY DROPPERS. literally the two biggest shits on the face of the earth. jun was the first person i matched a character with because i had no freaking doubt in my head that he was going to be oikawa. toru is damn fucking good at volleyball--and he knows it. he knows that he’s the grand king and isn’t afraid to walk around like it, even off the court. besides from being a cocky ass little shit though (jks i love my king), he’s such a good captain and is also the king of POSITIVITY. even if he makes a bad set or misplaces a serve, he has no doubt in knowing the next play will be different. you know who else is the king of positivity? WEN JUNHUI. WEN. JUN. HUI. during one fine day, when they were literally all quarantined in an island away from home and forced to give up their personal belongings for a period of time, he was such a trooper and a cheerleader for the rest of the trip there. he never failed in complimenting mingyu and his skills (literally when asked to pick 3 things to bring with him to a deserted island, he chose mingyu, mingyu, and mingyu), always helped out in various things like cooking, making freaking sashimi, starting the fire, and cleaning. but on stage.. . . BOI. he’s legit a sex machine. like not fucking kidding. he’s fucking hot and he knows it. in 17 project, one of the things the mentor told him was to work on his facial expressions, and this boy fucking did. the way he bites his lips, the way he droops his eyes, the way he walks on stage, his poise and confidence is so prevalent and is, without a doubt, a visual to be reckoned with. with oikawa, despite being one of the best u-18 setters in the country, arguably the best in his prefecture, and having the pressure that comes with it, he carries himself with such poise and confidence knowing that he fully has the ability to help his team and make them amazing. these two are confident, positive, and work extremely hard at what they do to better everyone that is relying on them and are undoubtedly panty wetters havE U SEEN OIKAWA WITH GLASSES IM DECEASED.

Hoshi as Yu Nishinoya

NOYA M Y LOVE I LOVE YOU OSM U HC my svt bias wrecker and my haikyuu bias why do i do this to myself ffs. out of all of these matches, i think this one is the most spot-on, personality wise. noya is such a FREAKING FIRECRACKER, and is literally the second loudest character on this entire show despite having such tight competition whaddup bokuto, tanaka. he loves volleyball so. much. i’m literally not surprised if this kid sleeps with his uniform still on. but with that being said, as much as he loves it, his bond and love for his members are unparalleled. in the beginning, he refused to come back as libero if asahi wasn’t going to return, but eventually found himself too connected with volleyball to not be on the team. in every practice, he’s always testing out his moves and giving it nICKNAMES LIEK GFDIJ I LVOE YOU like fucking “ROLLING THUNDER!!!” like what even?? him, tanaka, and hinata love riling shit up and having a good time with what they do. so with soonyoung, you can tell that dance is his entire life. he said one time that he doesn’t know what his life would be without dance. soonyoung legit ALWAYS HAS ENERGY, like the members literally wake him up with “fighting!”. these characters are both extremely boisterous and friendly. noya made extremely quick friends with hinata and still initiates conversations with tsuki and tobio regardless if they’re interested or not. soonyoung, on the other hand as well, LOVES HIS UNIT SO MUCH MY HEART. on one fine day, bc minghao was sick and couldn’t really leave the house, hoshi would find things for him to do like help him peel stuff for dinner or bring him bites of the food they were making outside. chan looks up to him legit like an older brother and him and jun are the same age, making them have a brotherly, best friend-type bond. but with that being said, the second both characters step on their respective stages, everything changes. noya is such a beast, always looking to better his game as a libero, like when he figured out how to set from behind the line, or when he did the thING YOU KNOW THE THING AGAINST SHIRATORIZAWA WHEN USHIJIMA DID THE THING AND THEN NOYA DID THE THING BACK AND THEN HE DID THE THING AGAIN YOU KNOW WHAT I’M TALKIGN ABOUT and his entire team legitimately depends on him for receiving some of the best players in the entire country’s spikes and he never fails to back them up. with hoshi, he brings a different dynamic to the group. he choreographs everything and admits to making the most mistakes during practice because he has everyone’s dance parts in his head tell me that isn’t the purest fucking thing you’ve ever heard in your life. on stage, he’s so fuc kign h ot have you seen his stage at the boys wish concert goodbye!!!! these two have the most boisterous personalities, with abilities to befriend almost everyone. both love a sense of competition and leading the team with their athletic abilities, all the while having a true, true love for what they do.

i’m getting so fucking carried away i’m not even sorry

Wonwoo as Tobio Kageyama

if you began to think i was going crazy, you haven’t even seen my final form cus wonwoo’s my svt bias and tobio is my haikyuu bias wrecker good luck reader my two dark hair, dark eyed beauties. rather than having the exact same personality, i think these two resemble each other in appearance, the way they carry themselves and how they are when the begin to open up. tobio has always been good, exceptional even, at volleyball. named “king of the court” before he even got to high school, he always had an immense amount of pressure on him. however, for him and wonwoo, they both get mistaken as being solely and strictly cold-hearted bastards because of their first impressions and the difficulty they have expressing themselves. kageyama was first portrayed as a cocky and hard-to-get-along-with kind of character, always to engulfed in volleyball, but that’s not the case as the series progresses. no, he doesn’t become an extremely boisterous or outgoing character, but he no longer has such a demeanour around him. you can see him visibly wanting to spend more time around his teammates and he loves. the. game. so. much. he looks to make his game the best it can possibly be every single time and all his life, hasn’t really known anything besides volleyball until karasuno came along im SOBBING. with wonwoo, his sharp features and handsome face gives off the vibe of being the cold, scary pretty face that doesn’t really want to be around others, but when seen around his members, and members like hoshi, miNGYU, jun (members that are very opposite of his shy self and can bring him out more), him and his stupid freaking jokes will always be heard. through variety shows and time spent around the boys, we get to see garden fairy wonwoo, seventeen’s main bgm provider wonwoo, and palryongjung middle school dancing machine wonwoo, and we know he isn’t, and never was the cold-hearted boy we was thought out to be. when they get onto their stages, they’re both extremely charismatic and amazing at what they do. hallucination boy wonwoo has an aura around him with his voICE and the way he feels the rhythm as a rapper that makes him so underrated, until he got a solo freaking stage that he definitely deserved. with tobio, everytime he steps on the court, his walls come down and his focus is insane. everyone fears him on the other side and would much rather have him on theirs, knowing full well how capable he is of being one of the best setters in the country. however, these two boys have a history that they both would like to forget. and although it’s tough to talk about it with wonwoo, they made mistakes in the past and were given a reputation that they would both like override. for wonwoo, it was being someone that was wholesome and capable of hate, and tobio was known to be a horrible teammate and captain, eyes set solely for victory and nothing else. but as time went on, upon meeting their members now, they have the urge to become more than what they were and use the people around them as family, bettering themselves each day as both people and at what they do.

Woozi as Kenma Kozume

MY LITTLE KITTENS!! ok these two are also extremely similar in both looks and demeanour. while both seemingly uninterested in a lot of things and not wanting to be outrightly the center of attention, they are both extreme geniuses at what they do. kenma legit never loses his cool and doesn’t often voice his opinions. despite being like this though, he very much draws in friends that are complete??? opposite?? of??? him?? like hinata?? they have such a cute bond shoot me like as quiet, reserved, and uninterested as he may seem, he’s complimented well with people that are different from him and has an extremely kind heart on the inside. with jihoon, he doesn’t seem to care a lot abt stuff cue him beating mingyu up with a guitar cue him plotting cheol’s death everytime he makes him do aegyo but he’s so fucking cute and he DOESN’T EVEN KNOW IT. but when they’re put to work with their craft, these two are the best at it. rather than being an amazing volleyball player, and rather than being an exceptional singer, they have incredible overall sports knowledge and musicianship respectively. kenma has amazing volleyball iq and sense of the game that he always knows what he’s supposed to be doing, where he needs to go to receive a ball and how to juggle his play to make the players on his side of the court better, making up for his physique and build. with jihoon, he literally is in charge of seventeen’s success, if you really really think about it. definitely not saying that no one else puts in any work, but jihoon does the most of it when it comes to their title songs and side tracks, putting this immense pressure on him to have to do well and make sure that seventeen succeeds with the songs he writes. 90% of his time is spent in the studio and his hard work has paid off so much. as a musician, he deserves so much praise for his hard work and talent!! like he plays fucking like 52 instruments and can even rap??? like what? stan jihoon guys stan jihoon overall, these two characters, though seemingly bored and tired most of the time, are hardworkers and blend extremely well with their group, all the while being fucking underrated yet TALENTED at what they do.

HOPE YOU ENJOY!!! :D

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