#but man that mental hurdle is. something (hums) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cryptiql · 3 years

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cherry starbursts

pairing: bakugou/reader (male reader in mind but is gender neutral)

warnings: none, i think?? lots of cussing though, courtesy of lord explosion murder

words: 3.6k

a/n: yuzuya's audios giving me so much brainrot...gonna be thinking about this all week. also the way this started out as god tier writing but gradually turned into shit at the end 🏃 nonetheless, i hope i did this gremlin man justice </3

a contemplative hum tickles your throat as you observe the paragraph laid out before you, the pads of your fingers tingling as you trail them across the pages. on the occasions where you've found your nose nestled deep within them, a muted scent of pears and sawdust would invade your senses, and the urge to rest your head in the plains of your chemistry textbook would become overwhelming. however, the threat of being cuffed over the head by a rolled up magazine makes you think twice about slacking off, so you begrudgingly slump back into your seat with a resigned huff. the clock in your dorm is no doubt ticking away like always; the second hand rounding at great speeds while the minute and hour hands crawl by at a sluggish pace; but you aren't there to hear it.

instead, you reside in bakugou's room, basking in the unencumbered atmosphere created solely by his diligent efforts to keep his space clean and organized. it's just the way he is, you have to remind yourself. not because you stubbed your toe on his dumbbells last week and he felt sufficiently guilty as to make sure nothing was in your path the next time you visited. that would be silly. all that considered, bakugou's room isn't much different from your own—save for the few comfort objects brought from home that give off a hospitable air—but the lack of stimulus it holds is apparent. anything that could disturb your tranquil study date has either been stored away or placed beyond your reach.

damn him, the bastard! he's completely oblivious, you silently muse, bracing your elbows on the desk to plant your face in the palms of your hands. you chastise yourself at the same moment for forgetting your headphones, but in your defense, bakugou screaming for you to hurry up had prompted a hasty departure. if he had the patience to wait two more minutes. . .

rather than finishing the thought, you pull the textbook closer, hoping that somehow the enlarged print will stick to your brain like a temporary tattoo. you only need this information long enough to pass the exam, but once it's over, you swear you'll never mention anything chemistry related unless it's the bond between you and your neighbor. the idle scratching of pencil led against paper erupts from his side of the room, lessening the static in your head by a fraction, but it doesn't last. he mutters something unintelligible under his breath as you spin in your chair to look at him in desperation.

he remains ignorant for the next minute or so, only glancing up at you briefly before returning to his notes. your nostrils flare as you reach down to untangle your laces and pull off your shoe. you chickened out last time this happened, but being ignored has successfully fed the flames of your frustration, and you simply will not stand for it any longer. you blame your sleep-addled mentality for the lack of better aim, but it stokes your pride when bakugou flinches as your shoe hurdles past his shoulder.

"the hell was that for, dumbass!?" he growls, his eyes narrowing into slits. you respond with a high pitched whine; one that would be considered overexaggerated in his opinion, but in yours, was perfectly reasonable when being held against your will to study a subject that has no business being this tedious. "sukiii, i'm booored."

the blonde makes a 'tch' sound, positioning his arm in a warning manner before throwing his pencil at you, which you manage to catch easily. you revel in the deflated expression he wears, twirling the pencil between your fingers and kicking a leg over one arm of the chair. all this, while never breaking eye contact, was sure to break through to him. you're hopeful, what with the way katsuki's gaze—gradually failing to hide his infatuation—travels over your build from head to toe. whether because you giggle at his reaction or decide to kick your feet like a giddy child, he snaps out of his trance with an all too familiar scowl and shuts his own textbook with unnecessary force. his demanding stare is fixated on you as he tosses it haphazardly to the edge of the bed.

"give me back my pencil, idiot." he completely ignores your previous statement and jumps straight into business, as always. "give me back my shoe first, hot stuff." you challenge, smirking in a way that you very well know gets him hot under the collar. the teasing endearment will either put the odds in your favor; earning you your shoe as desired, and perhaps the lovely little blush that often dusts his face whenever you flirt with him; or seal your fate in hell where the everlasting flames may burn similarly, if not just as hotter than bakugou's explosions. it has taken years of practice to uphold your smug attitude in the face of his unyielding rage; nose wrinkled and canines grinding. even now, he is the image of perfection—a powerful god emblazoned in brimstone and baneful inferno—and you, a mere lover of art. after a moment, bakugou's resolve seems to falter. his piecing glare relents only slightly to give way for a pensive expression as he sighs, gently rubbing along the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. he throws you your shoe while standing from the bed, and as you slip it on, he shuffles over to his clothes drawer to pull out his own pair of sneakers. this prompts you to raise a brow inquisitively, but your silent question is left unanswered up until bakugou claps a hand on your shoulder and grumbles.

"c'mon, i'm fucking starving. there's a seven eleven nearby that's got spicy ramen."

and just like that, all thoughts pertaining to the test have been pulverized to dust by katsuki's unrelenting fists. the promise of food after hours of relentless mental abuse has you brushing off the sudden change of inclination in seconds, meanwhile the hothead to your right mulls over it during your trek through the empty hallways, stuffing his arms into the holes of his jacket. he had been able to overlook your constant fidgeting and intermittent noises of vexation, but too soon it became obvious that you weren't getting anywhere with the session. he would have simply offered to help if not for his own inability to concentrate, which had made itself known within the last half hour when he caught himself staring at you between taking notes. so what if he found your pouting cute? just maybe, he had started to fall in love with the way your brows furrowed at the instance of a misunderstood question; the absentminded tugging of your earlobe; the way your eyes looked without seeing, as if the smallest things held the greatest importance. sure, the tapping of your nails against a desk was a bit much, but he could always put a stop to your fretting by lacing your fingers together and kissing the back of your hand. just maybe, your bashful reactions made him want to hold you closer; to see you lounging across his lap—a throne befitting for a king—with your rose hued cheeks nestled in the crook of his neck.

not that you needed to know any of that. no fucking way would he endow another reason for you to tease him when the list was already so long.

curfew isn't for another hour, but bakugou would rather not waste time dawdling, so he uses this as reasoning for hooking your arm with his and practically hauling you out the exit. he mutters something about you being "too fucking slow" and "leaving you behind if you don't keep up", but the fact that he's dragging you along at all shows that he would have no problem resorting to desperate matters. the right amount of groveling and or compromising might mean a piggyback ride to the store, but regardless of how tempting the idea is, you decide not to further burden your friend with carrying you.

the towering shape of heights alliance becomes more and more like a speck of dust as your journey continues, the weight of your thoughts heavy on your already weary mind. you eye katsuki's side profile, noting the distinct lack of malice upon his handsome features, and smile softly to yourself. friend. it was the first word that occurred to you, albeit the least desirable and in no way comparable to the term that caused your heart to flutter within the confinements of your ribcage.

you aren't together. you don't know if you'll ever be, but when the the milieu; brimming with chaotic screams, booming laughter and disorderly merriment belonging to that of your closest friends; is whisked from the narrative, katsuki looks at you differently. whatever fragments of disdain and spite tend to crumble within the first few seconds and are replaced by an emotion that was unheard of ever having manifested in the depths of his vermillion hues. it holds a semblance to adoration, perhaps even respect, and for as long as you can recall, that is all you've wanted to see from him: to be regarded like no other.

sure, it's not like how you dreamed—he isn't very affectionate in public, though you doubt he would be even if you were together, and it always stings when he shrugs your affections off with a deriding comment—but that's just it. it's not a dream. after every scornful remark; after the day has passed and the dwindling moon takes its place in the evening sky, breaking through the curtains of his dorm; he'll kiss your hand, your blooming cheeks, your lips, all to atone for it. where no one else can see, he treats you like a divine being, and part of you wishes to think that it's because he's selfish. a bit of possessiveness has lead to many nights of a shared bed, ruffled sheets and smothering cuddles, but who are you to complain? everything he gives you is more real than any well-constructed reverie.

he may not be yours, and you may not be his, but no one else will suffice for either of you, and that is the unspoken truth.

the minimal bitterness in the autumn breeze makes for a refreshing atmosphere with the only discontent being the hunger that claws at your stomach. bakugou has never been merciful towards anyone, let alone the self-acclaimed nuisance who interrupts his studying with half-baked plans of adventure, but you're ever so grateful for the rare times where he is.

you know you won't have to wait long now that the smell of milk bread and takoyaki trickles into the air, much like the faint pitter patter of raindrops on the concrete. the shower is horribly ill-timed, but you hardly mind, especially when the droplets cling to bakugou's eyelashes like crystalline gemstones; glimmering faintly with every blink as they catch the suns rays. it settles below the horizon, only a sliver of golden yellow to be seen dancing in the tree boughs above, and the fuck if the way it illuminates your not-boyfriend's visage isn't absolutely breathtaking. the glimpse of honeyed skin and kissable lips—pulled into a pensive pout—draws you in deeper, and deeper, and oh god i've been caught—

"you got a staring problem, dumbass?" he grumbles, a roseal color dusting his ears that he swears is from the cold.

even his offensive nicknames are laced with an abnormal tenderness, and knowing that you're the only one with the privilege to hear it causes your chest to swell with delight. you nibble your bottom lip, hoping that it will somehow hide the fleet of giggles bubbling in your throat, but it does no such thing. "yeah, it's weird. whenever i see something beautiful, i just feel compelled to stare at it."

you don't need to look at him to know you've struck a nerve, but you do anyways, and his face grows redder under the intensity of your teasing leer. he sputters, curses falling from past his lips like a waterfall, and rips his arm from your grasp to cradle it as if you've burned him. any sane person would have backed down the second mini explosions began flaring up from his palms, however, you are perhaps the exact opposite, as to be expected when surrounding yourself with the infamous bakusquad, who (excluding bakugou) procured one braincell to share amongst themselves. years of having to put up with and, by extension, learn how to effectively handle bakugou's fits have proven to be time well spent.

you remain none the wiser to the concerned stares of others as he spouts a line of insults; incomprehensible from behind his curled fist pressed tightly to his mouth.

"you-you can't just say that kinda shit out loud, dumbass!" and although he may seem mad, he's already dragging you down the street. you test your luck by huddling closer and resting your chin on his shoulder, your steady pace never faltering.

"is the katsuki bakugou stumbling over his words from a little compliment?" it almost feels like you've won, but then the blonde proceeds to cover your face with his still damp hand. the little shit had timed it perfectly so that your open mouth would taste the saltiness of his sweat—quite the contrary to its sugary caramel aroma—and if you weren't so preoccupied by the resonance of his cackling laugh, you might have spent the rest of the trip gagging and complaining about the whole ordeal. he hardly seems bothered, wiping your saliva on his trousers and going forth with that customary lumbering strut, which always has you torn between fawning, chortling or questioning if he has fucking weights down his pants.

nonetheless, you can't help but murmur how cute he looks as you swing your free arm in tune with your steps.

by the time you've arrived at the shop, the sun has long since disappeared; welcoming hues of purple, navy blue and hints of orange to dapple the heavens, along with the foretelling of stars. you can't begin to describe how lucky you are to be living in a city with such beautiful scenery, even when the thin clouds of smog from factories often hinder your view of it. the fluorescent lights from the 'open' sign flash sporadically, casting a cobalt glow to dance across your dazed expression. katsuki watches with intent, chuckling at how easily distracted you can get as he tugs you inside by the cloth of your shirt.

the person behind the cash register spares a customary greeting before returning to their magazine, and bakugou makes a beeline for the intended isle, something akin to excitement radiating from him. he wears it much differently, and it resembles is go-to callous guise in almost every way, but you're able to detect the slight shift in demeanor as if its the easiest thing in the world. you hardly register that he's removed himself from you until the distance grows too large to ignore, and you shuffle over to the place beside him with a newfound adrenaline. the crisp air of the corner store heightens your senses as you tap your foot to the pop song playing overhead.

the only other sound is of katsuki examining the ramen and deciding what level of spice he should get, encouraging you to ponder what sort of hellish nightmare he has planned for the rest of the group. it was just last week when he dared kaminari to try some of the noodles, and the poor boy had spent ten minutes weeping in snot-nosed agony that you would have to be insane to put something that hot in your mouth. bakugou had laughed at his misery and carried on eating with vigor, mocking the others for their weak taste buds.

after a beat of silence, you decide to test your luck again by poking is shoulder, as well as batting your eyelashes at him and cocking your head to the side.

"can we get some candy?"

bakugou waves his hand dismissively, which is all the conformation you need before rounding the corner to peruse the variety of sweets on display. you immediately spot the marked parcels of sour gumdrops and assorted licorice and giggle to yourself as you pick them out, unaware of the gentle smile the blonde wears in regards to your child-like glee.

"yeah, just don't eat it all in one sitting. you go through that shit way too fast—it's unhealthy."

you won't bother commenting on his strict, motherly advisement, because you know it's in his best interest. he's grumbled about "stuffing your body with all that garbage" on numerous occasions, and while the hypocrisy might have annoyed you at one point ("and i assume gouging yourself on spicy ramen is completely different?") you realized rationing your candy would benefit both your health and your wallet. you nod, despite knowing he can't see, and idly feel for your back pocket, wondering just how much katsuki plans to stock up. money isn't exactly an issue, so you suppose it doesn't matter, but the amount of packets he normally brings back is downright criminal.

"don't be shy," he eventually says, "i'm buying. you're responsible enough not to buy out the whole store, right?"

your confusion overwhelms the urge to roll your eyes at his sarcasm, but there also lies a hint of elation that he would offer to buy.

"i figured i'd be paying as compensation for messing with you." you stand on the tips of your toes to poke your head over the isle, feeling very tempted to ruffle his hair whilst he gathers the packages of ramen into his basket.

"nah, you can pay me back in some other way." his eyes flick upwards to meet your devilish smirk, and he turns away with an affronted noise, blood rushing to his cheeks.

"oh? i can't wait to see what you have in mind~."

and there go the sparks. they last but a few moments before katsuki composes himself, presumably because he realizes making a scene won't help the situation, but he still throws a glare at you from a distance as he beckons you closer. it seems like he's gotten all he needs, so you hastily grab whatever sweets are left on your mental list and rush back to the counter. a comfortable silence sits between you both as your items are checked out, and in that time, you observe the significant difference between pre-late-night-shopping-run bakugou and food-deprived-study-date bakugou. his shoulders are more relaxed, as is his facial appearance, and you'll be damned if you ever forget the way he smiles when he catches you looking from his peripheral vision.

it's soft and unguarded and leaves you struggling for breath as he waits for the cashier to turn away, then promptly laces your fingers together. what? katsuki takes the bag and pulls you effortlessly; like a ragdoll; a mere toy at his disposal; out into the brisk evening. his thumb brushes the back of your hand, making you jump in surprise at the suddenness of it, and he titters freely. what? the streetlamps glint brightly, flickering at random intervals as you travel onward at a leisurely pace. the roads closest to U.A. aren't as packed as the ones deeper into the city, and thus you are the only two souls to be found, save for the few cars that speed by under the faint luminescence of nearing traffic lights. katsuki squeezes your palm, then slithers his hand out of your hold to replace it at your waist, methodically caressing the skin there in a way that has your knees buckling. you sputter witlessly, attempting to catch the thoughts that flee from your mind like birds to the wind. the blonde is nothing less than ecstatic to be the reason for your flustered state, and he takes full advantage of it by leaning in and hovering his mouth just inches from your own.

"i'll take my payment now." and oh lord, you think. he doesn't have to ask me twice. your lips collide with his, molding together like melted toffee; just as sweet and addictive. you've shared kisses before; ones that left you bruised and scrambling for a coverup the next day; ones that felt like fire but were tinged with honey that soothed your throat; fleeting ones that were never enough. you were sure that your need for affection would never truly be satiated unless it was from the boy you held most dear, and with the moon as your sole witness, katsuki was happy to oblige.

"starbursts. . ." he huffs after pulling away, massaging your hip to subdue your dissatisfied hum. "you taste like cherry starbursts."

he doesn't seem to mind by the way he leans in for another kiss, and another, and another, until you're a jittery mess in his arms. you press against his chest, a wistful sigh escaping you when you part once more.

"not that i'm complaining, but where's this coming from? you're usually not so touchy." the last bit of your utterance trails off as bakugou presses his lips to your forehead and keeps them there. moments pass, and when he finally pulls away, its to hide his blush by walking ahead of you. "i should be able to kiss my partner whenever i please, shouldn't i?" he doesn't even give you a chance to catch up, because his words have you rooted to the spot. what urges your feet to move is the haughty smirk he tosses over his shoulder, and even then, the race has only begun; your demands for him to stop echoing down the street as you chase him.

cheeky bastard.

#💥.katsuki #bakugou x male reader #katsuki bakugou x male reader #bakugou x gn!reader #male reader insert #mha x male reader #gn reader #mha x gn!reader #boku no hero x reader #bakugou x you

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gingwrites · 3 years

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Untitled Vampire AU (ot7) - Part 4

Series Masterlist | BTS Masterlist

Summary: Min Yoongi gets turned into a vampire and abandoned by his sire, but is adopted by the Kim coven.

aka

I decided to turn my one shot about maknae yoongi teething as a vampire into a full fic. Title subject to change. I just really have no idea what to name it right now.

Pairing: Established ot6, future ot7

“Whoa there, maybe you shouldn’t be walking just yet,” Seokjin said, catching Yoongi before he could fall to the floor. Yoongi had only taken a couple of steps, but it seemed his body was weaker than he thought. Seokjin quickly turned around and bent his knees. “Come on, hop up.”

After a moment of nothing, Seokjin finally turned around to see Yoongi staring at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“What?”

“Are you sure about this?” Yoongi questioned, eyes roaming over Seokjin’s frame.

Seokjin scoffed. “Vampire, remember? We just went over this. And also, you’re tiny. A literal baby could probably hold you.”

Yoongi crossed his arms over his chest at the jibe, bottom lip sticking out.

“I’m not tiny.”

“Okay, fine. You’re not tiny,” Seokjin said, holding in the urge to coo at how cute the baby looked. “Now, would you just hop on already? We need to get some blood in you before you pass out again.”

Another moment passed before Yoongi finally pulled himself onto Seokjin’s back, looping his arms and legs around the taller man.

The two entered the hallway, Yoongi looking around in awe at how big the house looked. Seokjin carried him down a set of stairs and down another hallway before finally entering what looked like their living room.

“Aw, is that the new baby?” a voice called when they entered the room. “He’s so tiny and adorable!”

Yoongi quickly buried his head in Seokjin’s neck, feeling the blush already rising to his cheeks. Seokjin was pretty sure he heard a quiet ‘I’m not a baby’ murmured into his neck, but he wasn’t going to call it out.

A few steps later and Seokjin carefully bent down to let Yoongi put his feet back on the floor, making sure he was steady before he fully let go. The baby was malnourished and exhausted; Seokjin was surprised he was even awake, let alone standing up on his own.

“Come sit down, baby,” a voice called.

Yoongi looked over at the couch, and before he could tell his brain stop, he whispered, “Angel.” The man who had saved him from the alley.

The angel, no man, no vampire, laughed, and shook his head. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m no angel. Far from it, according to some. My name’s Jimin. What’s yours?”

The man, Jimin, patted the seat next to him again, encouraging Yoongi to come sit next to him, which he did.

“I’m Yoongi,” Yoongi replied, settling down next to Jimin, his legs grateful for the break from the short time he was standing. I thought vampires were supposed to be super strong or something, Yoongi thought.

“I have breakfast!” another voice called, a man walking through a doorway that Yoongi figured led to the kitchen. He’d barely seen any of the house so far, and yet it looked massive. He might have to get a map or something to find his way around. He couldn’t even remember the way back to the bedroom he was in.

“Hi, I’m Hoseok,” the man greeted, sitting down on the coffee table in front of Yoongi, who quickly introduced himself. “Now, let’s get you fed.”

Hoseok held out a thermos for Yoongi to take. Realizing what was probably in the thermos, Yoongi froze, suddenly unsure about everything happening.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Seokjin asked quietly, sitting down on Yoongi’s other side.

“Um, I think it’s finally settling in that I’m a uh…” Yoongi trailed off. Now that the news finally had time to sink in, Yoongi was a little scared. It was a thermos. It had to be blood, right? He was a vampire, of course it is. Probably going to need to get used to it if he was going to be an immortal being that survived on the stuff.

Seokjin hummed in acknowledgement, breaking Yoongi out of his spiraling thoughts.

“I know it can be difficult at first,” Seokjin spoke, reaching a hand over to run up and down Yoongi’s back. “That’s one reason why it’s a thermos. We’ve found that it can be a difficult mental hurdle to get over in the beginning, especially if you can see what’s going on. But, once you start eating, your instincts will take over, and it will all be okay.

“Plus, we’re all going to be here to help if you need it, though I don’t think you will. Now, do you think you’re ready to try?”

Yoongi hesitated, but then nodded, slowly reaching a hand out to grasp the thermos. Hoseok gave him a small smile in return.

“Now, just settle back, and we’ll turn the TV on and let you eat in peace. Just think of it as dinner and a movie,” Seokjin chuckled.

Yoongi nodded along, getting himself comfortable on the couch. The TV was flicked on by one of the others that Yoongi didn’t know the name of yet and a random drama came on. It took a couple of scenes for Yoongi to get comfortable, the itch in his throat slowly growing stronger.

Finally, during a big fight scene, Yoongi slowly brought the straw of the thermos to his lips. Eyes darting around to make sure no one was watching (all eyes were still focused on the screen), Yoongi took a tentative sip.

Seokjin was right. The second the blood hit his tongue, instincts took over. Yoongi couldn’t tell you what was happening on the screen, too busy trying to suck as much of the liquid down his throat at once. The burning in his throat eased just a tiny bit, but it wasn’t completely gone.

Yoongi vaguely heard a few whispers, but he didn’t catch any of the words. He thought he might have heard his name, but he could’ve been mistaken. He did, however, feel Seokjin gently lay his arm around Yoongi’s shoulders, pulling the younger man into his side.

Before long, and more quickly than Yoongi would have liked, he reached the bottom of the thermos, the straw sucking in air. He let out a small whine, though he would never admit he did, wanting more. The burn in his throat had been knocked down to an itch, but it was still there.

Yoongi took a quick glance around the room, again making sure no one was watching him. They weren’t, which he was thankful for, not needing an audience while eating, especially since he was still trying not to think about the fact that he’d just drank an entire thermos of blood, though he swore he saw a small smile on Jimin’s face.

The itch in his throat couldn’t be ignored any longer, so Yoongi tugged on Seokjin’s sleeve.

“Still hungry?” the man asked, looking over and taking in Yoongi’s pouty lip. The younger quickly nodded.

“I’ll get you a refill!” Hoseok jumped up from his spot to grab the thermos, startling Yoongi, who curled further into Seokjin’s side. Not a minute later, the thermos was back in his hand. This time, he didn’t hesitate to grab it and bring it to his lips, sucking greedily.

Yoongi went through one and a half more thermoses after that, the itch finally going away. His stomach felt stuffed to the brim. Maybe he’d had a bit too much, but his brain kept telling him that he needed to eat. The food was available, so why not?

“Sleepy, baby?” Seokjin asked, taking the half-empty thermos from Yoongi’s fingertips before it clattered to the ground. The fledgling nodded, having trouble keeping his eyes open and on the screen, feeling full, warm, and sated. “Tummy’s all full now, huh? Go ahead and sleep. We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Yoongi didn’t have to be told twice, giving up on trying to keep his eyes open. Before the darkness took over, he heard, “I get to hold him for his next feeding!”

I feel like this story is going to be a super slow burn, so buckle up kiddos! I tend to write short updates, and I'm going to (attempt) to update once a week, though that may not always happen. Also, I can't remember if I've said it before, but be prepared for them to call Yoongi 'baby' a LOT. Like A LOT a lot. I just love maknae Yoongi.

As always, let me know what you think, what you'd like to see, your theories, etc! I love to read them all! And check me out on twitter @/yoongismandu or ao3 @/newtmasofficial.

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

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Want. Yan Risotto x Reader [COMM]

You’ve never taken this long before.

Risotto is acutely aware of your everyday routine. Your shift at this cafe ends at 5:00 P.M., but you’ll chat with your coworkers for a few minutes afterwards. Then you’ll proceed to the staff room to retrieve your bag, check your phone, and leave through the back exit at around 5:10. When it’s a nice day out like this one, you’ll then walk home to your dingy apartment. However, if it’s raining, you’ll set up a carpool with a friend.

Expecting you to be exactly on time always is unreasonable, yet Risotto prefers to stick to what he knows. This isn’t a small, overlookable delay either. It requires further scrutiny.

He mulls over his options, all the possibilities that’d offer an explanation for this delay. Knowing that you’re still inside despite it being twenty minutes past the normal time for you to leave, he assumes something must’ve happened. Slipping out front isn’t a possibility either, he keeps watch there too. Calling your boss is a possibility, but a risky one at that.

Binetti’s voice always quivers in blatant anxiety, never brave (or foolish) enough to ask why exactly a member of Passione has taken such an extreme interest in his employee. Curiosity is still there, as is to be expected. Ultimately, Risotto doesn’t want the weak willed man to mess up his carefully crafted plans, by accidentally revealing something to you.

So that leaves learning the reason for your absence to his discretion.

Metallica gives him the ability to freely observe you to his heart’s content, but it doesn’t entirely erase him from existence. Under normal conditions he’d follow behind someone entering the cafe to avoid suspicion, since to anyone else, it’d appear as if a door was opening for no reason had he interacted with it. Dispelling the iron around him, he cautiously approaches the door that leads into the back of the building.

He’ll be able to use his Stand to hide his presence once he’s inside, but quietly opening the door will be the main hurdle. None of the windows are an option since they’re locked, and breaking them would be counterproductive to his plan. All of this trouble to ensure your safety. A few feet lay between him and his destination, his approach methodical.

Only for you to open it before he even gets the chance.

Headphones in your ears as they usually are, you’re too busy picking out a new song while humming to notice Risotto’s presence at first. When you finally sense a shadow looming, it catches your attention, earning a small gasp. Risotto’s expression betrays his conflicting inner feelings, a calm facade already set in place to avoid further suspicion. He’s aware of his frightening appearance, but other than your initial astonishment, you don’t seem concerned.

Tugging the headphone out of your ear, you look up at him curiously. “Oh, uh, hello. I’m not sure if you’re lost, but the door to get into the cafe is--” you pause, pointing towards the corner that leads to the street. “--that way. I can show you, if you like.”

Voice saccharine like sugar, he entertains the thought of how much better it’ll sound when you speak his name.

“I’m friends with the owner.” Risotto lies with practiced ease, his deep voice causing a shiver to travel down your spine. It’s a small experience, but it’s overwhelmingly thrilling to finally interact with the object of his affection. This isn’t what he planned originally, but Risotto is able to adapt in any situation without breaking a sweat.

Letting out a hum of understanding, you offer him a beaming smile as if he’s your longtime friend. Muscles going taut at the endearing sight, he closes his eyes momentarily to regain himself. It’s nonsensical, how his heart remains steady when he takes the lives of others, but you render him weak at the knees by simply fluttering your eyelashes. Despite the lack of control it brings, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t savor it.

Interaction with others is understandably limited for Risotto. He speaks with his squad, but tries to maintain a business-like relationship for their sake. It’s a lonely lifestyle, even if it’s what he chose for himself. The less traces of an assassin the better. It won’t always be this way, you filling the gaps in his heart he never knew existed. He just needs a little more time…

“I’m glad you’re here then. I don’t want to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but Mr. Binetti has seemed on edge lately,” you sigh, crossing your arms with a worried frown. “Please cheer him up if you can, okay? He’s a bit of a skittish man, but he’s always been kind to me.”

The news doesn’t come as a surprise to Risotto. Binetti can hardly stop sweating when he comes to check in on you, ensuring that you’re being treated well and no coworkers are giving you any flack. Still, it’s a detail he isn’t willing to overlook. If Binetti mentioned something to you -- whether it’s on purpose or not -- it’ll make things more complicated than they need to be.

Wanting more information to be safe, he prompts you to speak further. “Oh? Really? Has he said anything to you?”

Risotto’s vermilion eyes admire how your soft lips move to the side while you think, how you place a delicate hand to your chin. He’s seen and memorized your usual body language, but being on the receiving end of it feels different. Surreal. Now he’s this close to you, able to take in every aspect that makes you unique. Not to mention hearing the small flairs of your accent seeping through, it’s all too precious.

“Now that you mention it…” you trail off, eyes narrowing as memories come flooding back. “He did say something out of the ordinary the other day. Kinda like, be wary of everything? I didn’t think much of it. Maybe he’s just been paranoid lately. There is a lot of criminal activity in this area at times… though it never seems to affect us directly.”

So his concerns weren’t unfounded. Your boss was attempting to signal you in his own, covert way. Irksome as it is, all problems have a solution.

Clasping your hands together, you attempt to alleviate his worries, still believing that Risotto is emotionally invested in this person’s well being. It doesn’t come as a shock. You may be naive, but you have a good, compassionate heart. It’s what drew Risotto to you initially, like a moth to a flame.

“I know it sounds ominous, but I’m sure it isn’t anything that bad. Don’t worry too much, okay?” you reassure, eyes softening with empathy. Risotto’s owl-like stare observes as you reach out to him, the height difference not stopping you. Placing a considerate hand to his shoulder, you give a comforting squeeze. “You have to think of your own well being too.”

From all the immoral things he’s done in his lifetime, does he really deserve this? To have your attention for this long, to feel your heavenly touch. He isn’t normally a sentimental person, however, your caring actions touch him deeply. But as sweet as this little interaction is, it isn’t enough to placate a deeper hunger within. To know what you’d be like as a lover, his lover. All attention directed at no one other than him.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

His monotonous response doesn’t reflect overwhelming emotions within, all of his strength being used to keep his composure in front of you. How he desperately longs to take you with him. Your future shared bedroom is already waiting, he’s nothing if not prepared. Risotto amuses the thought, wondering if he should throw caution to the wind.

But it’s not the time for that. Not here, not now. Patience is a necessity in his field of work, and it applies here as well. There are still loose ends that need to be removed, more arrangements that need to be made. Seeing you in front of him, so tangible and real, reignites a fire beneath him. It won’t hurt to speed up the process a bit.

Looking down at the time on your phone, you let out a quiet curse at how late it is. He knows it’s unusual for you to not be home by now. Troublesome as it is, he won’t be able to watch over you while you walk back either, but he’ll know when you arrive home. The motion sensors ensure that.

“I’ve held you here long enough. Have a good day, alright?” you smile, placing your headphones back. He dismisses you with a nod of his head, eyes tracking your retreating form with interest. Heading off in the direction you normally do, you shoot him a final look. Giving a cheeky thumbs up and wave, you return on your way.

A light scent of coffee mixed with your normal perfume stays even when he can no longer see you. He makes a mental note to buy this perfume late, recalling how it typically sits on your bathroom sink; making it difficult to gain access to when you’re home.

There’ll be time to reflect on this pleasant experience, but for now, he has business to attend to. A talk with Binetti is in order.

So it’s leftovers from Tuesday tonight.

It’s disappointing, as watching you cook is always a sight to behold. From the way you carefully place uncooked pasta into a boiling pot so as not to burn yourself, or how you hum when chopping vegetables. It’s a domestic task, but one that Risotto has grown familiar to seeing. He hopes that you'll make dinner for him one day with the same enthusiasm. Take out and microwave meals just aren’t the same.

Seasoning your dish more to your liking, you stick it in the microwave with a satisfactory click. A low hum fills the cramped room, Risotto taking note of how you begin to sway in rhythm. He knows what that means, his heart fluttering in excitement for what’s to come.

Lips parting, the room is filled with your singing. A song he doesn’t recognize, but he’s never been musically inclined. Singing only for yourself, you get distracted in your song and forget what it was you were doing originally. Your voice is heavenly enough, but it transforms into something else entirely when you sing. There isn’t a satisfactory enough way to describe it, but he settles on the word stunning.

The lyrics of the song are in English, your native tongue. He only picks up a few common phrases, but your talent transcends language. It’s a special privilege to be able to see you like this, entirely vulnerable and acting as your true self. Where you can apologetically be who you are, unaware of Risotto’s looming presence. Many sleepless nights he closes his eyes, picturing your voice serenading him with loving lullabies.

How intimate. Beeping from the microwave causes you to jump, laughter soon following after. Risotto hasn’t ever tasted your cooking, but by how fast you consume it, assumes it must be good. Taking note of the time, he knows he’ll have to leave soon, a job needing his attention tonight. Wanting to spend more time in your presence is tempting, but work is work.

‘Another thirty minutes.’

When you’re relaxing from a day at work, you spend time on social media or your other hobbies. Interchanging between them until sleep takes ahold of you. In the winter, blankets are warmed in the dryer at night for extra warmth. It’s a small detail, significant all the same. Observation is a vital part of his occupation.

You’re not a target, in the traditional sense. A target of his affections, nothing purely malicious with killing intent. Methods from years of tracking and stalking for the purpose of murdering gave Risotto all the tools he needs to effectively keep watch over you. It was for peace of mind at first, but it evolved into something more. A calling to be the person closest to you. From the color of your toothbrush to the time you wake up in the morning, Risotto knows it all, which brings him pride.

This knowledge will help ease the transition, once Risotto kidnaps you. He isn’t delusional, he knows the sudden change in lifestyle will be jarring. There’ll be exchanges of cruel words, tears shed, and possibly blood spilled. That’s why extra care is put into the villa you’ll soon live in with him. He still needs to find your favorite perfume to put on your bedside table.

Placing dishes in the sink, you dry your hands before venturing to your tiny bathroom. Risotto hears water running, faucet squeaking in protest. Frowning, Risotto reassures himself. Where you will live in the future is what you truly deserve, not this dingy studio apartment. He helps himself to the crevices of your room, running his fingers over your discarded clothes with interest.

‘These colors, hm?’

Shirts and dresses consisting of your favorite color and patterns are gently caressed, mind wandering to what you look like when wearing them. Casual is the style you’re fond of, wanting to be comfortable outside of your usual work clothes. Moving on, he looks at your phone which you had flung onto your bed prior.

Shower still running, he swiftly checks the screen while he’s still able to. A few text messages from your friends, and some from your parents in English. Scrolling further, Risotto’s eyes narrow in concentration at a new name. Marco. The text itself can be interpreted in a variety of ways, Risotto’s mind favoring the unsavory ones.

From the lock screen, all he’s able to see an out of context message.

I hope you’ll see it my way.

What were the two of you talking about? It’s a risk to steal your phone now, not wanting to alert you to any foul play. If only Melone were here, he’s more skilled with electronics. It sounds like this individual wants something from you, but what exactly? Now that he thinks about it, Binetti had mentioned that this coworker of yours is what caused the hold up earlier. Though the fickle man insisted that he’s unsure what words were exchanged, swearing on his life.

‘How troublesome.’

If it weren’t for the looming assignment he has tonight, he’d personally give this Marco a visit. There’s always an option to ask one of the members of La Squadra to do it for him, but he prefers not to intertangle business and pleasure unless it’s unavoidable. Reading the text another time, he hears you turning the faucet off and knows his time is short.

Placing the phone back to its original spot with care, he reactivates Metallica and heads for an unlocked window. Venturing down the fire escape, Risotto considers what methods will be used on this unfortunate soul. Razors, perhaps? Or maybe scissors? Death from iron deficiency? He has time to give it some thought.

Finally gaining the opportunity to speak to you was a blessing, and a curse.

As if he had tasted the forbidden fruit, knowledge of how euphoric it is to experience your attention firsthand leaving him wanting more. Watching you from afar is no longer enough to satisfy his deepest yearnings. For months he could tolerate never exchange a single word with you, harrowing as it was. Not anymore.

Everything is falling into place as he pictured it. The house the two of you were to share together fit your image well, furnishings put in place with your taste in mind. A wardrobe of your current clothing set up, normal toiletries, and the like. Even little, thoughtful gifts that Melone showed him from your wishlists. No detail is overlooked, Risotto wanting nothing more than to please you.

All that’s missing is the most important centerpiece to tie it all together, you.

Stepping inside your workplace without using Metallica to conceal his presence, Risotto ignores the few stares that are shot his way. It’s par for the course, he’s well aware of his daunting appearance. Coffee and pastry aromas hit his nostrils, along with distant sounds of silverware clinking and muted chatter. People don’t stare at him for too long, whispers dying out after a few seconds.

He spots you speaking to a male customer, an incandescent smile on your face. His stomach churns as the customer returns your smile, firmly believing no one else deserves to witness such a beautiful sight. It feels like a knife being twisted in his gut, having to share you with the rest of the world.

Risotto isn’t sure what he’s doing here. Maybe it’s the anticipation for tonight, or the distaste his conversation with Marco instilled; that gave him the drive to speak to you in person again. This might be the last time for a while that you don’t perceive him as a monster, Risotto not looking forward to the inevitable animosity you’ll soon express.

“Oh, I remember you!” you exclaim as Risotto approaches the counter, eyes lighting up in recognition. Binetti took notice of him, pretending to occupy himself with cleaning a spotless coffee filter. Risotto notices how his hands shake, yesterday’s confrontation still in mind. Not that Binetti’s behavior around you will matter much longer.

“I guess I should ask for your order first. What can I get for you today?” you inquire, leaning forward with a spring in your step. Risotto glances over the menu, before settling on a simple drink.

“A small red eye,” he answers without further thought. Remembering that he’s talking to you, continues. “Please.”

Nodding your head with a concentrated look, you input his order before exchanging the required amount. Risotto shakes his head when you go to return his change, motioning towards the tip jar. Every concern in his mind melts away at the bright grin you flash him, gratefully tucking the extra money in with eager thanks.

You move with practiced grace, working the silver machines with ease. He hears you humming a song you’ve sung in the past, recognizing it after the first few notes. Deft fingers measuring the required amounts for his drink, you set to work with the press of a button.

After a few minutes, you hand over a steaming hot cup. Fingers lightly brushing over his own, his breath hitches. The first time you’ve ever touched him, and surely not the last.

“Is it alright if I go ahead and take my break now?” you call back to Binetti, who startles at the sudden sound of your voice. The middle aged man props his glasses up, eyes briefly flickering to Risotto’s imposing form before looking at you.

“O-of course. Take your time.”

Smoothing out your wrinkled apron, you walk over to Risotto who has taken a seat in the furthest corner of the store. “Mind if I hang out with you for a bit? My feet are killing me, and all the other seats are full.”

Risotto feels his body erupt in warmth, knowing that you actively sought him out. Even if it’s only because there are no other options, the means to an end don’t concern him. Not wanting to seem overly eager by responding right away, he pretends to consider your proposition despite having already known the answer.

“Help yourself.”

Taking another sip of his drink, the bitter flavor pacifies his dry mouth. Hot liquid running down his throat, he maintains a stoic expression in spite of his hammering heart. It could be pure luck that you came to sit here with him, or it could be fate. He’s grateful for it nonetheless.

Chair groaning against the floor, you smooth out your skirt once you take your seat; thinking of how to start conversation. “It’s amazing that you can drink coffee without any cream or sugar. I know I never could.”

Risotto’s lips quip upwards as he places the cup down onto the wooden table, well aware of your preference for sweets. “You get used to it.”

“That could be true. I’ve never been brave enough to try it more than once, so I wouldn’t know,” you respond, a light laugh leaving your lips. “I don’t normally have caffeine this late in the day. It would be too hard to sleep, ya know? There was this time I saw a special that was only lasting one more day, and I didn’t want to miss trying the drink. So, idiot that I was, I went ahead and ordered it despite it being six o’clock in the evening.”

Shaking your head with distant regret, you continue your story. “What a mistake that was! I was awake all night. My hands were so jittery I could’ve sworn they’d fall off. Not to mention I had a test the next morning… you know you messed up when you look out the window and the sun’s rising.”

If it were anyone else, Risotto would find this chatter bothersome and pointless. However, since it’s you, every word matters to him. Fully appreciating even the most benign things you have to say, Risotto closes his eyes in contentment. Casual conversation doesn’t come easily, contemplating what a satisfactory response would be.

“Was the drink good at the very least?” he wonders, watching as your jaw tightens and nose scrunches up.

“Not at all! It was six dollars though, so you bet I drank the entire thing like it was ambrosia from the gods. A few days later I even saw articles of people making fun of how bad the drink was. It looked appealing enough, bright colors and all. But the taste… way too sweet, way too syrupy. A crime to the tastebuds.”

“The person who invented it would’ve been locked away in the stocks if it were medieval times. Or is that the dark ages? One of the two. Anyways, if you ever see a bright purple and blue drink, run like your life depends on it.” you continue with apparent disdain, before snickering.

“I wouldn’t try a drink like that.” he answers honestly, preferring bitter coffee over sugary flavors.

“I wish I had thought the same. Would’ve saved me a lot of strife,” you sigh with exaggerated melancholy. “Enough about my myriad of dumb mistakes. How have you been lately? Mr. Binetti seems to be feeling better, so I think whatever you said to him cheered him up.”

‘I don’t believe cheered up is the term I’d use.’

Risotto drums his fingers against the table. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“I feel so dumb,” you suddenly proclaim, lightly hitting your forehead. “I just realized! We’ve been talking all this time, and I never bothered introducing myself.”

Risotto points to your name tag with amusement. Looking down, you let out a quiet “ooh” at the sight. “How about you then? I don’t see any name tags on you.”

It can’t hurt to tell you his name now, it’s far too late for you to do anything if you even did discover who he is. Sitting there obliviously, you’re unaware of the web the stranger in front of you has tied you in.

“Risotto.”

Goosebumps dot his skin as you repeat his name back to him, rolling off your tongue beautifully. Nodding your head in approval, you’re completely ignorant of the effect you have on him. He lightly clears this throat in hopes of regaining control of himself, excitement budding.

“It’s a unique name,” you comment. “I like it though. My break’s just about ready to end, so I should get going. Thanks for letting me chat with you for a bit. You’re a good listener.”

Bidding one another goodbye, you return to your job with a renewed vigor. Risotto finishes his coffee, tossing the cup before leaving the cafe. Everything he’s worked hard for is within reach, a small bag of sleep medicine in his pocket. One more visit to your apartment to gather some more essential belongings, and then he only needs to wait.

Unknown to you, this’ll be the last shift you’ll ever work.

It’s pitch black.

Everything feels heavy, an imaginary weight on your chest that you’ve never experienced. Head throbbing violently, a displeased groan leaves your lips. Fatigue has set in to every corner of your body, all of your strength required for the measly action of lifting your head. Blinking rapidly, the blurry surroundings start to come into focus.

‘This... this isn’t my room? Where the hell am I?’

You’re set upon a canopy bed, curtains obscuring where the door must be. Panic begins to set in at the unknown surroundings, shooting up only to hear a metallic clink. Hissing at a pain on your wrist, you look to see that you’ve been handcuffed to the bedpost.

It feels as if your heart will burst from how rapidly it beats, adrenaline overtaking you. Thrashing in hopes of freeing yourself, it does nothing but irritate your skin. Swallowing doesn’t come easy, mouth too dry with primal fear to produce saliva. What options are there? You’ve been kidnapped, no doubt, but why? Money can’t be the motivation, you scrape by every month.

Neither do you belong to any important family, who could assist in bailing you out. The motivations are murky, not that it matters now. All that matters is finding a way out of this nightmare of a situation.

‘Think, [First], think!’

Calling help for help could be detrimental, who knows what your captor (or captors) might do once you’re awake. It’ll be wiser to utilize this time where you’re alone, hopefully gaining your freedom in the process. Who knows what demands could be made of you if you’re no longer alone.

Glancing down at your body, you check to make sure everything is in order. You’ve read news stories in the past of people who traffic organs -- could that be what this is? With your free hand, you pull up your shirt, letting out a sigh of relief at the lack of tampering. No stitches, no pain. At least that’s off the table.

All the pain you feel comes from your wrist, and your head. Maybe you were knocked out somehow, most likely drugs; the pain not severe enough to have been bludgeoning.

The handcuffs are the biggest issue here. It’s skin tight, leaving no room or hope of wiggling free. If you can find something to dislocate your wrist with, maybe it’ll allow you to pull free? Looking around further for anything that might be of assistance, you frown at the barren room.

Everything that could be of use to you is out of reach. Bed creaking underneath your weight as you shift forward, you curse silently. Was that loud enough to alert whoever is holding you captive? Staying perfectly still, you will yourself to silence your uneven breathing, listening closely for approaching footsteps.

Nothing.

A shiver goes down your spine as you return to your previous task. It doesn’t make sense, but you don’t feel like you’re alone. Someone is watching you, somewhere. It’s an uneasy feeling, not being able to see the furthest corners of the room due to how dark it is.

Looking to your left reveals windows that are barred off. This person thought of everything. The door that you can see most likely leads to the bathroom, so even if you get free that won’t be an option. Maybe locking yourself inside?

Frustration and lethargy mix together, taking any semblance of logical thinking from you. This is too much, the fear of the unknown plaguing you with unshakable anxiety. Squeezing your eyes shut, you feel tears escaping down your face.

Sniffling softly as you can, you all but jump when a glass is placed down next to you. Head snapping in the direction of the noise, you’re able to make out a liquid that looks like water just within your reach.

“W-who’s there,” you shakily demand, searching around the room once more. Nothing. “I don’t have anything. Please.”

“You must be thirsty. Drink.”

It’s a terribly deep voice, that’s obscured by darkness. Bringing with it a sense of familiarity, you feel as if you know this man. That you’ve spoken with him in the past, but who could it be? And what does he want?

Grabbing the glass, you carefully inspect the liquid. Your mouth does feel dry and achy, you’re too leery of the contents to trust it. What if it’s drugged? Grimacing, you throw the glass in the direction the voice last came from. It shatters against the wall from the force, not hitting your intended target.

Somewhere else in the room, you hear a disappointed sigh. “Already acting up?”

Lips twitching downward, you sneer at this derisive comment. What the hell was he expecting? For you to lap it up gratefully like a dog? No, whatever is going on -- you resolve yourself to be a pain in the ass. There’s no way you’ll roll over for this fucked up monster, doing as he pleases.

“I-I don’t know who you are, but the police are searching for me. I always text my friends at night, they’ll report me missing if I don’t!”

A single chuckle resonates throughout the room, coming from another direction yet again. How can you not hear any footsteps? Or even see a slight shadow of this person? The moonlight streaming in from the window should serve to give you some information, but it does nothing for you. The voice is not coming from a microphone either, being too clear for that.

“Who are you?”

It’s all you can bring yourself to ask at this point, throat constricting and head growing dizzier by the second. Adrenaline is starting to wear off, all your energy being dedicated to staying awake out of fear. You’re not expecting a response, but he gives you one after a few minutes.

“You’ll know soon enough. Sleep, I won’t harm you.” he tells you, voice commanding. It’ll be pointless to argue, as much as you want to. You need your strength back, whatever you ingested earlier still remaining strong in your body.

“Though you may not believe me... this is for the best, [First].”

#risotto #risotto x reader #risotto nero x reader #yandere risotto #yandere risotto nero #yandere risotto nero x reader #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #Jojo Part 5 #JJBA #jjba part 5 #jjba imagine #yandere jjba #yandere jojo's bizzare adventure #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff #commissions

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redrabbitspod · 4 years

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This is in no way meant to be rude or disrespectful and I am fully aware that you can do whatever you please but I feel like Neil is getting so out of character. He clearly started to develop more of an own personality but he definitely has been through so much and he is just so..cheery and happy and clingy all the time(which if you’re like that is in no way wrong or bad) and now he reminds me so much of Nicky in AFTG. It’s really hard for me to still see Neil.

OOC: This is very long, and while we think everything leading up to it is super important to our thought process (and yes this is something we’ve thought about) the bit in bold is the heart of the point we try to make. (Please read the whole thing though!)

Hey, I’m actually really happy that you sent this in because I’ve been wanting to talk about it. I know that there’s a post going around that we both wholeheartedly agree with about Neil reaching far past ooc and becoming very ‘fem’. Jeni and I had a really long talk about this because we were worried that our Neil would be perceived or mistaken to fit in that trope. And while I think your concern is EXTREMELY valid (note: people can write the characters however they want. It’s fanfiction, they can do as they please, like you said, we just did not want to go that direction), I have a few points as to why I disagree.

On surface I definitely get that. Idk if you’ve read the entirety of RRP, but I know for those of you that just read the asks (Im sure there are a lot), it DEFINITELY seems that way. But we went into RRP right off the bat letting people know that these characters will fundamentally be different. In Andrew’s case, we know he’s extremely soft now and we bring that up a LOT in the fic. Both himself acknowledging it and all the other characters around him. But we went in knowing he was going to be very different from canon - mainly because we took out the plotline that he was ever put on meds. In Wish You Were Here, the story we are writing post-season 2, we will be mentioning that and how we twisted it. Because in canon, that shaped his entire character. The medication changed the physiology of his brain and we hated the fact that something so abhorrent was forced upon him by the courts that we didn’t do it. And as a result, Andrew’s character is completely different because he’s able to tap into emotions that were blocked in canon. He’s able to grow in ways that he was not able to before and besides the fact that this is set a good while after college and especially his sophomore year that we saw in canon, he was going to change. We definitely know that them admitting that they love each other, making strides in their relationship both physical and mental, opening up, expressing, for his character may seem extremely ooc for some, but we had to take into account what would’ve happened if we took the thing that shaped his character in canon away. I hope we’ve done him justice.

Now onto Neil. Neil we work over a LOT. And when Jeni brought this up to me because of the post, there were glaring things in my mind that automatically said no. This doesnt apply to our Neil even though to some it may seem that way. Here’s what we’ve done at least very consciously to make sure that our Neil holds integrity to his canon character, that he holds merit and a backbone to back up how he’s grown throughout our series.

From day one, we knew that they knew each other. We knew that an event from the past not only shaped how Andrew approaches life, but how Neil does as well. Childish sentiment and nostalgia kept Neil in Arizona for so long, which we imply throughout season 1 and start the ball rolling in the first chapter. For the both of them, they held onto the boy they met at the Grand Canyon through everything they’d been through. When shit got tough, it was each other they thought of. And on some wild whim, Neil hoped one day Andrew would walk through the Book Nook’s doors and he’d see him again. Not because Neil had a crush, because he didn’t. But because Andrew was the embodiment of strength for him.

New York was really important to us. Neil standing his ground and letting Andrew know exactly what he’d done to him, was what the entirety of Season 1 and EVEN season 2 culminated and came back to. Neil being able to say no, fuck you asshole, and always express exactly how he was feeling, was so vitally important to us. ESPECIALLY when it came to Andrew. Those few weeks of New York we wanted to build a bridge if you will. Andrew’s intentions were always genuine and well-meaning and Neil knew that, but survival instincts and what’s been ingrained in him stuck. They started to have a little give when he came to realize that he felt something for the man before him. But he never lost that fight for himself. That HE has to ALSO be okay. And I think we see a lot in that trope of Neil that he loses the fight, the backbone, the integrity that makes his canon character so compelling (even if he is a martyr).

One thing we worried people would misinterpret was how fast we pushed their characters together. We definitely get that. In our world we didnt really have the luxury of really stretching it out like some may have, just because we were working with real-time. And honestly? As we wrote, the drive to push them together because they were so connected and intertwined just fell genuinely and organically. For us, it only made sense and not because of canon, but because of the story we’d written already. It made sense to us for Andrew to be the one to hold himself back and Neil be the one reaching out - Neil be the one exploring and beginning to recognize what want and really, agency over himself AND his wants, was. Neil was the one to ask for their first kiss here, Neil was the one to initiate them all afterwards, Neil was the one that asked Andrew to touch him, Neil was the one that asked what they were in Arizona, Neil was the one to bring up sex. And in return, Andrew was peeling away layers of himself, feeling accepted, and wanted, and understood in ways he’d never been before. And honestly? Feeling honored that they were both experiencing emotions in ways that they both never felt before. We see their relationship has an equal give and take, a push and pull. And I’m saying all of this because it’s honestly and truly really important for why we’ve made Neil’s character the way that he is.

Going into season 2, we knew that happiness could not last long. They both had things to sort out, they both had hurdles to hop over, bridges to cross, whole fucking oceans to swim. Before season 2 started, before we had anything written or really even solidly planned, we knew they had to break up. Jeni even had the scene written back in either july or august. We knew that in order to continue trying to give integrity to their characters and relationship, how far they’d grown but also that growth is not a linear path, we needed to break them up. And in the lead up to that, we made sure that Neil was not only looking out for Andrew or trying to, but that he was looking out for HIMSELF. Unlike in canon, he didnt automatically have the foxes - not in his head at least. Of course he knew he had a home there, he knew that he had friends, but they weren’t like canon because he didnt grow WITH them like he did in canon. In his mind, he really only had Andrew and if there was no Andrew, why stay? And when their fight happened we made sure that Neil had value enough in himself, care for himself, love for himself AND for Andrew that they couldn’t let this go on any longer. Neil left because he knew he deserved better. He knew Andrew needed help and he couldn’t provide it. And he held onto that. In fact, Andrew even held onto it himself:

“Is there no hope, then?” Andrew asked, unable to help himself.

Neil sighed and Andrew was grateful that he at least didn’t pretend that he didn’t know what Andrew meant.

“I don’t know, Dr- Andrew.” Was it possible for his chest to hurt even more? He wanted to curl in on himself, but settled instead for clenching the sharp corners of the pack of cigarettes in his pocket into the palm of his hand. He watched as Neil bit the inside of his lip and that little indent appeared. Maybe he feels it, too . “Part of me wants to say fuck it all and let’s just go home. I hate this... But I hate what you’ve been putting me through these last couple of weeks even more. I can’t do that again,” he stopped talking once more and inhaled a shuddering breath. “You broke my heart, Andrew. I know I sound dramatic and stupid, but I don’t know how else to say it and - I don’t know how to do this, for fucks sake.” He finally turned to him, but the eye contact was brief and before it was even there, it was gone. “I came into this knowing nothing about relationships and I know even less about breakups. I don’t know how to navigate this.”

“You think I do?” Andrew asked. He didn’t mean for it to sound so bitter, but there it was.

“I don’t know with you,” Neil shrugged. “I feel like you keep everything so close to your chest, that there are whole sections of you I’m missing. And listen, I don’t blame you. You should be able to choose what you want to share. But I can’t help that it makes things hard when you’re falling apart and I don’t know why...”

Andrew let go of the box and put both of his hands in his lap. Grinding his teeth together, he heard the beginning hum of Bee’s buzz , but took a deep breath to try and keep her at bay. Clearing his throat, he looked back to the stadium and that stupid orange fox paw, before he murmured, “What if I offer you a piece?” - suddenly and quickly said, it was as if his mouth was trying to outrun his mind, despite the second he took to contain it. He’d known this would eventually come - that he would have to do this. And besides, Neil deserved an explanation, even if they never got back together.

“Andrew-”

“I’m not offering with hopes that we’ll get back together right now, Neil. I’m working through shit the best I can. Therapy is helping, but I know it’s a process. I just know you deserve an explanation. And I haven’t wanted to tell you because it’s fucking horrific, but I was also afraid that it would send me even further down the spiral if I talked about it. Now that I have a space to vent through, I don’t think I’m so afraid of the fall.”

This part was so important to us for both Andrew and Neil’s character. And in the entire build up to the break up and directly after, Neil held onto the fact that they needed to talk. He kept bringing it up. Because he knew that if they didn’t it would escalate just like it did before.

“I wouldn’t risk being with you again if I didn’t think things would be different. I’m not better and to be honest? I probably wont ever be better. I’ve spent my entire life dealing with my shit by myself because that’s just how it was. I’ve avoided relationships because I never trusted anyone with my baggage and I didn’t think it’d be fair to pile it on someone anyway. So when it comes to talking about shit - I’m not used to that. Bee was the only person I’d ever told everything to, and she doesn’t even know all of it.”

“I know that,” Neil said, leaning forward as if to show Andrew how much he actually understood. If that was the case, Andrew believed him. “I know you, Andrew. I would never force you to talk about something you don’t want to. That’s not what I’m trying to do. But , I need you to work with me, and if not me, someone else. Don’t take it out on me when you’re going through shit that neither of us can control. It’s not fair and it makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong and I can’t fix it.”

Now. Now we’re up to your points. I promise all of this was important for me to explain, because I know there’s literally SO MUCH that we’ve written, that shit happening now can get in the way of everything that’s happened before to lead up to this.

We fully recognize that Neil is definitely happy. But he’s not happy-go-lucky and we tried really hard to make sure he didn’t lose his integrity - his backbone - the things that made Neil, Neil.

Something I realized throughout this series was that I was getting worried that the focus of season 2 was so heavily on Andrew. I was seriously worried about that. But then I realized that Season 1 was focused solely on Neil. Season 1, Neil was a fucking wreck. It was Matt AND Andrew comforting him, Matt and Andrew bringing him down, Matt and Andrew trying to protect him, take care of him, find him, search for him, all of that. But even through Neil’s horrific anxiety and all the bad shit that happened, it was still Neil that pushed himself up from the ground, pulled Lola back, and gave Andrew the in. It was Neil that fought with the doctors and nurses to see Andrew and make sure he was okay. Even still afterward though, it was Neil discovering and Neil understanding and a lot of Neil, Neil, Neil.

Season 2 is heavily focused on Andrew. We’ve already seen Neil’s story and his growth. Its Andrew’s turn to try and again, build his bridge to getting better. But with that, it was Neil that made the strides to speak and handle Ichirou, it was Neil that figured out things with his uncle, it was Neil that ultimately had the gun, brought Andrew for practice - took it out and demanded Andrew get behind him this time. It was Neil that looked Andrew in the eyes as the cops patted them down and desperately tried to tether them together. It was Neil that kept reassuring Andrew they were going home. It was Neil that snapped the moment the cop tried to put his hands on Andrew to show them where their things were when they left the prescient, and ANDREW that allowed himself to be pulled into Neil’s arms in that moment, because he knew that he was the one thing that was SAFE. It was Neil that held Andrew that night and Andrew that LET himself be held as he broke down.

That was one chapter ago. And we really tried to illustrate at the end that they have a life ahead of them now. They have a future - a future that is spread out and it’s bright and full of possibilities. They have a future where they can do what they want. They have a FAMILY. They have nieces, Aaron, Kate, Bee, the entire TFN team. Neil had nothing and now he has something. He has hope.

Promise Im coming down to the end omfg. This is why our Authors and End Notes are so fucking long i swear to fucking god.

This BTP chapter, we wanted to explore that fucking unbridled happiness. That elation of fuck - we have the world out in front of us. We don’t have any killers on our backs, Hailey is safe, Robin is safe, Jean is out, the Moriyama’s are taken care of, Stuart isn’t begging Neil to join the Hatford Branch, Aaron and Kate might be moving back to South Carolina, they’re married and all of that isn’t terrifying. It’s COMFORTING. So yes, this BTP chapter was bright and cheery. Neil was most certainly happy and showing it. Jumping on the bed, kisses all around, getting excited over ZOO BABIES and a ZOO CHOO train. But just because we show this side of him where he gets to go on a road trip and experience real and true fucking freedom for the first time, doesn’t mean that we’re all of a sudden shedding everything that we’ve built for his character. I don’t think that’s what you meant, but I mean it when I say we take the characters, the integrity of the characters, very, very seriously. Also in this chapter, Neil takes a homophobic asshole to task and not in the way that a lot of people do, but by quietly hinting at the threat because Neil doesn’t need bells and whistles. In fact, he even talked about how being happy was something his mother frowned upon:

Because the way he looked at Neil when a butterfly landed on his finger or when he snuggled up to a goat in the petting zoo let Neil know that Andrew was happy. And he was happy. That was something Neil never really had in his life. His mother didn’t care if he was happy, only that he was alive . In fact, the less happy he was, the fucking better. By her logic, he was less likely to go rogue if he didn't feel like there was something to be happy about outside of her.

Neil’s finally had a moment to enjoy and let go and we know exactly how that can come off, but we have an entire future planned for them and the book they’re about to explore. Spoiler Alert: It won’t be all “butterflies and rainbows”. But all of this does not mean that all of a sudden we’re giving in to tropes and changing his character entirely because of one chapter. RRP and it’s characters mean too much to us.

So I definitely get where you’re coming from and I’m so fucking sorry this is so long omfg. And I respect your view because we definitely worried that people would see them like that. But we have a reason for almost everything we do in this fic and really, we just wanted to see the boys happy here. We don’t believe he’s like Nicky and we don’t believe he’s clingy, but everyone interprets these characters differently, and you’re certainly entitled to that opinion. We hope this just makes our thought process on Neil’s development a little clearer. - The Creators

#Anonymous #red rabbits pod #ooc #rr answers 2

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dis--parity · 4 years

Text

paperwork.

Summary: Alex gets around to something she’s put off for too long. Trigger warnings: None! Author notes: Happy mother’s day to all my UK moots!

“And this... is the main reason I didn’t get around to this for so long.” The girl’s prosthetic hand rests upon the wad of papers present in front of her - brass-tipped fingers placing her pen down to shift the forms aside, sheet by sheet.

“So.” Flip. “Much.” Flip. “Paperwork.”

The sigh that escapes her sounds dangerously close to completely demoralised defeat; the world of legal matters was not only completely and utterly boring to her, but the amount of small boxes, scattered text... it was far too difficult for her to focus on alone. Just looking at the form seemed to confuse the poor girl - if not because she understood how serious the change was, then simply because of how... uncomfortably uniform these documents were.

She never would have seen herself even making an attempt at it, if it were just her - if there wasn’t still one person in her life who knew her almost as well as she knew herself. Whose voice could still bring a little clarity and focus to her addled mind.

Whose hand would find its way to her shoulder, resting upon it as if it had always belonged there, brushing away those curly golden locks so alike her own. Her free hand, then, would gather up the papers again, already with a few pen marks on them - putting just one sheet in front of her, and tucking the rest away with a smile.

“It’s like eating an elephant, dear.”, hummed Janella. “I know you get too overwhelmed when you try to do everything in one go - let’s go through it bit by bit. Now, then... this first sheet is the most important part, dear.

Your new name. What do you want it to be?”

She hesitates to give a direct response to her mother; all her life, she’s known herself as the same person. Alexandra. And so would her prosthetic hand pick up the pen again and put down exactly that. The gesture warranted a furrow of the brow from her mother; but nothing more than that.

“The same name?”, she asked, a chuckle slipping past her lips. “I’m surprised, dear, you’ve put so much thought into the person you want to be…” “I know who I am, mom. I’m Alex. Well... Alexandra, not Aleksander, now. And-... well, I- I guess there’s a couple of other things, too.” “Such as?” “My middle name, for a start.”

The nod that Janella gives her in turn is slow, one of absolute understanding. “Eitan, or Ethan… the name your father wanted for you when you were born-” “I- I don’t need to be reminded-”, Alex snaps - sucking in a deep breath, eyes cringing shut as she pushes the anger back down again. Unfazed as Janella seemed to be, she loathed how easy it was for that name to fill her with such rage. “Sorry, mom, I- I- just... yeah. That’s-... why I wanna get rid of it.”

“Well. I can’t say I blame you, darling,”, she sighed. “Your father was an awful man, there’s no denying that. Even years later, I’m still ashamed to have called that apathetic, selfish shell of a man my husband.” “Wh- what about the dude you left him for, my stepdad?”, asked Alex, with a tilt of her head. “I mean… he- he never sounded like he was that much better, right?” “... well, yes, but at least he actually tried to care, dear.” Clearly, that alone was enough for her to stay married to him for 17 years of her life; enough for her to raise a kid with him, even! Alex simply pursed her lips, a small hum serving as a subtle ‘touché’ to her mother’s retort. “But, I’ve told you those stories, haven’t I? So… what were you thinking of instead? Or, you can always get rid of it entirely, I suppose.” “No, I-... I had an idea. It’s silly, but…” She breathes in again; she’s learned well enough not to be embarrassed around her mother. Besides her therapist, she’s probably the one woman she’s shared the most with.

“My first name… I- I kinda wanted to change it to Alyssa. But-... I feel like that’s better as my middle name, y’know? And-...”

She hesitates again, pen hovering after the name ‘Alyssa’, as if paralyzed by some unknown force. Her eyes close, rendering her unable to see her mother’s glance of curiosity, but only for the moment it takes to make up her mind. Her pen slides slowly, apologetically across the paper again, the ink curling and swerving into a new word.

Gale.

It’s not a name the two of them feel any need to share words over. Her mother was one of the first other people who Alex opened up to about the impact that girl had on her, after all - and the legacy of a lost love is not something she’s about to dispute. Though, she must miss her an awful lot for her to want so badly to do such a thing - then again, who was she to say anything about that?

“You know,” Janella hums. “I think you’re having the same thoughts I did when I decided to keep your stepfather’s name. That, deep down, perhaps… there was still a good person where he was. At the very least, there was a person we missed.” “Yeah… I do miss her. Every day, y- you know that. But… I- I guess I just wanna carry her with me a little more. Like I do with Nancy.” “Won’t argue with you there, darling. Whatever your heart desires. Speaking of which… will that be your last name?”

And, at last, they come to the final hurdle - yet, for as much as she anticipates that Janella would ask, and for as good of an answer as she has, she just… can’t seem to get the words out. She stalls - breath slowly and sharply seething in through her nostrils as she gathers the will to say those words she’s mentally rehearsed over and over again. While the papers were printing, while her mom’s car was pulling up to the parking lot, all the while the Earl Grey she was enjoying was steeping… and finally, she spoke, her quaking voice barely audible enough to register.

“I want… your name. Y- your… your last name, I mean.

I wanna be a Cloutier. No-... an Iskra Cloutier.”

Janella falls silent then, for a good moment - her teacup slowly finding its way back to the fine saucer it rested on. She seemed more confused than touched by the gesture, as it was - but, there was still a glint of understanding behind her eyes.

“I see… but, darling, you could choose anything you want. You don’t need to take on my name, I should hardly think I’m a huge part of your whole transformation.

Please, don’t think as if you need to limit yourself - you can call yourself whatever you want. You know far better than me, you can be whatever you want to be.”

“I know who I want to be,” Alex said, the conviction behind her words forcing her head up to meet the hazel eyes of her mother. “For so long, I-... I’ve had this path in my life, ever since you’ve come back into it. When I woke up, and- and saw you there, and- and heard your voice, and… and when I was able to just talk to you after everything with dad was said and done, I-... for the first time in my life, I felt like I knew what I was doing. What I wanted to do!

And… it’s taken me this long, but… now I can finally be the person I really want to be. Who I’ve wanted to be from the beginning.” Words hang in the air for a moment, a tear refracting the light peering into the flaming cognac of her eyes as she makes her declaration.

“Your daughter.”

And in that moment, it feels as though Janella’s very soul had a new light beaming through it. Motherly tears are a thing she knows only in grief; leaving behind a son she loved, two children of her own, even, to circumstances she couldn’t do anything to control. Yet, as she pauses to let the words of the girl next to her repeat themselves in her mind, she can’t help a tear falling from her eye. With those two words, this had become just as significant for Janella as it ever could be for Alex.

To be a family. A family of two - but one more closely knit than any other she could have made.

And her smile lights the world up again. And her embrace reminds the girl of how precious she always will be. And the way she speaks so softly through her tears, squealing as she whispers to her, “My darling girl…” ... completes her.

She lets go after a time - though the warmth from the way they held each other fails to leave either of them. The lingering hesitation that Alex feels as the pen hovers above the paper is alleviated with a permitting nod from Janella. And so, triumphantly, her pen lowers to paper again - and then, to the surface of the desk, at least for the moment - and her new name is in full view of the two of them, in the best print she could manage.

Alexandra Alyssa Gale Iskra Cloutier.

“Well,” Alex hums, dry voice creaking just a little. “That’s one page out of the way already.”

“Ah, it was the hardest one, really.”, Janella is quick to reassure. “The rest is all declarations, me being a witness, things like that. We can do that, though, can’t we? Together.”

Together. She can’t see herself being happier than she already is - though, in the minutes that pass as they chat away through the paperwork that once was so daunting breezed past them like nothing, she felt more elated than she could imagine.

She knew only that she had a path to go down since her awakening by her mother’s side, and finally, finally she felt like they were walking that path, hand-in-hand.

She had always been free to do what she wanted - and all she wanted in the moment of triumph as they slipped the papers into an envelope to be sent off was to fling her arms around her mother. To hold her as close as the day they reunited - for now they were properly family.

“I bet you’re proud of yourself for getting through this, surely?” “Mm-hmm…”, is all the response Alex could muster - until the few seconds where time stood still around them, the warmth of her motherly embrace enveloped her and quelled the excitement that still rocked through her, when she finally looks up, speaks properly; says that one thing she knew she says too much, yet not enough - yet this time, with heart.

“... I love you, Mom.”

#[ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ғᴇᴇʟ] IC #drabbles;;#Character development;;#Guest Muse;; Janella #{ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HERE IT IS }#{ DROPPIN A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT ON MOTHERS DAY }#{ this will be canon iiiiin whenever I feel like it today }#{ I know the actual process takes WAY longer }#{ but in the interest of time I'm making it effective immediately }

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orionwhispers · 5 years

Text

Fools Gold // Tommy Shelby

(A/N - ok. i started this imagine in december but then life happened and here we are almost in march. this took a really long time to write and im honestly kind of iffy about it but i hope you guys like it. also side note - tommy is a MASSIVE dick in this and do not let a boy/girl/anyone treat you like this - this is purely fiction and irl if someone uses you like this then they are trash. also second side note im mean to grace in this but I have a lot of feelings ok. LOVE U GUYS)

Thomas Shelby needed a distraction.

His mind was hazy, like looking through a cloud of smoke. He saw Grace everywhere. Sunshine coloured hair reflecting on the grey puddles in the street, sapphire blue eyes watching him from the bluebells sitting on Polly’s desk, her soft laughter in his ears whenever he heard a bell chime. He wanted a distraction. He wanted a quick fix, something soft and warm that would fill the emptiness of his bed and the hole in his heart, but he never imagined just what that would cost.

The first time he saw you was on a Wednesday. The clouds were silver and the air was cold, and London was a welcome change in scenery. He was visiting Ada, in the city for business but wanting to see the kind face of his sister, some softness in his world of sharp. It was late at night, the moon round and full and the library almost empty, and he nodded at his sister in greeting as she filed away the last of the novels.

“Tommy.” She smiled, with rosy cheeks and tousled hair. “Let me just grab my coat and we’ll be off.”

She turned to speak to someone, and Tommy impatiently tapped his clipped fingernails along the edge of a desk, his brain always working, mentally relieving business deals in his head as he waited. He listened to the low hum of the roads outside and the incessant flickering of a street lamp through the window, turning slowly at the sound of footsteps approaching.

His breath hitched in his throat.

Standing beside his sister, all kind eyed and ink stained and sweet as strawberry ice cream was a girl. A girl that for the first time in a long time, made the memories in his brain curl off and vanish like wisps of smoke.

A girl that could be the perfect distraction.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright closing up? I’m sorry to rush off like this.” He didn’t register his sisters voice, his ocean blue eyes trained on you, with your cherry bitten lips and pink polished fingernails.

“Oh Ada, I’m fine. Have a lovely time.” You replied, voice just as honeyed as the rest of you. You gave Tommy a soft smile, wringing your hands together, slightly uncomfortable with the attention you had accidentally drawn to yourself.

He stepped forward without a second thought, his palm outstretched. You blinked back at him, like a deer caught in headlights. Ada had spoken about her brother; how he could sweet talk the devil, and how he was destined to rule the world with his golden mind and silver tongue. You had been intimidated by her words, and standing before him you felt utterly, hopelessly, mortal.

You tried to hide your nerves as you shook his hand, his large fingers engulfing yours and sending sparks down your spine. His blue eyes reminded you of the ocean, like a stormy sea and the smell of salt, and you were worried you might just drown. He wasn’t handsome. He was beautiful.

“My apologies for stealing my sister away.” He said, his voice even and still, warm like a summer breeze. “I’m Tommy.”

“(Y/N).” You replied, trying not to falter under his unwavering stare.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N).”

You held his gaze for as long as you could, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks and your neck grow hot. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and that was what unsettled you the most. You had never been in the presence of someone so powerful and striking, and you felt so small next to him.

After a moment you pulled away, biting your lip gently and motioning to the overflowing bookshelves around you. “I should get back, it was nice to meet you. Have a nice night, Ada.” You smiled at your friend, before turning on your heel and walking away, feeling eyes bore into your back.

Tommy watched as you left, entranced by the swish of your skirt and the soft footsteps you took, and-the dizzying length of your tight clad legs. Ada tightened her scarf around her throat, a smirk on her face as she made her way to the door.

“Don’t even think about it Tommy.”

——————————————————-

It was hard for him not to.

That night, as he drove back to Birmingham, he pictured your pretty face, your teeth chewing on those rose coloured lips, the slight tremor in your words as you spoke. In the quiet of his bedroom, the moon watching him from high above, it was usually Grace who disrupted his nightly reflection. But for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t her voice soothing him to sleep.

He knew he wasn’t going to fall in love. Grace might have been on the other side of the Atlantic with a husband that didn’t deserve her, but Tommy was a romantic, and he truly thought that one day they would reunite. Lizzie was a good fuck, but she was temporary. Now she was hired as his secretary he didn’t want to blur the lines of their relationship, and he could already feel her growing too close for comfort. He didn’t need a girlfriend, especially when he knew that no one could compare to Grace, he didn’t need another person to worry about and he certainly didn’t need another broken heart. But what he did need was something to fill the void.

It was easy to find you, even with just your first name. He spoke to one of his informants in London, under the guise of ‘looking for a new assistant’ and the following day he had a stack of papers sitting on his desk.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N). You worked at the library two days a week, and spent the other three training as a nurse. There were no previous addresses or references from past jobs, just your current flat and the hospital where you worked part time. There was nothing personal, no mention of family or relatives nearby, just a slightly faded photograph of you taken before the war. You weren’t looking at the camera, your eyes occupied elsewhere, almost as if you were shying away from the photographer. You looked younger, but just as beautiful and Tommy thumbed the worn print between his fingers; careful not to smudge your face, a fingertip trailing along your lips.

———————————————————-

The flowers came three days after you had met.

You had been at the hospital learning how to properly stitch wounds, and your head was numb from processing so much information. You were exhausted, droplets of rain splattering across your collar and down the back of your blouse, and you were desperate for the warmth of your bed. You toyed with the keys in your pocket, finger running across the ridges so that you could get in as quickly as possible, but you fumbled when you noticed a spark of crimson on your doormat.

It must have cost at least a hundred pounds. Rich, ruby red roses all neatly clipped and arranged, their petals healthy and as soft as butter, and the gold foil writing on the box was of a store on the other side of London, one you had been too intimidated to even step foot in. You assumed that it was for Mrs Kim upstairs, or perhaps a gift from Ron to Mark after they had one of their colossal rows, but as you reached for the label, you felt your brow furrow.

“It really was a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N). Regards, Tommy Shelby.”

You left them in your kitchen, squashed into the only vase you owned, clipping them practically to the wick to get them all to fit. You ignored them as you ate dinner, the radio nothing but noise in the background. You tried not to think of them as you sank into a scalding hot bath, or as you clambered into bed, and it worked - because what you thought of as you drifted off to sleep wasn’t ruby red roses, but ocean blue eyes.

——————————————————————

Two more bouquets came in two weeks. Both just as lavish and extravagant as the first, and both sitting in the biggest drinking glasses you owned. Your flat smelt like a florists’, and pollen lingered on your clothes all day, a constant reminder of the man who had sent them. You busied yourself with work, letting the day to day distractions of the injured occupy your mind. The hospital had needed an extra pair of hands and you needed experience, but when you finally returned to the library, you cornered Ada as she restocked the shelves.

“Oh (Y/N)!” She smiled, as pure and fresh as new snow. “It’s not been the same without you.”

“I don’t want a boyfriend.”You blurted out, eyes wide.

You had hoped to say something more eloquent, but Ada’s jet black hair and similarity to her brother made you fall pathetically at the last hurdle. Her eyebrows shot up, and you inhaled deeply. “Sorry, that came out wrong. Please tell Tommy, thank you for the flowers, but I’m not really looking for something right now.”

“Tommy sent you flowers?” There was curiosity evident in her voice as she stepped forward, heeled boot clicking against the floor.

“Well, more like three bouquets.”

“Wow.” Her brows almost reached the pendant light dangling from the ceiling.

“I thought you knew - I mean, I thought you gave him my address.”

She shook her head, a small smirk dancing in her face. “Nope. But that’s never stopped Tommy before.”

You exhaled, looking up at her and chewing on the bottom of your lip. “You know that I - I can’t. I don’t think I’m ready, you know, after everything...”

Ada was your closest friend, she had been since she arrived in London. Beautiful and intelligent, with her young son and quick wit - you remembered meeting her on her first day at the library, feeling nervous and intimidated by such a confident and clever woman, but barely a week passed and it felt as though you had known her your entire life. As the months flew by, the two of you would often go for drinks or dinner by the river, staying out till midnight and laughing until your ribs felt tough. She trusted you enough to let you babysit Karl, the little boy calling you his Auntie and making your insides swell with pride. And finally, on a warm summer night, with her cherry red lips and coal black eyeliner, the two of you watching the sun set from the balcony of her expansive house, she opened up to you.

As the sky darkened and you shared champagne and strawberries in the open air, she told you about her family and her past. Her voice was smaller than you had ever heard it, such a powerful woman almost seeming meek as she bore her soul to you. She told you about Freddie, the headstrong and golden hearted man she had fallen for, and you intertwined your fingers when she spoke about his death. She told you about her reasons for arriving in London, cautiously speaking about a gang that roamed the streets back home, you listened intently, eyes wide when she revealed that the main members were of her own blood.

She trusted you inexplicably, telling you things that she had burrowed away for years and that meant the world to you. So under the moonlight, you tipped your head back and emptied your glass, blinking back tears as you explained your own past, the one you had been running from.

Now though, she pressed a kind hand to your shoulder, her eyes softening ever so slightly and it broke you away from your thoughts.“You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’ll tell Tommy to keep his cock in his pants.” She winked at you, making you let out the breath that you had been holding, a relieved chuckle escaping from your throat.

She tugged your sleeve gently, motioning to the overflowing pile of dog eared novels by her feet. “Come and help me sort all this out.” She said “And let me fill you in on my date yesterday.”

Ada phoned Tommy as soon as she arrived home. He answered on the third ring, his voice tired and thick with smoke, his exhaustion evident through the speaker. One mention of you however, and he perked up like he had downed three shots of espresso. Work had been fucking awful, and imaging you and those rosebud lips was a pleasant distraction from the ache in his skull.

Ada told him to back off, and he could practically feel his sisters stern expression despite being 100 miles away from her. “She’s too nice for you Tommy, and not interested. Besides aren’t there enough girls in Birmingham? Why do you have to come after the one I’ve actually made friends with?”

Tommy had rolled his eyes. He loved his sister, but he didn’t feel like explaining his reasoning to her. He knew that she would never approve, never really understand him.

“You know I want you to find someone, especially after...” She inhaled sharply, choosing her words carefully. “Look, Tommy, you’ll find someone, but just not (Y/N), yeah? She’s been through a lot.”

He hummed, not voicing his real thoughts, always liking to keep his cards close to his chest. He said his goodbyes and hung up, Ada’s words lingering in his brain. His spine had stiffened at the implication of Grace, he hated being reminded of the past, especially memories he was trying so hard to forget. But it wasn’t just that, there was something about the words she had chosen that had sparked a fire in his gut.

“She’s been through a lot.”

He wasn’t quite sure what she was insinuating, but to him, it made you all the more alluring. He would never pursue a woman who truly wanted nothing to do with him. He might not have been the textbook definition of a ‘good man’ but he respected those who turned him down - although it was very much a rarity. But there was something about you, something about the way that you had held his stare, the innocence in your eyes and the attractiveness that hung around you like sugar water.

He loved the chase, especially when the reward was as sweet as you.

—————————————————————-

He waited outside your flat, hands in his pockets and peaked cap low on his head. It was almost six and he knew that you would be returning from the hospital soon, so he crossed his legs, leaning on the doorframe with a cigarette between his lips, secondhand smoke curling in the air.

He heard you before he saw you; the hiss of the cold air as you fought with the heavy door, the clunk of your patent loafers across the concrete and the jangle of your keys in your palm. He smiled to himself. Watching as you walked up the stairs, rifling through papers in your hands and then looking up suddenly, your eyes widening with shock.

“Tommy.” You said, filled with genuine surprise, clutching your handbag tightly, sure that you would drop it otherwise.

He liked the way his name sounded on your tongue.

He reached forward, steadying your wobbling hands and collecting the papers before they could scatter down the hallway. You stiffened at the contact, but he held you secure.

“Is Ada alright?” You asked quickly, hoping his impromptu visit didn’t come with bad news. He looked down and felt his stomach twist at the sight of your long lashes and shining wide eyes.

He shook his head. “My sisters fine. I actually came here for you.”

“Me?”

“Ada rang me, and I wanted to apologise for being so forward. It wasn’t my intention.”

You straightened, pulling slightly away from his hands. “You could have called, or written a letter.” The words came out slightly sharper than you had hoped, but you felt bristled by his sudden appearance.

He smiled. A half tug that looked boyish and cheeky, almost a smirk, and you hated the way that it made your heart flutter. “Well, yes, but that would have meant not seeing you in person.”

You fought back your own embarrassed grin, feeling blush rise from your throat to the plump of your cheeks. A flicker of humour sparked in his eyes, feeling triumphant at getting even the smallest of responses from you. The heat around your collar was turning such a delicious shade of red, like a honeycrisp apple, and it was hard for him to look away.

“Let me take you to dinner.”

You shifted on one foot, trying not to look into his milky blue eyes, knowing that if you did he would have you hook, line and sinker. “Tommy... I don’t know.”

“Just one dinner and I’ll be out of your hair.”

You exhaled, feeling yourself starting to cave. “Okay. One dinner. And nowhere fancy.”

Five minutes later and you were out the door. You had slipped off your work uniform and stepped into a lavender beaded dress and a pair of modest kitten heels. You hated the way you double checked your reflection in the mirror, smoothing out the stray hairs by your forehead, placing a cool hand to your chest to try and level your breathing. You didn’t put on any makeup, you weren’t trying to give Tommy the wrong idea.

You reminded yourself that you were just going to dinner, as friends. Nothing more.

Tommy watched you under the shimmering lights of the club. The rhythmic clash of the jazz band echoed all around him, beautiful women laughed and swayed on the dance floor, and the air was thick with smoke and bitter whisky, but his attention was solely cast at you.

Your head was down, and you were picking at the food on your plate. The expensive bottle of red wine sat opened in the middle of you both, your glass untouched and his filled halfway.The owner had recognised him immediately and sent over the gift, and he didn’t miss the caution that flashed on your face at the gesture.

“Are you sure you don’t want a glass?” He asked, voice smooth like silk.

You looked up at him. “No, thank you though. I have an early shift in the morning.”

He nodded, cutting through his steak, a sliver of blood on his knife. “How long have you been a nurse?”

He already knew, but he wanted to hear your answer.

“Well, I’m technically not a nurse - not yet. I’m still training, but I only have a few months to go.” You smiled, and he watched as your whole face lit up as you talked about your passion. “I’ve always wanted to do it. Now I finally am.”

“Well, I think that’s very admirable.”

“And what do you do?”

“Oh. I’m a bad man.” He said, as if it was the most causal thing in the world. His cobalt eyes flickered from his plate to you, holding you hostage in his gaze.“But I’m sure Ada’s told you all about that.”

You inhaled. “I try not to judge people based on rumours.”

“Even if they hold some truth in them?”

You didn’t say anything. You swirled around the spaghetti on your plate, spearing your fork through a pea. After a moment you cleared your throat, daring to look up at him.

“I think the world has changed. Times have moved on, and sometimes it requires a firmer hand to get where you want to be.”

Tommy paused, genuinely taken aback by your reply. You had been so timid and placid before, but now there was an intensity to your words, one that he found particularly alluring.

“It doesn’t mean that I agree, but - ” You sighed. “A few years ago, I was turned down by a nursing school; they said I was too young and too inexperienced and... it really shattered my confidence. I was going to give up completely, but instead I decided to keep studying, and I was working three jobs to just make ends meet. When I applied again I made sure that there was no way they would reject me.”

Your eyes flickered up momentarily as you chewed on your upper lip. “All I’m saying is, sometimes you have to work hard to get what you want.”

Tommy mulled over your words, tongue running over his teeth. He picked up the stem of his wine glass and held it towards you in a toast. His eyes caught yours and his stare was unwavering, the edge of his lips unturned in a boyish smirk.

“To getting what we want.”

———————————————————-

You really, truly, honestly, didn’t want to enjoy your dinner with Tommy - but you did. The night was so easy, after a while you managed to find a comfortable niche and the conversation flowed like running water. As time passed you found yourself giving into habits that you thought you had left behind, like tucking a loose curl behind your ear, or giggling into your hands, a warm shade of pink staining your skin. Tommy watched you, the anchor on his chest lifting slightly, the way it always did when he found himself getting his way.

He walked you home with his suit jacket draped over your shoulders; despite your protests, leaving you smelling like whisky sours and cigarettes. He could feel your apprehension as you stood under the archway of your apartment building. The wind had picked up and rain was drizzling onto the both of you, and his stomach tightened when you looked up at him with raindrops coating your eyelashes. He was waiting for you to speak first. If he had his way, he would be joining you in your flat, pressing you up against the wall and kissing your lips until they were swollen. He wanted to untangle the braid in your hair, unlace the dress that made you look ethereal and feel you breathless under him, but he remained patient.

The truth was that even though you had only spent one evening alone, the constant buzz of work and life in his brain had faded into static. (There was only one woman who had ever made it fully fade, but now he knew now to take whatever he could get). He had genuinely enjoyed the night, even without the guarantee of ending it in your bed. It was pleasant to spend a few hours talking about something other than business deals or brutality, to fill silences with stories about films you had seen or your misbehaving patients.

He would be satisfied with a goodnight kiss, to taste the sweetness of your lips and feel the curve of your waist under his palm. He liked the way that the nerves you had started the night with were flittering under your skin once again; it made him feel good, it made him feel wanted, it made him feel powerful. It would be enough to sate him over until the next time you met up - because believe him, there would be a next time - but even he couldn’t stop the flare of surprise that splashed over his face when you simply handed him back his jacket and darted up the stairs.

“Thank you for dinner, Tommy. Have a good night.”

Underneath the broken bulb in your hallway, with his expensive patent shoes slowly filling with water, he let out a loud, genuine, chuckle.

—————————————

A few days passed, and whilst your evening with Tommy still lingered in your mind, work was much too hectic for you to be wrapped up in distractions. There were no more surprise bouquets or unannounced visits, and no phone calls at the end of your shifts either, you knew you should have been relieved, but you couldn’t ignore the tiny flicker of disappointment. You decided to tell Ada, mentioning your dinner casually the next time that you saw her, dropping it into conversation as though it wasn’t a monumental piece of gossip.

“You did what?” Her voice echoed around the expansive library and you playfully shushed her, pointing to the people reading on the floor below.

“It’s not that big of a deal!”

“Psh! Easy for you to say!” She huffed, elbowing you in the ribs as she meticulously rearranged the books on the shelf in front of her. “I thought you were... you know...” She waved her hand like she was wafting smoke from her face, a clear indication of what she thought you were going to do to her brother.

You sighed, wiping the dust from a hardcover. “I know, I know. But he’s... charming.”

“Yeah, like a fox.”

You laughed at her blunt tone. She turned away and continued working, her shoulders shrugging with her movements. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will, mum.” You tugged on the bottom of her hair like a child, making her meet your line of sight. “Honestly, Ada, it was a nice night, but it’s not like it’s going to go anywhere. I have no plans to see him again - ever.”

Your intentions were shattered as you left the hospital one evening, stopping dead in your tracks when you recognised the distinct peaked cap and felt the unmistakable domineering aura all around you. You tried to bite back the smile threatening to take over your entire face when you saw him leaning against a red brick wall, tall and cool, the kind of man that would have a million songs made about him.

You couldn’t deny the twist in your gut when he smiled at you, so cheeky yet smooth like rich dark chocolate. You felt the envious glances of the other nurses leaving their shifts around you, bubbling with jealousy and curiosity. You didn’t even care that you would be the main topic of discussion at the next tea break on Monday, as much as you hated to admit it, you felt like the world around you was blurring, leaving nothing but the two of you.

“Is this a social call, Tommy? Or should I get the first aid kit.” You called out under the noise of the streets around you, your voice deceivingly controlled.

He flipped his leather notebook closed, one you hadn’t even noticed he was so engrossed in, sliding it into his pocket and uncrossing his legs, his eyes shining with humour.

“No, not tonight. Although I’ll know where to come if I ever need it.”

You came to a stop just before him, not trusting yourself to get too close.“What can I do for you, Thomas?”

He didn't comment on the space you had left between you, but you knew that he had noticed it. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his wallet, nimble fingers rifling through until he pulled out two stubs of paper.

“I have tickets for the play tonight.”

You felt your eyes widen as he showed you the passes. You had made an offhand comment at dinner about wanting to see this particular play, one that you didn’t think he had even noticed, but he was obviously more observant than you had given him credit for.

“Wow. That’s great.” You smiled, “Well, I hope you have a lovely night.” You winked at him, turning on your heel but he grabbed the edge of your sleeve, pulling you back towards him.

“I think it’ll be a little rude of me if I show up alone, and besides, a lot of these things tend to go over my head, I think I might need somebody to help me understand everything.”

You wanted to resist. You wanted to tell him no. You wanted to be strong and admit that the fortress you had built around yourself wasn’t ready to start crumbling down, not just yet.

But you couldn’t.

You knew that this could all be a mistake. Letting people in wasn’t something you were used to, especially not someone as charming and handsome as Tommy. But you found yourself liking him, as though he had some kind of magnetic hold over you, pulling you closer even when you wanted to run.

“Tommy I - It’s kind of you, but I don’t think it’ll be wise.”

“Please.” He said, and hearing such a vulnerable word coming from his mouth made your throat constrict. “I know that I’m being forward and feel free to tell me to piss off, but honestly, I had such a wonderful dinner with you and I would love to take you out again. And besides, you’re my only friend here in London.”

“What about your sister?”

“Oh we’re really not that close.” He teased.

You laughed, chewing on your lip so harshly you thought you might draw blood. Despite the protests in your brain you reached out and took a ticket, looking up at him with those big eyes that made his toes curl.

“Fine.”

The theatre was beautiful. It was wide and open, with red velvet seats and high ceilings. It was the prefect escape, laughing and gasping with the audience as the actors fought and danced on stage, magnificent hand painted back drops making you feel like you were no longer in London. You ate truffle coated popcorn and drank glasses of champagne, all sent over by the ushers that recognised Tommy instantly, practically bowing to him when you both arrived.

But Tommy truly couldn’t care less for whatever was happening in front of you both, because he was completely captivated by you. He liked when you tipped your head back when you laughed, he liked the way your eyes lit up and followed the characters on stage, as though you were in a trance. He followed the curve of your nose and the pout of your lip under the cream coloured lights, unable to fight back the smile when you noticed him, blush rising up your neck like a tidal wave.

He walked you home that night, just like he had before, his jacket slung over your shoulders and his hand ghosting against yours. You seemed more open, your anecdotes a little more personal and your laugh a little louder, and he really felt like he might be getting somewhere. He liked making you giggle and the way you tucked into his side when a car raced by a little too fast, and he wasn’t even disappointed when you simply handed back his coat at the end of the night, a ghost of a smile on your lips - if anything it made him want you more.

The morning after the play, with eyes blurred from sleep and a migraine brewing behind your eyes, you found a still warm lemon loaf and a container of expensive coffee on your doorstep. You smiled as you tied your hair up messily with a powder pink ribbon you had around your wrist, placing the coffee inside by the kettle and half of the sickly sweet treat in your handbag, knowing you would need it to soften up Ada when you inevitably told her about the evening you had shared.

She had rolled her eyes and scolded you; reminding you to be cautious. And you wanted to be, really, but there was something about him that made you ignore the warning signs hammering in your chest, and before you knew it you were back under his arm when he next showed up on your doorstep.

He took you to a horse show on the other side of London, telling you that he needed another pair of eyes and a consultant for helping him choose a new mare. You had told him you knew nothing about horses, and yet he persisted, pulling you in with that damned smile and those ocean blue eyes. You had managed to get one over on him though, meeting him at his car the next day, dressed in a blood red gown that made his breath get caught in his throat. You looked beautiful, ethereal even, with your curled hair and shy eyes. And that colour red, the colour of sin against such a gentle soul made the fire in the pit of his belly reignite whenever he looked at you, but worst of all, was the way that colour reminded him of her.

He didn’t want to be wallowing in the past. So he allowed himself to get sucked into you, allowed the smell of your perfume and the sound of your voice and the warmth of your body distract himself from the blonde beauty that was clawing back into his mind.

He was waiting for you in his matte black car on his last night in London, and you tried to ignore the thump of your heart when you realised that he wanted to spend his final day in the city with you. He drove to Hyde Park, the sun was high and the sky was the cloudless, a long stretch of blue that seemed to go on forever. You walked across the grass, keeping your hands laced together so you wouldn’t risk brushing your fingertips against his, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to hide the goosebumps that would rise on your skin.You watched him smoke, inhaling and exhaling smoothly, blowing out nicotine like it was water, and he smiled when he caught your eye.

“Why did you bring me here today?” You asked finally, when the two of you came to a stop by the edge of the pond, watching the ducks and swans swim between the reeds.

“I like appreciating beautiful things.” He said, tilting his head so he was looking you in the eye.

You sighed, watching the sun reflect diamonds from the water. “I don’t understand you, Tommy, and that makes me nervous.” He didn’t know what to say, and so he let you continue. “How much has Ada told you about me?”

“Nothing. She’s a good friend.”

“She’s my best friend.” You murmured, and he watched the way your eyes glossed over, like you were replaying a million memories in your head. “You know, she told me to stay away from you.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

“I don’t know why you’re pursuing me.” Your voice was small, like the ripples that lapped over the top of the pond.

The truth is he didn't either. He knew it was wrong, using you as a way to get over Grace, but he’s never been known for having the most ethical methods. Doesn’t he deserve this? For everything he does, for the money he makes and the lives he’s built for his family, doesn’t he deserve something kind and pretty and gentle? Doesn’t he deserve a distraction from all the noise?

You reached into your handbag, rummaging around through the loose lipsticks and many receipts that you’ve shoved inside. He peered as you pulled out a small coin purse, rose coloured and no bigger than your palm. You unclasped the two little pearls at the top, and he noticed your fingers shaking ever so slightly, like a leaf in the wind.

You pulled out a picture and handed it to him, dog eared and greying but unmistakably you, laughing into the cheek of a young man, his arms slung over your shoulder. Tommy looked over at you, but you were watching the water, jaw clenched ever so slightly.

“Who is he?”

“Steven.” You cleared the lump residing in your throat, the one that always surfaced when you spoke about him. “We lived next door to each other, he was my first kiss, my first love, my first - everything.”

Tommy felt a pang in his gut like a sucker punch, he could hear the hurt in your words, he knows it too well, because it’s the same that echoes around his skull whenever he thinks about Grace.

You continued, “We were together since primary school, and all through secondary. I really thought we were going to be with each other forever.” You sniffled, and Tommy knows what you’ll say before you’ve even formed the words, because he’d been through the horrors himself. “He was a few years older than me though, and then he... and then he got drafted.”

“He was never made for the war. No one is, not really, but he was special. He was so kind and gentle and funny, and it wasn’t fair. We got married the day before he was sailing to France. I wore my mothers dress, it was too big and a few buttons were broken, but it was perfect. We were just kids in love.”

The silence that followed told Tommy everything he needed to know, and his gut felt heavy, like it was filled with lead. He wanted to reach out and touch you, the sadness radiating off of you like perfume, but he kept his hands to himself.

“How did it happen?” Tommy asked after a moment, knowing that you might not be able to bring up the subject unless he did.

“Second battle of Somme. Front line. They said he took the bullet instead of his comrade, jumped in the way to save him. They said he died quickly, that he wasn’t in much pain.”

“He died a hero.”

“He shouldn’t have died at all.”

Tommy agreed with that.

“The war took too many good men.” His voice was growing as sullen as his eyes, thinking back to a time that always sucked the life from him, his mind growing hazy with thoughts of the trenches and mud on his feet, sticky blood staining his hands.

“And destroyed those left behind.”

He inched closer to you. He was so tall and stoic, eyes focused on the water in front of you yet you felt completely seen, something about him making you feel content. Above you, the clouds were darkening, a chill whipping around you both. He brushed his shoulder against yours, the fabric making you shiver slightly, and he grabbed your wrist gently, intertwining your fingers with his, making the first move because he knew you couldn’t.

“Come on,” He said, voice raspy and thick like billowing smoke. “We don’t want to get stuck in the storm.”

The rain was torrential. It was almost comical how quickly the clouds gathered and darkened, spitting droplets from above that trickled down and splattered the both of you. You giggled as you ran to the car, Tommy holding his jacket above the two of you, your heels splashing through puddles. It felt like a weight had lifted from your chest, when you opened the car door and bolted inside, breathless and wild. It had always been hard to talk about Steven, the words getting stuck in your throat like thick honey, but the relief of having it out in the open was enormous. You didn’t realise just how much of the past you were holding onto.

Raindrops were scattered along Tommy’s fine leather seats, the bottom of your dress painted with a faint layer of mud. His windshield wipers squealed as the cleared away the water, the car thick with tension and heat rising from your damp bodies. It was late by the time you made it back to the centre of the city, the rain still cascading down loudly onto the pavement around you. You could hear your blood rushing to your ears, the kind of constant hum that made you feel as though you were being held underwater.

Your whole body was bubbling with apprehension, you could feel Tommy moving behind you, the edge of his jacket brushing against your arm. You couldn’t find your keys inside your handbag, struggling from adrenaline and the icy chill of the air. Wet hair clung to your forehead, and you were certain your mascara was halfway down your cheeks, and you turned to Tommy to apologise for your clumsiness, but he was already gazing at you.

You were looking up at him, so innocent and so gentle and so beautiful under the soft glow of the navy sky and the twinkling stars and all he really wanted was to kiss you senseless - so he did.

He tasted like sweet mint and nicotine, and you tasted like woodsmoke and wisteria. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, it wasn’t like stealing kisses in the alley when you were sixteen, or clumsy kisses in the bed you shared with Steven, this was intense and passionate and all consuming. Tommy allowed you to devour him, the smell of you overpowering his senses and he buried his soft aching hands in your messy hair.

His body was pressed against you, thick and hard against the velvet of your figure. You pulled away slowly, lips puffy and swollen and baby pink. You were blushing, red hot from nerves and exhilaration and you laughed sweetly against the crook of his neck, eyelashes fluttering against his flesh.

“Do you want to come inside?”

His fingertips were the paint coated brushes and your body was the perfect canvas. You reacted to his touch like it was everything you craved. Your kisses were open mouthed and messy, and he had to bite his tongue to stop the cascade of groans threatening to spill from his lips. Your pulses were synced, the low light of your bedroom made you look like a creature from a fairytale, and he touched you like you were made from glass. His hands were soft yet rough, you let him run his fingers through his hair and then leave bruises on your hip bones. He shuddered into your neck, sweat dripping onto your skin, whines leaving your mouth that he wanted to drill into his brain and remember for the rest of his life.

He was breathless. He closed his eyes as he laid down next to you, the sky outside black like coal. You had been perfect. He couldn’t hear the shovels. The usual constant battle in his brain was replaced by the salty memory of your skin, your hot breath against his ear, your legs tangling with his. He felt you next to him, curling into him slightly, your body still recovering and your toes twitching.

The bedroom was quiet, nothing but the creak of the wind against the window and the occasional pattern of rain against the glass. He felt his ears twitch when you opened your mouth, muffled and sleepy, a pang of sadness in your voice.

“Please don’t break my heart.”

He pretended to be asleep.

————————————————————-

He was gone when you woke up. You weren’t quite sure what you were expecting, but cracking your eyes open to the lazy sunrise and the emptiness of your bed was as painful as a bullet in your spine. You felt embarrassed, looking down at the marks of your skin as you scrubbed away the night in the bath, running a warm flannel over your skin so many times that your flesh turned red. You felt ashamed; ashamed that you hadn’t listened to your best friend and ashamed that you had put your trust in someone that you knew would hurt you.

But deep down, in the pit of your stomach, you couldn’t deny that you still liked him, still wished that he was with you. You knew it was wrong but you forgave him. You knew he had to leave early; perhaps he hadn’t slipped out the way you had thought, perhaps he had truly wanted to stay. You felt foolish and young and weak, but you missed the feeling of his lips and his skin, the weight of his hips against yours.

Two full weeks passed by until he showed up again. There were no calls, no surprise bouquets or impromptu visits, just the lingering feeling of shame on your body. You didn’t say anything to Ada, too mortified to admit that you had slept with her brother and he had run out before you had woken up. You knew that he was the one in the wrong, he was the one who deserved to feel like shit for treating you that way, but that didn’t stop the pounding of your own insecurities.

Rich raspberry wine and candied cherries, these were the remedy for a broken heart. You were sitting cross legged on the sofa, the radio crackling behind you, soft jazz lulling you into a relaxed daze. You were sewing the hem of one of your dresses, threading the needle and watching the stitches close. You had already downed two glasses of wine, loving the taste and the burn in your belly, and you groaned when you heard two sharp raps on the front door.

“Ron, did you forget your keys again?” You huffed, expecting to see your forgetful neighbour waiting for you, but almost catching your fingers in the door when you realised who it was instead.

“Hi.”

Piercing blue eyes and a jawline that could slice your palm, two things that you simultaneously adored and loathed. His hand curled around the door as you tried to slam it shut, pushing against you so it couldn’t be closed.

“Fuck off.”

“Please. Please. (Y/N).”

“No Tommy - Thomas. Fuck!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t give a shit.” You lied.

“Please just let me explain.” He said and you huffed, trying your hardest to not look at him for too long, it was like looking directly into the sun: painful and disappointing.

“I - No.”

“Please.”

Fuck him and that fucking voice.

You opened the door a crack, enough for him to slip through and into your flat. He looked so dark amongst the bright colours of your crockery and the yellow tulips planted on your windowsill. You moved backwards, trying to make yourself as small as possible, ignoring the ache growing inside of you, the ache to run into his arms and forgive him.

“I’m sorry for the way I left.” He scratched his forehead and cleared his throat, the sound echoing around the room. “There’s no excuse.”

“You made me look like a twat, Tommy.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” You said, but you weren’t sure if you meant it, liking the vulnerability in his words, the tenderness of his voice soothing you despite your inner anger.

He lifted his palm to run through his hair, jet black coat cloaking over him like a shadow. You saw it then, under the light of the blue moon, a gash tearing through the skin on his wrist.

“You’re bleeding.” You stated, and you saw his eyes widen slightly, looking at the wound on his arm as if he hadn’t noticed it before.

“Huh.”

“God, Tommy.” You inhaled, sucking air through your teeth, “Let me clean it, it looks like it needs stitches.” You hated yourself for giving in, knowing that the cut wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t like he was going to be leaving your flat in a stretcher, but you still cared for him, despite everything.

The smell of antiseptic wipes and the tangy metallic taste of blood filled your bathroom. You pressed on him a little too hard, smiling as he winced slightly. Neither of you spoke, letting the silence hang between the both of you, almost tangible. You could feel his eyes on you, those fucking sparkling eyes following the curve of your nose and the wave of your hair, lingering a little too long on your lips.

“I really am sorry.”

“Yeah, you said that.” You bit through the gauze, measuring it against his skin, anything to not meet his line of sight.

“I have a habit of ruining good things.”

You scoffed. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to fall for that line?”

“I thought you might hit me if apologised again.”

Against your better judgment, you laughed. “Yeah, I might have.”

His palm, warm and heavy and reminding you of the pressure of his body on top of yours, clasped over your own, making you still.

“Have I fucked everything up?” He asked. You didn’t say anything, not trusting your own voice. You felt the roughness of his fingertips circling your skin, languid like waves lapping across the shore. He inched closer towards you, smelling like fresh crisp apples and old cigarette butts, managing to always be the perfect mix of chaos and control. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

You should have pushed him away, but you didn’t. You gave into the darkness of his blue eyes, the ring of lust forming around his pupils and the desire stirring in your belly like bubbling water. He tasted so sinful yet sweet and you were the perfect remedy for the terrible day he had, so receptive and angelic under his touch.

“If you rip your stitches, you’ll have to redo them yourself.”

He laughed into the soft, buttery flesh below your jugular, kissing your collarbones as his hands dragged you impossibly closer, lips crashing onto yours.

You fell asleep first. Hair cascading on your silk pillowcase, and he connected the freckles on your back like they were constellations. He could hear the gentle drip of the tap in the bathroom, and

the hum of the city around you. The noise in his head had stopped, but it still remained like a dull static in the back of his mind. He pushed it away though, focusing on the calming energy of your body and the tenderness of your touch.

He would be gone tomorrow.

He’ll let you wake up to him, he’ll drink the coffee in your kitchen and fuck you under the golden sunlight, open mouthed kisses shared in the confines of your apartment. But then he’ll leave again, giving you just enough to allow him to come back. He craved you, but it was medicinal, like a hit of opium when the shovels got too loud, not something he could afford to indulge in.

He looked over at you, fast asleep, your nose twitching slightly. He can’t give you what you want or what you deserve, but just for the night, in the quiet of your bedroom, with his hands on the curve of your hips, he’ll be the man that you want him to be.

—————————————————————-

His visits were sporadic and unpredictable. He would show up out of the blue, lurking around the back streets like a nomad, knocking on your door just before midnight, his hands covered in blood. On those nights you would clean him up, neither of you would speak as you washed away the crimson from his skin, rubbing ointment on the growing purple bruises on his knuckles. He would kiss you feverishly and wildly, desperate to feel your body so soft and pliant under his. Those nights he craved control, and you were the only person who would give it completely to him.

Sometimes he would show during the day, with a wide smile and an expensive suit, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. He would take you to dinner or for walks down the canal, you might sit curled in his lap at the pictures or perhaps drive to a new city, his hand in yours, allowing you to pretend that you weren’t just the girl he came to when he wanted to feel something.

He would take you gently, almost romantically. In the back of his car or at a hotel that cost more for one night than your months rent, moulding your body under his like clay. He’d make you moan for him, the prettiest sound he’s ever heard, and he’ll relish in the attention you’ll give him. You’ll be the one thing that calms him after a hard days work, it’ll be your body and touch that unclench his fists and help calm his mind. He uses you like snow, strong, hard hits that leave him gasping for breath.

He’d always be gone before the sunrises. He’d wait for you to be asleep, hair around your head like a halo, lips puffy and swollen from clashing with his, fingertip shaped bruises across your hips. He’d never stay long enough to hear the disappointment in your voice, see the gloss that coats your eyes, the hurt pounding in your chest.

It stings like alcohol on a wound even when you’re expecting it. When you wake up and your bed is cold and empty, and your body is missing the warmth of his. You’ll give yourself a few moments to cry, take a scalding hot bath and scrub his smell from your flesh, tell yourself over and over that this is the last time. Never again. But you know as you make your way home, with a clouded head and aching legs, that the next time he shows up, you’ll let him stay.

———————————————————-

It had been almost a month.

A month of complete silence. You felt stupid but not surprised, the sadness nothing more than a dull pain in your chest now. You felt like you were just existing, not living. Constantly waiting for him to show up at your door and make your world start spinning again. You tried to distract yourself with work, but hearing the ladies gossip in the cafeteria about their loving boyfriends and amazing dates made the hole in your heart throb.

You hadn’t told Ada what had been going on, but she was your best friend, and you were certain she had already sussed it. You’d been skipping shifts at the library, spending more of your time cooped up in your flat or the hospital, opting for overnight shifts, anything to distract you from the loneliness of your bed.

Your cupboards were bare, cups of tea gone cold dotted all over your flat, and cobwebs starting to appear in the corners of your walls. You needed to go to the grocer and buy something that wasn’t bread or wine or chocolate. You were rooting through your purse, hands smelling like copper when you heard the shrill ring of your doorbell. Your heart stopped, but you didn’t get your hopes up; you were done waiting around for him like a bloody border collie.

You could see her silhouette behind the door, raven coloured ringlets and red lipstick. You sighed, running your fingers over the creases in your jumper before you opened the door, expensive french perfume wafting into your flat.

“You’re avoiding me.” She said sharply, waltzing inside, thick fur jacket brushing past you.

“No I’m not, Ada.”

“Yes you bloody are!”

You watched as she rummaged through your cupboards, pulling out two glasses and then flopping down on your sofa and patting the seat next to her. She grabbed a bottle of vodka from inside her handbag, almost bigger than your head, and she started to pour.

“Tell me everything.”

So you did. It was embarrassing and awkward, but damn did it feel good to get off your chest. Ada sat watching intently, pursing her lips and sighing when appropriate, burgundy nails tapping on your table when she got particularly annoyed. She threw her head back and finished her second glass, faint cherry red staining the rim.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a shit friend.” You apologised, gulping the remaining droplets of your own drink. “I just - God, I had no idea what to tell you.”

“You know you can tell me anything.” Her voice was ernest and for the first time in a long time you actually felt like you could breathe, Ada always had that effect on you. She had a way of making people feel comfortable.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” You sighed, cradling your knees to your chest. “I was too embarrassed.”

“It’s not your fault, babe, Tommy’s a dickhead!” She shoved you lightly and you smiled halfheartedly. “And I would tell him that in person! Not that I’ve seen him since Grace came back.”

You felt your spine go rigid.

“Grace?”

Annoyance painted Ada’s face, and she pursued her lips like she was sucking on a lemon.“He didn’t tell you about her? That she came back?”

Not explicitly, but she had always been there. Ada had once told you about her brothers lover, the beautiful blonde vixen who had turned his world on its axis. That was partly why you were so hesitant, knowing you couldn’t compare to a woman like her, but Tommy had made you trust him, and look how that turned out.

Now you were slapped with the cold, hard truth, and it hurt.

She was the woman always on the tip of his tongue, the one that he saw when he closed his eyes. You were the body he used, the temporary buzz and the hit of pain relief, but she was the one he really wanted, the woman he pretended you were.

“No. Must have slipped his mind.” You laughed falsely, feeling tears build behind your eyes. You inhaled, your voice quiet. “But Grace - she was the one wasn’t she? You know, the one who...”

The one who broke his heart. The woman he loved, the woman he really wanted.

She hesitated, but then nodded sadly. “Yes.”

“God I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“I’m sorry baby.” Ada pulled you into her arms, cradling you against her chest like she was comforting her son. You let the tears fall, felt them cascading down your cheeks like a waterfall. Ada stroked your hair and pulled you close, and you closed your eyes, finally giving into the sadness.

———————————————————-

It was slow - the healing process. Falling back into a routine of work and chores, and eventually starting to laugh and smile again. You passed your final exam with flying colours, finally becoming a registered nurse. Ada was there with Karl, cheering you on when you left the hall with papers in your hands. You continued working at the library, hiding behind the bookshelves at the back with Ada, clutching your stomach from laughing so hard, your knees weak. You made new friends with the ladies at work, visiting clubs and bars on the weekends, trips to the pictures after a long day on the job. You even got asked out on a date, with a handsome doctor called Dennis who always made you a cup of coffee in the morning and saved you the donut with pink sprinkles he knew you liked.

It took time, but you were finally starting to feel the wound scab over, but of course, a hurricane in the form of a smart mouthed gangster was just enough to blow down everything you had worked so hard in repairing.

Three months of no contact had passed.

It was late. Hot water billowed around you as you stirred your tea bag, inhaling the sweet smell of cinnamon and lemon. You pulled your satin robe tight against your skin, admiring the soft blush pink colour and shuffling towards the bedroom in your matching slippers. You hummed as you turned down your bed, longing for the sweet embrace of your covers, but you were pulled from your daydream by pounding on your front door. You sighed, ignoring it and continuing to fluff your pillows, but when it didn’t stop, you frowned and stormed towards the assailant.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” You muttered, swinging the door wide open, but the words evaporated like ocean spray when you came face to face with the man you least wanted to see. It was such a cruel sense of deja vu, and you could feel your face growing red hot with anger.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

He ignored you, stepping over the threshold and back into your life. You held your hands up, defensively and aggressively, your brain not knowing whether to fight or fly. You inhaled loudly, you didn’t want to give in, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you upset.

“Please, Tommy. Just go.”

“I needed to see you.” His words were quick, raspy and urgent, but you brushed them off like they were nothing.

“You’ve seen me, now leave.”

“Not without speaking to you. Let me explain.”

“Was she busy?” You spat. “Is that why you’re here? She’s away so you think you’ll just come and see me and I’ll let you in? Let you touch me? Fuck you, Tommy.”

His eyes were wild, frustration painting his features. “It’s not like that.”

“Not like that?” You spat. “Not that you were using me as a tool to get over another woman? After everything I told you - ” You stopped, not wanting to think about your past. It was too painful.

He came closer, walking towards you so cautiously and softly you might have laughed. “Just hear me out.”

“Why the bloody hell should I listen to you?”

He shrugged exasperatedly, your words striking his skin like a branding, because you were right. He had no moral high ground or proper explanation for the way he had treated you.

“I’m fucked up. Too fucked up for you.” And he’s telling the truth. You’re so pretty and honest and kind, even when you’re crazy with rage, your whole body is practically buzzing with anger and you’re still so beautiful and light and he knows that he ruined you. You trusted him, you confided in him, and he still left.

“I can’t believe I was falling so such a goddamn righteous asshole!” You seethe, raking a hand through your hair. His eyes widened but you merely scoffed, if looks could kill he would have been swallowing dirt. “Don’t act like you didn’t know. Don’t act like you have no idea what I was feeling for you.”

He didn’t know what to say, and he could his stone cold heart breaking.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You sniffed. “This is the last time I want to see you.”

“Just let me stay, let me make it up to you.”

He moves closer, wanting to feel your hair between his fingers, the soft embrace of your touch and the sweetness of your lips. Things had been going wrong all day, the business struggling and the cops getting suspicious and all he could think about was holding you. He wanted to try, he needed to feel you, he needed to feel something real. He wanted to apologise, pull you under him and make the both of you forget. For one more night he didn’t want to be Tommy Shelby, he just wanted to be the man who got to hold you.

You inhaled. “I’m seeing someone else.”

He felt a knife slice through his abdomen. He had no right to feel the shock and jealousy prickling through his skin, not after what he had done, but he still felt the raging green envy bubbling inside of him. He was being completely unreasonable and cruel, but a part of him had really hoped you would wait for him, but it’s that unfair mentality that had cost him.

“What?”

“I’m seeing someone - someone from work.” You said, finally gaining the nerve to stand up for yourself, wanting to wash away six months of your life you had given to him. “We’ve been going out for the past few weeks.”

“Who is he?” His tone was more demanding than he meant it to be, the shock and twinge of insecurity he felt from your announcement was making his words sharper.

“You don’t get to ask me that.”

He needed to take back control of the conversation, he needed to explain. He knew just how much he had fucked up, he’d been gone for too long this time, and his own selfishness might have cost him the best thing he had going for him. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“No, you just never meant for me to find out.”

“That’s not true, (Y/N). Listen to me, I - ”

“I have a busy day tomorrow, Thomas.” You said firmly, putting your foot down and refusing to let him try to right his wrongs - you had worked too hard on moving on. The hidden meaning in your words made Tommy’s jaw clench, his hands reflexively flinching at his sides. “So, please, just... just go.”

You were crying, but trying so hard to hide it. He could see the gloss coating your eyes and the flush rising from your chest, as though your body was leaking sadness from every pore. He felt his heart pound against his ribs. He was so used to getting what he wanted, in business and in private, and yet he felt like he might have just lost it all. So he turned and left, shutting your front door and trying to tune out the sound of your sobs, feeling even more empty inside then when he had arrived.

—————————————————————

He finally got what he wanted.

Grace was sitting opposite to him, her knees brushing against his, her smell so familiar and dizzying, but yet it didn’t feel right. She was a vision in a sea foam dress, with her sunshine coloured hair and perfect features, her eyes filled with a million stars that he could once spend hours getting lost in, but not anymore.

It felt so fake, so forced. The conversation didn’t flow, his words were stagnant, getting caught in his throat. She was looking right at him, the same way she did when they would wake up tangled in one another, at a time in his life that he used to think he was the happiest.

But maybe that had changed.

He was finding pieces of you in her. He knew that Grace only drank red wine, but out of habit he almost poured her a glass of bourbon; because that was what you liked. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, the same way you did. How the shawl draped over her shoulders would look perfect on you.

He was sitting across from the woman of his dreams, but none of it felt right, because she wasn’t you.

Perhaps his dreams had changed.

He tuned out Grace as she spoke, her voice not calming him as it once had. All he could think about was what he had lost. He had been a prick, he knew that for certain. He hadn’t meant to not call you, to leave you in the lurch like he did, he just didn’t like anyone getting too close.

When he was in Birmingham he was the leader of the Blinders. He was smart and strong and thought things through so nobody else had to. He was the kingpin, the man who ruled with an iron fist and got exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it. But with you, in London, he had allowed himself a sliver of peace. He let himself sleep next to you, peach coloured moon dancing over your bodies, curtains blowing in the wind. After a long day he found himself driving to see you. Wanting to see that shy smile that would make his knees buckle, feeling like a teenager even when he had beat a man half to death mere hours before.

You were a forest fire. Just a small spark, the smell of your hair, the velvet of your skin, the sound of your laugh, and his entire world was alight. He remembered taking you out, the feel of your small hand against his, genuinely wanting to know how your day had been. He remembered the sound of your laugh, when he had you pressed up against the window of his car, in between ticket stubs and cigarette butts and road maps, unable to stop the grin making its way onto his own face.

Even in the months he was gone; when Campbell came back and turned his world back to shit, in the quiet of his office, his mind always wandered back to you. He thought about you whenever he saw fog rolling over the hills or he felt rain patter across his shoulders, he would lose himself for a moment and his brain would conjure up a picture of you. When he saw John and Esme at the Garrison, soft gentle touches reserved for one another, that stupid dopey grin on his brothers face, he thought of you.

It was more than just sex and he was a fool for thinking that that was all it had been.

“Tommy? What’s the matter?”

It was Grace. Her voice like ripe berries and warm milk, but entirely wrong. He blinked, remembering where he was, feeling the velvet of the sofa under his suit. She smiled when she realised she had captured his attention, slightly smug and self assured, and she continued her story of the joys of living in New York.

Tommy looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since they had met up. Here they were, in a five star hotel room outside of Birmingham, with champagne and caviar and imported chocolates. But she’s married, to somebody else. And yet, she had rang him and expected him to drop everything and join her.

He almost laughed at the irony of the situation.

Grace was like the first sunshine after being caught in a storm, but perhaps he’d grown to like the rain. He’d been chasing her for too long, like a fucking puppy, and now she was sitting centimetres apart from him, and he realised that she didn’t look all that magical. He thought about the anguish he felt when she left, the pure heartache that almost split him in two when he found out she had married another man, the pain of sleeping alone once more - and it makes him falter, because that’s exactly the same way he’d treated you, and you deserved so much more.

He knew Grace wanted. She wanted to fuck. She wanted to feel something other than her pathetic new husband, she craved the feel of power and the memory of what it’s like to run around with the devil. Her hand moved from the stem of her wine glass to the top of his thigh, a gentle, almost timid touch, testing the waters before she fully submerged. This is what he’d wanted since the very minute she boarded that train, to be back with the woman he loved, but now her soft caress feels like a slap. She didn’t notice his internal struggle, wine drunk and ready to fall back into his arms, but all he could picture was you with another man, his hand resting on the silk of your skirt.

He felt the familiar tick in his jaw, the way his knuckles flexed unconsciously, he knew he had no right but jealousy was eating away at him. How fucking stupid had he been? And now another man would have the pleasure of taking you out, making you laugh and blush under diamond chandeliers. Another man would get to walk you home, listen to your voice and then kiss you under the silver moon. He couldn’t even bear to think of the next part, the mere thought making flames ignite around his pupils.

“Tommy?” Grace asked, her eyes big and round like saucers, lips parted and just waiting to be pressed against his. She watched as he stood up, his knees clashing against the bar cart, far more flustered than she had ever seen him before.

“I have to go.”

———————————————————-

The club was loud, the bands instruments following you everywhere you went. The room was painted red and gold, shimmering lights and glowing pink shades reflecting from every surface. You were in a booth in the corner, nursing a glass of bourbon and eating sweet green olives, vinegar and alcohol on your tongue. Dennis was sat opposite, clad in a fine suit with a fresh haircut and laughing at his own anecdote, his hands gesturing wildly as he retold a story you had already forgotten.

You liked him, you did. He was nice and funny and handsome, - but he didn’t make sparks dance on your skin when he touched you, and he didn’t occupy your mind every second you were apart. Maybe that was for the best, maybe you needed to be sensible and date with your head, not your heart, because that was why you always got hurt.

You mind had been muddled since Tommy came back. All of your hard work had crumbled to pieces when he had knocked on your door. It was beyond frustrating, the way that he managed to crawl back inside your conscience with just a few words. You tried to blink away everything that happened, focusing on Dennis sitting on the other side of the booth, losing yourself in his kind smile and bright eyes.

He reached out and patted your hand with his, and you noticed how smooth his fingers were, not like the rough calloused pads that you could remember digging into your thigh and - you stopped, determined not to let your mind wander. You weren’t being fair to Dennis, he deserved someone who would give him their undivided attention, and didn’t spend the evening think of another man.

You let Dennis order another round of drinks, the conversation coming back round to the hospital - the only thing you seemed to have in common. You were just about to ask after a patient who you had heard wasn’t fairing very well, when you heard a commotion coming from the main hall. You raised your eyebrows and twisted around, trying to get a better view but you were blocked mostly by the sea of bodies. You turned to look at Dennis, but watched his own gentle brown eyes fill with shock.

“I need to talk to you.”

Fucking hell.

You felt flames licking your skin and ice cold water on your head at the same time. That stupid brummie accent that made your toes curl even after all the shit he had put you through. You saw surprise flash across Dennis’ face, his brows knitted at the stranger who had approached your booth. You didn’t want to turn around and face him, but you didn’t want the situation to get out of hand. You risked it. Swivelling in your seat so you could see him fully, your eyes flittering over the curls in his hair and the dammed sea blue colour of his irises.

“Tommy.” You kept your voice as level as you could, but it was proving hard. “Tommy, what the hell are you doing here?”

“We need to talk, come outside with me.”

His stare was so heated that it almost made you feel uncomfortable, and his hair was tousled, the way it always got when he ran his hands through it repeatedly. You could tell he was jealous, not missing the way his eyes had darted to Dennis’ hand covering your own. You could see the clench of his jaw and the tension in his forehead and it made you feel good, it was about time he had a taste of his own medicine.

“She doesn’t have to go anywhere with you.” Dennis said, rising from his chair so he could meet Tommy’s line of sight. You reached out and squeezed his wrist slightly, willing him not to get involved, not for your sake, but for his own.

“I’ve had a a really fucking long day and I think that it’s best if you don’t piss me off.” Tommy spat, his voice husky and exasperated, pointing a finger across the table. Coming face to face with you and your new lover was enough to tear the strings that were holding him together, he wasn’t a patient man and all he wanted was to explain himself, but it was hard when he was in such a jealous haze. His mind and his mouth weren’t working as one, he was losing his composure, and quickly.

“Stop it.” Your voice was stern, cold enough to turn him to stone. You could feel dozens of eyes on you, watching you all like you were performing at a play, mouths agape and eyes wild with anticipation. You blinked up at Tommy and you could see him soften, the hurt evident in your features enough to make him want to tear out his hair, furious at himself for how he always fucks things up.

You turned to Dennis, heart clenching as he held his ground despite being much smaller and a million times less intimidating then the gangster behind you. You gave him an apologetic look, knowing that the only way to diffuse the bomb that was Thomas Shelby was to speak to him alone.

“Thank you for everything, Dennis.” You said, shaking your head at the insanity of it all. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me for how this evening has turned out.”

He brushed off your words, as gentlemanly as ever, shooting a harsh look at Tommy. “Are you sure you’re alright going with him?”

You could see Tommy open his mouth to spit back something, his hands clenched at his sides, but you pushed him roughly in the torso and stormed past, heading for the back doors.

Your face was hot and red with shame, you could still taste alcohol on your tongue, but it had turned bitter and sour. You could hear him behind you, his expensive shoes clattering on the cobbled streets, his heavy exhales in the dark. He reached out, his touch timid and reserved despite the scene he had just created. At the feel of his fingers on your upper arm you pushed him off, walking further away into the alley.

“(Y/N)!) He called, but you ignored him, wiping away your tears before swirling on your heel, voice laced with venom.”

“It wasn’t enough for you to break me back at my flat?” You shouted, hearing your heart shatter with every syllable. “You had to come and do it in public too? What the fuck is wrong with you Tommy?”

“I know. I know.” He came towards you but you stumbled back, holding up a finger to keep him away from you. “I shouldn’t have made a scene.”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” You cried, it was hard enough to even try to get over him, but now he was making it impossible and you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

“I’m in love with you.”

You couldn’t stop the tears now. It was the words you had been begging him to say, the words that you had wanted to hear since you had first met, but they just made you weep harder. His face was so ernest, more honest than you had ever seen it, but it was so goddamn hard to believe him.

“You’re not in love with me, Tommy.” You murmured, swallowing the thickness in your throat. “You just want me because you saw me with another man.”

He shook his head, reaching out to touch you under the yellow glare of the streetlights. The feeling of you in his arms was so right to him, so familiar and warm that it felt like coming home. The tear streaks on your cheeks shone like the stars above the two of you, so beautiful and so heartbreaking and he needed to let you know how he felt.

“I’m in love with you.” His voice was firm, and even though you wanted to you couldn’t look away from him, trapped in his gaze. “It’s always been you. And I should have told you sooner.”

You stopped, everything you had wanted to say evaporated like ocean spray around the two of you, the water crashing so loud you could hear it in your ears. You were tired, and confused, half of you wanted to slap him and the other half wanted to fall into his arms. Instead, you sat down on the curb, feet planted in the gutter, dropping your head in your hands.

“I need a cigarette.”

Tommy smiled. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his packet and a lighter, giving you a smoke before lighting the end, watching the flame flicker in your eyes. You took three long drags, trying hard to control your breathing and rivalling emotions before you spoke again.

“How did you find me?”

He inhaled, puffing on his own cigarette. “I’ve had men watching you since the first time we met.”

You snapped around to face him. “You’ve fucking what?”

“You really think I was going to let you go around the city without protection?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“I know.”

The silence was deafening and you hated how you instinctively wanted to move by his side, press your body up against his for warmth. Instead you looked up at the navy coloured sky, counting the stars and pretending you couldn’t feel him watching you.

“I fucked up.” He spoke. “ I used you and I hurt you.”

You bit your lip to try and stop the tears from falling once again.

“I was heartbroken because of Grace, and I needed a distraction.”

“A distraction.” You repeated.

“I’m sorry. It’s redundant now, I know. But I am. I fucked everything up and I’m sorry.”

The tension between you was almost palpable, like the nicotine that was surrounding you both. You could feel the sincerity in his tone, but you also knew that he could talk a man out of his house if he really wanted to.

“Did she turn you down?” You countered, facing him. “Is that why you’re here with me?”

He shook his head, tongue running over his teeth, wisps of smoke leaving his lips. “I saw her for the first time tonight.” He said, honestly. “I sat across from her and I realised that she meant nothing to me, not anymore.” You felt him beside you, the pressure of his thigh digging into yours, desperate to get you to look at him.

“It was just sex.” You muttered, looking for some kind of safety net to stop you from making the same mistake, no matter how badly your heart is pleading you to fall onto him.

“Don’t fucking say that. Don’t lie to me.” He stammered, as though your words had truly hurt him.

“You treated me like shit, Tommy. How can I ever trust you?”

“I can’t promise I won’t fuck something up. I’m a bad man and I do bad things, but I swear, right, on my fucking life - that I will never do anything to hurt you.”

He was so close to you. The strong man so weak as he brushed his nose against yours. He felt years younger, and felt the overwhelming ache to drag you into his arms and kiss you senseless.“I need you with me. I can’t do any of this without you - And will spend every day proving to you just how much you fucking mean to me.” He whispered, words trailing off into the

crown of your hair.

You couldn’t stop it. All of the warning bells in your head extinguished like candles, and all you could think about was him. He had hurt you, dug a knife into your rib cage and left you to bleed, and perhaps a better woman would have left him sitting in the gutter, but you knew that the two of you were bound together - just as beautiful and broken as one another.

You shook your head, looking up at him through your eyelashes, the man who had turned your life upside down. You didn’t want to think anymore - so you didn’t, instead you smashed your lips onto his, making his head spin wildly, losing himself in you.He’s always had a high tolerance, but somehow, just one touch, just the brush of your lips against his, the heat of your breath on his skin, has him utterly, completely, wasted

“Please don’t break my heart.” You said, reminiscent of the first time you had slept together, pressing your forehead against his. He breathed you in, the smell of violets and salt, warm coffee and vanilla, the scents that he wished he could bottle. He pressed his lips to yours, claiming you as his as much as proving he was yours. He relished the taste of you, his kisses greedy and passionate, making sure that you were still there and knowing that he would never let you go again.

“I won’t.”

And it’s a promise he’ll keep.

#Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby oneshot #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders oneshot #fic #orion writes

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pastel-cryptids · 3 years

Note

if you're still doing the kiss prompt ask game,

13. a lingering kiss on the hand

for the Phantom of the Opera pairing of your choice, please and thank you!

AO3 link here!

It was early in the morning, as the Sun began to rise from its earthly bed, when he woke her.

His touch was gentle. He barely shook her shoulder, let alone touched it, as he whispered her name delicately into her ear.

"Christine, Christine, Christine." Oh, she could listen to that single word over and over — and it was her own name!

She rubbed the heavy sleep from her eyes and stared up at him. Curious how his eyes never seemed to glow like those horrific tales Buquet and the others had told. Her hand cupped his cheek and studied the rough texture of his skin against hers. He nuzzled into her palm and hummed as he rested his hand over hers.

"Come with me," he whispered.

"Why?" She wanted to say, but her tongue felt too heavy for her to bother. Christine acquiesced.

Slowly, she rolled off of the bed, careful not to arouse a still-sleeping Raoul, softly snoring. She kissed his cheek before walking through the marbleized doorframe.

Erik clutched her hand as if it was his life forced as he walked down the long hallway, barely illuminated by the slowly awakening Sun. It must have been six in the morning, perhaps a little earlier. They had passed through this hallway already (How else would they have entered Raoul's bedchamber?), but despite that, Erik still stared at the hallway with wonder and awe as he walked down it hand in hand with Christine. The feeling was perfectly understandable. No more than a couple of months ago had she wandered down the very same hall for the first time to sleep in the de Chagny guestroom (No more than a couple of months ago had she miserably confessed her aching love to Erik).

The walls loomed high above them, covered in a plain, cold livid wallpaper — so unlike Raoul's bedroom with its warm yellow wallpaper with swirling white designs, vaguely echoing the beauty of flowers and vines. It seemed that between every few doors, a piece of decoration, often a bust or vase of some sort, would judge them with its haughty, invisible eyes. It truly was all too different from their Raoul.

Gently, they scurried down the steps. Each step felt uncertain — had her limbs been as tired just a few moments ago? Her legs shook violently as her bare foot pressed against each cool step of wood; it was as if she were stepping upon stilts. Erik was graceful as always, though even she could see the way that perfect countenance began to falter. Rarely would he allow such vulnerability to be revealed — the poor man truly was exhausted.

Erik began a fire in the drawing-room, allowing the fireplace to drown out the early morning chill. Christine watched as it flickered to life and glowed bright yellow. Her eyes ached, yet the enchanting siren song of the element kept her from daring to blink. The sleep that once threatened to blind her as she walked was long gone.

The loveseat sunk as Erik sat beside her. Gone was his perfect posture as he leaned forward, his forearms on his thin thighs, and his legs spread out. In the bright, yellow light of the fire, every detail of Erik's face was intensified by the lingering shadows. His jutted cheekbones, his sunken, wrinkled skin — it reminded her of a sculpture or painting… perhaps, something a great Greek or Renaissance artist would create. Such an artistic man had to be born from the Muses, after all.

"I could not sleep," Erik said calmly.

She could not find an apt response. Slowly, she nodded her head and moved closer to him. Her head rested on his sharp shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"I feared — I fear that if I fall asleep for a moment, if I falter, all of this will disappear through my fingers and I will be left alone, back to that night where I expelled you from our home with my awful words."

Christine chuckled dryly. "I said some rather awful things as well."

"But I prompted you to do so. To insult you — to genuinely insult you…"

He looked away, his eyes wide and distant. She quickly cupped his cheek and forced his head to force her gaze once more. "Hey, you're wandering back to the past again."

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Apologies."

"None needed." She cupped his other cheek and delicately kissed the little bridge of his nose that he had. His breath shuddered beneath her. "But I want you to know that I'm here. I will always be in the present. You needn't look for me in a time long gone."

His smile was weak. "I know, my dear, I know."

"But to go off of what you originally said, I understand. I — I know that I was asleep beforehand, but it certainly wasn't restful. I doubt Raoul's was either. I think we're all a little shaken after…" She gulped. Her chemise and drawers were still slightly wet. The cold fabric clung to her skin and was only weighed down even more by her still-soaked coils of hair.

"Oh, I could not bring any more suffering to Raoul —"

Her eyes widened as her brows furrowed. "You aren't — You haven't."

He snorted. "I think berating a man, accusing him of being a traitor, and threatening him with a garrote could count as suffering on Raoul's end."

"Raoul wasn't —" Christine clamped her mouth shut and looked away. She clenched the fabric of her drawers beneath her fingers. "I suppose he was suffering, but he knew you truly didn't mean anything… Malignant."

"I would have if he truly did ally with those pompous 'managers' and allowed you to get injured by one of those damned gendarmes," he deadpanned.

The deep cut left by the grazing bullet tingled as if responding to Erik's mentioning of it. Christine gently touched her bandage. "I suppose I wouldn't have been too kind either."

"But the problem is that he was not a traitor or a liar," Erik sighed, rubbing his temple, "he never conspired with the managers to send the gendarmerie, he had not a clue such a thing was going on behind his back. He was an innocent man who truly… Cared for me, and I simply spat at him like trash."

"Your reaction wasn't appropriate, but Erik, you weren't mentally —"

"And God, poor Nadir. I accused the man who was the closest to a father I had ever had of the same crime and forced him into a cage!" Erik heaved and ran a hand through his sparse hair. "And you! I forced you to — to wear that foolish gown and marry me! And for what? Protection? I was — I was just as awful as goddamn Buquet said I was! The fool was right all along!"

"Erik —"

"And that is terrifying," he heaved, "because it will not be because of some sort of foolish magic that you, Raoul, and everyone else I have ever known will disappear — it will be because of me.

"Why would you want to stay with me after this? Why would Raoul want to stay with me? I have certainly proved myself wicked, beyond reprehensible. Who is to say what would happen if I lost control of my anger once more? What if I hurt you all again? There is no guarantee that this will never happen again."

"You're right," she replied firmly. She rested a hand on his thigh. "We can never know if an outburst of this sort could happen again… Nor do we know if an outburst like mine all of those months ago will happen again… Nor do we know if an outburst like Raoul's over a year ago will happen again. Human emotions are flimsy things, after all."

"But —"

She held up a finger. "But that doesn't mean we can't try to prevent it or learn to control ourselves. It is simply a hurdle we'll have to go through as we continue our relationship. We've done it before. We can do it again."

Erik was silent. Tears had slowly overfilled his eyes and were now trickling down his wrinkled cheeks with a coruscating glow. She took his hands and held them tightly. Touch was a potent sense, as well as the most expressive. He gulped and studied her delicate knuckles. "What if I do something beyond the realm of forgiveness? What if I do something inexcusable?"

"I don't think you will," she murmured, "I don't think you would allow yourself to, even in a state of fury."

"You do not know that."

She cocked her head. "For sure? No, I do not. But do I believe it? Most certainly."

He heaved once more and rested his forehead onto her hands. It mirrored the image of a holy fool before their great god, bowing desperately, pressing themselves as close to the ground as physically possible — all to prove their ardent devotion.

"I am so afraid," he whispered, "it is tearing me apart." She opened her mouth to speak, but the quick rise of Erik's head to meet her gaze interrupted any possible answer she would have given. "Never leave me alone again," he begged.

"Oh —" Her voice broke. His eyes pleaded, they wailed. How could she possibly respond to such a request without weeping for the sweet man it came from?

"Never, ever," he repeated. He raised her hand and kissed her palm — it was as if a star had been born within her ribcage. Such a blessed, beautiful feeling — to be kissed by him. Her lips parted. Such a feeling could not even muster a grin. "Please, please, please." He repeatedly kissed her palm and traveled down to her wrist. The sensation tickled like a spider crawling across her flesh.

Christine rested her hand under his chin and lifted him to meet her gaze. She kissed the corner of her mouth, fearing that another kiss on the lips would overwhelm him as much as it had the first time. "I won't," she promised, "never in my lifetime."

As the Sun fully revealed itself in the sky, Erik silenced the fire and guided Christine back upstairs. Despite her joy, her eyelids grew heavy once more. Raoul's bed was no different from a warm embrace as she reentered it; Erik's warmth beside her certainly helped as well. They shared no words as they stared at each other. Christine merely wanted to see the man she loved.

As her eyes began to flutter and her consciousness flickered, Erik lifted her hand once more and kissed it. Rather than quickly tearing his lips away like skin against a scalding iron, he let them remain, only leaving the face of her hand after a few seconds. Christine smiled as her eyes forced themselves shut and her dreams filled with a neverending warmth.

#Phantom of the Opera #POTO #Christine Daae #Erik #E/C #My writing #Sorry this took so long!#School can be a bitch sometimes U_U #Snail Mail #your-angle-of-music

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justimagineitblog · 4 years

Text

“You Used To Love Me” Michael Gray Fan Fiction - Chapter 11

A/N: Here it is!!! Okay so I do have an apology to make - I’ve had lots of beautiful amazing people asking when this chapter was coming, and although I know it has only been 4 or 5 days since I uploaded Chapter 10, I hate leaving you guys hanging. And I am so blessed to have people enjoy this series enough to ask for it - it’s mind blowing to me! I’m putting a lot of pressure on these final few chapters because I want them to be perfect and end the series right, and so that does mean I kind of get stuck in a weird writers block because I’m so hard on myself!

But ANYWAYSSS..... here it is.... I hope you all enjoy it... by order of the peaky fookin blinders xxxx

Michael keeps me in his arms all the way until Bill’s body is dragged away and the private family doctor has arrived. His grip never loosens. Never falters.

When the doctor arrives, asking to check me over for concussions and any other injuries from being thrashed around, Michael basically has to tear himself of me.

“You sure you’re okay?” He breathes, holding onto me nervously. The way he holds me is protective, I can practically feel it radiating off him like heat.

“I’m okay, I’m okay” I coo, trying to calm some of the panic that is stubbornly clinging onto him. Bill is gone now. I’m safe. I’m alive. But it’s almost like Michael doesn’t quite believe that. Or maybe he doesn’t believe that I’m in his arms again. And honestly, I don’t blame him. Part of me can’t even tell if I have a concussion or if I’m just in shock from feeling his touch for the first time in a long time.

Reluctantly he slowly lets me out of his grip, helping me into the chair. But even then he still doesn’t let go completely, keeping his hand on my arm.

“Alright let’s take a look” the doctor begins, pulling out a light to check my eye movements.

I feel Michael crouch down beside me, squeezing my arm in reassurance. Though I’m not sure who he is reassuring more - me or himself.

The room is spinning, and I focus my hardest on not falling straight off the chair as the doctor asks me to follow his finger as he waves it in front of my face.

Next to me Michael has begun bouncing his leg impatiently - something he always used to do when he was nervous. I always used to put my hand on his thigh, and it would stop, disappearing under my touch. Slowly, I reach my arm out to him, and put my palm over his knee. Maybe it’s just a reflex now. Something I don’t even think about. My body and brain just know what to do and they do it without even thinking.

I feel his knee steady, slowing all the way to a halt. But underneath my hand I can almost feel the all the pent up, panic ridden energy coursing through him. Like buzzing of electrical wires.

“Well what’s going on? Is she okay?” He demands the doctor, urging him to hurry up.

The doctor hums, giving me a final once over before stepping away from me.

“Not a concussion, nothing serious” he concludes.

Michael lets out a sigh of relief so loud and harsh it almost sounds like a sob.

“But you have been shaken up. A lot” he tells me “You’ve taken quite a beating. You’re going to be sore. You’re going to be coming down of a lot of shock and adrenaline. Do you live with someone Izzy?”

“No, I live alone in my apartment” I rub at my throat, not realising how strained and hoarse it feels to speak. I didn’t realise how hard he had been choking me.

“Well look I think it’s best if someone stays with you tonight, just incase, alright?”

“You can stay with us Izzy-“ Polly begins, but Michael’s voice cuts in urgently as he speaks over the top of her.

“I’ll do it” Michael’s voice cuts in abruptly, and I shoot my head towards him in shock. Unsure if it was from the movement or the fact that he just offered to stay and look after me tonight, but the room starts to spin again.

“No, Michael-” I try to shake my head, to decline his offer, but that only makes the dizziness it worse

“Izzy” he breathes, trying to insist without being too firm with me, sensing that I’m feeling weak “It’s okay, I’ll do it”

He locks his eyes on mine, wide and genuine as he tries to insist that he isn’t going anywhere. That he’s got me. Reassuring me in the way his words can’t. The feeling is bittersweet. That the man who broke my heart into two is here in front of me now desperately trying to mend it. That the man who broke me is in front me now desperately trying to protect me.

“Let’s get you up, see if you can walk” the doctor walks back over to me, holding out his arms to help me up. Michael jumps up immediately, practically pushing the doctor out of the way as he holds his arms out to me to hold onto like railings to steady myself.

I push myself up of the chair, expecting to fall in a heap back onto the floor but much to my relief I stay standing, my body regaining some kind of strength although it is aching and sore.

“There you go” he coos softly at me.

Tommy, Arthur and Michael all help me clamber my stiff and aching body in the car, Michael rushing around to the drivers side to drive me home. We are silent the whole way to my apartment, but every few seconds Michael glances over at me to check I’m still okay.

Getting my my flights of stairs are the next hurdle.

“Alright just hold on me yeah, we’ll go slow” he reassures me.

Taking a deep breath, I cling one hand onto the stairway railing and the other onto his arm. He takes every slow step with me. Never rushing me. Never taking his worried eyes off me the entire time.

“You’re almost there” he encourages me as we make the final steps, getting closer to my apartment door.

“Did the doctor say anything about not being able to drink whiskey?” I mutter through a painful grimace “Cause I think I need one”

“I won’t tell him if you don’t” he chuckles at me.

“You better not” I smirk back at him.

When we get inside I’m desperate to get out of my stupid tight dress. Every time the goddamn thing rubs against my bruising back and ribs it makes me want to tear the thing clean off.

“Alright I’m here, thank you” I smile at him as he helps me through my apartment and into my bedroom.

“Izzy, you’re getting rid of me”

I sigh. God knows I want to spend every moment with Michael. But I’m exhausted. Mentally and physically. I don’t know how I can handle being around him for the night when I know tomorrow he’s going to leave and go back to Gina and life will carry on as normal.

But the look on his face tells me he’s right - I’m not getting rid of him anytime soon.

“Fine” I submit, walking over to my closet as I pull out my nightgown. Expecting him to have taken the signal and left the room, I try to wriggle of my dress but fail. My body feels about as flexible as a plank of wood right now.

“Fuck this fucking dress” I hiss under my breath.

“Let me help you” Michael’s voice interrupts suddenly.

“What, no” I step away from him in shock, my brows furrowed.

He opens his mouth, pausing awkwardly as he realises that he basically just offered to help me change out of my clothes. To see me naked.

“Izzy, it’s okay, I’ve seen you…“ he looks away to the corner of the room as he insinuates that he’s seen me naked before. I feel my skin flushing hotly, as does Michael’s.

“That was… before“ I blush furiously at the thought. All of this is so bizarre to me. So foreign. When we were together, Michael and I used to potter around the house naked in front of one another all the time. He new every inch of my body and I knew his. Now the thought of being naked in front of him makes me feel stripped bare and vulnerable in the worst way possible. I never thought I would ever have to feel that way around him. Never in my wildest dreams or worst nightmares.

I shake my head at him, and he digresses quickly, realising he’s over stepped a mark that he didn’t even mean to. He turns to face the other direction, walking to the other side of the room momentarily to give me privacy while I change.

Or at least while I try to. My back is tender and sore. As I try to pull off my dress and slide on my night gown, every movement sends pains shooting all through my back, neck, ribs and head.

“Fuck” I hiss, unable to hide the fact that I’m in a lot of pain and to be honest, I do need his help.

Hearing me struggle, cursing in pain, I feel Michael rush over to me.

“Izzy, here just let me help alright” he holds my shoulders.

I sigh. I know I need it. I know I need his help.

“Look” he begins “I’ll shut my eyes okay”

I roll my eyes, my head falling back “Michael don’t be stupid-“

“I’m serious” he insists, suddenly squeezing his eyes shut “See”

I stare up at him. He really is serious. Most men wouldn’t even bother. But he does. He doesn’t want to see me naked. He just wants to help. Maybe make up for all the damage he’s done in whatever small way he can.

When I don’t protest, I feel his hands reach for my dress. With his eyes still clamped shut, proving that he can’t see anything, he begins to slide the fabric up over my body. If my heart wasn’t completely racing and pounding in my chest itself, I could have sworn that I felt his hands shaking. Every inch that the fabric glides up my body is painfully slow as it exposes my naked skin. The only thing to be heard in the room is our shaky breaths brushing on one another faces. Mine begins to quicken as the reality of the fact that Michael is here in my bedroom, undressing me, begins to set in. His hands are so close to my skin but they never fully touch, and I can feel that buzzing energy radiating off of him once again. I’m sure he can feel it radiating of me too. Michael lifts the dress up over my head and raised arms, leaving me completely naked. The tension is thick and heavy, weighing down on us like wading through water.

He drops it to the floor, and I watch him wearily as I pick up my night gown and hand it to him. I wait for him to open his eyes. But he never does. He keeps them closed firmly. He takes the nightgown, holding it open for me to step in to.

I hold onto his shoulders, steadying myself as I step inside the fabric, one leg at a time.

“How you going down there?” He asks, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Surviving” I reply, unable to stop myself from giggling nervously as the tension has made me giddy. He returns the gesture with his own little laugh. It feels like we’re two stupid teenagers who are undressing each other for the first time.

Once I’m in the nightgown, he slides the straps up over my arms, the skin of his palm accidentally brushing against me. I feel myself twitch beneath the feeling of his bare skin on mine, like an electric shock.

I exhale in relief once I realise that I’m fully dressed again.

“You can open them now” I coo as we stand only inches away from each other.

When those Tenerife blue eyes open into mine, his eye lashes fluttering until they’re peering at me fully, my heart skips so many beats in a row I’m surprised I don’t pass out right there. I haven’t look into his eyes this close in a long time. I haven’t been this close to him in general in a long time. We stay dead silent, words would never do justice for what is circulating between us right now, so we just search for the answers in each others eyes instead. The only thing that draws me away from his gaze is when I notice his freckles. I wonder what he’s noticing about my face. What he missed the most. If he missed anything at all. Is he counting the smile lines around my eyes. Around my mouth. Does he know that he put most of them there? Is he fascinated with the flush of my cheeks the same way I’m fascinated by his freckles? They’re my favourite part. I used to count them. Trace them with my finger tips while he fell asleep. Kiss them. I loved the way they looked when his nose was crinkled up in a laugh. But that’s the reality isn’t. The slap in the face. They were my favourite part. They’re not mine anymore.

With that abrupt, heart crushing thought I am brought back to my surroundings. When I step away from him, he blinks rapidly a few times, almost like he was pulled out of a trance that he wasn’t ready to leave yet. But he follows my lead, backing away from me too.

“Did you uh- Did you want to go to sleep? I’ll let you get to sleep…” He stutters sheepishly, fumbling for anything to fill the space and silence.

“I don’t think I could sleep if I wanted to” I shake my head. Sure, I could get into bed. And lie awake, staring at the ceiling for hours.

“Yeah, me too” he sighs, burying his hands into his pockets. I’ll never get used to seeing him shy like this. We were never awkward around each other. From day one he was my safe person and I was his. Now we’re just a pair of stuttering balls of anxiety with enough tension buzzing between us to cut with a knife.

“Did you want something to drink, or eat?” I offer, thinking about how he must be starving. It’s almost midnight.

“No, no” he declines politely “I’ll just go listen to the radio, leave you be, just shout if you need anything”

“Michael” I shake my head “You’re here looking after me, neither of us are gonna sleep, let me at least keep you company”

His eyes light up a little, as he nods.

Making our way to the lounge room, we both settle into the couch. Of course, he picks one side and I pick the opposite. Quite a stark comparison to the days when we used to fall asleep on this couch together. Read together. Make love together on the goddamn thing when we couldn’t wait to get to the bedroom.

I want to speak to him. But I can’t. Not for lack of words to say, but for the fact that there are way to many to even know where to begin. I can’t ask him about the weather. About work. Maybe we can’t talk about what went wrong, what happened when he left for America, but we would be fools if we tried to make meaningless small talk.

Because as I sit across from him, both of us just watching one another, I can’t stop myself from flashing back to all the things we did in this apartment. Dancing around the dining table to the radio. Cooking in the kitchen which always ended up in kissing instead. Fighting sometimes. Before making up in my bedroom. Reading the paper and drinking coffee. Crying together. Laughing together. This apartment is like a time capsule. If you listen close enough, you can almost hear echoes of us and how we used to be. Like our ghosts are still here, and still in love. Now we’re just two strangers.

So silence it is.

I wonder what he’s thinking too. When he looks at me. Does he see me now, or the old girl he used to love? Does he see me as the girl whose heart he broke? Am I the one that got away?

“How you feeling?” He asks. Maybe he mis took the look on my face for physical pain, and not emotional. But the pain my body is feeling is nothing compared to the aching in my chest coming straight from my heart.

“Ten out of ten” I retort sarcastically, earning a concerned frown from him.

“Izzy, I’m serious”

“I’m okay” I promise him “It’s not that bad anymore”

“Okay because if any thing changes I’ll call the doctor right away, you just say” his voice is dripping with stress.

“Michael, I’m fine”

“Okay, okay!” He throws his hands up, accepting defeat. I little smirk falls over his face as I watch an idea pop into his head.

“Do you know what day of the week it is?” He asks with a light chuckle.

“Are you serious?” I laugh, throwing my head back.

“Appease me” he grins.

In all our laughter we seem to have moved closer together on the lounge, and now we’re practically right next to each other. Both of us are laughing. Not even because anything is that funny, but we’re both delirious. Exhausted. Stressed. Overwhelmed. As I watch him chuckle, it occurs to me that this is the first time we have been like this together in a very, very long time. And it feels nice. Too nice. It feels safe. Comfortable. It feels like exactly how its supposed to be. Me and him laughing in my apartment.

“Saturday” I appease him, finally giving in as I looking over at the calendar “Saturday the 15th of May”

The second the words leave my mouth I feel my heart lurch. His head shoots over towards the calendar, to confirm what I just said. I watch as his heart drops too.

The 15th of May.

Today is supposed to be our goddamn anniversary.

Fuck. I hadn’t even had time to check the calendar or realise what today is between all the chaos.

Today is 5 years since we first met. And look at where we are. Broken up. Michael is married to another woman. I’m dating another man. We barely speak. I barely know who he even is anymore. We are virtual strangers.

“Michael” is the only thing I manage to squeak out, wide eyed and breathing anxiously.

He stares back at me, swallowing hard like he’s about to do something that he can’t hold himself back from anymore.

When he lunges forward, closing in the space between us, it feels like breaking through a force field that has been holding us back for so long. Like the universe and all its gravity finally gave way, the tension snapping like a rope. But when his lips collide with mine, that is the final snap. Something in the entire room shifts. It suddenly feels like my whole life has been moving in slow motion, like I’ve been sleep walking, and the second I feel his lips on mine I’m brought back to life.

Like every single moment up until this one has been black and white. Silent. Like the moment right before two stars collide and everything goes still. But once they finally meet, everything is in ultraviolet. Bursting into the atmosphere with an explosion that blinds you. Everything feels electric. So much so that it almost hurts. I hadn’t realised how badly my lips craved his until now. It steals my breath, whisking it so far away I don’t think I’ll ever get it back again.

He hands are on my face and in my hair, holding me firmly like he can’t control himself. Now that the flood gates have opened, and every inch of emotion in his body is pouring out, he can’t close them again. And either can I. I kiss him back, pushing my lips against his as my hands desperately find their way to his face. Michael and I have been at a grid lock. Stuck in tandem, free falling forever since he returned. Un able to figure each other out. But right now, we don’t even have to try. Our bodies to the work. They know exactly what to do like no time has passed at all.

My lips follow his rhythm perfectly, even though his kisses are rough and desperate. I don’t know if it’s the pounding of my own heart or his that I can hear as we cling to each other. Grabbing onto whatever clothing and body parts we can to bring ourselves as suffocatingly close as possible.

His hands travel from my face, gliding down my sides until they find their place, gripping and pulling at my waist. The way his fingers dig into my skin just rough enough but not enough to hurt me causes moans to tumble out of my mouth. I feel him hum against my lips as his own inability to swallow his own moans takes over.

I don’t think about anything but this taste. The way his tongue dances with mine. I’m so caught up in every inch of him. I have been starved of him for what feels like a life time. Our kiss never breaks, his lips continuing to ravage mine. I almost feel drunk. Intoxicated by his smell, he feel, his touch, his taste. I’m complete liquid in his hands. Every thing else fades away. I just want to be his. In his arms.

Each kiss is more desperate than the last, his body pressed up and pushing against mine until he accidentally presses me roughly against the arm of the couch. My breath hitches as a jolt of pain shoots through my already tender back. As I inhale harshly, our kiss breaks, our lips finally tearing away from each others. It also tears us out of our moment and back into reality.

As the pain in my back subsides quickly, it doesn’t take long for me to realise what we’ve just done. We quickly pull back from one another, almost scrambling away as shock shoots both of our eyes wide open. I clamp my hand over my mouth as we both pant, trying to catch our breaths and comprehend what the hell just happened.

Oh my god what did we just do.

Michael’s chest rises and falls heavily, as does mine, and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.

“Oh my god” I whisper as we slide even further away from each other until we are on opposite ends of the couch.

It must dawn on him what has just happened all at once as his head falls in his hands, complete despair cloaking him.

“We can’t… we can’t do this” I stutter, shaking my head frantically. I quickly pull myself up from the lounge backing away from him until I’m virtually on the other side of the room. I feel sick.

Michael is married. I have Charlie. We can’t…

“Fuck” he curses loudly, running his hands through his hair as he tries to pull himself together. Standing up from the lounge he paces back and forth.

He just cheated on his wife. I just cheated on my boyfriend.

He stops pacing, and we stand across the room from each other, still trying to wrap our brains around if that actually happened.

“I’m so sorry” he shudders, his chest heaving. I can see the tears welling in his eyes from here, and it automatically triggers the same response in me.

I want to run over to him. I kiss him again. Feel his hands on me again. Our bodies intertwined. But we can’t do it. We are not those people anymore.

“You have to go” I tell him in a voice that is barely louder than a whisper. And that’s when the tears start. Spilling over onto my cheeks and dripping down off my chin.

Seeing me break down, he tries to rush over to me. To comfort me. That’s his automatic reaction to seeing my distressed. But he catches himself, pausing in his tracks. We both know what will happen if he comes over here. I can’t control myself. And either can he. We will only end up in my bed down the hall way, making an even bigger mess. He takes a shaky step away from me.

“You have to go home Michael” I beg him to stay back “Please”

“I’m so sorry Izzy” his voice cracks, breaking in two just like my heart. And from what I can see by the look on his face and the tears tumbling down his cheeks, his heart has broken into two as well.

And in the blink of an eye he hurries out the door, and he’s gone.

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beni-draw-ikemen-please · 4 years

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Kintsugi ~ Repairing with Gold

Kintsugi ~ Repairing with Gold ◆ Ikemen Vampire Fanfiction ◆

CHAPTER 1 - DON’T TELL ANYONE

Words: 2,063

TW: Angst and Hurt ◆ References to Depression ◆ Mental Instability ◆ Mental Health Issues ◆ Implied/Referenced Suicide ◆ Suicidal Thoughts ◆ Graphic Depictions of Sex/Intercourse ◆ Vaginal Sex/Fingering ◆ Rough Sex ◆ Non-con

Pairings: M/F Leonardo Da Vinci x Seiya Amanogawa [OC] / Comte de Saint-Germain x Seiya Amanogawa [OC]

Chapter Index [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

A/N: This is a work of fiction. This is fan fiction for Ikemen Vampire, character designs are owned by Cybird. My story however, features my own OC/MC Seiya Amanogawa who is from Modern Japan/Europe, who travelled to the Louvre for inspiration.

Seiya is female so I will be using she/her as her pronouns. I will also be describing her accordingly. I designed Seiya and she is my Original Character. If you don't like OC+Canon fanfiction, this might not be the fic for you.

KINTSUGI - CHAPTER 1

Don’t tell anyone

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

His golden locks fell beautifully in place, like a masterpiece set within the confines of an ornate golden frame. Right there, in the middle of the museum. The spotlight is carefully placed to highlight the gold that accentuated the piece. And there, in front of it all, with just the right amount of distance, is a lone bench.

That’s how Seiya saw him. A figure to be admired from afar. A treasure, so valuable and so bright, she steps back, almost instinctively, it made her feel smaller and smaller.

She would open her leather-bound book. And very carefully, she would write short letters. They weren’t really addressed to anyone in particular. Maybe they were addressed to her future self, who knows? But she wrote them, every single day. It wasn’t her journal either - no - it was far more complex than that.

Seiya knew in her heart, she wouldn’t be able to bear it, if he ever found out. How much she loved sitting just by the balcony of Vincent’s room during afternoon tea time, so she has the perfect view of the his hands as he gracefully pours tea into the day’s chosen china.

Viridian, with golden leaves and soft speckles of purple, almost white. She knew they were one of his favourites. Wedgewood. She took mental notes every time Sebastian gave her a pointer not to miss, especially when it came to afternoon tea.

She would duck her head, ever so slightly, and she would catch a glimpse of his lips, almost looking like they were kissing the fine things and smiling, so perfectly, complimenting the blend Sebastian had carefully prepared.

It was one of her guilty pleasures. And, it was only after she had shown Vincent what she really drew in her sketchbook that the angel allowed her to use his balcony.

Vincent noticed her when she first arrived. She was this scared, trembling frail little creature, and he wanted to make her feel more at home. Which turned out easier than expected. She spoke modern Dutch, at the very least the sounds were similar to the older variant. Sometimes, Seiya would hear him speak words that made her head tilt in confusion. But she enjoyed his company. And Vincent felt the same.

They would often draw together. Vincent with his easel and brushes, and his apron that’s stubbornly stained with paint, and her with ink and paper. She told him how she hated it when her hands stained of charcoal, or anything, so she stuck with inks. She would often grumble, how she missed modern pens and this thing called a brush pen. And Vincent wondered about it often.

They threw the case towards the makers of the mansion, first, Isaac - who felt comfortable around her, enough to actually draw and fiddle with objects around so vulnerably. Isaac asked for more time, maybe even more materials to create different prototypes. Then, the trio approached Leonardo. And they were able to make something similar to the modern brush pen in about a week’s time.

And so she drew more and more and more with the brush pen. Funny how she thought, she was using another man’s present to draw another man. And those two men happened to be best of friends. For over a century. Maybe, even more.

Seiya kept her notebook to herself. The red leather stood out, so she would often wrap it with a soft lace handkerchief that was too big to be folded and tucked into her pocket. She would keep it in her tray whenever she assembled the residents’ meals or changed sheets. Her notebook never leaves her sight.

Vincent grew curiouser and curiouser every time he would catch a glimpse of the red leather peeking through the black lace. For someone who looked like her, her choice of colour would almost be too bold for a maiden in 19th century Paris. Always black, she would say. Or, if black wasn’t an option, wine red. Or the darkest violet possible.

Vincent remembered the first time he accompanied her to shop for a new dress with Leonardo. They picked up a white dress, made from the finest leavers lace, that she wore with a frown on her face. She covered herself with her arms and asked to change immediately.

“It’s too bright for me,” she said, and Vincent couldn’t make out if she softly cursed in Dutch, or in Japanese, or a mixture of the two. She would, however, hum in satisfaction whenever she saw black velvet chokers, or black leather gloves, and thinking of that contrast made him smile.

He noticed how intently she would spend on each of her drawings. And Vincent would hear the silent flicks of her brush. It would be a long steady stroke for a while, and then flicks of texture. And then she would stop, and sigh, wait for the ink to dry and she would close her sketchbook ever so quietly.

“What are you drawing, Seiya?” he wouldn’t be so bold as to peek over her shoulder as she worked, unlike how Arthur had attempted so many times. Seiya didn’t say much and it was rare to hear her raise her voice even just for a bit, but when it came to her sketchbook, she was vocal and protective. Arthur attempted many times to uncover the mystery of that book, but Seiya never let anyone, not even Vincent take a peek inside.

Maybe it’s her diary? He thought about this many times.

Maybe it’s some sort of visual diary where she draws her feelings instead of writing them down.

Thinking about it like that, Vincent stopped asking her and instead, just enjoyed the tranquility and meditative togetherness of their afternoon painting sessions.

The only person he thought knew about the notebook’s contents would be Leonardo. They spend an awful lot of time together, after all. Comte had assigned the man to be Seiya’s caretaker, and Leonardo took that duty to heart, sometimes too seriously.

Sometimes, during their drawing afternoons, Leonardo would suddenly just pop out of nowhere, grab her notebook and throw it in the grass. The first time he did that, Vincent was so shocked his hands stopped painting, his paintbrush falling on the grass unnoticed.

There was only the sound of the wind, and the shifting of fabric as Seiya smoothed her skirt and walked towards her notebook. She would have a pained expression on her face, and she would wipe her book clean with the hem of her skirt. And Leonardo would just stand there, puffing his cigarrillo in, and blowing it all out with a heavy sigh.

“Fanculo,” she whispered. And Vincent froze. His neck slowly guided his eyes toward Leonardo, who now looked more annoyed than when he first walked in.

Vincent usually did not know how to respond to situations like these. Their silence made it impossible for him to intervene. Leonardo was not violent, no, and he wasn’t the type to insult women. But Seiya didn’t appreciate it when someone ordered her around.

Dealing with Theo at first proved to be one of the hurdles she had to overcome before making the mansion her home, too. Vincent would always remember the face she made when Theo called her a ‘hondje’. And the long road it took for them to actually make an effort to sit down, have an actual conversation and eventually get to know each other.

But with Leonardo, it was something different.

Seiya was composed, and usually calm - at least Vincent thought so - he always felt relaxed whenever they were together. Seiya would often say something and he would apologise for not listening carefully to what she had to say. In the end though, they both agreed that it was more that she spoke too softly, rather than him spacing out and not listening.

Vincent knew that feeling too well. And maybe, it was one of the reasons why they enjoyed each other’s company. Soft souls, his little brother called them.

But with Leonardo, it was different.

Seiya acted more like a child around him. She would pout, call him names and he would let her. And then they would retreat to his room. Sometimes the library. Sometimes, her room, very late into the night.

“I told you. You should stop these silly doodles,” When Leonardo finally spoke, it sounded more like a request than actual lecturing. Seiya would look away, and she would hold her dear treasure closer to her chest.

Vincent, without a word, held out his hands to both of them, as if trying to stop the eruption that was about to happen. Seiya would whisper, that it was none of his business. That made Vincent realise that her notebook was something more valuable than they all deem it to be. And that it was very personal. And, for whatever reason and content it held, Leonardo was against it.

He hated it. Vincent could see it. Enough for him to go out of his way to get it off her hands and into the dirt.

This would happen every now and then, and oddly enough, Vincent knew he should get used to it.

That evening, Vincent brought her a pot of flowers. Hoping she would calm down. Vincent knew his friend did not like cut flowers so whenever he wanted to cheer her up, he would pick a small pot from their growing collection, and walk it to her room.

That day, he could remember she argued with Leonardo again. She was upset that he did what he did during their good days. Vincent felt great earlier in the day and wanted to paint, and she too, felt inspiration course through her hands. And Leonardo just shattered that moment.

Vincent frowned a bit as he leaned against the wall a little further away from the door of Seiya’s room. He could now understand why she was so upset and his heart ached for her. But what he didn’t understand was why Leonardo hated her notebook. Did he dislike that she drew? He couldn’t put his mind around it.

Seiya stormed out, and ran to the opposite direction in tears. After a while, he found her behind the lush greens of the Gazebo. Almost how a little kid would hide themselves after a fight after an afternoon at the sandbox. He remembered how quietly she cried. And how warm her hand was when he helped her out of the grass.

They sat underneath the stars, a bench near the gate of the mansion. And there, she showed him. He didn’t really say anything, no, Vincent just sat with her. Hoping his presence would alleviate the stress and agitation she felt. Seiya felt like she needed to tell Vincent what was happening.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Her voice was always soft, like a silent prayer you hear inside a church. You should make out the words, but they would always sound like some foreign incantation made to sound familiar.

Vincent would often lean in and apologise. Asking her to repeat herself one more time, for his sake. Seiya would chuckle a bit and she would take a deep breath and would speak a little louder.

“Do you dislike Leonardo?” He asked her one time. And she looked at him with the strangest expression on her face. It was as if it was obvious that she did, but she also looked like she was shocked to hear him ask this question. It was hard for Vincent to understand her, most of the time.

Seiya did not say anything, but she gave him her notebook. Vincent’s eyes widened with interest and curiosity. He was excited and Seiya chuckled when she saw the eagerness in his blue eyes.

“Are you sure?” He asked just to be sure. It was dark, but he could still see the pink on Seiya’s cheeks. Her hair looked like starlight illuminating her from the nipping dark of dusk.

Vincent never felt like this before. The build up curiosity all stemming from the enigma that was her notebook, made the first look inside the pages of this mysterious book all the more exciting. He felt like a pirate, opening the treasure chest, seeing the valuable contents for the very first time.

And then, he stopped.

“You can’t tell anyone. Please?”

-To be continued-

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen leonardo #Onibeni Seiya #ikemen comte

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darlingpetao3 · 4 years

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Strange Bedfellows (Harry Wells x Reader)

Rating: T

Summary: After a night of drowning your misfortune in many cheap drinks, you stumble back into S.T.A.R. Labs to crash for the night. Little do you know, you’ve stumbled into the wrong spare room...

Tag List: @fandomdancer @bluesclues-1234

A/N: This is something quick I threw together the other night and is dedicated to the lovely @mintchipcupcake, who has now got me hooked on The Nanny (and this fic was inspired by one of the episodes).

***

So what if you got fired?

So what if you were evicted from your apartment?

So what if you have no romantic prospects?

The only relationship you kindle tonight is one with a Mr. Daniels. Jack Daniels. Oh, and a Madam Gin and her friend Miss Brandy. The gang’s all here, and they support you in your rough night at one of Central City’s cheapest bars.

You’re not proud of your actions, but a night of boozing is the only way you can see yourself getting through these first hurdles of shitty luck. When you confided in Barry, he told you that you’re free to use one of the S.T.A.R. Labs spare rooms to stay in until you’re back on your feet again. You’re so grateful to have a friend like good ol’ Barry Allen.

Cheers! To Barry! you think to yourself, ordering another drink from the growingly skeptical bartender. You had asked Barry not to tell anyone on Team Flash about your situation just yet, as you are still embarrassed about everything right now. You know he’ll keep his promise.

When the bartender cuts you off, you scoff indignantly. How dare he? Doesn’t he know what you’re going through? Doesn’t he know the company you work for laid you off because of downsizing? Doesn’t he know you haven’t had sex in a horrifyingly long time? Only his glorious cocktails can solve your problems!

You pout, and in all your hazy wisdom, decide not to throw a fit in this crap bar. Might as well head… where are you supposed to go again?

Oh yeah, the Labs.

It takes you longer than usual to even just get to the elevator inside the building, and ultimately stumble and fall on your ass as the doors open. With an unsteady hand, you punch the button for Level 500. The speed at which the elevator carries you renders you a bit dizzy, and you only notice the true effects of what you’ve done tonight when you wobble out of it upon reaching the correct floor.

Walking with your hands out in front of you - for stability, naturally - you give yourself a pep talk of sorts.

“You’re doin’ good, almost there, wooooo…”

It’s so strange to see the Labs so dimly lit, mostly because you’re rarely here in the middle of the night.

“Spooky…” you whisper to yourself. “Spooky dooooo, where are youuuuu.”

Eventually, after a series of humming the Pink Panther theme, and skulking around the corridors pretending your fingers are a pistol, you come to the door of one of the spare rooms where you will be sleeping indefinitely. There’s a bit of moonlight streaking in from the room's window, but other than this, it’s too dark for you to see much of anything. You think you can make out the bed, so you go to sit down on the edge of it after shimmying out of your skinny jeans. You shrug off your jacket, and decide then and there that’s too much work already, and leave on your tank top. Genuinely, you just want to crash now.

The moment you curl up under the covers and your cheek hits the strangely familiar-scented pillow, you drift off into the long-awaited dreamland...

***

Sunlight replaces the moonlight in the boringly decorated spare room. You only recognize this because the light is too strong to allow you to actually open your eyes.

Needless to say, a headache is starting to kick in.

You don’t need to open your eyes anyway. The position you’re in is so wonderfully comfortable that you don’t want to move. Your head rests on a sturdy pillow while cuddling against another sturdy pillow…

Since when are pillows ‘sturdy’...?

And since when do pillows hold you back?

This is when you dare to open your eyes, and what you witness makes you second guess as to whether you’re still dreaming.

You are in bed with Harry Wells.

You’re resting against his hard body, feeling how he breathes steadily underneath you. His hand lays on your hip as if it’s done it a million times before.

Making the mistake of lifting your head from Harry’s chest, you set off a chain reaction, ultimately waking up the man himself. It’s a slow realization on his part: Harry blinks languidly, inhaling that first conscious breath of the morning, then his eyes go round in complete shock.

“Wh-what?” he says exasperated, sitting up. “What the hell are you doing in my bed?”

“I don’t know!” you shout back, “I don’t know!”

Harry notices his hand on your hip and removes it as if you’ve burned him.

“When did you-?”

“I don’t know!!” God, you are so embarrassed. You’re in your underwear in his bed! Your face must look like a ripened tomato right now, so you try to cover it with your hands. “Did we-? We didn’t…?” you try to ask and peer at Harry through your fingers. Surprisingly, the man laughs to himself.

“No, I think I’d remember something like that,” he says quietly.

“Wait, what?”

“Why do you smell like a distillery?”

“Why do you…” you attempt a comeback, but everything floods back into your memory. You start to tear up a bit at all your recent misfortune and wind up falling forward with your face in Harry’s lap over the blankets.

“Oh,” he says, and hesitates in letting his hands fall to your arm and your back respectively. “Hey, I didn’t mean… um…”

“Mmmjsstttammphhhh,” you utter, voice muffled by the covers. His hand feels like heavenly comfort on your spine as he rubs up and down.

“I’m afraid I didn’t catch that,” Harry replies, almost sounding slightly amused. You lift your head from his lap and clutch his black tank top in desperation.

“I’m just a mess,” you clarify. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this and now you probably hate me even more for all this weirdness.”

“‘Hate you’? What do you mean ‘hate you’?”

“You know,” you try to articulate. “You’re always so-” You make a frowny face. “-With me.”

“Is that supposed to be me?”

You nod.

“You should know by now that doesn’t mean I hate you, (Y/L/N).”

“It doesn’t?”

Harry shakes his head. His eyes move from your own, down to where your hand still clutches his undershirt. You are now hyper-aware, so you remove your hand and sit up straight. However, that upsets your mental state. The pounding returns.

“Ow.”

“Why don’t you just lie back down?” Harry suggests. “Sleep some more.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Maybe it’s just the lingering effects of the alcohol in your system, but you ask him a question that pops into your mind. “Listen, I’m sure you probably have some special project to get an early start on, but would you mind staying here with me a bit longer? When I’m alone with my thoughts, I dwell too much, but you seem to make all my thoughts disappear.”

“Should I be flattered by such a thing?” he asks, wearing a highly rare smile. Actually, you’ve never seen him smile so much in one conversation.

“In this case, yes.”

“Alright, then.”

You get comfy under the covers once more, letting your head dip while resting on the pillow. Harry does the same, facing you. It’s a bit awkward at first, but with time, that feeling fades, and before either of you know it, Harry’s chin rests on top of your head while you’re snugly pressed against him and begin to drift off. You covet his warmth and relish in his hand on your back again. As expected, all thoughts, including those moments from last night, disappear. Even your bare legs are no longer shy when they meet his beneath the blankets. All there is now is comfort, silence, a little bit of something else unsaid.

#reader insert #harrison wells x reader #harrison wells imagine #harrison wells fanfiction #harry wells x reader #harry wells imagine #earth 2 harrison wells x reader #earth 2 harrison wells imagine #the flash imagine #the flash fanfiction

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bangtansfavwriter · 4 years

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🥞☕brunch café owner! jin☕🥞

tw: a tiny mention of anxiety and shitty people that you may have encountered in school / uni ( but a lot of fluff to make up for it! )

- so far, your day was a complete catastrophe, im not even gonna tone it down, it was a complete shitshow to be honest

-it was like god woke up and went "i’m gonna let y/n have a shit day lmaoo"

-you overslept and missed your bus... on the day you had an appointment with your lecturer about your term paper

- after tripping on the stairs and hitting your knee, you hobbled to the office where this gollum lookalike was already waiting for you

- your lecturer was unreasonable enough to not let you extend your deadline for your paper... the one book you needed wasn't in the library for the past 3 weeks and there was no other edition available. so you explained the situation multiple times even at the beginning of your writing process, you even wrote him mails to explain the issue

- but this man who literally radiated boomer energy with every particle of his being really had the audacity to not answer, not even to your second mail and then he actually said that he does not understand "how someone of your age doesn't manage to even get a simple task as writing a paper" done

-you explained the situation again but he was pretty much tone-deaf to your situation and didn't even care when you said that you're actually gonna go to the library now to get the book scans

- so you went there already drained and exhausted from that conversation

-but the library was an even worse experience tbh .......

[fic mode: on, hohoho]

The lady in the library yelled at you for no apparent reason after you informed her that the scanner wasn't working and made you look stupid in front of other students who were there until one of them intervened and helped you out, which you appreciated. But this whole situation grew even worse on you after you left the library because your anxiety kicked in. You went straight into a quiet alley nearby and started crying quietly. "But hey!" you then exclaimed angrily, while wiping away your tears "At least the paper is gonna get done, right?! because who gives a shit about mental health and all huh, Mr. Go?!" and you started sobbing again. "Dickhead... And that stupid library lady... with her stupid fat 80s glasses. And her ugly yeehaw look...". This was something you wouldn't ever do in public, crying and ranting that is. but the alley was quiet, your only company was a stray cat that was sleeping underneath a tree's shadow. or so you thought. "Ugly yeehaw people and their ugly ass clothes, like... go read a magazine or something...". You started feeling more liberated with each mild insult you'd utter, so you went on. "Ugly library lady and her giant wart, like who the fuck are you? yubaba?" you heard someone snort and start laughing a squeaky laugh that almost sounded like a windshield wiper. Taken aback by the unexpected witness to your mild breakdown, you stood still at first, then looked around, left and right, but you couldn't see anyone. "Over here!" you heard someone say. You looked around again and sighed when you still couldn't see anyone. "Did I finally lose my mind?" you mumbled to yourself, only to hear the squeaky laugh again. "Hey! Turn around and look up!". You got up the bench and did as you were told by the omnipresent voice and finally saw the person it belonged to. Up at the 1st floor, there was a guy looking down to you from his tiny balcony that had plants hanging down from it. He smiled at you when your eyes met and you felt your heart rate go up in an instant, as you realized this stranger, this awfully handsome stranger witnessed how your petty little rant and crying about yubaba's twin in the library. "Tough day, huh?" he asked, you just nodded and quickly wiped your face with your sleeve. "Oh no, hold on" he mumbled and suddenly disappeared from his window, leaving you behind with a surprised look on your face. A box of Kleenex suddenly landed in front of your feet, as he reappeared at his window. "Just one would have done it, too, but thank you. I appreciate it!" you said and smiled at the guy. While you wiped your face, you heard another something land on the bench. You looked up again to the guy who, all of a sudden, avoided your gaze. "That'll help, you know..." he said and looked at you in surprise when you started laughing. What he threw on the bench was a... bar of chocolate. One that also happened to be your favourite. You looked at him and gave him a huge smile that made his heart flutter. He looked away shyly and scratched his head. "Tough day, yeah... but this right here," you raised the chocolate bar, "this makes it all better, you're right about that. Thank you!" The stranger couldn't help but look at you once again. He almost felt compelled to it. It was like staring at the sun when it sets, you know that you shouldn't stare at it directly, but it's so breathtakingly beautiful that you can't help but look. He intently watched you while you happily munched on your chocolate and smiled to himself. "What's your name?" he asked you. "Y/N! How about you?" - "I'm Seokjin. You can call me Jin..." - "Nice to meet you, Jin. I wish it would have been under different circumstances, though. I'm actually quite embarrassed about that, but chocolate helps with that, too." You two smiled at each other. "You know what, Y/N? Sometimes good things happen at weird times. Don't be embarrassed about crying earlier. I'm the last person who'd judge you because of that. I know that library witch, by the way... That Yubaba comparison was spot on!" You laughed out loud - he very much wished to hear this sound more often now. "Y/N, I gotta get ready for work now. But I'm gonna share one last bit of wisdom with you. I know a good remedy for bad days." - "Better than chocolate?" - "Oh, yes. Even better than chocolate. There's a café in XX street. There's a whole lot of lavender growing right in front of it, you can't miss it. That cafe has the best pancakes in the entire city." - Oh my god, pancakes are the best thing on earth!" - "(!!!) You must go there and try then! They're fluffy and come in 5 different variations and the sweetest maple syrup! I'm telling you, if you have a bad day like this again, go straight to that café." He already got you at pancakes, so you definitely would go there. "I'll finish this damn paper and then go reward myself with pancakes! In one or two weeks I'll get like 2 plates of pancakes then!" - "That sounds perfect!", he laughed. Shortly after, he excused himself and you two bid farewell. He disappeared from his window and your troubles had disappeared from your soul. You went home with a smile on your face, thankful for the kindness he had shown you and hoped that you would see him in the café some day. "Who knows... Maybe he's a regular there. It sounded like it."

Roughly one and a half weeks later, many all nighters and a whole lot of take out food, you finished the paper and handed it in. Liberated from this massive pain in the ass, you went straight to the café that your thoughts circled around during the times you weren't busy with your paper. "God, I hope he's there...", you thought and thought of Jin, who you thought about as much as you dreamed of the huge plate of pancakes you were going to get now. The café was not very far from where you lived, you walked there in about 15 minutes and recognised the place by a very accurate description Jin has given you. The smell of lavender bewitched you as soon as you stepped into the alley the café was in. Lots of flower pots were in the front of it, not only was there lavender but also gardenias and petunias. The flowers were all around the tables outside. "Of course, the flower boy loves the flower café" you said to yourself and smiled. The café wasn't too busy, as you came by at a rather early hour, when there were still lectures for most students and older people were busy at the local market place. You were greeted right away when you entered the café, by a younger man, probably also a fellow student, who was wearing an apron and gave you a warm welcome with his bunny smile. He showed you to your table at the window side from where you could watch bees hurdle at the lavender pots outside. You ordered shortly after, it didn't take much thinking when you saw the "Eat the stress away" menu, with regular pancakes, hashbrowns and a tea/coffee option. "Excellent choice! It's my personal favourite~", your waiter added. You glanced at each other. "Fellow student?" you asked and laughed when he suddenly looked at you with a gloomy look, but joined you in laughter right away. "Shared struggle", he said laughing, leaned over real quick and whispered: "I'll get you some blueberry pancakes, too. I'll tell the chef you're a friend of mine." - "Oh my god, thank you!" He winked and went straight to the kitchen, while humming a tune. Well, this was certainly the sweetest waiter you'd ever encountered. But you had your eyes on the door, hoping for a divine intervention that would lead to Jin coincidentally walk into the café when you were there. Around 15 minutes later you finally sipped on your coffee and were about to devour the fluffiest pancakes you'd ever had on a plate in front of you. The hash browns were a tad bit disappointing, as they had a slighty burnt taste and weren't spiced very well, in your opinion. But the pancakes were absolutely amazing. Their soft and fluffy texture was complemented with butter and the sticky-sweet maple syrup that as truly as good as Jin said. And the blueberry pancakes were so good that you feared losing control over your facial expressions. Your waiter came along to your table, after he got the newest customer orders to the kitchen. You invited him to sit with you, which he gladly accepted. "How do you like it? They're really good, right?" - "I think this is what the kids call 'foodgasm'...", you answered and the two of you giggled. He looked at your plate and noticed the hash browns that you put at the edge of your plate. "Oh? Didn't like the hash browns?" he asked with wide eyes.

"They're slightly burnt, I think..." you said shyly. You were never one to criticize the cook when you didn't like your food in a restaurant. The only time when you actually complained was when you once found hair in your soup in a restaurant, and even back then you apologised for the trouble whereas it was clearly the chef who was at fault. "Please don't tell anyone, this can happen sometimes, I accept that." you quickly added, but your waiter shook his head ferociously. "You paid for this, so it is our duty to bring good food to your table. Our chef is a perfectionist, I don't understand how this can happen anyway. I'll get it sorted out, but not without teasing him. Can you wait a little until the customers are gone here. We close for lunch time. So people are gonna leave soon." You agreed and waited, while befriending the waiter - Jungkook, a 2nd year student who was currently doing a side job at "Café Smeraldo". After the last customer left, Jungkook decided to call the chef by yelling across the café. "He's also the manager you know. We're a bit short-staffed, you know... This is gonna be funny~~ JIN-HYUNG!" You almost spat out your coffee and started coughing as soon as you heard that name. "JIN-HYUNG COME OUT OF YOUR BUREAU! YOU BURNT A CUSTOMER'S FOOD!" He cackled after he heard noise coming from inside, while you sat there mortified. The door from the staff room slammed open and you instantly wished to turn into dust, as said manager/chef was the guy who consoled you on one of the worst days you've had in your academic life. The two of you stared at each other in shock, but before he could say anything to you he started scolding his younger co-worker and the two of them started bickering, while you continued sipping on your coffee, because this whole situation was soon more entertaining than it was mortifying. At some point Jin shushed Jungkook who shut up right away when he realized that this wasn't playful bickering anymore. Jungkook bowed deeply and went to the kitchen where he started cleaning. "You're friends with the boy?" Jin asked and sat down at your table. He looked tired, you thought. "No, actually we met earlier, but I suppose we just clicked very fast." - "So this kid got you my famous blueberry pancakes on the house, huh?" - "...I guess so. Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause you trouble. I really didn't want him to say anything about the hash browns either." He quickly glanced at them and grabbed one to take a bite, but put it down again before doing so. "I can see it already", he said "you don't need to apologise, it's my bad." He sat there with a gloomy expression and sighed. "Tough day, huh?" you asked and smiled at him when he laughed at your reference. "Tough week is more like it. We're a bit short-staffed at the moment. But enough of me and my manager melancholy. Finished your paper?" You were surprised by his sudden change, but you went along. "Yeah, I turned it in earlier and came here right after. I gave you my word after all." You smiled at him, and he felt the same rush that he had experienced the day he first met you. You continued: "You were right, by the way. These pancakes are everything!! Especially the blueberry ones. Is that your recipe?" He laughed and nodded. "I'm glad you liked them!" he said. "I'll serve you better hash browns the next time, pinky promise. I got a phone call while preparing 3 orders, yours was the only one that suffered from it." - "It happens sometimes. Don't dwell on something so minor." - "Says you, who cried beneath my balcony because of some witch!" The two of you giggled. He looked at you with a look, that made your cheeks burn. His gaze was fond and soft, it was the kind of look you have whenever the sky looks pretty, or when a bird lands near you and sings a little song. Neither of you could break the look you shared, as neither of you could describe a bond that was apparently now formed with chocolate and pancakes. It was him who spoke up first: "Got room for more pancakes?". This question took you by surprise, but pancakes are always a welcome surprise. "Hell yeah, you can never have enough pancakes." - "I need more proof for that, but based on that sentence alone I can say that we may be soulmates, Y/N." You started laughing, as did he. "But why? What do you have in mind? Also, I'm surprised you still remember my name." His cheeks got a very apparent pink hue after your remark and you noticed how grossly you were endeared by this man. "Y/N... How could I forget..." he said with a low voice that made your heart flutter. "How could I forget someone who made me believe there was a banshee at my door for a solid minute!" He broke out in his loud and squeaky laughter as soon as he saw the pure offence and shock on your face, after he said that, because *that* was certainly not what you expected to hear. "You're mean, oh my god!" you exclaimed but had to laugh, too. You guys needed two minutes to calm down again. The pink hue on his face was still there and you felt the rush of confidence in you. He noticed you looking at him and spoke up:

"Y/N... How could I forget someone who has made me smile on a day I didn't feel like smiling at all? I got the news my cook had to quit on the day we met. I thought this was the end for my café. But then, I met you, shortly after I got the news. And seeing you going from crying to happily munching on some chocolate despite having issues that made you cry in public in the first place... Seeing you forgetting your troubles with something so small as a chocolate bar. I don't know... I felt hopeful for some reason. And I love this feeling. And, god... I really hoped you'd take my advice and come here to have my pancakes! (he chuckled) But I have to admit something... I so regretted not asking for your number. For the past week I jumped through the kitchen door everytime a customer came in...". You were pretty sure your heart was soon gonna explode through your chest. He hid his face with his hands and sighed. "I'm not like this at all~" he whined, before facing you again. "But... How about I make us some more pancakes now? And hash browns, if you like. I haven't had breakfast yet and well... I really want to make you pancakes. Can I?" His voice became thinner with each sentence he added, since he came shyer with each bit. You chuckled, in disbelief about how your rapidly beating heart became so calm, yet so full when this man told you he wanted to make you pancakes. No nervosity whatsoever, no second thoughts, nothing. An epiphany over pancakes... Who would have thought? This was safe. This was a safe place for both of you, and both of you felt it.

"A breakfast date then?"

"Breakfast date it is."

"I like the sound of that."

💕

epilogue:

-you two enter the kitchen after you insisted on watching him cook for you-

jk: hyu- oh, hi y/n! you guys know each other? ah hyung, i cleaned up everything and tidied up in the bureau. i'm sorry about earlier. (bows again and stands there shyly)

jin: (sighs very deeply) come here, you dodo.

the two of them shared a short but sweet hug, after which jungkook had a huge smile on his face again. jin and you shared a look and the same thought as you looked at jungkook after.

jin: jk, you wanna have pancakes with us?

jk: huh? yeah sure, i'm actually pretty hungry... (he smiles at you two) I'll go clean up inside real quick and prepare the table! yayy, pancake brunch with friends ☺️ (he leaves you two in the kitchen)

you turned to jin and smiled. "don't even start." he said quickly, while he started getting the ingredients out. "AWWW~~" - "NOOO!"

-the end-

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kopikokun · 5 years

Text

Request 09 : Winwin + “It’s New Year’s. Of course I’m drunk.” (80) + “I was hoping I’d see you at this party.” (97) + “Just step a little closer to me . . . to your left . . . woah! Would you look at that, we’re under the mistletoe. What a complete and utter coincidence.” (98)

To you, New Year’s was a time to let loose. It was a time for you to momentarily bury all your problems and anxieties for one night before they came hurdling at you full-force the next morning.

And Jaehyun’s party was a perfect opportunity to do so.

The night had started off considerably tame, but as the time passed and the bottles of drinks began to dwindle, things started to get out of hand.

The house was thrashed. Rugs ruined, marks on tables, broken chairs, and stains of beer and . . . something all over the couches. Not to mention people were scattered absolutely everywhere: on the sofas, tables, lawn, rooms and some had even wound up on the roof.

You were a very affectionate person – both in the physical and mental aspect. You easily opened up to both strangers, friends and family. To you, there was nothing wrong with openly displaying your love for others, as long as you weren’t obnoxious about it. Almost everybody knew this.

So, nobody bat an eye when you were perched atop Jaehyun’s lap, his hands on your waist and your back to his chest. He was warm and big, his arms practically swallowing you whole. Honestly, you were kind of falling asleep until Jaehyun pinched your hip.

“Get off.”

You leaned further into him. “Why?”

“Don’t get me wrong, this feels nice and you smell great,” he pat your thigh, “but I’m about to piss myself really soon and I don’t want to add another stain to the countless others on my couch.”

“Gross.” You rolled off his lap, curling up into the sofa arm. “Whatever, just go.”

Jaehyun smiled lazily, the alcohol making him look almost sleazy. He ruffled your hair. “Thanks.”

You glared at him as he trotted off, smoothing down your tangled hair. You reluctantly stood from the comfort of the couch, stumbling.

To be frank, you weren’t here to cuddle up with Jaehyun, but in fact with your friend Dong Sicheng, who had yet to make an appearance.

You’d wait for him though. God knows, you’d wait for him.

Your first encounter with Sicheng hadn’t been the most pleasant. You had actually tripped him while he was on a run and he’d tossed you the darkest look before brushing himself off and jogging away. After that, you had met nearly everyday in the exact same spot, crossing paths on your daily treks.

Overtime, your bond had blossomed into a sort of perhaps-more-than-friends-friendship, especially after you two had found out you had a mutual friend: Xiaojun.

The name brought you back to reality, as through the cluster of bodies you spotted Xiaojun on the steps of Jaehyun’s stairs, giggling with Hendery and Yangyang. Unfortunately, Winwin was nowhere in sight. You threaded your way through the hectic house and to Xiaojun, in hopes that he’d hold the answer to your question.

“Hey, Xiaojun!” His silver head perked up at the mention of his name. “Have you seen Sicheng?”

Xiaojun sighed playfully. “You only come to me for Sicheng nowadays. I’m feeling a little hurt, you know?”

“No, Dejun, I’m just—”

“I know, I’m just pulling your leg, silly!” Xiaojun’s tilted his head in thought. “I’m pretty sure I saw Sicheng in the kitchen.”

You grinned. “Thanks, Dejun. Love you!” you chirped, waving lightly and you weaved your way to the kitchen with haste.

Over the indistinct chatter, you heard Xiaojun faintly hollering, “Got get him, tiger!”

Xiaojun’s statement wasn’t exactly accurate – Sicheng was loitering a few feet away from the kitchen – but it was helpful nonetheless. The space around him was fairly desolate, the area furnished with a funky lamp and a few mismatched chairs. It was past Christmas, yet a mistletoe dangled on Sicheng’s left.

“Hi, Sicheng.”

He turned to face you, a smile stretching those pretty lips of his. “Hey. I was hoping I’d see you at this party.”

His bold comment made a tingling warmth fan across your cheeks. “What are you doing here all alone?” You giggled. “Did you get ditched or something?”

“Don’t laugh at me. And actually, yeah, they did. They’re all by the pool table.” Maybe it was the alcohol or your bubbling nerves, but your knees buckled. Sicheng caught you as you slipped. “Are you okay?” You nodded, vision hazing. “You’re not drunk, are you?”

“It’s New Year’s; of course I’m drunk.” You lifted a brow. “Aren’t you drunk?”

“I’m not. I’m stuck with driving tonight, so I’m sadly sober.”

“What? That sucks! Who spends New Year’s sober?” you said in disbelief.

“It’s not that bad, actually. I mean, at least I get to see you clearly.” Sicheng smiled almost shyly, making your head spin. Or maybe that was the booze.

“Stop being so damn cute, Sicheng.” You pouted.

A warm glow resided in his cheeks and he nibbled on his bottom lip. “You think I’m cute?”

You tore your eyes away from those spectacular lips, finding your gut was squirming in delight. “Of course I— Oh, wait. Sicheng.” He created a humming sound, urging you to continue. “Could you uhm, just step a little closer to me . . . to your left . . . woah! Would you look at that. We’re under the mistletoe. What a complete and utter coincidence!”

Sicheng peered skywards. “Oh, I guess we are.”

“Man,” you took a timid step forward, masking your shyness as you crossed your arms, “I didn’t even see that hanging over you. Wow.”

Sicheng closed the already small distance between the two of you with a short stride. “You didn’t have to get me under the mistletoe to kiss you, you know?” He encircled his arms around your torso – hesitantly at first, before he eased as you smiled at the contact. “I was planning on kissing you tonight anyway – regardless on whether there was mistletoe or not.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Then do it.” You leaned nearer, your breath shallow. “Kiss me, Sicheng.”

want to request? go here!

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raendown · 5 years

Link

It’s still February where we are and no fan gets left behind! @copyninken and I both made gifts for the wonderful @kaiyaru for the @madatobigiftexchange! We hope you enjoy!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3499 Rated: T+ Summary: Sometimes it's the harebrained schemes that end up working best, though not always in a way you might expect.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

Have You Tried Tying Them Together

For his unceasing quest to bring peace Hashirama had been called a good man by many, lauded as a kind individual with the patience of a saint and the innocent heart of a child. Many had tried to repay his kindnesses in countless different ways and he had refused them all with a smile. At the moment, he was regretting that. Hashirama wished dearly that he had taken some of the offers for a free night at this or that onsen, accepted one of the invitations to dinner at so-and-so’s table, something, anything to get him out of the predicament he currently found himself in. Even a man with endless patience grew tired of standing in between his two most precious people.

Perhaps it hadn’t been the best idea to invite his brother and his best friend out for dango at the same time. He was of course well aware of how poorly they got along but despite all hurdles he‘d encountered Hashirama clung stubbornly to the hope that someday they would see what he was trying to get at and finally realize he had a point to throwing them together like this. They had so much in common. If they would only calm down long enough to talk for two seconds he just knew they would absolutely adore each other as much as he adored them both. Unfortunately they hadn’t calmed down since they entered the dango shop and the owner was starting to look like he couldn’t decide whether to ask them to leave or to cower behind his own apron.

“It’s only right for me to have the honor,” Madara spat. “I’m the eldest.”

“You may be my elder but no one’s ever accused you of being my better,” Tobirama snapped back. “It’s not like you paid for them!”

Not that Hashirama could blame the owner, really. The poor soul was a civilian, woefully unequipped to deal with the killing intent leaking out of both of the men sitting with their Hokage. Sighing deeply, Hashirama solved the argument of who would get the last stick of dango by snatching it up himself and popping it in to his mouth. Truthfully he was already full and it was likely that this last stick of sweets would give him a bellyache but he figured that was better than continuing to sit here and listening to them squabble.

Chewing slowly, mentally giving his stomach a quick pep talk to warn it of the incoming extra food, Hashirama enjoyed the few moments of silence as both Madara and Tobirama watched him eat with matching expressions of chagrin. He knew exactly why they were looking at him like that. Equally competitive, they were both upset that he had just taken away the thing they’d been fighting over, thereby removing any chance for one of them to win the argument. They both detested the very idea of a tie when it came to their quibbles but Hashirama had already had quite enough for one day. In fact, he’d had quite enough to last him several lifetimes and he would be perfectly happy if they would never fight again. However unlikely that was. Since he had a few moments of peace anyway, he distracted himself from the inevitable bellyache by wracking his brain for a way to finally make these two boneheaded men just stop and talk like normal human beings for once.

The owner of the dango stall looked so relieved when they paid and left that Hashirama feared the man might faint. As compensation for the trouble they’d caused, he hurried his two companions away towards the training fields. A brilliant idea just occurred to him and he saw no point in waiting to put it in to action.

Somehow, he wasn’t sure how, the three of them managed to make it all the way to the farthest – and therefore most secluded – training ground without any new arguments cropping up. Oh they glared at each other of course and a few snide comments were tossed around but there was no yelling and Hashirama figured he could count that one as a win.

Upon arriving he spun around to face his brother and his friend and opened his mouth to announce the amazing idea he’d come up with. Before he could even get a single word out he was cut off as Tobirama huffed in snide amusement.

“You better hope he didn’t bring us out here to spar Uchiha. I must say, I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to grind that pudgy nose of yours in to the dirt.” Madara, of course, immediately bristled in response.

“As if you could! Bring it on Senju, I could take you any day!”

“Think so? I think you’re just a lot of big talk.”

“Well I think my nose isn’t pudgy!”

Running his hands down his face with a groan, Hashirama gave in before he could even try. It was easy to see that neither of them were in the mood to listen and he knew all too well how little effect his nagging would have once they actually started growing violent. Informing them of his idea could wait for tomorrow. Or never. Right now it seemed he would have to take action without letting them know what was going on first but that was alright. They were both very smart men, surely they would figure it out on their own.

Almost as a sign of divine providence Madara had only just stepped closer to Tobirama, getting right up in his face, at just the same moment that Hashirama brought his hands together to mold his chakra. Neither of the men before him had enough time to react before suddenly the ground beneath their feet exploded with thick vines that wrapped about their bodies and trapped them in place – together. As they shouted in surprise the vines thickened and settled in to sturdy beams of wood holding them chest to chest no matter how much they struggled and swore.

With his hand on his hips, beatific smile in place, Hashirama looked at his work with satisfaction. They weren’t very happy about their situation obviously but he didn’t care one single whit about that. He had suffered through enough of their arguments so far. Let them suffer through the end of his patience now. They were going to see the light if he had to smother them both to get them there.

“Anija!” Tobirama hollered, spluttering out a mouthful of Madara’s hair. “Have you gone mad!?”

“What is the meaning of this, Hashirama!” Madara’s face was red with anger, his entire body practically vibrating as he tried to squirm. The wood held him fast but he looked ready to squirm all day if it freed him. It wouldn’t.

“Get me out of here, Anija!”

“No thank you,” Hashirama chirped. “Have fun you two!”

Feeling a lot more cheerful now than he had only half an hour ago, he tucked both hands inside his sleeves and strolled away, humming tunelessly to himself. Tonight was Mito’s turn to make dinner and he wondered if maybe she might be amenable to some ‘light exercise’ before she began cooking. He was so full from the dango that he could certainly do with working off some of the calories and that seemed to him a pleasant way to do so. Perhaps when his belly wasn’t feeling quite so heavy anymore he might check on his two favorite stubborn men but if they still weren’t getting along by then he was quite prepared to leave them out in the cold all night.

Strong shinobi were quite used to that type of thing and his precious people were all very strong shinobi.

Left behind, Madara and Tobirama shouted threats and insults at the man’s retreating back until long after he had passed out of sight. There followed perhaps a single beat of silence after the shouting finally died down before their glares turned to each other, so close their brows were nearly touching and the daggers they were trying to shoot at each other with their eyes were in true danger of piercing skin.

“You’re related to him,” Madara felt compelled to point out.

“Believe me, the second I get out of this mess and kill you he’s my next target.”

“Still experiencing delusions of grandeur? You couldn’t take me even if I had one hand tied behind my back, you frost-bitten stiff-necked worm!”

“Worm? Really? That’s the best you can do?”

“It’s hard to think with your disgusting face so close to mine.”

“Maybe if you had more than two brain cells to rub together they would work better under pressure.”

“Fuck you!”

“Go fuck yourself!”

Scrunching his face in to a bastardized cross between scowl and smirk, Madara lifted one eyebrow just to complete the look. “How would that even work?” he asked.

After a few seconds of blatant staring Tobirama determined that the other man was actually trying to figure out the mechanics of being told to fuck himself. It was like all the fighting energy in his body were put on pause for a moment while he thought hard about something that really didn’t deserve any thought at all. He couldn’t let that stand, of course. If the two of them were going to be tied face to face and he was required to stare at this idiot for kami only knew how long then the attention was bloody well going to stay on him.

“If you like I can draw you a very anatomically correct diagram once we get the hell out of this.” He tried for his usual confident leer and the expression was only mildly ruined by the heat of another body pressed so closely to his own. When was Hashirama coming back?

“Hmph.” Madara turned his nose up, gravity pulling the hair away from his face. “I don’t need any help from you in that department.”

“Which department was that? Learning how to better make a fool of yourself? I’m well aware of your skills there.”

There was no pleasure on earth quite like watching Madara attempt to flail as he usually did without being able to move any of his limbs. Several of the thick vines around them creaked as if in rebuke but none of them loosened so much as an inch. With the strength his brother usually put in to his jutsu, even without meaning to, Tobirama guessed that they could probably squirm and struggle until darkness closed in on them without ever making any progress. If they were going to get out of this they probably needed to work together. Life truly was cruel.

“Stop fidgeting,” he demanded. “We need to put our heads together.”

“I am not fidgeting! Obviously I’m- I’m- just shut up and do something!”

Grateful that at least his shins weren’t being kicked, Tobirama sighed. “That is precisely what I was trying to suggest. Doing something.”

“Then do it!”

“Maybe I would if you would help me!”

“Hmph!”

Dropping his chin back down brought a great deal of Madara's hair cascading between their faces in a most distracting manner but there wasn’t much he could do about it other than blow crossly from the corners of his mouth. Tobirama watched the bow shape his lips made until he realized what he was doing.

“If I know my brother then these are undoubtedly living vines. He has a terrible habit of leaving his chakra behind in everything. And watching. It’s quite invasive, actually.”

“What, so you’re saying he can probably see us right now?” Madara's eyes dipped to the wood, looking scandalized.

“Something like that,” Tobirama agreed. “Not see us exactly but more that they carry his will. It’s difficult to explain. That’s not my point; if we make an effort at least to get along I’m sure that will get us out of this and we can both pretend it never happened.”

That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say.

“Am I so disgusting to you that you can’t stand to even think about me!?” Madara glared as best he could with one eye now completely covered with hair. It was a rather decent look, actually.

“Have we not made our opinions of each other quite clear by now?” Tobirama asked. If he added enough scorn to his voice it might even have sounded close to his usual vitriol. Something must have wavered in his tone however as Madara looked away as though uncomfortable and mumbled something under his breath. Tobirama would have given half his chakra stores to know what thoughts were running through that impossible mind.

Though he waited no immediate answer came, which was probably for the best. Nothing good could possibly come from discussing the truth of how they interacted with each other on a daily basis. There were few things Tobirama thought he would enjoy less than having his motivations for certain behaviors questioned by one of the few people who were smart enough to figure out when he was lying. Madara was far from a stupid man. It was one of the reasons he made a surprisingly effective administrator.

It was also one of the reasons Tobirama found it so amusing when, like now, his cheeks dusted pink as his emotions rapidly overtook his rational sense. Riling him up was only too easy – he always did half the work himself in his own head.

“What do you suggest then?” It took ages for words to come but when they did Madara was all business.

“Do you have any control over your chakra?”

“Listen here Senju–!”

“Because I do not. Anija’s mokuton is capable of chakra blocking properties.” Tobirama leveled the other man with a judging stare. “If you will remember, that is how he was able to assist Mito in capturing the kyuubi.”

“Ah. Right.” Madara subsided, looking almost ashamed of his outburst.

Wishing dearly that he could fiddle with his hands as he so often did when thinking, Tobirama graciously decided he could let that go. No matter how easy it was starting a fight right now would not help either of them.

“So why don’t you think us out of here, genius boy?”

Exceptions could be made to good judgement, however. Tobirama narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t know, idiot, why don’t you do that yourself?”

“Oi!”

And just like that the tentative quiet was broken. Just like every other time they got anywhere close to their own version of reluctant peace it lasted no more than half a minute before the two of them began shouting in each other’s faces again. It was the same old song and dance. Everything led back to violence with them.

Well, it led back to aggression which all too often paved the way for violence. Considering their restricted positions Tobirama hadn’t expected any sort of violence at the moment and watching Madara struggle to free his limbs could have almost convinced him to show a little gratitude to his brother for trapping them so well. Almost. Whatever good will he might have had immediately crumbled to dust when the vines around their bodies shifted ever so slightly to bring them even closer together. It was a clear message from Hashirama that they needed to get along, a message that he would have been much more likely to heed if not for one thing.

Now they were kissing.

Head bowed forward as he tried to butt the Senju annoying him, Madara's face was in just the wrong spot when Tobirama was shoved forward, pressing their lips together with mockingly gentle pressure. Immediately, understandably, both of them froze. To Tobirama’s horror he found himself unable to look away as his mind automatically began cataloguing new and interesting details about a face he tried so hard not to notice on most days.

It was only when Madara's face achieved a very special shade of red unique to him alone that both of them were jolted back in to motion, twisting their faces apart to gasp for air.

“WHAT THE HELL!?” were the man’s predictable first words.

“That clearly wasn’t me!” Tobirama insisted.

“You- you kissed me!”

“I did not!”

Somehow Madara looked even more scandalized. “And you didn’t even mean it!?”

“…what?”

��Cruel! Indecent!” Unaware of the strange looks Tobirama was giving him Madara ranted on in high dudgeon. “It’s terrible enough of you to take advantage of me at such a moment but to mock me for the things I can’t control, I never knew you were so terrible! Just because I have these damnable feelings does not mean I’m going to let you play with me for your own amusement!”

“Feelings?” Shock kept him frozen barely half an inch from the other’s face but Tobirama couldn’t think clearly enough to try for more distance.

His confusion went unnoticed.

“Obviously! Don’t pretend that wasn’t deliberate! If you knew how I felt about you then you could have at least just ignored me instead of seeking me out all the time to be mean! Always so mean and sarcastic!”

“You’re mean and sarcastic too!” he couldn’t help pointing out.

“Well it’s just to throw you off the scent!” Madara swallowed, adding at half the volume, “I don’t deal with emotions very well.”

“Tell me about it,” Tobirama murmured faintly.

For a long time they merely hung suspended and stared at each other again. None of the red had faded at all from Madara's cheeks but in light of these new discoveries Tobirama could finally admit to himself that maybe – maybe – he sort of thought it was a cute look. Madara had a lot of cute looks, most of them achieved when he was flailing about reacting poorly to his own emotions just as he’d said.

And wasn’t it just their luck that the exact same thing Tobirama had been doing to guard his own heart, Madara had been doing as well? Sometimes it felt like the two of them were damned to miscommunicate about everything important.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he offered finally. “You don’t mentioned anything about being stupid and I won’t mention anything about being stupid. Got it?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Madara scrunched his face together in confusion.

Rather than waste time explaining Tobirama did as he’d been denying he wanted to do for months, leaning forward that precious half inch and kissing the older man as best he could from such an awkward position. For the short few seconds that it lasted it was nice. Pleasant. Warm and gentle, nothing they had ever dared to be for each other before and everything they had both been quietly dreaming of. Those moments stretched out in to blissful eternity before they were so rudely interrupted as the vines holding them together trembled and released without warning.

They went down together with sharp cries of dismay, the ground rising up to meet them even as the mokuton almost seemed to shrink in to itself and wither. If the wood had a mouth it would not have been surprising to hear it whimper. As it was all that could be heard in the empty training ground was the grumbling of two men not at all happy to have their intimate moment ruined.

“Let’s kill him,” Madara grunted from where he lay sprawled out on his back glaring up at the sky.

“Maybe later,” Tobirama said. “I think we have more important things to talk about first.” He let his head roll to the side, watching Madara do the same and attempting a smile when their eyes met. “My place or yours?”

“Here’s fine.”

With no more warning than that Madara rolled, one leg swinging up and over until he sat astride Tobirama’s hips, leering down at him with all the confidence that put such a delicious swagger in his walk everywhere he went. He didn’t seem particularly worried about the possibility that someone might chance upon them out here in the open but then Tobirama was hardly going to be the one to put a stop to things now. Burying his fingers in all that wild dark hair and pulling their lips back together was a much more interesting use of his time and it also came with the unexpected bonus of hearing a low rolling moan as it rumbled up through Madara's chest.

And as it turned out the man was right. Right here was just fine, a fine place to start channeling their passions in to something they could both enjoy.

On the other side of the village Hashirama sat up in his bed with both arms hugging his own chest, shivering while his wife pet his hair soothingly and crooned in his ear. For the fourth time in a row she asked him what was wrong and finally he managed to swallow past the lump in his throat to answer.

“I felt them kissing!” he cried. “It was horrible!”

#rae writes #art by copyninken #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #fanfiction #fanart #madatobi gift exchange

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years

Text

🏐 Guardian; Yuu Nishinoya (Sportember #013)

📑 Table of Contents | ⚾ Challenge Post

Genre: Angst, School, Friendship, Fluff

Word Count: 3,428

Pairing: Overweight Reader x Noya

World: Haikyuu!!

Prompt: Keep Going

Author’s Note: Even though this is number 13 in the set, it was actually the first one I wrote out!

WARNING: This fic contains themes of bullying, body issues, and weight issues.

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You’ve been struggling with your weight all of your life, coming from a family where most of the members were large in size. Growing up, your family mostly feasted on fast food that was really unhealthy and, at the time, you thought you were lucky to have such a relaxed family. When you entered middle school, however, you started to meet people that made fun of you for being overweight. They bullied you, mentally, calling you names and telling you that you had no right to breathe the same oxygen as them. Just a waste of air, they claimed. That was the first time that you felt insecure in your own body.

You shared these concerns with your family, but they just laughed it off, claiming that you were ‘big-boned’ and that’s why you were heavier than the other children. They told you to stop caring what other people thought of you, that you were beautiful no matter your size. The message was nice, but it went much deeper than that. It wasn’t just about what others thought of you because, when you looked in the mirror, you hated what was staring back at you.

Your thighs like Christmas hams, the fat under your arms jiggling like a plate of jello, and your stomach that reminded you of a middle-aged man on a diet of alcohol. You hated the way you looked. You hated the comments and the looks. You hated feeling sluggish and lethargic all the time, but… you didn’t know how be healthy because no one ever taught you. You turned to the internet for answers and found a beginner’s workout video that was highly rated. Every night, you’d wait for your family to sleep before trying to follow along with the video.

The problem? Your body couldn’t handle it.

Jumping jacks? Your fat jiggled painfully, ankles unable to take the weight when you landed.

Push ups? Your arms were far too weak to lift your body for a single one.

Squats? You managed two before your legs started to shake so badly that they couldn’t lift you for a third.

At first, you told yourself that your body just needed time to adjust, but after two and a half weeks passed without any improvement, you started to feel disheartened and, finally, you gave up. How could you motivate yourself to continue when the workout left you feeling so weak and lightheaded?

Years passed by and you found yourself in your first year of high school at Karasuno. The bullying got worse, eventually turning physical, but you never fought back, believing that you deserved the abuse that was being handed to you. Around this time, you got paired up with the orange-haired Hinata that you shared class with on a project. He was one of the few kids who were actually nice to you, who didn’t judge you, so when he asked you to meet him at the gymnasium after school to discuss the project, you agreed without much thought.

As the day dragged on, though, you found yourself growing quite nervous.

The final bell rang and you slowly packed up your bag, nearly jumping when Hinata appeared by your desk with a bright smile. “Ready to go, Y/N-san?”

Your cheeks burned at the attention and you noticed the other students watching the exchange, whispering to each other. It made you feel self-conscious.

“Y/N-san?” The orangette tilted his head, blinking at you curiously.

“R-Right, sorry…” you cleared your throat as you stood, putting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. You clutched it tightly as you followed him to the door where Kageyama was waiting. As the three of you walked down the hall, you tried to hang back so people wouldn’t see you with them and get the wrong idea, but Hinata was determined to walk at your side. You could just hear the rumor mill running wild.

“Ne, have you thought of any ideas for the writing assignment?” He questioned. “I was thinking about writing for volleyball!”

Kageyama scowled at him over his shoulder. “No way! I’m writing about volleyball. Choose something else!”

Hinata puffed out his cheeks. “That’s not fair! You can’t just claim a subject, Kageyama!”

“I just did, idiot!”

“What do you think, Y/N-san?” His brown eyes snapped to you, shining with an intensity you had never seen before.

“Umm… I don’t really know anything about sports…” you mumbled apologetically, turning your gaze to the ground. You expected the pair to laugh at you and comment something like, ‘That’s pretty obvious, just look at you’ but they didn’t do either.

Hinata hummed, crossing his arms across his chest. “Okay. What do you like then?”

“Anime is nice…”

His eyes suddenly sparkled. “Really? Which ones? I’m currently watching Dragonball Z and it’s so cool! Goku is always like bam and then whoosh and boom! You know?”

You giggled at his enthusiasm. “I’m watching it, too, but I haven’t gotten very far yet.”

The rest of the walk to the gym was spent talking about your favorite characters and scenes within the anime. For the first time, you completely forgot about the other students that were staring at you and whispering as if you were a creature in the zoo. You forgot about the insecurities that plagued your mind and, instead, focused on the shared interests between yourself and your classmate. It was honestly so refreshing.

When the three of you approached the two-story changing rooms near the gym, Hinata paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Go on ahead, we’ll be out soon!”

You nodded, offering him a nervous smile before turning and slowly inching toward the open gym doors. The sound of shoes squeaking across the hardwood floor reached your ears and you peaked around the door, curiously. The ball was spiked, falling to the front of the court quite quickly and no one was close enough to get to it before it could land. Your eyes were just barely able to catch sight of the orange blur as it rushed toward the ball, a short boy diving to the ground with no regard for his own safety. His hand was just barely able to squeeze between the ball and the ground, but it bounced off the back of his hand and back into the air, allowing the grey-haired boy to toss it to the brown-haired boy who spiked it to the other half of the court.

Your eyes widened as you watched the short boy pull himself to his feet, high-fiving the others two. ‘He’s so… cool! And pretty cute, too.’ Your lips tugged down, hand gripping the door frame as you forced your eyes away. ‘But he would never like someone like me…’

A hand landed on your shoulder and you jumped, a soft squeak of surprise passing your lips as you whirled around, hand over your racing heart. It was just Hinata, eyes wide and hand suspended in mid-air. Embarrassment rushed over you and your face burned all the way to the tips of your ears as you felt multiple pairs of eyes burning into your back.

“Good job, idiot, you scared them.”

“I-I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry!”

Footsteps quickly approached, followed by the authoritative voice of the team’s captain. “What’s going on here?”

“Hinata scared Y/N,” Kageyama replied simply, pointing to you for emphasis.

“Hinata,” the grey-haired boy scolded him before turning to you with a gentle smile. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, unable to lift your eyes from the ground. “I’m sorry… it was my fault, not his.”

Hinata pouted at you. “I’m sorry, Y/N-san.”

“It’s okay, really!”

“Did you come to watch practice?” Suga inquired, putting his hand on his hip. “Or would you like to apply for assistant manager?”

“No,” Hinata shook his head. “We have a writing project together. Come on, let’s get started!”

You didn’t say anything as he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, pulling you to the side of the gym where a row of wooden benches were placed. The two of you took a seat, angling your bodies to face each other as you pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, trying to ignore the questioning looks from the rest of the team. It was bad enough that you had embarrassed yourself in front of so many people, but it was worse because you had done so in front of the cute boy, as well.

“Hey, Hinata-san?”

“Hmm?” He didn’t glanced up from his notebook as he drew a caricature of Vegeta, his tongue poking out of the corner of his lips as he concentrated.

You glanced to the side, watching the short boy talking to the brunette haired spiker. “What is his name? Number four.”

He glanced up, following your gaze before returning to his doodle. “That’s our libero, Noya. He’s a second-year!”

“He’s our senpai?” You replied with surprise.

“Yup! And he’s super cool.” Hinata grinned. “You should come to our practice game against Nekoma next week so you can see him in action for yourself!”

‘I don’t know anything about volleyball, but…’ you bit your lip, looking back at Noya only to catch his eye. He smiled at you before returning his attention to the practice game. ‘I really want to see him play.’ “Would that really be okay?”

“Of course! I’m sure everyone would appreciate the support.”

“If you’re sure… I’ll come to the game, then.”

And you did, though most of your time was spent watching Karasuno’s libero who, in your opinion, was absolutely amazing. You wanted his attention, you wanted him to look at you and smile, to find you beautiful. You wanted that more than anything and that want quickly turned to motivation.

Since that game, you started walking to school rather than taking the bus, which meant getting up around four in the morning so you had enough time to get there. You felt exhausted and sweaty by the time you reached the school but, somehow, you felt proud of yourself. You knew that exercising wasn’t enough to lose weight, though. No, you had to change your eating habits, as well, but since most of your family’s meals were frozen or fast food, that was going to be a serious hurdle for you.

You decided to eat only once a day, which was a serious struggle for you because you were constantly craving food. Every time you caught yourself slipping, though, you thought of Noya and found your strength renewed. With this new addition to your life, you stopped being quite as upset about the bullying and they were not happy about that.

You started keeping a journal to keep track of your exercise and food intake, updating it periodically when you suppressed the urge to eat or to talk about how you were currently feeling. Unfortunately for you, your biggest bully, Atsumi, noticed you scribbling away in the orange notebook and she waited for the perfect opportunity to strike. This presented itself one afternoon when the teacher asked for your help carrying a box of paperwork to the office. You were gone no more than five minutes, but it was plenty of time for Atsumi to steal the book from your desk and slip from the room.

When you returned to gather your things, you searched for the journal, positive that you had brought it to school with you, but you had also overslept that morning and had to rush to get ready. ‘I guess I forgot it today,’ you frowned.

“Y/N, let’s go~!” Hinata grinned at you, jogging in place.

You chuckled at the boy’s antics, slipping your bag across your shoulder as you followed him and Kageyama from the room. Honestly, you had grown quite attached to these two boys over the past two months, feeling grateful that they accepted you and treated you like a human being instead of an animal.

When you stepped into the gym, it felt like your heart had been dropped into a bucket of icy water. ‘Why is Atsumi here? She’s… she’s talking to Noya… Does she like him?’ you frowned, heart skipping painfully within your chest.

“Okay, let’s practice!” Hinata bounded up behind you with a cheer, Kageyama at his side. This grabbed Atsumi’s attention, who turned to look at you with a wicked grin upon her lips and, in her hand, was your journal.

Your eyes widened, body shaking because you knew what was about to come. Your mind screamed at your body to run away, but it refused to listen, frozen in place.

“Guys, can I have your attention, please?” Atsumi called out, standing up on the bench so she could see everyone more clearly. “I’d like to read something to you all today. It’s a real comedy.”

Your lips parted, but no sound escaped. ‘No…’

She cleared her throat and opened the journal to one of the last entries. “‘I’m so hungry. It feels like I haven’t eaten in days, but that’s okay. Every time I think of food, I just have to picture Noya-senpai shining on the court.’”

‘Please… please, stop…’ Tears stung at your eyes, hands shaking.

“A confession?!” Tanaka cried out in surprise, looking between Noya and Atsumi.

Something about this situation felt wrong to Nishinoya, but he couldn’t quite understand why.

With her smirk widening, she continued. “‘Ever since I met him, I’ve been trying so~ hard to lose weight, but it doesn’t feel like anything has changed. I just want him to look at me once and call me pretty, but I know he never will. How could someone as perfect as Noya-senpai ever love a fat-slob like me?’”

Your bag slipped from your shoulder, books spilling across the floor. This caught the attention of the gathered boys, but you couldn’t see the expressions they held as you lowered your head, tears streaming down your chubby cheeks. ‘Why… why is she doing this? I don’t understand…’

Noya’s eyes widened in recognition and he rushed toward Atsumi, snatching the book from her hands and looking at the inside cover to find your name, scrawled across the page with a cute little doodle of a cat.

“Noya, what are you doing?” Daichi demanded, but the libero was far too angry to hear his captain.

His eyes flashed with anger as he glared at the girl, grip on the book making his knuckles turn white. “How can you be so cruel?!”

Atsumi simply shrugged, looking at you with a smug expression. “Because that fat pig deserves it.”

Hinata looked back and forth between you and her, confusion flooding him. “I’m confused, what’s happening? Why are you crying?”

Noya held the orange book above his head, not tearing his fierce gaze away from the girl. “This is Y/N’s journal.”

“What?!” Hinata’s wide eyes landed on your shaking form before narrowing at the girl. “What has Y/N ever done to you?!”

Atsumi scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “Oh, please. Save the theatrics, will you? The pig has been suffering since their first day here and none of you noticed or bothered to care. Don’t start now, they aren’t worth the trouble.”

Realization sunk in as each member recalled a strange or questionable incident with you that you had waved off, telling them not to worry. Hinata was feeling the most guilty because he saw you every single day, but he hadn’t recognized the signs that you were suffering so much. He took a step toward you, the movement snapping you out of your frozen state. You suddenly bolted from the room, ignoring the cries of your name as Tanaka, Noya, Kageyama, and Hinata took off after you.

Daichi narrowed his eyes at Atsumi, his aura darkening. “You need to leave. You’re no longer welcome in this gym.”

She scoffed, flicking her long hair over her shoulder. “You should be thankful that I got rid of your pig problem for you.” And then she left the gym.

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You had settled yourself behind the equipment shed that belonged to the baseball team, the field located on the opposite end of the school grounds. Your knees were pulled up as far as your stomach would allow, head leaning back against the shed. The sun had already set, darkness settling over the land as the full moon slowly started its ascent into the sky. The baseball team had long since cleared out, as most of the school had, but you didn’t dare move for fear of someone seeing you. You were sure that the volleyball team had already given up and gone home, but you were too afraid to take the risk of running into them.

Tears slid down your cheeks, ice cold in the chill of the nightly breeze. Your uniform did little to keep you warm, but that was irrelevant to you. You would give anything for the ground to just open up and swallow you whole, but life didn’t work that way. How the hell were you supposed to face the team now? And Hinata, your classmate?

‘Atsumi is super persuasive, I’m sure they agree with what she said…’ The thought made you cry harder, body shaking with sobs. You were so wrapped up in your own self-pity that you didn’t hear the frantic footsteps approaching, nor did you notice it when someone knelt in front of you. A warm hand rested on your shoulder and your body tensed up, but you kept your eyes screwed tightly shut, willing the person away with your mind.

“Y/N,” Noya called softly, his fingers rubbing soft circled into your shoulder. “Please look at me.”

‘I can’t…’ you shook your head, choking back a sob. ‘Please, just go away…’

He frowned, shifting so he could sit beside you, shoulder brushing against your own. “I’m so sorry. None of us realized you were being bullied.”

‘It’s not your fault!’ you wanted to tell him, but your voice wouldn’t cooperate with you.

Noya rubbed his finger across the cover of the journal where you had drawn Hinata as Goku and Kageyama as Vegeta. He wanted so desperately to demand why you hadn’t confided in your friends, but he felt like that would only make you feel worse and he didn’t want that. But then, what the hell was he supposed to say? He had never been in a situation like this before.

“Do you want to know a secret?” He wondered, angling his body so he could face you. You tried to hide your face from him, but he gently took your hands, pulling them to his lap. “The truth is… you had my attention from the first time you stepped into the gym. I thought you were so adorable how embarrassed you got after Hinata scared you.” He chuckled, threading his fingers through your own.

Your sobs had calmed down to soft hiccups, but you still refused to look at him.

“I noticed your efforts, too,” he continued. “I saw that you started walking to school and you probably feel like it’s not helping but it is. I’m really proud of you, Y/N!”

Your heart skipped a beat, eyes growing wide as they snapped to meet his own. There were no traces of deceit within his warm brown eyes.

“There you are,” he smiled, bringing his hand up to brush away a stray tear as it ran down your cheek. “You can’t give up. You have to keep going until you reach your goal! But you’re not alone anymore, Y/N. Karasuno’s volleyball team is cheering you on.” A fresh round of tears filled your eyes and he frowned, wiping them away with his thumb. “No more tears, okay?”

You found yourself leaning in to his warm touch as he stroked your cheek. “I-I’ll try my b-best…”

He nodded, feeling his heart flutter within his chest. “You really are beautiful, Y/N. Inside and out.”

Your cheeks burned as he leaned his face closer to yours. “N-Noya-senpai…”

“Call me Yuu,” he whispered softly, his breath tickling your lips.

“Yuu…”

Hearing his name upon your lips drove him crazy and he wasted no time claiming your lips. With his heart upon his sleeve, he used his mouth to convey how he truly felt about you. In such a short amount of time, you had become the center of his world and vice versa. He didn’t care about the size of your body, but he would support you if you decided you wanted to lose weight.

Nishinoya Yuu was already Karasuno’s guardian, but now he wanted to be yours, as well.

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