#guys if you want to bleach your eyes I understand | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

petalsofyouth · 6 months

Text

bees that flew away | ran haitani x reader

warnings: drugs usage and alcohol consumption, implied self-harm, unreliable narrator, mentions of a rape (nothing graphic, it's just there), sweet gentle love.

wc: 16 473

author's note: i started writing it on the verge of death and it shows. in the middle of writing it i felt fine and finishing it i was dying once again. oh, and, also! it's a bit unedited. i doubt there are some actual crucial mistakes, but there must be something i overlooked, i'll get to it tmw. so bear in mind that it's unedited. i just wanted to post this, because otherwise i would delay it and delay it and delay it all over again.

_ The room is foggy and you wonder if it’s from five - you counted - lit cigarettes or it’s just your tired drunk brain. It wouldn’t be the first time you conjured something out of nothing. Shaped it in between your fingers and gave it form. Brought it to life.

Your lips quiver and you press them together, averting your red high eyes from you don’t know who. You probably look pitiful and scared because Haruchiyo reaches over and snakes his long arm around your shoulders, hugging you closer to his body. It’s hot in here, but for one reason or another, he is still wearing his favourite old leather jacket. Now, hours into the party, its surface absorbed all the nasty smells of this huge house in Yokohama. It stinks and you gag.

His long bleached hair smells even worse and you gag again. This time closing your mouth with your palm and he looks at you, worry in his hooded eyes.

He should offer you a glass of water and maybe a ride home, you think. If he was a better - maybe normal - friend. But he does neither of that. He takes the joint from his lips and holds it close to your mouth. When you don’t move, just staring at him as if you don’t understand what he wants from you, he sighs and smiles.

Sweetly.

Haruchiyo is a sweet guy. Your best friend.

Deep down the fuckery that he is he is indeed very sweet and kind; pure.

“Come on,” he urges you, tapping on your shoulder. “Relax. Tensing up and thinking won’t do you any good. Be nice. Open your mouth.”

You do just that and when he places a cigarette between your lips you inhale. Toxic green smog invades your lungs and the nausea subsides. Once again you feel light and careless. You feel almost happy. The knocking on the back of your head and in your heart dies. Killed by your own stupid hands. If Rindou were here you suppose he would’ve been very mad at you.

For killing and for not caring. For pretending. “Truth or dare?”

The girl speaks to you and you know that. You feel her stare on yourself and if you weren’t so high you would see the expecting, oh so spiteful, glint in her eyes. If you were sober you would’ve noticed it and probably still would’ve done nothing.

That’s just the way you are.

“Truth.” She licks her glowing with gloss lips and smiles. Her friend, a girl with uneven bangs and the longest hair you’ve ever seen in your life, just beneath her hips, giggles. They share a glance. A knowing one. The trap they settled for you closing with a loud thump.

On the right side, with his arms across the girl's shoulders sits Ran Haitani. She’s almost between his legs, but not quite, and yet there’s a striking familiarity that surrounds them. Maybe it’s in a way his thumb caresses the bare skin of her shoulders or maybe it’s her leaning even more into his broad chest when she catches you watching them.

Either way your hands shake and it might be the alcohol or weed or something entirely else. You don’t bring yourself to care. You simply can’t.

“So,” the girl speaks. Despite the music and the fog around your senses you can hear her clearly. “Is it true that there are burning marks on your upper thigh?” You tense and beside you Haruchiyo tenses too. But the girl continues, “Is it true that you burnt yourself because you hate yourself? Is it true that you always do it high because you are a fucking coward to do it sober?” Your eyes are open and no matter how much you want to close them and squint them hard, you won’t. You stare at the girl as she spews your silly little sins out like they are nothing; like you are nothing. “Is it true that you wanted to fuck Ran, but he said no, because you are..?”

She never finishes her sentence and for the rest of your life you can only guess what insult she had prepared for you.

The table that stood between you falls to the side when Haruchiyo’s Docs comes in contact with it. Ashtrays, bags and glasses scatter on the hardwood floor and you stare at them for quite a time, unable to look at anything or anyone else. The girl screams and her friend screams too and suddenly you aren’t that high anymore and you want to get out of this house, of this party. Out of the sight of all those people. Your body trembles and Haruchiyo, who tightly holds your hand, nudges you to stand up. You do as he asks, because you're tired and because you’ll go anywhere he’ll take you. If Rindou was here, he would’ve hated you not fighting back, but he is not and you are glad there’s one reason less for him to be disappointed in you. “Pathetic fucking excuse of a woman,” Haruchiyo spits at the girl and you tune out, losing yourself in the broken glass on the floor. It’s pretty with myriads of lights - lives - in every broken shard. They are colourful and full of hidden senses you don’t understand.

In the corner of your vision you notice Haruchiyo raising his free hand. The girl screams again and this time when you finally raise your eyes, you see her face and pretty white t-shirt with one of Sanrio characters on it wet with whatever alcohol Haruchiyo had in his cup. A few splashes of it hit Ran’s cheek and arm too, but it’s hard to say what he is thinking. He was never one to betray his mind and show it off to everyone and besides you don’t look at him for too long. The cup and the remnants of a joint goes straight to the floor too. Haruchiyo steps on them and curses again.

“Tame your fucking bitch, Haitani. Next time I won’t see that she’s a woman.” With this you leave. Hand in hand, with bitter hearts, you swim between the people and friends, until you are out of the house, in the fresh air outside. The night that meets you is starry and cold and so it’s very beautiful. Both you and Haruchiyo, stand on the side of the street, near the house in silence, clearly absorbed in surroundings. There’s a black cat watching you across the pavement and somewhere in the bushes is a cicada. Or maybe there are many. You have no way of knowing. The smoke of the cigarette - a regular one - hits your nose and you wonder how in the world have you missed the familiar click of Haruchiyo’s favourite ZIPPO lighter. His older brother gifted it to him when he was barely fifteen. The gift is quite questionable and Haruchiyo is not very sentimental, but he always has it with him. There’s a naked woman engraved on it and he fooled you to believe that’s why. The door behind you sways open, but none of you is interested to know who it is. Maybe it’s no one important. Maybe you both should leave and forget this night like many others. But it’s Kakucho and he gently places his huge brown jacket across your shoulders and so you stay for a little bit longer. His harsh presence cuts the night in two and what happened before suddenly turns into an ugly illusion. The cat yawns and you are reminded of how late it actually is. “True,” you say after the night digs dipper and the smoke of Haruchiyo’s cheap cig envelopes you.

The boys are quiet. Kakucho turns his head to look at you and you smile shyly under his curious gaze. It’s not like anything really matters.

“It’s true. Only I never wanted to fuck Ran. I just wanted to share the love I have for him.” Haruchiyo sighs, dropping unfinished cigarettes onto the pavement. You hope the cat's paws won’t touch it and burn. As it hurts when it burns. Very very much so. “Who the fuck cares if it’s true or not?” “I hate to admit it,” Kakucho sighs pretentiously, a kind smile smudged across his lips, “but I do agree with Haru. Who the fuck cares?” Drops of alcohol on his cheek. Little perfect pearls. Wet black blouse. Cold dead eyes. He doesn’t look at you. He never does. He used to, but not anymore and besides it was so long ago, it’s like it’s never happened. Old images of false memories your brain conjured by itself with a sole reason to feel something; anything at all.

The cat disappears, night swallowing it whole, and you wish it would do the same to you. But beside you two boys bicker so loudly it would never happen. Their voices tie you to them and despite your strong wish to disappear into thin air, you are glad they make you stay. “Do you wanna get going? You are crashing at mine, right?” Haruchiyo asks, stretching out his hand, palm up. You don’t need to think about it, but you still do, taking a little pause before you reply. “Yes. I can’t show up like this at home. Mom’s gonna cry again.” None of these boys know what it means for a mom to cry. And yet they understand the ache and the heartbreak. The sacred prayer to be a better child someone somewhere could be proud of.

Before you part ways, you and Haruchiyo go to find his parked motorcycle and Kakucho his old sporty car he bought with money he probably stole from someone, you shrug Kakucho’s jacket off your shoulders. “No. Take it. You can return it any other time. I don’t mind.” He smiles at you and his smile reaches his eyes.

Haruchiyo’s apartment is small, but it’s only his and that is something to be proud of.

The bathroom is all fogged up from the hot shower you just took. You slip into a pair of clean boxers, old grey sweatshirts and plain white t-shirt. They don’t smell like anything, but they are so undeniably Haruchiyo’, your heart swells. You love your best friend to death.

“I hate the post high,” he murmurs when you sleep under the duvet next to him. “How are you feeling?” “Like shit and worse.”

He giggles, but then he grows serious and his hand slides across the bed. He is searching for your hand, to take it into his and calm you down, to show his love. You help him find it. “Your scars are just scars and she is just a bitch. Don’t think about her.” When you don’t reply, he adds. “I know you do. You are breathing strangely.” And when you don’t say anything else, he speaks again. “I have never spoken about those things with anyone. And I can give my head that Rindou hadn’t either. I don’t know how she knows.”

Those things that are your feelings, your inner world and ugly cracks all over your body.

Those fucking things. Involuntarily, without your mind's consent, you curl into yourself. Cold attacks your limbs like thousands of small invisible needles and you weep, and Haruchiyo understands why and for what. All the reasons are so plain, they are written in black ink on white paper. You hate that you are so easy to crack open. You want to be something else entirely.

“I love you,” he shifts closer to you and soon you are one body, “However you are. Okay?” His long beautiful fingers hold your own hands near his bare chest. He twirls your many many rings and swipes his thumb across your skin. Haruchiyo is a gentle creature and you don’t know where it all went wrong and when sleeping pills in his cupboard became dust to snort up his nose.

“Okay.”

He smiles at that and checks the window behind you. It’s still dark. The dawn - nowhere in sight. Good. So so so good. Before he closes his eyes, he presses his lips against your damp forehead and then under each of your eyes, kissing the tears and headache away. Somehow he manages to do just that and you fall asleep with a light heart. _

Two summers ago, on the warm evening of the last August day, your careless youth slipped away from you.

It’s an irony that it happened when the sun was setting and a small part of you remained forever imprisoned in that pleasant August day, while another you strode forward to some distant place in the night, where you shouldn’t have been at all.

You were wearing a pretty sparkling dress and you were all dolled up and beautiful and yet that wasn’t enough.

With your hands behind you, supporting your body and legs stretched forward, you sat on the porch of the Haitani’s house. The sun had already dipped behind the grey buildings and Roppongi, the heart of nightlife in Tokyo, was just summoned back into existence. Sometimes it felt like during the day this bright area was almost dead, barely breathing, due to the sheer constant of blinding lights it birthed at night.

The all too thoughtfully magazine under your butt did little to protect you from the coldness of the ground. You shivered uncomfortably and gazed at the boy standing in front of you. Ran was always a dream. So handsome. So mature. So perfect with all the hard edges of his character and soft plump of his lips.

So so so so so.

It was embarrassing how in love with him you were and it was more embarrassing, almost devastatingly so, that you fell for him the first day you met him. You still remember how the three of you - Ran, Rindou and you - stood near the vending machine under the metal roof of the small bookshop. It was heavily raining then and you were waiting for the droplets to stop. For the storm to cease and for you to go home. You remember Ran’s beautiful face and you remember how he lit up a cigarette and you remember how his body shivered because he was cold and how he smiled when he caught you staring at him. How he said nothing and how that pretty smile of his never left his face until you closed the door of your home and bid them goodbye.

That day you were supposed to go to a party. Ran was supposed to drive you in his new shiny car and you were supposed to have a good time. Your best friend was already on the train to Roppongi, just one station away and Rindou was still inside the house, torn between white blouse and a grey t-shirt. He didn’t want to appear too casual and yet dressing up never sat right with him.

Maybe if one of them were with you nothing would’ve happened and maybe you would’ve stayed.

But none of them were. Only Ran and his stupid smile that fell off his soft lips the moment you confessed. The frown settled on his face then, and he was silent for a very long time, until he spoke and it became dark.

“You know, I don’t do sloppy seconds. You kinda are my brother’s. It's like… I am sorry. It just won’t work out.”

Once warm air quickly turned dry and you were suffocating. Heart beating too fast and not enough to spread blood across your cold frigid body, you stood up from the porch and without a mere word strode down the road. Ran didn’t say a word. He didn’t go after you. He didn’t call. And if you were to turn back, you would’ve known that he didn’t even look after you as you were slowly disappearing between the building and despair.

The rest of the evening passed in blur. There’s no recollection in your mind of how you ended up in that particular bar and how you spent the little yen you had on you. Till this day, you believe it is your brain that is protecting you from sleazy hands of men across your body, shielding you from the force of pain that overtook you once they had your way with you. You don’t remember much because you were drunk and high, but you remember when Rindou ran into the toilet of that bar and looked away from your abused body splattered on the floor. And you can still hear the sob your friend let out when she saw you. And if you try hard enough you can still feel the love of Rindou’s blouse when your best friend dresses you up in it. Her warm hands on your marked dirty skin.

And of course, you remember the day after, when you woke up in her bed and you both sobbed together, until numbness overtook you and you surrendered to it like a warm hug from the life of your life.

Since that very day, two summers ago, when your little heart was broken and your youth bid you a gruesome farewell, Ran Haitani hadn’t spoken to you at all. It’s like instead of you there was a blank waste of a space and somehow you could understand him. You could justify his silence.

The headache after a hangover is never kind. Mixed with a loud banging on the door and muffled - thanks God - shouts of the Rindou it is truly the worst.

The inner sides of his fists are red, but irritated skin shows barely an ounce of the frustration and anger that bubble in Rindou’s throat. His always so pretty face, now scarred by fury, is what gives him away and by the force with which he kicks off his boots, you can tell he wasn’t trying to ease himself or hide how he is feeling. “What the actual fuck,” he shouts and neither Haruchiyo who stands near the still open door, nor you still in bed under thick blanket can’t tell if this is a question or a statement.

His body rigid and eyes burning an unfriendly fire Rindou throws his bag on the ground near the wooden dinner table that Takeomi brought in Haruchiyo’s apartment - or rather picked it up from the garbage - and strides through the only room to you. “Get up and strip,” he commands and his voice so unnerving, so angry and forceful leaves no space for you to retreat to. You hate when he is doing this, but you understand why and his quivering lips and red dust across his cheeks are enough for you to forgive him. It’s hard for him too.

Loving you and caring for you is hard. But it’s not a new found truth so it’s easy to fathom it in your bones.

You shed clothes that aren’t even yours, easily. One by one they pile up near your legs, a protective shell broken and discharged, until you stand there in your panties and palms for a bra. Haruchiyo curses and averts his gaze. He despises these little checks-up Rindou does and he resents that you are letting him do them every single time. Not once you said “no”.

Smooth hands glide across your skin. Between legs, under your arms, right down the spine. Optical examination ceased to be effective long ago when you put makeup on the newish wound you inflicted upon yourself. Now, Rindou had to be sure. Now, he needed your safety ensured by his own two hands. You wonder if he does all these, because he feels guilty. Because he thinks what happened to you is partially his fault. You had this conversation with him already and it ended in you sobbing and him so angry you were almost afraid of him, but not nearly. Rindou, too, is sweet and kind. Maybe a little bit more so than Haruchiyo.

That’s why you aren’t asking anything anymore. Instead of a question you puff out a little air from between your lips. Rindou’s head shots up and he looks at you, his eyes hidden behind the thin metal rim of his glasses. You suppress a laugh. Something in between his white and blue locks charges you with merriness.

He watches you as you press your lips together and adjust his glasses higher up his nose. He is not amused, you can tell that much, but he isn’t angry anymore and that is a relief. And he let you touch his glasses, something he never allows anyone to do [except you, but not when he is in a bad bad bad mood]. So, you decide, the storm is over. The waves are calm.

“Not even gonna ask what you are laughing about,” he mumbles, inspecting your ankles and when he finds nothing, he stands up from the floor, not before picking up the clothes on the floor.

“Your eyes,” you make a vague gesture with your fingers in front of your own face, “They were just hidden and you looked so… I don’t know… Never mind, Rin.” In front of you in the kitchen fighting with a kettle Haruchiyo snorts. There’s a herbish aroma and something almost too sweet circulating in the air and it’s so strong it startles you. Too absorbed in Rindou you didn’t notice the smell before. Another Haruchiyo’s tea concoction. Hopefully, this time successful.

“Did you two get high yesterday?” Rindou asks, going inside the kitchen - it’s hard to tell where the bedroom ends and kitchen starts since Haruchiyo’s apartment is a studio - and peeking over Haruchiyo’s shoulder. “You laugh even more in the post-haze than you do while you are at it.” The silence that settles is murmuring all the nasty things that happened yesterday right in Rindou’s ears. He looks between the two of you exchanging glances and sighs.

“Whatever. Honestly, I am not even interested. I am here this early only because your mom called.” At this, you stop, your sweatpants half way your legs. You would’ve called Rindou out for lying, because he is here not only because of your mother’s call, but because he simply can not stop caring for you. But then, when your parent calls Rindou it’s never a good thing. It’s always about your scars, your secrets and your lies.

This time, however, you know why she called him and you sit down on the bed, feeling like the smallest tiniest human being in the whole world. You hate this feeling of a deep humiliation. You want to burn yourself to not remember the ache in your tightened jaw and the disgusting sweat on your clammy palms.

“If this is about the blades under my bed I didn’t buy them to… har… cut myself. I bought them for postcards.”

He doesn’t buy it. He bites his lip and shakes his head, waiting for you to continue. “I am telling the truth, Rindou. I bought them to cut out postcards. I… I…” Hot tears pool in your eyes and you hate that he doesn’t believe you and you so badly want to pity yourself, but you can’t. Can’t do this. Because it’s your own fault no one trusts your words and promises anymore. When they look at you and pity you it’s done by your own hands. Hands you too want to burn.

“Oh, baby, stop,” Haruchiyo helps you pull your sweatpants up and then he ties the drawstrings for you, his body - a shield between you and Rindou, “you didn’t cut yourself with those blades, did you?” “No, I swear, I didn’t,” you repeat it a few times and the only thing that makes you stop mumbling is the pain that seeps through Haruchiyo’s eyes into your heart.

“Well, good to hear, but you will have to buy a pair of scissors for your postcards, because I threw away those blades you hid under your bed.”

A clammy hands of desperation tighten around your neck and you want to scream. From frustration and from anger, from despair. Was it like this back too? Your every word carefully weighed and put on the pedestal to judge? You don’t think so. For better or for worse you can’t remember how it was before, but you wonder when everyone will just give up on you.

With a loud screech against the chair against the floor, Rindou stands up. He takes a few steps and gently shoves Haruchiyo away from you. His long white hair swaying in the air. Haruchiyo smiles at you, reassuringly, kindly and the pools of grim pain evaporate from his beautiful eyes. Love heals, you think. So then, why do you remain sick? “You know how much I care about you, do you?” Rindou asks, cupping your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “I’ll do anything for you to be healthy, happy and well. If it means I have to be harsh with you then I will. And if it means you will hate me somewhere on the way, so be it. But I won’t let you down again. Get this in your head. I. Am. Not. Letting. You. Down. Ever. Again.” Haruchiyo turns away and gets to his kettle and tea. And you finally silently cry cradled into Rindou’s warmth. Humiliation washes away with salty tears and the ever so heavy guilt crashes upon your shoulders. It’s better than anything, you think. Because that means you still care too and that means you are alive and well and there’s hope that one day all the check-ups and blades and tears will be in the past.

You believe in this.

Haruchiyo’s tea turns out not so bad and you and Rindou have two cups, one and half each.

That day you come home late in the evening.

You still wear Haruchiyo’s clothes and have Kakucho’s jacket thrown over your shoulders. The sneakers you place on the shoe rack - dusty black Adidas - are yours. This random sudden thought makes you happy and for the first time in a while you bubble with excitement. Over shoes. It can’t be normal. It’s not normal. Probably just a lingering side-effect of weed or bottled up emotions in which Rindou effectively made a hole once again. Inside the living room, under tonkatsu, sits your family. They are watching TV over dinner. You see an empty plate and an empty space reserved just for you and your giddy happiness holts. You had dinner with Rindou and Haru already and you aren’t hungry. Guiltiness spreads across your lungs like a web of poisonous spiders.

Your mother is the one who sees you first. She is wary and tired when she looks at you, but this is nothing new. Your father turns back to look at you too, he nods and returns to the TV as soon as he can. He says, you should join them and eat something, you must be starving. You nod and wave at your little sister. She waves back.

You go inside your room.

No one said anything about new shining scissors you had in your hand that Rindou bought for you.

No one came to check on you and you didn’t have dinner together.

_ You skip school for the next few days.

There’s no particular reason. You just don’t feel like going.

In front of you, there’s a void and it’s luring you in. Black colour, so inviting and beautiful. Inside of a space avoidant of anything and everything, where no air is floating, you are blossoming. The slightest aroma of laundry detergent and fresh baked cookies are so hard to resist and this is exactly what this imaginary [not so] place of yours smells like. You wish you could stay there forever.

You almost do.

But then your phone rings and the number is unknown. Yet, you have the slightest hunch of who it could be. That’s why you pick it up.

“Hey! You have no idea how hard it was to get your number. You do have some seriously overprotective friends,” Kakucho laughs echoes through that night where you met a black cat to now and then right into your ear.

You hum, holding your phone in the safest place between your ear and shoulder, “I guess you could say that. Why are you calling? Oh! I am sorry I totally forgot to give you your jacket back. Do you wanna meet up somewhere? I am free now.”

He laughs again and you notice that his laugh is boisterous and contagious. It’s almost childish in its raw sincerity. You haven’t heard people being that happy in a long long time. In a reminiscence the corner of your lips stretch up on their own. “What about… Can you be at Shibuya station in twenty minutes?” “I can try.” “Cool. I'll see you there then!”

He hangs up just as abruptly as he called and the taste in your mouth is not of sweet abyss cookies, but of metal and caramel. It’s exciting in the most lazy manner.

Outside, running down the street, to catch the bus on time, you notice the vast blue sky that is so clear it looks like it’s made of glass. You stop on the crossroad, hands on your hips, and take a few shallow breaths. Running was never and will never be your forte, but you stare at the infinite beauty that covers the whole earth and all people living on it, and wonder why haven’t you got out of the house earlier.

_ Kakucho takes you to a nice barbeque place.

It’s a chain restaurant, so the food is quite cheap and nice. You order two bowls of rice, beef, soup and kimchi. Kakucho gets himself Sapporo beer and you ask for iced lemon tea which he claims doesn’t go well with meat, but still smiles when you sip it.

He is sitting opposite you in a small booth made for two people only. He is wearing a black turtleneck and plain jeans that can’t be that expensive, but they do look like he paid more than twenty thousand yen to get them. On the back of his chair hangs yet another leather jacket. The one he gave you sits in the Mitsukoshi bag under the table near your leg.

In everything he does, Kakucho is effortless and confident. He grills the meat for you and he carries the conversation for you too. He asks you about school, about your hobbies, your likes and dislikes and even learns what your favourite colour is.

Half through this spontaneous dinner you understand that this was never about returning his jacket. At least for him. But then, it’s his dark black hair that he spontaneously decided to grow out almost two years ago after he got tired of seeing that ugly bald dude with a scar in reflection every morning. [This you too learn over the food and while you want to tell him that by no means he can be considered ugly, you suppress yourself and listen to his soothing voice carrying you to yet another story already.] They are so black, they almost have this blue-ish inky feeling to them. And somehow looking at him so smiley, so kind and so handsome, so welcoming and accepting, so invested in every few words you say, he reminds you of those beautiful warm summer nights. Not the one that happened two summers ago, but all the ones before that. It’s a burning sensation and it calms you.

You think, if he wants you might give him a chance.

It’s dark when you go outside and back to the metro station.

“Next time I’ll see you I’ll bring my car. I feel really bad, but my car is in the service. The engine has been acting up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kakucho,” you say counting the colourful kaleidoscope of the stained glass window of the random shop, you pass by. You connect every piece to seconds that fly away and they make beautiful constellations. “Just think it’s a good thing you are taking me home then and we are going by foot and not driving there. I am bad with directions. But now you are going to remember where I live and next time you can pick me up right from home. You know, just to pay for all the walking we did today.” He bites his smile back, lips pressed tightly together, but it fights him and reaches his eyes. They shine. _ “Since when are you and Kakucho going out?”

You sit on the floor of Haruchiyo’s apartments with a scissor in your hands. Bright patterned paper, stickers, glue and so many other things you sure are two boys in the room with you don’t even know the name of, lay in a circle surrounding you. It’s messy, but Haruchiyo who lays on the bed, behind you and watches every single creative step you take, doesn’t seem to mind.

In fact he never does.

“We are not going out,” you mumble, eyes focused on cutting the most precisely shaped heart without an outline. “We’ve been hanging out. That’s all.” Rindou doesn’t seem to be convinced. He glances over to Haruchiyo laying on his stomach, blond hair a curtain, and sighs.

“You do know, he has a thing for you?” “Well, I mean I kinda do, but I am sure it’s not anything serious. Who would’ve been in lo…” “He punched Ran at that party and they haven't talked since then.”

The scissors stop and the bright yellow heart falls to the ground. It’s nicely and evenly cut out, but something about it isn’t right and you can’t tell what it is and you are spiralling and nothing can stop you now, because fire is nowhere in reach. You scratch your left thigh.

“I didn’t wanna tell you, but…” “I am glad Kaku did it. I am sorry Rin, but it was actually very nasty there and if not for her, I would’ve killed his bitch first and then kill him,” you hear the springs in the old mattress squeak and then Haruchiyo plops right next to you, making a space for himself between glue bottles, colourful tapes and you. “Ran never told her anything, because he didn’t even know, and I never told Ran or anybody about it. It wasn’t my brother’s fault she ran her mouth. For all I know Ran and her were never even together.” “Oh, really? Then how the fuck does she know?” The anger rising up in Rindou scorches you and you wince, but boys being boys, playing their own little war don’t notice it. “How would I know that? I just know that even if Ran knew he would never speak about it with anybody else!” “For fuck’s sake, Rindou, I know he is your older brother and you always admired him and…”

The words bleed. The wounds they leave suffocate. You plaster a yellow heart over a red cardboard. You draw millions of hearts around it. You wish they’d stop now, but you know them both well enough, to know they won’t. You know how much Rindou loves Ran and how much Haruchiyo thinks everything that happened to you is because of Ran. But it’s not. What happened to you has never been Ran’s fault and you won’t let anyone think that. Not even your sweet pretty Haruchiyo. “I believe it,” you say loudly enough to stop them. “In fact, I know it wasn’t Ran who told her. Ran is not like that and… I… I just know he didn’t know about it. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t Ran and it’s not his fault. Neither it’s his responsibility or yours.” Splashes of alcohol across his cheek and wet t-shirt. The look on his face. Of pure horror and so many regrets. It wasn’t Ran. It could never be him.

Rindou and Haruchiyo mend over the sweet sour chicken you make for them. They laugh, and joke and make those stupid boyish remarks only male in their twenties can. But you forgive them for that and for everything else too, like they do the same for you.

It’s when Rindou examines your newest red card with yellow heart and I LOVE YOU RINDOU written across it, he brings the subject of Kakucho back. “Just so you know, I won’t hesitate to add another scar to his face.” Haruchiyo snorts, “Aren’t you two like best gym buddies?” “Yes we are. But he doesn’t make me postcards. And want it or not, but my loyalty lies with my brother so we aren’t speaking either.”

Haruchiyo never comments anything on it and neither do you, but for the rest of the evening and well into the night when you lay down in Haruchiyo bed and try your best to sleep, you can’t help it, but think where does your loyalty lay? To what latitude does it extend and what seconds are most important to you to get back to them over and over again. _

It’s summer and you are in Kyoto. You are in your last school year and life has never ever been more beautiful. The green around you has the most vibrant colour and the sun above you is the warmest it has ever been. You close your eyes, spread your arms and melt. If you had to choose a moment to live in forever it would be this.

There’s a festival going on in town. You hear music and people laughing. You smell chicken and something very very sweet. But despite this cacophony of smells and sounds, you also hear birds chirping and because of that your heart beats twice as fast. It’s a pretty feeling and you hope your heart will stay this way forever.

Ran finds you kneeling in front of the small flower cart in front of the flower shop. You are so engrossed in the scenery of random shapes and ethereal feelings to them, you don’t notice him at all. Or so he thinks, because it’s very very difficult for you not to sense Ran’s presence.

It’s even harder not to feel his lazy stare on you and it’s impossible to not be burned by his crooked hazy smile as he watches you pecking tender petals with your fingertips.

“Where’s Rin?” You ask, eyes focused on the bright pink flower. Ran takes a step, then another one and then he squats by your side, shoulders touching, the flower unnoticed. “With Kakucho, your two friends and Haruchiyo at a sportswear store.” “What?” Head snapping to the side, you study his face, to see if he is teasing you and while his lips are stretched in a smile, you don’t think he is.

“I know. I am surprised Haruchiyo tagged along with them,” he stops talking, his lips form a straight concerned line and the crease between his blonde eyebrows makes you want to press a fingertip in there to soothe it.

But instead of you reaching out to him, it’s him raising his hand to your shoulder. You hear a little buzzling near your ear, see the blue vast sky and people swarming behind Ran and you feel so warm, so safe, so i-wanna-freeze-this-moment. And you don’t know why your heart clenches the way it does and why your hands get clammy.

“It’s a little bee,” Ran says, eyes fascinated by the small creature sitting on his finger. “Probably mistook you for a flower.” He laughs and shakes the bee away. It falls in the air, but as if remembering it can actually fly, spreads its little tiny wings and goes off. To the crowd. To the festival. To so many shared happy moments.

“Do you want to go eat something? I am starving and on my way here I saw a decent looking place that serves yukke.” “Can we get Yatsuhashi after?” you stand up first, your head a bit dizzy from squatting for so long. Ran grins and nods, “Anything you want.” It’s on the way to the more than decent looking, but high-class restaurant that Ran takes you to, in the middle of your conversation that you remember about the flowers you were so fascinated with. There was no tag on them and you weren't sure they were even for sale, and yet you wished you went inside the shop and asked. Everything needs a name to stay. Today, Ran is eager to provide you with one. “It’s camellia. The flower you were looking at. Did you like it?”

The sun is still high up in the sky and people are still walking. The Gion Matsuri festival will last for another three days. “Since when can you tell flowers?”

You are genuinely interested and maybe that’s why Ran responds. You are sure he wouldn’t otherwise.

“Mom used to have a book on flowers. Encyclopaedia. Was obsessed with them and how do you think she came up with the name for me and Rin? Obviously took them from there. It was the only thing that remained after she left. Along with our names.”

“Well, you and Rindou remained too and then that old apartment of yours.” The smile blooms on his face again. He points at the restaurant with his finger and leads you there, “That apartment was actually of our beloved father. I wanted to set it on fire, but Rin talked me out of it.”

Somehow you know once again he is telling you the truth. The fire, him and Rindou, and the book that for one reason or so many more others he kept and read so many times, he could tell camellia apart from other flowers.

“Anyway, do you think bees migrate?” Inside the restaurant almost all tables are busy, but Ran finds you a perfect place near the outdoor garden for two people. You get a haunting feeling like it was waiting for you. “You mean migrate like birds do?” “Yeah,” he says casually overlooking the menu, “Oh, they have your favourite iced lemon tea. I always thought it’s amusing how you never drink anything hot.”

“I don’t like hot things. They burn. I hate it when it burns,” you do and you don’t think you’ll ever change. “And to answer your question, I don’t think bees migrate. I’ve never seen them flying around freely like birds.” “I’ve never seen a single bee in Roppongi. Today's gotta be my first time.” You end up ordering a lot more than you both can eat. It’s always like this with Ran and you think you know why. You think you understand him, and his questions and a lot more things he tries to keep confined in that heart of his.

Like an encyclopaedia of flowers and bees that flew away.

_ You and Kakucho will never end up together. Not in this universe, not in any other. He is the first one to break it to you, but you were the first to realise.

The truth is swallowed under bright cold stars. There’s not much light on the pier where you are lying down on the cold grey cement, but the roar of crashing waves and flickering lights of bulk carriers’ lamps are enough to guide you home. If needed.

“I feel like I could love you, but you won’t let me,” he says and these words are mere whispers that take the form of a knife. Dull or sharp doesn’t matter. It still cuts your skin in two and you bleed. This is nothing new.

“Maybe you are right,” is all you say. Your hands on your belly, you imagine sharks, three of them, emerging from the water and ripping you apart. They have five rows of deadly sinful teeth that will shred your flesh in seconds before you become part of them and the sea. You won’t die and you’d feel pain until sun blasts and the Earth will pause to exist and you with it. But no sharks come out and you are breathing.

“I still want to be your best friend, though,” Kakucho turns to his side, prompts his head on his palm and peers in your face. “If you want to, of course.”

Under his gaze, you think he’s searching for something. You want to tell him not to, because he won’t find it there. There’s no fight left in you. It’s all in vain, all in vain! “Nah. Those roles are taken,” you are only half-joking, but he doesn’t have to know that. “You can try though.” “Oh, I will. I will try my very best. I still like you. It’s not like it will go away any time soon.” If sharks do come, you pray, please don’t kill Kakucho too. He deserves to live a long nice life with a person who will love his gentle soul. But again, no sharks come, and you and him are alive and well. And an hour later he drops you off at home and you wish you won’t see him again and regret your inability to make people feel love. _ Haruchiyo’s hair is the prettiest you’ve ever seen. You’ve known him since you were eleven and every single hairstyle he had he owned. He was a young cheerful boy then, and a quite pretty young man now. Sometimes, you wished you could be together. You think both of you could make it work and maybe both of you would, if there wasn’t Rindou in between of you. But, today, there’s no Rindou and Haruchiyo’s head is in your laps and his clear bright eyes, almost transparent in their intensity, look at you and you only.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, hand finding yours, fingers sewn together. “Nothing much,” you lie and he accepts it, because he knows what goes in your head.

He sighs then, a tired loud sigh ripped right from his chest, just where his heart is. He tears himself off you, and sits opposite you, stretching his legs on each side of you.

“If you want, we can, but I do agree with Kaku, you will never love anyone, even me, like you love that beanpole. And hurting me will break your heart more than… Ah, you understand what I mean, right? And sex won’t solve anything either. It’s gonna make everything worse. And I am willing to give up anything I might feel for us, but not you and what we already have. I love you and I love your happiness and it’s not with me. Not in that way.” “Wow,” you giggle, face hot with tears. Haruchiyo smiles. His kind, beautiful smile makes him even more ethereal than he already is. With this angel white hair.

He leans in and kisses you on your lips. Hands on your wet cheeks, he doesn’t wipe them away, but hold them there and you feel them. They are cold and sorrowful. They are happy.

“Let’s go eat something. I’m paying. And if you want we can rent a movie to watch before we come back.” I do, you say and he nods. He kisses your forehead and helps you stand up. Haruchiyo is your best friend and you don’t really suppose you are destined to become something else. And it’s good. It does feel right.

_ The school is somehow not how you remember it. It’s even more dull, grey and ugly. You so badly want to drop out and never come back, but you can’t disappoint your family and friends more than you already have. You suck all your regrets and unpleasantries in, and continue to carry on.

Today, you are all alone. Haruchiyo isn’t in Tokyo and neither is Rindou. They went to that stupid DJ convention in Osaka and you, sitting in the cafeteria with your store bento box in front of you, wish you were with them. They are for sure having a lot of fun.

Unlike you.

It’s not a recent thing, but you are craving company, because thoughts inside your head are suffocating you. You see fires, fireworks and sharks with fairy lights. You feel waves and your little sister stares at you. Your skin pops off, wrinkling and coming off in ugly distorted layers.

You need this to stop, until you do the unforgivable and this is betraying Rindou to whom you promised not to do anything with yourself. You promised to go to school and study and be a good girl. Just for this week. Until he comes back and it gets easier to breathe.

Maybe, you should call Kakucho and go out with him. He won’t say no. You know that well and that’s why you don’t call him. He is too good for you and your haunting voices in your mind.

Everything seals in, when your friend finds you in the cafeteria and invites you to the party. It’s a small intimate gathering she promises and it’s gonna be so fun! We can dress up and have a little fun. We haven’t hung out in so long. Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go! We are going to have the best night ever.

You don’t think twice, you need to relax and shut your shaking fears in your head, lock them away and preferably kill. So, you say “yes” and it makes your friend so happy, she spills her orange juice on your bleached jeans that your mother washed yesterday. _

The party is awful and your heart screams at you to get out before it’s too late.

But your friend holds your hand and you feel safer and she claims she knows a lot of people there and they are nice and then, she would never let anything happen to you. The last part is true, but there’s only so much a young girl in her twenties can do. People she knows are a group of men. They look like rock stars, smudged eyeliner and long hair, multiple piercings in both ears. There’s no way to tell their age, but you don’t think they are that much older. A strong smell of weed and alcohol doesn’t scare you either. It feels familiar.

With a few drags from a blunt you levitate, head in clouds, river of shitty bitter drink in your stomach, you levitate. You laugh and giggle and let the boy with orange bleached hair throw an arm around your bare shoulders. His touch isn’t anything, it’s barely there.

Until it’s not.

Until, his hand slides to your breast and he squeezes it. Once, twice, you lose the count. You feel sick, smoke disintegrated from your head, alcohol still in your blood. All the scars you carry on your body itch. You breathe in and breathe out, and the boy mistakes it for excitement. He grins, eyes foggy and greedy.

The bile rises up in your throat. You shove it down, to your stomach. The friend that promised to be there for you isn’t here anymore and you can’t pinpoint the moment she left. Hazy thoughts and remnants of what she said to you before going upstairs with one of the boys are still there, but they are melted in the hold and attention forced on you.

When the boy turns you around and kisses your neck, you’ve had enough. With a smile on your lips, and wobbly legs, you push him away, hands on his chest and he groans unsatisfied and hungry. He dives right back, fingers latching onto your waist. “I really need to use the restroom,” you whisper again and again and again. “I really need to. Please. I’ll be back. Just let me go.” He doesn’t and his friends laugh behind you. Is there no one to help you? No one to not let that awful night happen again? “Please, I just want to go to the restroom,” you plead and this time he releases you. You flee away. With trembling hands and shaking heart, you flee away and run to the bathroom. It’s vacant and it’s dirty, but it will do. It will do until you think of how to escape that party and get home. To your mom, to your dad and to you sweet little sister. To everything good and innocent that still lives in you. But now, you cry. You sit on the dirty floor in the house of a person you don’t know with a dress ridden to your mid thighs and cry. You cry for betraying Rindou’s trust, because once you are out of here, you’ll cut and then you’ll burn yourself and this time you hope it hurts so much, you won’t be able to feel anything for weeks. You hope it scars your body so ugly everyone will finally turn away from you. But firstly, you need to get out of here and this is almost impossible, because that guy wants you and waits for you and you promised to be back. Swallowing, you reach out for your phone. It’s in your bag. It’s fully charged and when you are about to dial Kakucho’s number, because he’s the only person to come and get you now, it rings. You answer before you see the name of the caller. “Hey! Why weren’t you answering my calls? Where the fuck are you?”

It’s Rindou and you know everything ends here. “I am fine. I am just at the party with…” “Are you crying? What the fuck? Where are you?” You sob. Because he is harsh with you and because he has every right to be.

“Rin, I am sorry, I… that guy… I don’t want you to worry about it. I’ll call Kakucho and he…” “Who? Did someone hurt you? You need to tell me where the fuck you are.” “He just… Rin, I can’t… Why are you in… I am sorry… I want to go home.” He is panicking. On the line, in another city, his heart breaks in two for you. “I need you to tell me where you are. Tell me where the fuck you are.” You tell him. The address, the way to the bathroom and even what you are wearing. You have no idea why you are doing this, because Rindou is no god and he can’t get to Tokyo, to you, swiftly. Today, he won’t save you. But he promises you he will and then he hangs up, only to call you a couple of minutes later and talk to you about anything and everything, before you are safe. Before you are you again. _ The lightning that shoots through your body is so strong and powerful, you straighten up against the door and stop breathing. Outside is eerily quiet. The music is no longer playing and people aren’t speaking. It’s like the world died and you are the only one left. “What is it?” Rindou asks after he catches you not listening to him telling you about the new DJ set up he and Haruchiyo saw today at the exhibition. It’s pointless asking him, because you do know the answer to your question, but you do ask anyway. “Who did you call, Rindou?” “Ran. I called Ran. Is he there?”

His voice is soft and comforting, but it does little to calm your wires of nerves. Suddenly the world is very crispy and clear. “Rin, I don’t think I am ready to talk to him and…” “Listen here,” he interrupts you, taking a long pause, “It’s just Ran. My older brother. The guy you knew since what? Five years old? I don’t know a better person I can trust you with than him.” “It’s not that… it’s just… I am not ready… I don’t think…” A knock on the door never lets you finish the sentence. Rindou is babbling up on the phone again, you can hear him, but you can’t comprehend what he is saying. Slowly you open the door. You feel safe. You start breathing again. _ Ran doesn’t take you to your house. He doesn’t speak to you when he escorts you out of the house, your hand in his, and he doesn’t speak to you once he stops near KFC, gets out and gets back with two large bags he throws in the backseat, neither does he say anything when he makes the last stop at convenience store two blocks away from his and Rindou’s apartment.

Two stops and thirty minutes ride, you don’t hear his voice even once. I am with her, is what he said to Rindou when he found you and took your phone from your hands; it still sits in the right pocket of his sweats.

And you, you don’t try to talk either. Instead, you watch him. You caress his face with your eyes and try to spot if everything is different since you last saw him this close. Two summers ago.

You don’t find anything new and it’s disappointing and relieving at the same time. Inside the apartment everything is still. He flickers on the light in the living room, places bags with food and drinks on the table and turns to you, standing where he left you. In the corridor. “Go and take a bath. Puke if you want and then come here. We’ll eat and we’ll talk.” When you don’t move he adds. “Go and wash yourself, I’ll bring you fresh clothes in a minute. Go.” The shower does help you. Water and soap feel nice on your skin and it’s not the cleansing you wish it was, but it still makes you feel better. Less anxious and more grounded. It also washes your worries away and you can’t help, but blame it on the weed wearing off your body. You are happy you are sober now and you wish it was something else that sobered you and not a random guy groping you at the party you shouldn’t have been at, at all. You don’t puke and you rinse your mouth with green mouth wash that you find on the sink. Haruchiyo has the same one at his apartment. You think if he is already aware of what happened. You should call him tomorrow and say you are okay, you are fine. Nothing bad happened. You suppose Rindou has told him, but you want to reassure him yourself. Ran sits on the floor when you emerge from the bathroom, wearing black sweats and grey t-shirt. You know it’s his clothes and you know when he raises his head and sees you wearing them, the corner of his lips tug up. He is quick to lower his head again, eyes on the chicken and fries neatly divided between two plates, as he motions you to come join him.

This time you do it without hesitation. You eat in silence. Words on the tip of your tongue you so desperately want to say something, but it’s not your turn to talk and so you wait, until he gathers up and says what he has to say to you. “You are staying here. I already called your mom and told her you are with me so you don’t have to worry about it. I also spoke with Rindou and he’ll stay at the convention until the end. He won’t return tomorrow as he initially wanted.” You don’t say anything back. The fast food Ran bought is delicious and this apartment with him in it is a pleasant nice memory you dissolve in. You sip on your beloved iced lemon tea and you hope this moment of the night will never end or it will snatch you away. Imprison you in its comfort. “How do you feel?” His purple eyes never leave your presence and while the question is expected, you never wanted him to ask you that, because for once you don’t want to lie anymore. You are sick and tired of lying. “I am fine now, but I don’t think I’ll be tomorrow morning when I leave and I’ll probably get worse when I am home and alone.” He hums to that, shaking his head. His hair is parted in two nicely done braids. It’s longer than you remember it and yet it’s the same. “You won’t go home tomorrow morning. You are staying here until the answer to that question is I am good. Until I see you are better I am not letting you go.”

“Ran, I don’t think it works like that.” “Then, we’ll make it work like that.”

That puts an end to your conversation. Together you wash dishes and he returns to his room, while you slip in Rindou’s bed and close your eyes. Violence is never an answer to you, and maybe Ran didn’t mean to enforce anything on you, and that’s why he didn’t close the door to his room as he always did before [you remember it so, but he might have changed, it’s been years after all], but you want to try. You so desperately want to feel good, you are willing to do anything. _ The next morning comes and you are the first to wake up. Ran’s room is dark and silent. The door is still open. There’s no sound coming out. Everything is still and motionless, but alive. That’s how you know he is actually home, inside his room sleeping peacefully.

You don’t move around much. You don’t want to wake him up, because you do remember how grumpy he gets when someone disturbs his sleep. So, instead, you return back to Rindou’s bedroom and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Your phone is still in Ran’s possession and you are quite bored. Not that you can do much with it, but you could have messaged Rindou or Haruchiyo. It’s better than doing anything and in Rindou’s bedroom there’s nothing much to shorten the time you have until Ran wakes up.

It’s around noon when your back gets so stiff and you just simply can’t fall asleep again no matter how hard you try, so you get off the bed and stride into the kitchen. The cupboards don’t have much and it’s even worse than at Haruchiyo’s house. That boy at least has a collection of tea, instant coffees, chicken take-outs leftovers and rice. All Haitanis have are a pack of rice, one cup of instant noodles, a carrot, two cans of spam and five eggs. It’s all definitely courtesy of Rindou. Ran solely survives on deliveries and eating in those favourite posh restaurants of his.

It’s another hour and a smell of grilled spam that lures him out of the bed. He crosses the corner that separates his bedroom and kitchen, and with a heavy blanket across his shoulder and droopy eyes that are ready to close any second, stares at you. “What are you cooking?”

“Rice with spam and eggs.” “I didn’t know we had eggs. Good. I’ll be right back.”

He disappears into his room and then reappears a second after and goes straight into the bathroom and you standing in their little kitchen for the first time since yesterday shrink in size, feeling very very small. It’s all too strange, you comprehend, mind spiralling and angry and so frustrated. So so so strange for you to be here, in Ran’s and Rindou’s kitchen, cooking a miserable attempt at breakfast at noon, for yourself and a guy with whom you once were so close, but then you haven’t spoken in almost two years and now…

You freeze, hands raised mid-air, and mouth slightly parted. Breathing in and out. In and out. In and out.

Now… Now, there’s rice on the stove and you need to reach for bowls, which should be in the cupboard right in front of you. That’s if they didn’t wake up one day and decided to store their dishes in the drawer next to the fridge.

Now, you need to turn the stove off, so the spam will stay crispy, and not turn into an ugly tasteless black coal. You need to do all this and that’s what you do. Ran is back to you in almost no time. He watches you carefully, and you wonder if he sees your worries in your trembling hands and bitten lips, in how you avoid his intense gaze. But if he does, he doesn’t say anything. Wordlessly, he helps you by taking both of the bowls, leaving you to grab chopsticks and soya sauce.

He settles on the floor and you sit next to him, putting a comfortable distance between the two of you.

It’s very Ran to not turn on the TV. He eats quietly, throwing a small praise your way, that means nothing, because it’s just an appreciative humming and a couple of pleased curses. You eat too, because there’s nothing else to do and you are kinda hungry. It’s also is a distraction enough not to send you down your torture tunnel again. You welcome it happily, grabbing the opportunity with both hands. You welcome Ran staring at you too. You suppose you are acting as the TV for him today. The thought makes you smile. “Yesterday, when I arrived, no one would tell me who was the guy that made you uncomfortable by touching you,” he starts, confident with purple eyes never leaving you. “They only spoke when I kneeled one of them down and stepped on their fingers.” The rice in front of you, sticky from the yolk, dances. You wish you could dance too, but you haven’t had a good dance since the last party with Haruchiyo and Rindou almost two weeks ago, where Rindou got so drunk, he couldn’t remember what his name was, but he remembered you. That moment was sweet and you think the moment now isn't really so, but your mouth suddenly tastes like cotton candy and it’s a pleasant feeling. A great even.

“I broke the fingers of the guy who touched you yesterday and I broke every single finger on the hands of the guys who touched you that day. It was a mess, but there won’t be a day now in their lives, that they won’t feel the pain and that’s all I wish for.” “Ran…” The bowl is too heavy for you to hold and the rice isn’t dancing anymore, nor does the world move and you doubt anything exists past this apartment. The white noise and deafening eerie silence envelope you in their deadly hug. But you don’t want them to touch you. You want to swim in Ran’s eyes that carry no remorse or guilt or pity, but acceptance and comfort. Tenderness seeps through him like the sand of the broken hourglass. If he suffocates you with it, burying you under him, you won’t mind it.

You won’t mind it at all. “You don’t have to say anything,” he laughs, clearly amused by your lack of reaction or from the plentiness of it. “Good.” “Yeah, good. Finish your food and let’s go grocery shopping. We don’t have anything to eat in this house and Rindou’s stack of shochu isn’t much to my taste.” “He still has a stack of shochu?” “That’s the only thing you are worrying about?” “No, but…” “I am teasing you. Yes, he has. It’s in the cupboard next to the fridge.” Well, it seems like nothing much changed in their apartment after all. Bowls in the cupboards and stacks of shochu, and everything else in between.

Two years after last visiting, you feel like it was just yesterday. A nice revived warm memory. You hope it will linger for a little more, its light pleasantly warming your cold hands. _ Your phone is somewhere inside Ran’s room and he isn’t willing to give it to you. It’s also a no trespasse territory so you don’t dare to go in there and take it yourself. “Did Rindou call?” You ask on your second day spent with Ran. It’s raining outside. Quite heavily so, but inside this little cute cafe that serves only coffees and cheesecakes, it’s warm and safe. “He called me,” Ran says, cutting his lemon cheesecake in half and transferring the piece to your plate. He cuts off part of your strawberry one for himself too. “Asked what we were doing and how are you doing. Don’t worry about him. He is getting drunk, high and probably has a couple of girls in his bed to warm it. I bet he is having a good time.”

“It’s good then. I want him to have a good time.” Ran hums, takes a sip of his black coffee that obviously doesn’t taste good at all and observes you. Eyes squinting and all. It would’ve been uncomfortable before, but it’s not anymore. In these two full days you spent with him in his apartment it’s almost like all those years before. “Your other friend called though and sent lots of messages.” You don’t have to ask to know who this friend is and Ran understands it very well, because he continues without waiting for you to ask who he is talking about. “I answered him and told him you’ll stay with me. Apparently what I did at the party reached him.”

Never once he looks away from you, waiting for anything from you. A small frown, barely there sigh, tears or glossy eyes. But nothing comes, so he asks. Simply, because he desires to know. “Are you upset? I can give you your phone back if you want to call Kakucho. I know you’ve become close since that party.” There’s nothing you are feeling. No sadness, no remorse, no heart in the stomach. It stays in your chest where it’s supposed to be. So you shrug and put a little bit of yellow cheesecake on your spoon. You taste it, the back of the spoon hanging from your mouth. It tastes good. Really really good.

“I am not upset and we are just close friends. Nothing more.” “Nothing more?” “Nope.” “That’s good. Anyway, do you want to rent something to watch later today?” It is good and yes you do. Of course you do.

With his hair up in a messy bun, loose strands falling all over his face and glasses always falling off past his nose bridge, Ran looks ridiculous. You tell him just that.

He also looks very domestic, very warm and safe, but you aren’t about to tell him that. He understands it anyway.

_ On the fourth day of getting back to Ran he leaves the apartment very early in the morning and doesn’t return until the evening when the clock strikes eight.

It’s very boring without him there. With nothing to do you read Rindou’s book about healthy food and when you finish it, you read his handouts about the importance of music in western world. Both food and music are dull topics to you, but with nothing to do it’s better than just sitting on the sofa and waiting for Ran to come home. You also watch TV. MTV with loud pop and all the same techno music and then some soap opera with an all too obvious plot on TBS. You even tune in on the football match on TBS Sports and find it a bit entertaining.

But then the match ends and Ran isn’t home yet and you have no idea where your phone is so you could’ve called him [you don’t have his number], so you get up and get to cooking. Cooking is nice and it’s creative enough for you to lose yourself in it. You notice a pack of shaving razor’s on the kitchen countertop and wonder how they even got there.

You take them back to the bathroom. When Ran does come home it’s dark outside and he doesn’t look any different. It’s raining again and his hair and clothes are a bit wet, which makes you think that he didn’t use his car. You so want to ask him where he has been and why has he left you alone, but you don’t dare.

You stare at him from the safe space of Rindou’s room. Watch him take his coat off, then his boots and then he is right by your side. “I wanna see your scars,” he asks, almost pleading, and this is so unlike him, so not Ran and everything you know about him, you think you heard him wrong, but he repeats, “I want to see you. You aren’t afraid of me, are you?” And you aren’t. You were never afraid of Ran and his vicious, sometimes cruel, nature, because to you he was never like that. You never saw him as a person capable of turning another human being's fingers into a bloody mess that won’t ever heal. To you, Ran is Ran. Beautiful sleepy eyes and gentle touches. A never ending worry for the people he loves and all the knowledge about flowers he once read in the encyclopaedia of his gone from his life forever mother.

Without saying anything, holding onto each other’s gaze, you strip to your underwear. Your scars ugly tissues of messy skin, are wanting to be hidden. They scream at you and cry and rebel. They promise you, you can hide them under other scars, more brutal, more deadly, more deep, but you don’t believe them anymore.

Nothing ever will steal them away from you. They are now you and you have to carry them for as long as you live. No sharks or stakes are the option.

Cold fingers burn your warm skin. Ran’s hands glide across every patch of your existence that once were wronged by you. He finds every single one. On your arms, your legs and thighs. Your ribs and lower back. He doesn’t say anything, but his hands tremble and that is enough for you to understand everything. Him and his reasons.

When he claws your waist with his fingertips and brings you close to him in an impossible tight hug, you start crying. Your own hands fist the plush of his sweater and you want it gone, because you need to feel him close to you. Skin to skin and nothing apart.

The pressure from his fingers is painful, and if he presses more, he’ll leave blooming bruises, but you won’t mind it. You wouldn’t mind it at all, because just this once it’s so nice to be safe and sound in the arms of someone other than Rindou or Haruchiyo. It’s so nice, so so nice, to want something more and not be afraid of it.

It’s like blooming camellias and stinging honey bees.

_ Fully dressed with sanrio cookies Ran got at 7-Eleven, you sit near him on the floor, on the Rindou’s blanket you spread across it for warmth and comfort. Your tears have long dried and the Ghibli movie is now playing on the TV. The room is dark, the rain is still falling and Ran is slowly falling asleep.

“You know, I’ve never rejected you,” he yawns, laying down. “That summer. I didn’t reject you. I thought you and Rin had something going on between you and that’s why I said what I said. Maybe if I were to… Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Let’s just watch the movie.” Ran doesn’t make it to the end. He dozes off right at the moment when Chichiro boards the train and suddenly you too lose interest in a magical movie with so much sense behind its gentle animation. For a couple of seconds that stretch into an endless drop of water you bring your knees to your chest and stare outside the window. The view is nothing much. A grey building and dimly lit street lamp. Not a soul passes under the windows and you don’t hear any voices or laughs. No steps or coughs and rustling of clothes. Maybe there’s a black cat there somewhere, but its paws are too soft to make any noise. It most definitely won’t reach the second floor. Especially with rain meeting the pavement and cars and roofs, and maybe cats, but hopefully not.

That night that summer it was raining too or so you were told, because you don’t remember. Drunk, high and very very sad you were brought into Haruchiyo’s apartment where he cared for you as best as an eighteen year boy could about an eighteen year old wronged girl. And in that crumpled dusty bar in Roppongi another act of love was happening. More vicious and more cold. Rindou has never told you about it, but you know him and Ran well enough to know that they did it together. Haitani brothers and all.

You are too lazy to go to the kitchen and put sanrio cookies in the cupboard where they belong so you place them on the table near the TV. You grab the remote and switch the movie off. Darkness envelops the apartment, but you are used to it and then there’s that street lamp with its light and Ran. Slowly, you sneak under the blanket and curl next to him.

His breaths are even and methodical. His heart beats the same and he is very very warm. He is asleep and you so desperately want to sneak into his dream and live there. Meet the bees and blooming camellias along with other beautiful flowers he knows by heart. It must smell so good there and it must be day. Full family at the table and everything is good. Cats can be heard from miles away and fire is never burning the skin, only purifying. It never hurts there.

Just like it never hurts near Ran.

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Ran turns on the side, arm hooking across your waist and brings you closer to him, his body and his peace, “You are waking me up with those thoughts of yours. It’s gonna be alright. We are… I… It’s… I…” Whatever he said is lost on you, because he falls asleep again. This time, in his arms, in his warmth, it’s easier for you to close your eyes, because after many many days you are eager to open them again. _ This time, you don’t wake up first, but you wake under an intense gaze and hand caressing your face. He doesn’t stop when you open your eyes, curiously, looking at him and you don’t stop him when he leans in and kisses you. Slowly and sweetly. Besides drunk games at parties where you pecked a couple of boys, you’ve never ever kissed anyone, because you loved them. And right now doing exactly that - kissing the person you love, - your chest burns and you are not sure what you are supposed to do and how to suppress all those whimpers and moans you are so readily feed Ran with.

Somewhere in the kiss, right after he hugs you impossibly closer to him, both arms around you, he smiles. The flame in your chest is now fire, and so you push him away. “What?” He asks leaning in again, this time pressing wet open mouthed kisses across your jaw. It makes it harder to speak, breath uneven and clogged, “Why are you smiling?” Surprised, he looks up, “I thought you were gonna ask me what the kiss was about, but you so you, and… why do you think I am smiling?” He waits for an answer and your brain runs kilometres in a millisecond, but you can’t come up with a decent answer that is not embarrassing or humiliating and full of self–doubt. Instead, you want to kiss Ran more and you want him to hug you tight again, hands holding you together, in one piece. And so you do. And it feels nice and it feels beautiful and right. And probably you should have had a conversation about all these before, but as he said you are you and he is Ran Haitani, and you kinda like doing everything in mysterious complicated ways only understandable to you. So you kiss more and he kisses across your face and under your jaw and then your neck where he plants bites and hickeys that bloom right away. Pretty shades of purple. Only when you are sitting on top of him and his hands slide under your [his] shirt, does he stop. Hair a wild mess, he tilts his head and retracts his hands from your bare waist moving them to your face, which he cradles with all the gentleness in the world. He searches for something, anything, in your expression, but only finds swollen lips and pretty eyes that hold all the stored love they never gave away. And he crumbles, falling so hard and so fast, you hear the air crying and flowers blooming in his chest.

Right at this moment, you both know, he’d do whatever you want and this will either be the best reward of his life or his demise. [As if you ever would let the last happen]. Ran presses a small barely there kiss to the corner of your lips and nudges your cheek with his nose. He takes a deep content breath full of the meaning you don’t catch on. Not because you don’t understand, but because you can’t, because he holds your head to his and kisses that sweet place right below your ear. Because he whispers, asking you, “How do you feel?” “Good. I feel good, Ran. I really really do,” you breathe out, hands clutching onto his shoulders. You can’t see his face, he buries it in your neck, inhaling your very being into himself. Storing you and what you are to the depths of his heart to where he will never let anyone reach.

Your skin absorbs his smile and it makes you happy. So happy, you believe, if you died right there in his arms, an army of bees and the prettiest pink camellias would swerve from your ashes and Ran would name them all.

_ The afternoon was spent exchanging lazy kisses and tender caresses. The time passes and the rain continues and when you stand outside of Haitani’s apartment building waiting for Ran who forgot his card upstairs, you inhale the wet aroma of pavement and green leaves and everything seems fine. Uncertain and wobbly, but fine.

You actually believe that if sharks would come right now and try to swallow you for the first time ever you would fucking fight them. And they would back off. _ “You know, we should have ordered,” Ran complains in his small accusatory voice that you haven’t heard in so long. “You are soaking.” “Maybe. But then the poor delivery guy would’ve suffered and the food would be cold and…” Ran gives you the look. The one you haven’t forgotten, but could never crack up before. Where he believes you are very cute, but hella naive and a bit stupid. Now, though, you know what this small smile with a very relaxed face means. Now, that you know, you just nod embarrassment overflowing, and turn away from him, cheeks hot and hands trembling. He notices it all. He finds you endearingly cute. So cute, he wants to tear you apart. “You know, let’s just eat our burgers and get home.” “Burgers and fries, Ran. You did order fries, right?” “Yeah. Yeah. And fries. I just really wanna get you home.” _

“Say it again,” Ran murmurs, tenderly kissing your right cheek. His hair is still wet from the shower and his skin is slightly tinted red from the hot water. The huge tattoo that splits his body in half is more evident than ever and you find your gaze lingering there, tracing pretty shapes of it.

He doesn’t wear much. Only sweatpants. And straddling him, legs hugging his hips, you can clearly tell that there’s nothing under them. Only him and his bare skin. The smell of his shampoo and gel shower lingers in the room and it’s unclear if it’s from him or from you since you’ve been indulgently using his toiletries this whole time. Not because you always wanted to be closer to him, but because there was just no way you’d use Rindou’s mint one. Vanilla and bergamot it is then.

And now, all senses high and elevated, you claw at Ran’s naked shoulders, letting him slowly mouth your neck and you throw your head back, and you inhale this pleasant aroma that will forever remain you of these days and you desperately try to compose yourself. Dissolving into him would be easier, but you want to remember every single moment and every single sensation, and so you stay. “When was the last time you had sex?” In his question there’s no shame or hesitation, and it’s good. Really good. Because Ran doesn’t want to hide his intentions and pretend nothing is going to happen since this morning it was clear you would be under him today.

“And with whom. I wanna know who had you last.” There’s slight fear in his last demand and you want to wonder why, but you stop yourself before your mind could create impossible scenarios and trap you. You pull back a little, peering into his face. You need to know why he is asking you this and as if he understands you, he leans forward pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“I am asking, because I need to know how hard I can go and what you can take from me.” His hands, warm and attentive, slide under your shirt. You too wear nothing under it. He doesn’t seem too surprised when he finds it out. Instead, he stops at the small of your back and hugs you closer to him. “I don’t want to hurt you or make you do something you aren’t ready for.” If not for the gentle fire in your heart, you would’ve cried. But you drop your head down, unable to look him in the eyes anymore. There’s something in them you aren’t mentally prepared for and Ran should be fearing about it more, than he does about sex. “I am not afraid of you and you won’t hurt me.” You say and then something possesses you and you cradle his face in your palms and you hold the whole world there and he isn’t aware of it and everything hurts, but in a good sweet way. “Can we kiss some more? I really like kissing you and I like you. You asked me to say it again and I will. I like you, Ran. So so so much.”

Ran kisses wet and sloppily and he grabs at your waist so clumsily, so unsure and so uncertain that it sells him immediately away. He has never kissed anyone like this and now that he has it has him spiralling. And so out of his mind, he pulls you closer, his bare chest against your [his] t-shirt and he does it again, and then again and again, as if could possibly merge with you, because being like this seems so so so far away to him. He wants you closer and it physically hurts him not being able to. And so he takes a good look at your flustered face, your perfect collarbones picking out of the loose clothing and dives in to kiss you again. This time he doesn’t stop only at your lips, but he mouths across your neck, guiding his tongue across the bruises he left this morning. He smiles all the way down to your collarbones and his smile makes you smile too, and despite you being quite shy and awkward you grin, melting in his happiness.

If that’s how love feels, it feels good, it feels right and it might help you. It should. You want to give it the power to.

Somewhere between losing yourself in each other completely and starving hands, Ran hooks his fingers under the hem of your t-shirt and lifts it upwards. There must not be enough of you for him and so he wants more. But you freeze, heart beating so fast, it’s going to burst any second now, and Ran understands. He puts a gentle sweet kiss on your lips and presses his forehead to yours.

His breathing is ragged and fast.

“We don’t have to do anything. It won’t be good for you if you feel…,” he starts, but you take all those words with your mouth on his. You don’t want to hear what he has to say, because you know what it’s going to be. And you don’t want your fear to overwhelm you, because that’s what has been living inside you and that’s what you’ve been trying to carve out of your soul. With razors, scissors and knives. Never with love or understanding. You slip away from him. You take off your shirt and place it near you on the bed. Ran watches you. His eyes are hazy and unfocused, but not any move of yours passes by unattended by him. He glides over your breasts and there’s a slight jerk under you and suddenly you want to hide yourself. You almost do, but then you think better of it and you raise your hips and you try to take your sweatpants off, but Ran stops you. “Don’t,” he murmurs, flipping you on your back. “Don’t. I wanna do everything myself. I want to undress you myself. And I want you to kiss your body and I want to play with your tits until you lose your mind and then I want to eat you out and make you cum, because you fucking deserve it. Because this fucking tension needs to go the fuck away. Okay? And then I want to kiss you and then I want to fuck you and I will watch your face as I do it. I’ve always wanted to see your sweet pretty face under me. Always wanted to hear how you will scream for me and how insanely perfect you’ll be with my cock inside you. Okay?” You nod and he does exactly what he said. And Ran is attentive and careful and very very kind. He talks you through everything and doesn’t push your buttons even though a couple of times you secretly wish he did. That night it’s only one round. Mainly because he is too exhausted and sleepy after he cleans you up and dresses you in his boxers and a new clean t-shirt.

You don’t change sheets though and decide against opening the window. Because it’s heavily raining outside again and because none of you wants to get up from the warm bed and lose the comfort of each other. “Is it too early to say that I love you?” He whispers, taking a full deep breath.

You think it’s not, but you say that it is and he laughs seemingly seeing through your small insincerity. “Okay. Then you should ride me tomorrow morning. I deserve it after today.” “You know, Ran, I think this is too, too early to ask of me.” “Really?” “Well, yeah.” “But I kinda already asked and I kinda already…” A loud thunderstorm slams Tokyo and you get startled. Your body is aching in all the pleasant ways and you don’t have any capability in yourself to continue this ridiculous conversation. You press a kiss to his chest and hide yourself in the crook of his neck. You are safe and you are in love and pain is still there, and memories will never die, but pink camellias are blooming and bees are going to return. _ Rindou is not supposed to get back next afternoon, but he does.

It’s still raining and Haruchiyo is at his back complaining about how much he hates humidity, because his hair gets all frizzy and ugly. [Not that someone particularly cares about Haruchiyo’s hair, but Rindou is too tired to argue with him, so he just hums.] Because he understands where Haruchiyo comes from and he is also still tipsy.

Yesterday, before boarding the bus they did drink a little too much. But the bar they camped in in the night, ditching the comfort of the hotel, was nice and the girl that sucked Rindou off in the back alley behind that said bar, was pretty much exceptional, so he won’t complain.

Besides, he and Haruchiyo, but Rindou more or so he believes, were too worried for you to stay in Osaka. All the girls in the back alleys be damned, they need to see you and make sure you are alright. Short unconstant messages from Ran - “oh, she is fine”, “don’t worry i got her” and “she’ll be just fine” - were not cutting the white patch of horrors off for him.

Rindou needed to talk to you. He needed to do his little check up and maybe [most definitely] buy you some expensive patterned paper and a couple of cute storage boxes. And because he feels generous enough you’ll stop at Daiso and buy all the stickers you want too.

“Does it smell like mackerel or am I tripping? Again,” deadpans Haruchiyo taking off his soaking wet shoes. He dumps the sports bag with all his clothes next to Rindou’s and waits for him to take his last evening white now grey Adidas sneakers to go check into the living room. It does indeed smell like grilled fish and vegetables inside the apartment. Tofu and spring onion. He tries his very best to remember when was the last time their apartment smelt of homemade food and simply can’t. To his own dismay, this special cosiness of familiarity and domesticity were more native to Haruchiyo’s studio. But that’s only because you spent a lot of time there.

Getting high, getting creative and being you. It clicks and responds and suddenly everything makes perfect sense and they could’ve stayed in Osaka for two days more as planned.

So when they enter the living room and find you picking out bones out of the fish, Rindou is not surprised. He is not surprised when he notices that it’s actually Ran’s plate in front of you and this small act of service is for him and him only. And he is so not surprised when his own brother doesn’t pay any attention to them staring at you both. His thin lips curled into a tiny smile, chin prompted on his hands as he watches you knowing there won’t be anyone else.

And there never were.

It’s all so simple and so fucking stupid.

“Rindou! Haru!” You notice them, of course you do, and you set the chopsticks aside and run to them, somehow hugging both of them at such an awkward angle, the hug doesn’t last long.

In the back, Ran clearly rolls his eyes and drags the plate with the boneless fish to him. It makes a disturbing screeching sound.

“Weren’t you supposed to be back much later? Like in two days?”

“We changed plans,” Rindou replies without an ounce of venom or disappointment of whatever else he is supposed to feel right now at his brother’s not so inviting tone, “But I guess we were wrong to rush.” Near him Haruchiyo snorts, Ran laughs a little and you with your neck and collarbones a perfect constellation of purple flowers, get so shy, Rindou himself cracks a smile.

It’s evident where he is looking and what he is reading from it all, and your hand - trembling as per usual - flies to your head, in a poor attempt to cover what can be seen from miles away. More than anything, at this moment, Rindou wants to tell you that there’s nothing you should be ashamed of, nothing to worry about in his presence.

Hickeys, cuts, bruises and all the blemishes are evidence of feelings and we people are meant to feel them. We are meant to experience them in our own ways.

But he can’t say that now. He’ll do it later.

Now, he throws his arm around your shoulders, kisses the top of your head and excuses himself to the bathroom.

He needs that hot fucking shower now.

_ Three days later the rain stops.

Haruchiyo goes home the day after they arrive from Osaka and you spend two more nights at Haitani’s.

You leave when it’s sunny and not so cold for January. Ran offers you his long grey coat and a deep kiss to your lips. At that Rindou rolls his eyes, but he is smiling and so it’s fine.

They both promise you they’ll stop by your apartment in the evening to go have dinner together. You all settle on something french. It’s weird how today your wants align and you aren’t about to pass this extreme luck of not quarrelling on where to eat.

[You feel like today is going to be a nice day.]

Your parents are home. Your little sister too. The house smells like butter and caramel. They probably had something sweet and nice for breakfast. The last time you ate with them together in the morning was so far away you can barely remember it. It saddens you, but only a little.

“What are you watching?” You ask your sister. She sits on the floor, her legs inside the kotatsu. It seems to be a new one, because the wooden frame is white instead of dark brown. You’ve never noticed they changed it and you don’t know why. Something might have happened to it or perhaps your mom just wanted a small change. She can be like that sometimes.

“National Geographic,” she replies without turning her head. “Is it interesting?” You genuinely inquire and she gives you a weirded out look. She shrugs, “I guess so. You learn a lot of things about the world we live in. Like did you know that all flowers have meanings behind them? Yellow roses mean friendship, tulips mean perfect love and camellias symbolise romantic love, adoration and care. It’s pretty cool. Don’t you think so?”

From the kitchen with two puddings and small all too familiar from childhood silver spoon in her hands emerges your mother. She has a sweet hesitant smile and her face is so lovely and you missed her so so so much. She sits next to you and opens the pudding for you. You think that if she was to feed you, you’d gladly accept. Any neglected love you can take from her you will. “Oh, and bees… that don’t fly south. They actually never fly away,” your sister says and your mother laughs for one reason or another and there’s tears in her eyes and what your sister just said makes no sense at all to anyone,

but you. [Maybe tomorrow will be the same too.]

#haitani x reader #haitani ran imagines #haitani brothers #ran #ran fluff #ran x y/n #ran x reader #ran x you #ran haitani #tokyo rev x you #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev smut #haitani rindou #sanzu haruchiyo

278 notes · View notes

jtl-fics · 1 year

Text

Fluent Freshman - Part 21

“What made you think taking on a mafia hitman was a good idea?” Andrew asks as he and FF were positioning themselves the best the could for an ambush on Romero.

Since, they APPARENTLY had time to talk.

Romero had gotten the text Andrew had sent him and INSTEAD of coming out right away to progress the whole SCHEME to kidnap and murder Andrew’s Junkie like any sensible goon Romero went to the BAR. Romero went to the Bar to get him and Jackson a round of CELEBRATORY drinks. Romero is still there at the bar waiting to be served by an INCREDIBLY nervous Roland if the number of exclamation marks and puking emojis is to be believed.

What the FUCK is there to celebrate?

These two idiots want to kidnap NEIL and so far the only thing Romero knows (thinks) that they’ve caught are two people that Neil would come for but even in Andrew’s text he’d been clear that he needed help getting ‘The boyfriend and the new friend’ to talk let alone getting them to call ‘The Wesninski Brat’ out. Andrew had hated typing the name in reference to Neil but it was the only thing the two ever referred to him as in their chats.

Is it some insane mental game that Romero thought he and Jackson were going to play on Andrew and Smith? Toasting to their torture so they’d give up Neil? Who knows.

He realizes that FF hasn’t answered him, his eyes focused on the door when Andrew’s thoughts had drifted. A reliable guy, steady in a pinch, and focused like most the others weren’t.

(Andrew does not know that FF is thinking about how one would go about becoming a Mafia Hitman. What is that career path like? Do they show up at job fairs? Do you get a job as a short order cook at a business that acts as a front and see to much but you’re also the only one that knows the secret spaghetti recipe the boss likes so you have to sign yourself to the family? Are you out doing your own freelance crime and someone higher up sees your work one day and literally head hunts you? Is it like in Saw where you survive an ordeal and then-)

“Smith?” Andrew draws FF’s attention away from the door.

“I didn’t think it was a good idea at any point.” FF says and Andrew is surprised by the admission and is more surprised by the twist of FF’s lips into a frown, “I just did what I thought I needed to do.” He adds.

(Andrew does not know that the twist of FF’s lips has more to do with the fact that he is realizing that Romero likely STILL has not washed his hands. Romero hasn’t washed his hands and he is going to hand Jackson a DRINK with those hands. Ugh. Honestly a contract killer AND someone who doesn’t wash his hands? Who RAISED him? What does his grandma think of this? FF hopes she’s disappointed in him.)

“You thought you needed to lure a hitman into an alley?” Andrew asks because the plan is stupid even if so far it has worked out for FF. The fact that Romero hadn’t just come out when he sent Jackson the signal is only due to FF’s good luck and their stupidity.

“I didn’t have a lot of time to think up anything more than the first plan I thought of. I saw him looking at Nicky on the dance floor.” FF says with another twist of his lips as he self-consciously rubbed at his cheek. It’s never fun to have someone who has time to pick apart a plan that you barely had time to form. Andrew can understand the irritation and is glad that FF isn’t lashing out at him for it.

(Andrew does not know that FF is not irritated he is just remembering that he had held up his broken toilet bowl phone to his face to pretend call Captain Neil. He’s contemplating asking if Andrew maybe possibly has a wet wipe? Actually the murder van probably has bleach to clean up evidence, maybe he can just dip his face in there for like a minute.)

“Don’t use a plan where you martyr yourself. I already have to deal with Neil’s bullshit tendencies.” Andrew says instead of thanking him. “You should have just called me.” He says.

FF just holds up his phone, “Dropped into a club toilet. Completely unusable.” He says and yeah that makes sense. FF would have probably just texted Andrew but coming out and seeing a hitman going after Nicky probably made it impossible for the freshman to go get help without drawing all the attention to himself first if he wanted to make sure Nicky stayed safe.

Still.

“You dropped it into a toilet? You haven’t even had anything tonight.” He says because that clumsiness is not something he expects from FF.

“You try taking a pee next to someone on the FBI’s most wanted list and see how dry your palms remain when he’s talking about grabbing one of Captain Neil’s friends to lure him out.” He says with a brow raised.

That’s fair.

He figures that Romero hadn’t even noticed FF standing there. FF was incredibly good at just making himself unnoticeable (to Andrew’s occasional great annoyance and to Kevin’s great desire to study him for Exy related purposes).

“You recognized him?” He asks.

FF’s gaze slides to him, “I looked up a lot about the Foxes after I signed.” FF answers before his gaze slides back to the door. Roland had just texted Andrew that he’s getting Romero’s drinks ready (Two bud lites. Those are the celebratory drinks he waited for?? Embarrassing.) “I really looked up to Captain Neil. So, I read a lot more about him than anyone else.” FF admits but the fact that FF looked up to Neil was not in any way shape or form a secret.

FF was the only one who was ALWAYS paying attention to whatever Neil was saying and never argued with it. Even Andrew tended to just get lost in the sound of Neil’s voice when he’s going over Exy plays and not actually listen to the plan. FF’s eyes were always right on Neil and his actions on the court showed that he had been paying attention and knew what he was doing. Kevin also listened but he tended to fight Neil on the finer details of plays, strategy or anything else. FF was the one who would just nod and do his part in whatever possible play Neil had broken down for them.

FF was also categorically incapable of referring to Neil as anything other than Captain Neil.

Neil had bristled early on at it. He had thought it was a mocking title, something FF was saying to rile him up because that’s what Freshman Foxes did. That’s what Freshman Foxes always do. FF slid into the team without a whisper of rebellion and it hadn’t taken long to realize that FF was using the title with sincerity even if his monotone did not perfectly convey that.

It’d been that sincerity and that ease that had FF be the only option he’d considered when Bee said he should consider expanding his friend pool.

So if FF looked a little deeper into Neil’s past and sees Neil’s part in it as something to respect, something to admire?

Well, he personally thought he always had great taste in people. (He ignores the voice in his head that sounds like Nicky complaining about Kevin still not knowing German despite it being the family language.)

“You sure you don’t want one of my knives or the knife Jackson had?” It was pretty big and Andrew didn’t think it would work well with his general style but maybe FF could use it somehow. He was uneasy that FF was going into this fight unarmed. FF still hadn’t talked about how he’d taken out Jackson when the man had a knife like that.

“Do I look like Crocodile Dundee to you?” FF asks with a raised eyebrow and Andrew has to pause a moment for the movie to load into his brain before he offers an amused quirk of his own lips.

FF is a funny guy.

His phone dings. “He’s on his way.”

***

Aside from thinking about how nice the conversation he was having with his friend Andrew (his friend! His friend Andrew! God how is he going to admit to Gran that Andrew was never planning on stabbing him? She threatened to come over and square off with the ‘mean young man’ bullying him. He’s gotta go grab the makings for a secondary pie to even start to make up for this. Maybe Andrew would prefer a cobbler? He should ask his friend his preferences.) he was thinking about how he really wished they hadn’t had a cut away from Gracie Hart showing all the various forms of self defense she knows in the movie.

He had no idea if he could do a repeat performance of S.I.N.G. with Romero.

It’d be nice to have a few more things in his repertoire because all he has is striking Romero with the heel of his hand in the nose, getting grabbed from behind to throw him over his shoulder (which what if Romero is shorter than him? How will THAT work. Gracie Hart guide my steps!), and of course S.I.N.G.

If he survives this he might write a letter to the writer.

The door opens and honestly FF and Andrew agreed that surprise and speed were going to be their best weapons. The two of them go in for a full body tackle but Romero must just be a higher class goon than Jackson was since he manages to body them away. The door shuts which is mostly what they wanted anyways. Romero can’t go back in and grab someone to use as a shield.

He sees Andrew pull out his knives and now FF realizes that any level of threatening Andrew had done before must have mostly been in jest or just as intimidation. When Andrew wants to stab someone it’s obvious that he’s aiming to stab them.

Romero manages to parry Andrew’s first stab with a move that FF had seen on the ‘how to handle someone coming at you with a knife’ videos. FF sees Romero go in to bash one of the Bud Lite bottles over Andrew’s head so he launches his water bottle at Romero’s hand. The bottle falls and shatters harmlessly on the ground.

He kicks Romero’s other hand since the water bottle bought him time to get close. “You fucking brat!” Romero hisses.

He sees Romero reaching for something at the same time Andrew is going in for the second round of stabbing. Romero dodges out of the way but FF can see what might actually for real be an entire gun concealed in his jacket.

He can see Romero going for it. Sees the same smile on his face he’d seen inside as his hand wraps around the handle.

FF doesn’t think.

FF doesn’t think because if he does he’ll freeze.

So FF acts.

“Gun!” He yells and runs full force tackling Romero as hard as he can but unfortunately he tackles Romero into Andrew.

The three of them grapple on the ground. It’s hard to keep track of what limb is who’s and he’s pretty sure he’s accidentally hit Andrew a few times instead of Romero but he’s also pretty sure that Andrew punched him in the stomach so he thinks they’re equal. Finally FF gets a hand on the gun that Romero had been trying to get the safety off of and he knocks it out of Romero’s hand. “You kids will-“

Romero doesn’t get to say anything else because Andrew manages to land a punch right to his jaw that has Romero go limp under the two of them. They look at one another and Andrew manages to pull the handcuffs they’d purloined out of the Van while they were waiting off of the belt loop they were hooked onto and gets them around Romero’s wrists.

They stare down at the second unconscious man on the FBI’s most wanted list in the alley.

Then they roll off of him and onto their backs. Both of them wheezing from a combination of exertion, adrenaline, and (at least in FF’s case) a fair amount of pain (Christ Andrew packs a PUNCH his stomach is already sensitive. It’s a miracle that punch hadn’t made him puke.)

“That was…so stupid.” Andrew pants.

“Yeah probably.” FF admits.

They lay there for about a minute and FF thinks that maybe someone will need to carry him because his stomach is KILLING HIM with all this.

“Alright let’s-“

Andrew is sitting up and looking at him when he stops talking.

FF doesn’t really know what the issue is but starts to sit up, “Don’t you DARE.” Andrew hisses and FF finds himself being pushed back down to the ground to lay flat. “Don’t move Smith.” He demands and is pulling his phone out of his pocket as he keeps a hand on FF’s shoulder.

FF doesn’t really understand what’s got Andrew so upset all the sudden. “Andrew, what’s-“ he tries to sit up again. Is there a third person and Andrew wants him to keep down? There’s not really cover here they should move towards the dumpster maybe?

“Smith, I told you to not move.” Andrew hisses before whoever he’s calling seems to pick up. “I need police and an ambulance. We’re at Eden’s Twilight in the back alley.” He looks to FF, “What’s your blood type?” He asks.

FF has NO idea.

“I don’t know.” He answers and Andrew makes a disgusted sound. “Andrew, what’s-“

Then he sees it.

He doesn’t quite get how he missed it before now.

“Huh.” He hears himself say.

That’s Andrew’s knife handle sticking out of his stomach.

It appears that Andrew Minyard may have stabbed him in the stomach.

“Well, that’s about what I expected.” He says and lets his head rest against the pavement.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themugglemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense @let-tyrants-fear @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice @legowerewolf @deadlydodos @but-we-respect-his-craft @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit @lesbian-blackbeard @lesbiansupernatural @silvermasquerade @thepeachfuzz @minniemariex @kazoo-the-demjin

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

#Fluent Freshman AU #He was RIGHT all along.#The Cassandra of Anxiety #He just kind of had no idea that it would be an accident #Vote now on FF's blood type #I will just say this now that this is not going to be a story where FF dies and Andrew's upset #This is me thinking that this is kind of a funny way for this night to end considering everything #If FF had a phone he would absolutely text his gran on the ambulance ride over #FF: SO I WAS BOTH COMPLETELY WRONG AND RIGHT #FF: Andrew wants to be my friend but due to bizarre circumstances he sure did accidentally stab me tonight #FF: BTW do YOU know my bloodtype? Because the nice EMT lady keeps asking me if I'm sure I don't know.#But FF doesn't have a phone so maybe he drifts a lil closer to the afterlife for a comedic reunion with great gran #GG: You're going to be okay. There's no way you'll die in a fight against a man who doesn't wash his hands #FF: I'm scared to check the state of his skin behind his ears.#GG: Exactly #AFTG #AFTG Fic #AFTG AU #AFTG OC #My Fic #Let's see if you all can find all the various lil jokes that I've made knowing that THIS #THIS is how this night was always gonna end for FF #I've gotten a kick out of putting them in #FF - Pt.21

407 notes · View notes

luvghostie · 2 years

Note

Michael Myers, Otis Driftwood, Leatherface, Brahms Heelshire reaction to their s/o shouting “Who’s ever there I have a gun and I’m not afraid to kill myself” and they are holding a fucking hanger because they got scared by a sound

╰┈➤ 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑

𝐒/𝐎 𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 “𝐖𝐇𝐎’𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈

𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐆𝐔𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈’𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐃

𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅” 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘’𝐑𝐄

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑.ೃ࿐

GN Reader

TW: violence mentioned, talk of unaliving, semi-angst, and language

Brahms was coming back from making you two drinks. It was a rather cold and windy day at the heelshire manson. That being said, he knew the perfect beverage! Hot Chocolate. It wasn't uncommon for the two of you to cuddle closely together during this season. You needed the warmth and you knew Brahms would love the psychical touch.

Once he was on his way back he heard you yell. “Who's ever there I have a gun and I'm not afraid to kill myself!” What? Who was in the house besides you and him?! Throwing the drinks on the floor, brahms made his way to you. You reside in his room in the walls. How would anyone besides you knew where they were at?

When Brahms walked in he saw you armed with a hanger. He didn't think twice about it since he you were scared. “Y/N what's wrong? Is there someone here?!” Brahms inquired, rushing to put his arms on you. As the embrace collided with your body you tried not to laugh. You knew there wasn't anything serious. It was just a small noise that startled you after all. Giving a simple hug back you answered, “No, Brahms, it's just you and me. I promise.”

Michael wasn't the type to worry much about people breaking in. He knew if anyone did they wouldn't last long. However, hearing you screaming and threatening to unalive yourself startled him. No way someone actually came in. Well, no one in their right mind. Michael would take care of the person for good. The last thing the male wants is for you to be scared when he's near. Your protection and safety are key for him.

Michael took his knife in hand and charged to the room. Upon entering he was confused. Why were you holding a hanger? He looked around for any signs of someone inside. Yet, the room was clear, and no one was there besides you two. No animal, no open window, nothing. So what scared you?

Michael titled his head in a questioning manner. You couldn't see it but you knew his eyes lingered on you trying to understand. As you gathered your composure you found it humorous actually. “I-I’m sorry,” you said, throwing the hanger to the side. “I thought there was a ghost or something.” That's when it clicked to Michael. He wasn't upset, if anything it was cute to the male.

Bubba was away for a while with his family. In return, you were left alone. It wasn't all that bad though. You could watch TV, explore the house, and maybe get some cleaning in. The Sawyers left their house in pretty messy shape after the murders. It couldn't hurt to tidy up the weapons and bleach the blood-stained carpets.

When Bubba arrived home he looked for you immediately. He knew you loved him and wouldn't leave but he worried. If you wanted to leave it would've been the perfect opportunity to do so. Searching the downstairs part of the house he heard a yell. “Who's ever there I have a gun and I'm not afraid to kill myself!” his eyes grew wide as he took in what you said. You couldn't possibly hurt yourself. He... He loves you.

As the other family members finally got inside the they were greeted by Bubba running upstairs. When he found you he went right toward your side. Bubba didn't speak a word, he only made small noises of sadness. You were able to understand and felt guilty for scaring him as well. You frightened him so much he didn't even notice the hanger in your hand. “I'm sorry big guy, I thought someone broke in,” you said, hugging him tightly. “I swear I'll give you lots of cuddles tonight.”

Otis went out with Tiny and RJ for a while leaving you in the company of Baby. She and you were very close together. Getting with her older brother was bound to make you guys talk sometimes. Especially, when you needed to vent. She understood everything you said never judging how you felt/acted. Even if it was about Otis she'd never tell him a single thing. What happens in Baby's room, stays in Baby's room.

Baby fell asleep early due to feeling relatively sick. As soon as you noticed she was out cold is when you began to feel scared. The Firefly house was big. Not to mention, they had a mad doctor living underground. You tried not to think about it most of the time but the topic came to mind. What would happen if he need a new patient? Would they sacrifice you?

Otis finally got home, kicking his boots off meters from the front door. When he got to baby's room he heard you yell in fear. Only, he heard the last part. “I'm not afraid to kill myself!” slamming open the bedroom door he saw a comical sight. “What the fuck are you doing with a hanger?” he asked between laughs. Your face turned beat red from embarrassment. You swore there was someone else in the room before he came in. It wasn't long before the interaction spread throughout the family.

2K notes · View notes

gallusrostromegalus · 1 year

Note

oh my god I am frothing at the mouth PLEASE tell us about how Unohana is SO WEIRD ACTUALLY

(her reveal is my favorite thing in the whole series and I was obsessed with Bleach for a good long time)

I love Unohana. She's magnificently insane and deliciously fun to write so far.

My take on AEIWAM Unohana is that fundamentally, she just wants to be happy.

Oh, that doesn't sound too nuts. I hear you say.

Yeah, but I also headcanon that she has ADHD. We joke a lot about it on this site, but if you have the good fortune to have functioning dopamine factories, allow me to explain the worst part of it, for me.

There's no passive happiness.

Most people, as I understand it, if left to their own devices without undue stressors like capitalism or any particular stimulation, tend to be able to feel pretty okay most of the time. Which fascinates me because if I am left alone without undue stressors but no stimulation, my malfunctioning dopamine factories will shut down and I will rapidly develop a terrible black depression and paranoia that life is cruel and I will never experience happiness again and also my appetite vanishes and sleep cycle collapses and I will end up mentally and physically distraught, sometimes in less than an hour.

So I've always got to be doing something, or The Horrors get me.

So imagine Unohana, and with a brain that wants to die if she gets bored... living in fantasy magical ancient japan. Not much to do, out in the early days of the soul society, besides being attatcked by monsters, or participating in warfare, or starving to death. the first two, at least, get the blood pumping, but the first is difficult to come by regularly, so as a young woman, the most interesting thing that happens to her on the regular is Mortal Combat.

And how exciting it is! Adrenaline! Dopamine! And on the rare occasions she meets a fellow combat enthusiast, she also gets one of the best things about ADHD- Recognition Responsive Euphoria. You know that great feeling you get at Con or meeting another person with your special interest and you guys just VIBE and it feels like you've been best friends for life in less than five minutes? Yeah, apparently Non-ADHD people don't get that.

So naturally, she develops her skill in combat, not in pursuit of Honor or The Art or something nebulous like, that, but in the simple Pursuit of Happiness. She gets very good at it, and a lot of people die.

But she starts getting... too good at it. The fights don't last, there's nobody willing- let alone able, to meet her on her level and the previous joy she felt fades and fades until she is once again left in the darkness.

Then, a Miracle happens! Some punk stabs her in the lung :)

Man, what an evening for her. Kills a hundred men with barely a stroke and there's no more joy in the world for her when suddenly some barely-legal scarecrow looking bastard with a raggedy sword he pulled out of someone else's corpse appears at the top of the pile of bodies and then goes Ape. Fucking. Shit. on her.

It's the most fun she's had in ages! He's strong and fast and his moves are inefficient but delightfully unpredictable and by the GODS the STAMINA! Alright, she might be 1,000 years his senior but in the soul society age really is just a number and she can't help but be charmed.

So she flirts back by nearly cutting his face off. This DELIGHTS him!

And there it is again, that sudden feeling of intimacy between like-minded individuals, only these two ships aren't passing in the night, there' here to make Titanic 2: Electric Boogaloo. They make eye contact, and know-they're just like me.

True Love is a wonderful thing.

It's also a great opportunity for a surprise thrust and she only sort of manages to block it, and despite the feeling of blood pooling in her lung, she returns the blow full across his chest.

She staggers back, coughing.

He, miraculously, sits up, coughing. He won't die if he can crawl off somewhere to lick his wounds, but he can't continue the fight either.

She stands up, teeth gritted through the pain, and sheathes Minazuki. "What's your name?" She asks. "So I may find you to fight again."

"Don't have one." he wheezes. "But I'll never forget yours."

She's had men spit that as a threat to her before. It sounds very different as a declaration of love.

"Yachiru." she says, trying to not cough up blood. "Unohana Yachiru."

A Year later, there's a problem.

Soul Society has a bit of a problem with lungs. They can make entire fake bodies for shinigami to travel the living world, but individual organs, especially lungs... never seem to transplant well. Perhaps it's the fact they're already dead.

Her left lung is "healed" in the sense that it no longer has extraneous holes in it, but... Godsdammit, she still has all the power but none of the stamina. Barely 10 minutes into a fight and she's wheezing worse than The Old Man. 20 minutes and her hands are starting to shake and she's seeing spots in her eyes because she can't breathe well enough to keep the oxygen in her veins. Her fights usually last seconds so functionally she's still one of the most powerful people in the afterlife but it's a far cry from where she was before.

She can no longer be the 11th division's Kenpachi. Hell, she can no longer be the woman she was before.

"Unless you figure out some new medical miracles, this is as healed as it's going to get." Explains the chief medical officer after yet another frustrating checkup.

"...If that's what it takes." She decides.

The next morning she re-enrolls in the Shinigami Academy, under the name Unohana Retsu. The sole change she makes to her appearence is to braid her hair down the front of her chest because people WILL ask about the scar, and she doesn't want to think about how badly she's letting down that warrior with no name.

Either she needs to learn how to get back to his level, or find a new rival and learn to heal them to actually last the 20 minutes she has, or she'll die.

She studies.

To her vast surprise, bodies are actually fascinating. She'd previously seen that there were lots of interesting organs inside people but now learning what they are and how they work and the fact that the human body is already astonishingly death-resistant compared to most animals AND a carefully balanced meat sculpture minutes away from catastrophic failure at all times delights. She learns about the extreme ways humans can survive and the bizarrely mundane ways they can die, and she starts to form an idea- not an image, not a philosophy per se- but a working theory of how to keep someone alive and moving for as long and far as they will go, and what they need to stay upright.

This idea shines so brightly that it can keep that terrible darkness away.

The century practically flies by, and one night she stays up manually pumping the mechanism on a device used to keep the also-failing lungs of a young boy going after the power goes out. He's been blessed by A God that he's lived as long as he has, but even Gods can fuck up sometimes and she effectively has to breathe for him for twelve hours until the God gets its shit back together and he can breathe under his own power again.

"Hell of a fight you put in, keeping him alive." says one of her colleagues, collapsing beside her out in the 4th division medical garden where all the doctors go to smoke.

Retsu slowly exhales the smoke, fatigued but still coming down from the high of success. She cocks her head. Her body aches and her mind races and her heart thrills, just like- "I guess it was. " she realizes. "Interesting fight, going 12 hours in the ring with a dying child and winning because he walked away at the end." She laughs, and hands him the cigarette to share.

"You weirdo." he colleague laughs. He's far too young to remember when she was Yachiru. Most of them are these days, and it's a weird sort of peaceful anonymity and personal joke. "You weren't fighting the kid. If we were actually allowed to fight patients, I'd've stabbed the Kuchki hypochondriac decades ago." he grumbles, taking his own drag.

She snorts. "Who was I fighting then?"

"Death?" smoke billows out as he laughs, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

She freezes. Oh. Oh. That's why she likes this so much. She's gone from fighting mere men to the one opponent she knows she can win battles with, but never the war, and who will defeat her personally someday.

"Are. Are you crying?" he asks, a little worried.

"I- yes." She laughs, tears streaming down her face. "I just fell in love all over again."

"Ouch." he nods sympathetically, offering her the cigarette back. "Who with?"

"Death's own Angel, apparently." She giggles, feeling positively prepubescent with this crush.

And thus she goes on, for centuries, learning everything there is to know about bodies and minds and how the two keep each other going and the ways she can help. She gets very good at it, and a many more people do not die.

But there is a special, secret place in her heart for that nameless warrior that defeated her in battle, and made her stronger than every before.

Nearly 1,000 years after she stopped being Kenpachi, she is supervising the annual "see if you can kill the captain" tournament. Her colleague Kaname is there, a walking anxiety disorder with undoubtedly real but strangely hard to diagnose phantom pains, but he's still easily in her top 10 coworkers of all time because he made her a new medical record filing system so functional they were actually able to recataloge three millennia of medical records into a usable format in under a decade. He can come twitching into her office any time he likes, especially if it gets her that mass vaccination process for the Rukongai he's been biting The Old Man's heels for.

Then

as suddenly as he had appeared the first time,

He's back.

He's older now and larger, having matured into a spectacular bastard, but there's no mistaking that cutting edge on his reiatsu (which, oh, that has gotten much, much stronger since last time) or that scar running down his face as he turns from where he had just cleft the previous Kenpachi in twain, and stares out into the crowd in the shower of blood, challenging anyone to do something about it. Hell, even when Yamamoto appears to congratulate him on his promotion, Death's own angel's first reaction is to turn to fight the old man without hesitation.

He then promptly picks three different fights with four captains in under five minutes, tells Yamamoto to shove the job up his ass, imply he's had a WILD collection of vocations in the last millennium and furthermore, he has to get home to his daughter.

...Named Yachiru.

Hilariously, Unohana is only having the second weirdest time about this here, because Kaname and Kenpachi are, somehow, even weirder than she is.

#AEIWAM #An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy #Everyone in this fic is a freak and I'm having a great time

764 notes · View notes

moonlit-imagines · 5 months

Text

You’ve Got the Wrong Guy!

Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz x adoptive!reader

warnings: blood/gore. u know. BOP movie icky stuff

a/n: silly little gif

prompt: @jokekinsjoke505: “Hey I need a new adoptive father's Roman and victor because I think this will be a good idea where either they kidnapped the wrong kid and it ended up with Roman and victor adopted the reader or that one day that the reader walks in while victor is peeling off a face and Roman are eating popcorn watching it happened but they just says ' I'm to tired for this shit' before walking out again and then acted like it never happened.”

“Who does this child belong to?” Asked Roman to his mercenary and dear friend, Victor. In front of him was Victor holding you, a small child, calm in demeanor despite being taken from the comfort of your own home and family.

“Maroni.” Victor replied without a single doubt. “That’s who you told me to grab and I grabbed the kid. Just like you asked. One cool kid if you ask me.” Victor continued, noticing Roman getting visibly upset. “I don’t get it, what’s the problem?”

“That!” Roman shouted, startling you enough to start struggling from Victor’s grasp. He gently set you down as Roman tore him a new one. “That’s the problem, you don’t even see your failure!” You stood behind the bleach-blonde man, trying to understand what was happening, you were just waiting for the ice cream you were promised, you were so hungry. “That’s not Maroni’s kid. I don’t even know who that is? Did you take some random child off the street?”

“I, uh, I don’t know. I could’ve sworn this is the kid.” Zsasz answered.

“I’m hungry.” You quietly mumbled, just loud enough for them to hear you.

“Yeah, I’ll get you something in just a second.” Zsasz assured you, patting your head gently as Roman kneeled down to your height. You flinched and backed up a step, remembering his blind anger from just moments before. “It’s alright, he’s a good guy.”

“Who are you, dear?” Roman asked you in such a kind manner that you completely forgot how scary he was.

“Y/N.” You simply stated.

“Where are your parents, y/n?” Roman questioned further.

“I don’t know…” You sighed. “I didn’t see them for a few days.” Roman looked up to Victor with worry in his eyes, and was surprised to see a smile on his face.

“Can we keep them?” Victor giggled a bit, even more when you grabbed his leg. “Please?”

“Y/N, would you want to stay with us instead of your parents?” Roman had asked you a very heavy question for a young child, but you had no idea what he would really be asking of you. Of course, you didn’t come from a happy life and this already seemed better. You just wanted a sense of belonging.

“Can I get ice cream?” You innocently requested of them.

“Of course, dear! What kind?”

“Uhhh…chocolate!”

“Victor, go get y/n some chocolate ice cream!” He commanded and Victor ran to fulfill your wish. “So, you’ll stay here?” He asked you once more.

“Yeah!” You exclaimed and hugged him around the neck. He felt his heart melt at your embrace and hugged you back, lifting you up to take you with him to the kitchen. “So, who are you?” You asked him.

“I’m Roman. And my partner over there is Victor.” He smiled to himself. In a matter of moments, he’d created a family. One he’d kill for.

Once you were given your bowl of ice cream, you were sold on this new life. Truth be told, you didn’t have the greatest parents. They were absent and neglectful, which was the exact reason Victor found you all alone. It was still unknown why he mistook you for the child of a notorious mobster. Roman had his suspicions that Victor had planned this, but he laid them aside knowing this was good for them. For you all.

The two of them scrambled to make you a room, promising to buy you anything you would ever want when tomorrow rolled around. You were thrilled to be taken in by these two strange men, forgiving both of them in your young, impressionable mind. Roman, for his anger, and Victor, for kidnapping and misleading you.

“Victor.” Roman lowly said after you were tucked in. “I do apologize for raising my voice at you.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” Victor looked down at the table, then felt a hand wrap around his.

“No, I shouldn’t have done it. Especially when you’ve improved our lives so much.” Roman sat beside him. “I don’t even care about that Maroni kid anymore. This is what I care about now. You and y/n.”

“You mean that?” Victor smiled and relaxed his tense body, worried that his mistake would be unforgivable. But Roman always forgave Victor, that was what made them so special. Now they had a new challenge to tackle together: fatherhood.

—————

Years after you’d been adopted by the pair of criminals with high status in the underworld, you’d grown quite accustomed to their behavior. It wasn’t unusual to find Roman frantic or angry, or a bit violent at times. But never toward you, he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you or raise his voice to you. You could do no wrong.

You could also find Victor coming home from a late night, covered in blood—be it his own from a mark or someone else’s from a job—and being very nonchalant about it. It was always, “y/n! I’m glad you’re up! Would you like some ice cream?” They never left the freezer understocked, even if ice cream wasn’t your favorite anymore.

But there was one “normal” you’d never really get used to, even if you were used to their brutality. Roman was a well-respected crime boss, and to keep that respect intact, he had to do some rather gruesome things.

Well, he didn’t have to. It was a personal choice for him, you could almost consider it a hobby at this point.

You’d been looking for your fathers for going on an hour now, needing some permission slip signed for school. You wandered all their possible routes hoping to catch them across one, asking around to any lackey you managed to catch. No one had an answer for you, so you continued on until you stumbled onto a horrible scene.

One father held a segment of his victim’s hanging skin from their face as they shrieked at the top of their lungs. The sound pierced your eardrums and you winced momentarily. Then you saw the other leaned back in his seat with a bag of popcorn in hand, yelling words of encouragement to Roman, as if he needed them.

“You guys are really something.” Your voice startled them both, so much that you nearly had a gun pulled on you.

“Y/N! You scared us, I’m sorry!” Victor jumped up and ran to give you a comforting hug. “I wouldn’t have shot you, I promise.” You patted him on the back.

“I believe you, Dad.” You mumbled into his shoulder. “Can you just sign this thing real quick? Make sure there isn’t any blood on your hands.” Victor pulled away and wiped his hands on his shirt.

“Of course, of course. Roman, are you almost done with that? We should take our dear y/n out for a nice dinner soon, they deserve it.” Victor explained as he grabbed the pen and paper from your hands.

“Sure, that sounds nice. I should be done in a few minutes. Don’t rush me.” Roman continued dragging the knife under his chained victim’s skin and you shook your head at the sight. By now, this didn’t even faze you, it was just another day in your life. Well, maybe the first few times you had nightmares, but you weren’t a little kid anymore. Now, you could care less what your fathers did for work. So long as they gave you the world and their love, life was good.

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @randomfandomimagine // @summersimmerus // @bad4amficideas // @xoxobabydolls // @evilcr0ne // @amirahiddleston // @sydknee624 // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @elenavampire21 //

145 notes · View notes

wifeofnatasharomanoff · 1 year

Text

Say Yes To Me (chapter 4)

WARNINGS: angst, nightmares, Nat has a dick, light smut, praising, softtt sex, a bit fluffy at some parts, kidnapping

WORDS: 1,680

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x f!Reader

A/N: Alex is a toddler, so that's why his speech/dialogue is how it is

a bit smut in this one, ik how nasty you whores are 🙄🙄

i hope you guys have been doing well! <3

You got discharged from the hospital and brought back home. When you stepped into the house, it smelled like bleach. Someone had been cleaning up the evidence from the attack. You notice small splatters of blood on the kitchen counter that someone had forgotten to wipe off. Your memories started to show up clearer. You remembered the attack. It plagued your mind. You were terrified, but you didn't feel like bothering Natasha with your troubles. Your absence already left a toll on her. You didn't want her to worry about you. You hated how you felt, like the doctors said, your scars were gone, but you knew they still happened. You knew that you were stabbed, and that you almost bled out to death, that you didn't know who your wife was for over a month. That your kids saw you on the ground surrounded by blood. They were too young to understand. They shouldn't have ever been involved in all of this.

“Babe wake up, shhh.. calm down.” you were moving in your sleep. A nightmare, maybe. Natasha looked down at you with a concerned expression. She had never seen you like this. Come to think of it, you've never seen yourself like this. You didn't know what emotions you were feeling. Your usual bubbly self felt out of place ever since your memories came back. “N-Natasha..?” you whisper her name out in the dark room. “Are you okay? Detka, what's wrong?” she asked, placing her hands on your shoulders. “I– It's like I can feel everything all at once and.. I just want it to stop Natty..” you leaned into her arms, unable to control your crying.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there that day, baby.” she whispered into your ear as she ran her palms against your back in hopes to comfort you. “Nat don't blame yourself. You had a mission. It wasn't your fault.” she pressed her lips to the side of your head, “I love you. I love you so much, moya lyubov.” she kissed you again, this time on your cheek. “I missed you so much..” you sighed, fluttering your eyes closed as she tightly held onto your wrist. “I'm here now, aren't I detka?” you hesitantly nodded.

“Don't leave. Please.” she furrows her brows at your words, “I won't. I won't leave, don't worry.”

This went on for days. You weren't the same anymore, and she understood that. She didn't leave, she didn't yell at you, she was just there. That's all you needed.

“Hi darling,” you say, propping your head on her shoulder. “just finished making lunch for the kids, I left you some in the fridge, Nat.” you loop your arms around her neck. “hm.. I kinda want something else detka.” she said, her eyes moving from your lower body to your face. “Natasha!” you giggled, looking around to see if any of the kids were near you two. “I'm not lying, babe.” she brought her lips to yours, pulling you in for a slow kiss. “mm– Nat.” she pulls away from you, “what's wrong, krasivaya?” her eyes met yours. “N- Nothing I just.. I don't know.” you sighed into her hold, “everything is going to be okay.. okay? You're safe, baby.” she whispered.

It's not that you didn't want to have sex with her. You just couldn't explain it – but you needed her touch either way. You didn't want her to not want you. You wanted to please her. So you did it anyway. You shouldn't have been selfish. You should've watched him. “Where are the kids, Tasha?” you asked, “the baby's sleeping, and Alex wanted to play in the backyard.. why?” you grasp her wrist and place it on your waist. “Detka you don't need to–” she flinched back her hand from your waist, “Please. I want to. Close the door, darling.”

“Are you sure?” you anxiously bit the inside of your cheek. Why did she keep pushing your patience? “Yes. I am.” she finally complied and closed the door. You threw off your nightgown and allowed her to touch you everywhere. “You're so fucking perfect baby..” she mutters against your neck, her hands traveling down your sides. “What e-else?” you ask as she swiftly pulls your panties off, leaving you in nothing but your bra. “You're the best wife and mother I could have asked for.” she said, taking your hand and her lips to your knuckles. “I love you so much..” she says as she slowly pushed you onto the bed. The soft mattress hitting your back, and her hands on your thighs.

“Natasha.. make love to me, darling.” the words come out as a whisper, only something that you both could hear. She smirks and gently lifts up your thigh, you felt a soft pair of lips lightly touch parts of your inner thigh. “I love you..” your bottom lip quivered as she brushed her hand against your exposed folds. “Nat–” she flickered her gaze down to your hips, the hips that were now desperately grinding against her palm. “Oh my god!” you clutched onto her wrist when she inserted two fingers inside of your soaking cunt. “Oh Natasha!” you moaned out her name as if it were a prayer. She slid her finger in and out of your pussy, keeping her eyes fixated on yours, intently watching how your hands went to grab onto anything as she thrust her fingers deeper into you. Or how your lips part, and your brows scrunch up together in pleasure.

“You're doing so well for me, detka..” she said as she brought a hand down to your chest and undid your bra. Her fingertips grazed your pebbled nipples, her other hand continuously working on your cunt. “Natasha– Nat- fuck!” she pinches your nipple in between her two fingers, lightly twisting them. “I– Natty please.” she slips her fingers deeper into your pussy, “are you close?” you nodded. “Let go for me baby.” with those words you came all over her fingers, completely ruining the bed sheets as well. “Natasha..” she hums in response and presses her lips to yours. “I really need to fuck you properly kotenok.” she mumbles against your mouth. “Do it.” you say to her.

She smiled into the kiss before discarding her boxers. “I love you..” you whisper as she rubbed her tip against your slippery folds. “Oh fuck!” you grabbed onto her arm when you felt a few inches of her length reaching your cunt. “mmn–” you dug your nails into her skin as she shoved completely into you. “Can.. can I move?” she asked, her eyes locked onto yours. “Yes..” exactly right after she started thrusting in and out of you slowly, “..yes! Natasha–” she grunts as she quickens her pace, fucking you harder. You felt her reach deep into you, your walls desperately clinging onto the sides of her cock. “Fuck! Right there Tasha!” she stuttered her hips into yours, shoving her dick deeper inside of your cunt.

“Nat- Natasha.. ’m gonna cum!” she held onto your waist to fuck you faster, “make a mess moya lyubov.” you closed your eyes shut as your orgasm washed over you. “Oh thank you! Thank you Natty!” you said, slamming your lips onto hers. “I love you so much krasivaya.” she said as she gently pulled you up from the bed.

“I– I should probably go get dressed and get the kids up for lunch.” she smirks and helps you put your dress back on.

You got out of the bedroom and peeked out the window to check up on Alex in the backyard. You saw the little boy chasing around a butterfly with his toy gun. “Wonder who he got that from.” Natasha says from directly behind you, startling you a bit. “mhm..” you sighed, turning to face her and noticing the baby in her arms. “Aww.. my little Ali, is she hungry?” you pout at the chubby baby and take her from your wife's hold. “I'll go feed her. Watch Alex.” you say before disappearing off into the living room.

Natasha takes one last glance at you and steps out of the house and into the backyard. “Mama! Mama loot—” he ran up to his mama with a squirrel squeezed between his tiny hand. “Alex! Buddy put that down. It could have diseases.” she raised a brow at the poor toddler. He loved Nat, but whenever she'd do anything like that, it scared the shit out of him. “otay..” he let go of the animal and frowned as it climbed up a tree, away from his grasp.

You should've been there. Why couldn't you feed the baby in the backyard? You should've watched him with Natasha. Why. Why didn't you?

After a few more minutes of lizard chasing, Alex finally got tired and sat down in the grass. “Mama what's that noise?” he yelled over at Natasha, “I don't know, sweetie, but maybe you should come back insi—” she got interrupted by a shot arrow in the neck, immediately passing out. “Mama? Mama!” Alex ran over to her faint body. It was a trap. Why did they want your son? Why couldn't they leave your family alone? A figure came up behind the little boy and covered his mouth with some sort of cloth. “Momm— mmph!” his muffled cries did no help, his gaze slowly blurring as he drifted off to unconsciousness.

You were breastfeeding the baby when you heard a strange thumping noise from the back of the house. Assuming it was Alex and Natasha playing in the backyard, you didn't think too much about it. Till you heard your son call for your wife, that is. “Alex?” you call out from the living room, slowly getting up to check up on them. “Natasha..?” you held Aliana close to your chest as you quietly open the backyard door, only to be horrified with Natasha's unconscious body and your son nowhere to be seen. “Natasha? Nat wake up. Fuck— darling, get up.” she fluttered her eyes open, “Where's Alex?”

“Where's Alex?”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x you #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha marvel #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romonova

354 notes · View notes

captain-mj · 10 months

Note

Honestly a tradegy that the fandom has so many "possessive ghost/ ghost kidnaps soap" but none of soap being the kidnapper I think it would be fun! Very much feel soap would be more of a "taking you for your own good" sorta guy

(Are there any fics like this and if yes PLS link)

I have zero clue if there are any BUT I can make one

Ghost never, ever drank with people if he could avoid it. After the military wouldn't let him back in after Roba, he spent so much of his life trying to drink it away.

Soap was no different. The only difference was that he happened to be his bartender.

After a while, Soap managed to break down some of his walls. Soap just... got him. He was so nice and there was something about him that put Ghost naturally at ease.

And it's the biggest reason why waking up restrained and without his mask felt so much like a betrayal.

Soap looked at him, serene. So gentle.

Ghost tried to jerk himself forward to strangle him but it only bent his back harder. It hurt.

"It's okay, Simon. Not going to hurt you."

"Fucking bastard. Did Roba put you up to this? He pay you?" Ghost spat out, suddenly very very scared. He couldn't handle it. He'd kill himself first. What they were doing in Manchester?

His family.

Oh god, Tommy and Joseph and Beth and his Mom.

"Who's Roba?" Soap tilted his head, fluffy mohawk getting in his eyes. "Nothing like that, m'eudail. How often do you leave the house?"

Ghost glared. "I don't know."

"6. Every night except Tuesday night, you come to the bar. You have your food delivered. You work out in your home. Your mom visits you on Wednesdays which is why you don't come to the bar on Tuesdays. It's so you won't be hungover when she comes, right?"

Ghost stared at him. "You've been stalking me."

Soap smiled. "For months. Watched your every move. You don't take good care of yourself."

Ghost started to take deep breaths, realizing how well he was played. "I... I..."

"It's okay. I promise. I would never hurt you, Simon." He ran his hands through Ghost's hair, gently touching each bleached strand. "Do you dye your hair so you don't look like your father?"

Ghost physically couldn't cry. Instead, he shook until he thought his bones would shatter.

Soap winced. "I'm going to undo some of the ties so you can get in a more comfortable position. You're not going to try to escape, ya understand? You're in a cabin in the middle of the Scottish wilderness."

Ghost let him slowly rearrange him, feeling helpless. Being out of the military and also still being injured meant it was hard to really keep his skills up. He had barely started to bulk back up.

The bed underneath him felt... nice though. Far more comfortable than anything Ghost had ever had.

"I spent a lot of money on this cabin. Had some rich family members die." Soap grinned and Ghost knew for a fact Soap killed them. "So, you're going to be safe here. No more worries. No more fears."

Ghost shuddered and rolled on to his stomach, hiding his face.

"I don't mind your scars. No need to hide those from me."

Ghost choked down something harsh mixed with bile.

"You're not getting your mask back. Don't make me tie you to the bed. I want to see your face."

Ghost slowly adjusted, taking deep even breaths. He was going to die here. The one person he thought was his friend betrayed him.

"There you go, m'eudail." He continued to stroke Ghost's hair until he eventually fell back to sleep, weighed down and likely still drugged.

When he woke back up, his arms were tied behind his back and he was leaning against the headboard. There was a small tray in front of him with some food.

Soap smiled at him. "I'm going to have to feed you. Can't trust you not to try to kill me." He got a spoonful of the soup he had made and offered to Ghost.

Ghost glared at him. "No."

"Simon. Be a good boy for me." Johnny purred, using the same voice he made in the dead of night when he encouraged a very drunk Ghost to drink some water.

Slowly, he opened his mouth, shamefully letting Soap feed him.

It was delicious. Tasted better than the cheap stuff he had been getting. Anything he couldn't microwave was usually out. He just... couldn't bring himself to cook. Soap picked up on his disappointment when it was gone.

"I'll make you more, okay?" Ghost nodded and Soap touched his face, making him squirm. "I can't wait for when I trust you enough to untie you. I promise, I'll take such good care of you."

Ghost looked at him and nodded. Maybe if he played along, it would be easier...

Later that night, Soap got a gun out. He undid Ghost's binds and motioned for him to go to the shower. Ghost followed him, watching the gun warily. Soap clearly had training, knowing exactly how to avoid getting close enough for Ghost to yank it from his hands. He also kept the gun aimed at his legs so it wouldn't kill Ghost if he shot.

Ghost cleaned himself up, enjoying the smell of the soap. It was... pine? He wasn't sure. Once he was done, he pulled the towel into the shower, refusing to let Soap see him.

Soap had gotten him a t-shirt and some sweatpants. They had a skull design on it that he liked a lot. As awful as it was, Soap clearly knew exactly what Ghost liked.

Ghost obediently let Soap tie his hands back together before Soap put him to bed. He sank into the luxury of the blankets and sheets.

Soap got in bed next to him and Ghost was already stepping outside of his body. It wasn't that bad if he dissociated early.

But Soap did not start to undress him. Didn't tug his pants down or get handsy. He didn't even touch him.

Nights were easily the best. Ghost had plenty of time to himself and Soap never touched him at night. He also put rain sounds on at night. It helped him sleep.

The withdrawals hit fast. His steady diet of alcohol and the painkillers he was prescribed for his.... entire body honestly. Soap was so sweet the entire time, knowing exactly how to help even though he refused to give him the drugs or the alcohol to make it stop.

Ghost felt lips against his forehead as Soap checked his fever. "Don't touch me like that."

"Just checking your temperature, Simon. You're so warm. I'm worried." He gave him more acetaminophen and gently pet his hair. "You're going to be okay."

Ghost grimaced as he moved. His vision turned fuzzy as the fever got worse. "Don't let the skeletons get me."

"the skeletons?"

"Yeah. They haunt my dreams. Roba made them."

"Who is Roba?"

Ghost swallowed. "He raped me. A lot. He kept me locked up."

Soap winced. "I'd never. Ever. I promise. I just want to love you, Simon." He put a wet rag over his forehead, trying to cool him down.

"I know. You wouldn't do that to me." Ghost smiled serenely, even as the world spun. Soap stayed next to him, protecting him from the night terrors and fever induced hallucination until he managed to get through it all.

He kept waiting for the other shoe to fall. Ultimatums or forcing himself upon him.

Soap never did. He had such soft hands that fed him and tied him looser and looser until one day he didn't bother.

"If you kill me, I'll be happy knowing I got to spoil you as long as I could."

Ghost didn't even try. The only difference was he (usually) fed himself. He had gotten spoiled and they both knew it.

Soap was gentle when he tried to ask Ghost if he wanted more. It was soft. Just a slight brush of his hands on Ghost's thigh before he grabbed Ghost's hand and held it. "Anything else I can do for you?"

Ghost wanted to say yes. Stupidly. But if he broke, he knew Soap would take whatever he wanted. Despite how good Soap was, he was still anxious. Unreasonably so.

It was absolutely reasonable. Soap was a kidnapper.

Soap nodded when Ghost turned him down and it didn't get brought back up. They watched movies on the couch and Ghost waited by the door whenever Soap had to leave and occasionally they went outside. It was winter and very cold so they didn't do it very often.

Ghost was spoiled and that's why when Soap slipped his shirt off to shower, he touched him. Tracing the tattoos on his back. Enjoying the feeling of him warm beneath.

"Your fingers are freezing." Soap commented, leaning into him. "Having fun?"

Ghost lightly leaned down and kissed his shoulder. "Yes. I am."

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #soapghost #cod #ghoap

291 notes · View notes

yoongiseesawmp3 · 1 year

Text

paradigm - seonghwa (m)

summary: bored, at work, you start to realize your fellow bartender seonghwa is hot. like really hot. after talking, you find out you’re both having dating trouble. how bad would it be if you helped each other out, just a little bit?

word count: 4.4k

warnings: smut!!!!! switch!seonghwa (leaning bottom), switch!reader (leading top), afab reader, oral (m receiving), cumplay, penetrative sex (unprotected), mentions of alcohol

masterlist

dating sucks, and lately your roster has been disappointing you exponentially. you need new blood, but you’re not sure where to go to find it. you’re tired of apps, bored with shitty conversations and no follow through, and if you have to waste another night out at an expensive restaurant just for the most mediocre sex of your life then you might start to consider celibacy.

you’re griping about all of this to your friend from work, seonghwa, when a customer comes in and ruins the mood. you’re technically off the clock, just here to bug hwa while the dinner rush trickles in, but you decide to do some prep for your shift tomorrow while you wait. you’re not a sommelier by any means, but in an attempt to class up the joint, the owner wanted to hire someone who could pose as a wine snob to make the place seem nicer. enter you, a self proclaimed connoiseur (you drank a lot in college). seonghwa is the night bartending lead, and also the most attractive man in the world, no competition. you’re staying late today to make a house sangria out of some poorly selling wines, but you also wanted to linger and make eyes at seonghwa with his newly bleached hair.

speaking of the object of your desires, seonghwa turns back to you after pouring a round of shots for a guy who barely looks 18 let alone 21, and he jumps back into your previous conversation.

“sorry, what was i saying?” he asks you, wiping his hands on a bar towel.

“did you card that kid?” you ask back, watching the customer struggle to balance the heavy tray of shots back to his table.

“yeah,” seonghwa shrugs. “it didn’t look like a fake but he’s definitely twelve.”

“you’re very ethical,” you point out, struggling to cut the orange in front of you, tongue poking out between your lips in concentration. seonghwa watches on, intrigued by the shock of pink poking your lips, but you interrupt his staring by saying “you were about to solve all my relationship problems before squarepants showed up.”

“right,” he laughs, gently taking the knife from your hands. “let me do this, you’re gonna chop a finger off. you shouldn’t be doing this with a paring knife anyway.”

“that’s all we have back here!” you complain. then, you watch in shock as seonghwa produces a utility knife from thin air. “you a magician?”

“no,” he laughs with that strained smile of his. “i’ve got a couple hidden back here-”

“safe,” you interrupt.

“-face down, in this jar, as safe as can be, thank you,” he continues, pointing to the jar he’s talking about.

“how’d you get those?��

“i asked wooyoung,” he shrugs. “they’ve got plenty in the kitchen so he said i could have some spares.”

“so helpful, that kid,” you say as you swipe an orange slice seonghwa just cut.

“hey!”

“cut em into rounds,” you instruct, taking little nibbles out of the slice in your hands. “they’re going into sangria, so make it pretty.”

“now i’m starting to understand why you can’t land a man,” hwa grumbles as he follows your request.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask in mock hurt.

“you’re high maintenance!”

“i didn’t ask you to do this for me,” you chuckle, taking the knife back from him. “go back to your job, the less we bother each other the earlier i’ll leave.”

“but then who’s gonna get on my nerves?” seonghwa asks with a pout.

“wooyoung?”

“probably.”

“oh, right, i was saying,” he starts again, messing with some of the quick pours, “if you can’t meet anyone on an app then you might have to, gasp, meet someone in person y/n.”

“i know that,” you groan. “but how? where? just start going up to strangers?”

“basically,” hwa nods. “you could start with boy wonder over there.”

“ok, if you’re not gonna be serious about this then we can talk about something else,” you say as you slide the completed slices from your cutting board and into the large sangria pitcher. “how’s your life? any problems we can solve there?”

“hm,” he thinks, “well, hongjoong pointed out yesterday that i haven’t brought anyone back to the apartment in six months, so that’s a new record i think.”

“six months?” you scoff. “i don’t believe you.”

“why not?”

“looking the way you do?” you ask. “no way you don’t get boned on the regular.”

“what do you mean looking the way i do?” seonghwa asks with a smile.

“never mind.”

“no, tell me in detail.”

“i need to grab an apple from the kitchen,” you say, trying to scoot past seonghwa to find your escape. unfortunately, he cages you in, arms enclosing around you and resting on the bar behind you.

“you like the way i look?” he asks with a smirk, and you decide to take the bait.

“um, yeah? especially with your hair like this, it’s kinda sexy,” you admit, not letting seonghwa get the best of you.

“oh?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at your response. he holds your gaze for a moment, and briefly, very briefly, you think he might kiss you. the sound of the bell above the door distracts seonghwa ever so slightly, and you’re able to slip from his trap before he can stop you again. you scurry to the back of house, hiding in the walk in for just a minute before you head back to the bar.

seonghwa is busy with some of the regulars at the bar, doing his best to relate to these old men and make their disgusting drinks without batting an eye. you’re able to take up your spot at the end of the bar, happily chopping fruit until you’ve got enough for two big pitchers of sangria tomorrow. you start pulling the low bottles from the wine rack behind you, and in your focused state you don’t notice seonghwa finishing up with the men and turning back to watch you. he’s leaning against the bar drying some glasses, his eyes sweeping up and down your body, noticing (not for the first time) how good you look in the uniform. he’s so focused on staring at your ass that he almost doesn’t notice you struggling to reach a wine bottle at the top of the rack, but he steps in and places his hand at the small of your back while he easily grabs the wine you were reaching for, handing it to you with a wink.

“thanks,” you blush, not expecting this small act of kindness from him. his hand lingers for a moment, and when he finally removes it, you can feel the warmth it left in its wake. “how long with you be here tonight?”

“till close, why?” seonghwa asks, hopeful.

“i’m putting this in the walk in, do you mind tasting it before you leave? that should be enough time for it to set, and just let me know if needs anything else?” you ask, not noticing how seonghwa’s face falls once he hears what you need.

“yeah, sure,” he replies. “so you’re heading out?”

“yeah,” you nod. “been here too long, i’m not getting paid overtime for this.”

“i can share some of my tips,” seonghwa offers, but you shake your head.

“i haven’t contributed, those are your tips m’dear.”

“but you did?” seonghwa says, confused.

“how?”

“looking beautiful,” he sighs, making you laugh at the way his face changes from serious to dreamy so quick.

“seonghwa if i didn’t know any better i’d say you’re coming onto me,” you joke, looking for any fruit scraps you might have missed in your clean up.

“and what if i am?” he comes back, and you stop. you look up at him and he just quirks that damn eyebrow again as if to challenge you to respond.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, hwa.”

“i’m just saying, we could help each other out!” he half shouts as you walk away, and you swat in his direction and tell him to quiet down. “think about it!” he calls after you one last time, and then you’re too close to the kitchen to hear what he might try to convince you with next.

you make it home just fine, warming up your dinner before you take a short shower. the whole time you go about your routine though, you keep thinking back to what seonghwa said. he was flirting with you, he made that clear. and when he said you could help each other out? your subconscious needs to hear more about that before it runs wild in your imagination. but you can’t just text him and say hey wanna come fuck?...right?

you decide to distract yourself with a show, doing your best to focus on their drama and not your own. you start dozing off a couple episodes in, the exhaustion from your day finally catching up with you. when your phone buzzing wakes you up, you notice how late it is. your first thought is about the restaurant, this is usually closing time, and then your next thought it seonghwa. did he try your sangria like you asked? that’s when you realize the reason for you phone buzzing was the man himself. you check the message and it’s a simple “hey” which makes you scoff. you sit up, pausing your show before you respond.

“hey,” you send. then, “did you try my sangria?”

“yeah,” he replies immediately. you watch as the three dots pop up for a moment, and disappear again.

“and?” you prompt, wanting an answer about your concoction before you go in tomorrow.

“i have thoughts,” he texts back. is he always this dry over text?

“what are your thoughts.”

a few seconds go by, but it feels like hours as you watch him type, and type.

“let me tell you in person ? :)”

seonghwa gets to your house in less than 20 minutes, so either he sped all the way here, or he was already on the way when he was texting you. sneaky bastard either way. he knocked quietly, and you opened the door quickly to find him standing there looking delectable as ever despite just working a closing shift. you open your mouth to say something when seonghwa speaks first.

“it needs sugar,” he says quickly, grabbing your face and kissing you after. it’s hungry, but meditated, like he’d been waiting for this. you weren’t the only one with occupied thoughts the past few hours, because seonghwa couldn’t stop thinking about all the things he wanted to do with you. the things he wanted you to do to him. while he’s got you by the mouth, you wrap your arms around his waist and fully pull him into your apartment, his foot catching the door to close it for you. you push him against it, hands itching to touch his skin as his hands settle at your neck. you grab wildly at his shirt, pulling him even closer to you so your breaths are becoming one and your lips stay locked together. seonghwa nips at your bottom lip, and you yelp, the pause letting his tongue explore your mouth. you moan at the taste of him, and he feels his cock stirring in his pants at the sound. with your hands still grabbing his shirt firmly, you tug him toward your couch, hoping you don’t back into anything as you walk. hwa’s hands fall from your neck to your waist, his eyes peeking open to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.

you make it to the couch and pull seonghwa down on top of you, your hands sliding down his chest, memorizing every line and every dip, until your hands stop at his waist, trying to untuck his shirt so you can slip your hands underneath it and run your fingers over his skin. when he feels you make contact, he shudders, and you smile into the kiss, finally pulling back for a minute to catch your breath.

“sensitive?” you ask with a teasing glint in your eye, and seonghwa grinds down into you, earning a shocked moan from you.

“no, you?” he asks mockingly, brushing the hair from your face as he hovers over you. the way he’s looking at you is too sincere for your liking, but you can’t help admiring him in return. you’ve never been this close to him, and you’ve never noticed how deep his dark brown eyes are, or the way his sharp features get more delicate the closer you look. your gaze trails back down to his plump lips, reddened from your prior make out, and you nip at his lips to entice him to kiss you again. he’s easy to convince, because he’s diving in again, kissing you deeper this time. your hands continue exploring his soft skin, but you trail them lower to his belt and work at getting it undone. you don’t bother taking it out, you just undo it and his pants, letting your hand dip down to cup him over his boxers. the touch has seonghwa bucking his hips, his breath fanning over your cheeks as he pants at the contact. you can tell he’s trying to get more friction by moving his hips, but you’re not having that.

“ah ah,” you say, pulling back from the kiss and smirking when seonghwa chases your lips. “if we’re gonna do this you gotta be good for me. keep your hips still.”

“who said i have to listen to you?” he boldly quips, and a firm squeeze to the bulge in his pants has him caving quickly.

“my house, my rules,” you tease, tracing the outline of his cock lightly. “so? can you be good for me, sweet boy?” he eagerly nods, trying not to buck into your hand again as you cup him tighter.

“tell me how you want me,” he says in a voice that’s just barely above a whisper, and if his lips weren’t ghosting over yours as he spoke you might’ve missed it. you smile at him and peck his lips sweetly, removing your hands from him completely to cup his cheeks.

“on my bed? take your shirt off, and i’ll meet you in there.” he kisses you one more time, tongue dipping in to hold you there longer, but a quick pinch to his cheek has him pulling back sadly, sticking his tongue out at you as he untangles himself from your hold. you watch as he wanders toward the hallway, his hand reaching back to pull his shirt over his head. you could write sonnets about the way his back muscles contract as he moves, almost drooling as your eyes follow his every move. “second door on the right,” you call out to him, and then he disappears down the hall.

you want to make him wait a minute, so you take your time getting up and taking your own shirt off, discarding it on the couch before tugging your sleep shorts up high enough to accentuate your ass (since you know seonghwa loves staring at it so much). you walk toward your room, heart racing at what you’re about to do, but a quiet cry pulls you out of your thoughts. you slide to your door, catching yourself on the door frame as you look on in shock at seonghwa palming himself and tweaking one of his nipples. you’d keep enjoying the show, but your dramatic entrance and the gasp you let out at what you found distracts him, and he blushes but smirks anyway, motioning for you to join him.

“you took too long,” he sighs, grabbing your hand to pull you on top of him as soon as you’re close enough. you slot yourself over his crotch, careful not to make direct contact with his cock just yet. you drape your arms over his shoulders, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck while you speak.

“before we keep going,” you start, “can i ask something?”

“am i harder than i’ve ever been right now? yes,” he replies, and you laugh.

“no, but thank you for the insight,” you giggle, the motion grazing you over his lap. he contracts at the contact, and you sit further up into his lap before continuing. “i just wanna be sure, you’re clean right?”

“y/n, i told you, it’s been months,” he deadpans. “and i was plenty clean before that. so yes.”

“ok, well, i was asking, because, um, i don’t think i have any condoms?” you say sheepishly, and the color drains from seonghwa’s face. “so either we just do oral or you can come on my stomach.”

“stomach please,” he says quickly, and you smile at how eager he is.

“yeah?” and he nods again. “lay back for me then.”

“what, already?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“no baby, i’m gonna take it slow,” you say as you lift yourself from his lap so he can lay back on your bed. you crawl down his body, leaving kisses across his chest and down between the soft lines of his abdomen. “you’re really soft.”

“thanks,” he whispers, watching you intently. “new lotion.”

“hm, really?” you ask, kissing along the waistband of his pants. “what kind?”

“i’m not really sure babe, i’ll have to get back to you on that,” he says as he rolls his eyes, and you work on pulling his pants down. he helps you by kicking them off the rest of the way, and he keeps his hips raised, thinking you’ll take his boxers off next. you simply just press his hips back into the mattress and go back to sprinkling kisses across his waist, down his thigh, along the seam of his briefs, ignoring his cock completely as you move to the other side to repeat your motions. seonghwa groans above you, and it stokes your ego to know he’s affected by such meager attention.

“you sure you’re not sensitive?” you ask tauntingly, looking up at seonghwa but leaving your lips hovering over his cock. his eyes fall to yours and he whines at the sight of you so close to him but still separated, and you decide he’s had enough teasing for now.

“if i say yes will you just take these off?” he asks, but you’re already moving to free his cock from his final layer. his cock bobs as hwa lifts himself up to remove his boxers fully, and you feel proud at how red and swollen it is just from a few touches. you softly grasp it, earning a gasp from the beautiful man above you. you spit on it before twisting your hand to work him up a little more, and the whines leaving his pouted lips reminds you of what he said earlier.

“does it feel good, or am i hurting you?” you ask, wanting to make sure this is good for both of you.

“feels so good,” he breathes out, teeth clenched. “but i need to come soon.”

“really? couldn’t tell,” you tease, stroking him a few more times before leaning down to lick his tip. his precum coats your tongue, and you’re addicted to him and the sounds he’s making above you. you suck on the head, pulling back and spitting on your hand before you stroke him again, steadying him in front of you so you can swallow him in one go. when hwa feels his head hit the back of your throat, he cries out, shaking above you beautifully. you’re mesmerized by him, and you can’t help but watch as you bob up and down on his cock, stroking what you can’t fit. you flatten your tongue beneath him as you lick all the way back up, sucking on his tip again to get his attention. in his hazy state he stares down at you, eyes glazed over and mouth open slightly. he watches entranced as you go down on him again, and this time when you feel him at the back of your throat you suck, bobbing up and down messily, and you get to watch as seonghwa comes undone above you. his body jerks as he comes, shooting his load down your throat in spurts, but it’s such a strong orgasm you’re almost afraid he’ll never stop coming. you keep watching him even after he’s done, breathing heavily and sweat dripping from his forehead. you slowly remove yourself from his cock, holding the rest of his release that was sitting on your tongue in your mouth.

“so good to me,” he says breathlessly, watching you crawl back up to sit on his lap again. you give him a kiss, dipping your tongue past his lips so you can push the rest of his come into his mouth, and he moans when he realizes what you’re doing. his hands grip your hips, grinding you down into him, and you’re shocked to feel him hard again. you let hwa keep grinding you into his cock like that, making out with him slowly, until you can’t take it anymore.

“can i ride you?” you ask after detaching yourself from his mouth.

“do you even have to ask?”

“help me get undressed then,” you reply, and seonghwa quickly grabs the elastic of your sports bra and helps you pull it over your head. his hands carefully trail over your chest, taking time to pinch at your nipples which makes you buck into him for once. his hands keep going, tracing down your back to dip into your shorts and squeeze your ass. he pushes your shorts off then, leaving you in your panties, a wet patch almost dripping over his cock. you grind down into him to let him feel how wet you are, and his head falls back as he groans.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, tracing his fingers over your waistband before he dips a finger past the elastic to slowly pull those down too.

“death by pussy?” you joke as you help him take your panties off. “not a bad way to go.”

“yeah now that i think about it that might be a sweet deal,” he smiles. hands going wild trying to find purchase on your thighs, your ass, your waist. seonghwa watches with stars in his eyes as you grab his cock, lining him up at your entrance, and as you try to get him at the right angle he sees your arousal literally drip from you core, and you feel his cock twitch in your hand. “you are so sexy, y/n.”

“not as sexy as-ugh-you,” you grunt, feeling him at your entrance. you brace yourself on his strong shoulders, making eye contact with him before you sink down on his cock. “oh, fuck.”

“shit,” he hisses, feeling you clench around him. “maybe i did die. maybe this is what heaven feels like.”

“what’s it feel like?”

“soft,” he starts off, and then his face contorts as you grind down. “and warm. like you.”

“god, hwa, you feel so good stretching me out,” you tell him. “i’m gonna move now.” he nods, and you take that as enough encouragement to bounce on his lap, setting a fast rhythm to chase your own high. he shifts beneath you, trying to help you find the right angle, and when he moves just right and hits your g-spot you literally collapse on top of him, moaning straight into his ear as he bucks up to keep fucking you right where you need it.

“you good baby?” he whispers in your ear, and you just moan in response, thighs struggling to hold you up because hwa has managed to turn your legs to jelly. you regain some control by bracing yourself on his chest, rubbing your thumbs over his nipples as you try to pick your pace back up. you’re already close, and you clench down on hwa to test the waters, seeing how much more it’ll take before he comes too. “aw fuck, do that again, feels so good y/n.”

“you gotta tell me,” you huff out, squeezing him between your walls, “you gotta tell me when you’re close, remember?”

“i know,” he nods. “not yet though. loving your pussy too much, don’t wanna leave it.” his hands at your waist start to move, one circling around to cup your ass, the other sliding down to find your clit. hwa starts just by tapping it slowly, sending jolt after jolt through your core. your moans turn into high pitched cries, tears pricking at your eyes, and hwa slows to rub your clit with a determination to get you to finish before him. “look at me,” he says, and your eyes meet his. he takes in your fucked out state, bucking up to meet your hips again. you watch him as you crash into your release, almost yelling at how good it feels to have him fuck you through your orgasm. you’re quickly oversensitive though, so you bounce on him a couple more times before pulling off his cock, and the release from your warm walls has him coming as soon as the cold air hits his dick. you watch in awe as he jerks again, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he finishes on himself, come spurting up his stomach and even landing on your thighs still pressed up against his. you keep watching as he comes down, swiping a finger through the come that managed to land on you, and he sucks it clean off his fingers. he’s pulling you in for a kiss before you can do anything else, and then you feel his tongue pressing past your lips to deposit his release into your mouth. you pull back from him, spit and come connecting your lips, but you swallow and show him, a cocky smile growing over his face.

“that was hot,” you say, still trying to breath normally.

“yeah, we need to do that again,” hwa replies.

“again? now?”

“no, not now, unless you want to,” he says with a smirk. “but i was thinking more like another day. when we need it again.”

“that’d be nice,” you agree, and seonghwa slowly pulls you down to lay against his chest. he presses a kiss to the top of your head before he speaks again.

“and i was thinking...if we did this again..we could do it at my place, and do it by my rules. what do you say?”

#seonghwa #park seonghwa #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut #seonghwa imagine #seonghwa one shot #park seonghwa imagine #park seonghwa one shot #ateez #ateez fic #seonghwa fanfic #seonghwa fic #seonghwa x reader #ateez x reader #ateez imagine #ateez smut #ateez one shot

843 notes · View notes

lilacura · 4 months

Text

Her Protection | Ahn Yujin

pairing: ahn yujin x reader

>wc: 831

sypnosis: When a close call leaves Yujin realizing how deeply she cares for Y/N, will she acknowledge the spark between them? Or continue shutting out her own heart in favor of duty?

Y/N sighed as she looked at her outfit in the mirror, a short black dress that she had been looking forward to wearing to Krystal's party all week. But now it seemed her plans were ruined by her overprotective parents insisting she hire a bodyguard after the attempted kidnapping a couple months back.

Y/N huffed in frustration as Yujin shook her head again at the party invitation. "Come on Yujin, it's just one little gathering! You've been my bodyguard for 3 months now, don't you trust that I'll be safe?"

Yujin frowned. "It's not about trust Y/N, I'm being paid to keep you out of danger. And a big social event with strangers is risky, can't you understand that?"

"You're no fun! All you do is tag along behind me like a shadow, I want to have a normal life!" Y/N yelled.

Anger flashed in Yujin's eyes. "Excuse me for taking my job seriously! Do you have any idea how badly I would fail if something happened to you? Just this once can't you cooperate and stay home?"

They glared at each other, tense silence filling the air. Y/N knew Yujin cared deeply even if she didn't express it well. And she truly did feel safer with the guard nearby.

Deflating, Y/N said quietly, "Look, I appreciate your efforts. But being cooped up all the time is difficult, can't you please come with me and we'll both keep an eye out? I'll feel better having you there anyway."

Yujin hesitated, touched by the uncharacteristic pleading. Sighing, she nodded. "Alright fine. But at any sign of trouble…"

Y/N beamed, hugging Yujin impulsively. "I know, we leave. Thank you Yujin!" Her grin was infectious, softening Yujin's stern features into a smile. Maybe this party wouldn't be so bad after all, as long as she looked out for any danger.

When they arrived at the party, Y/N's friend Krystal greeted them happily. Y/N began chatting with her old friend, catching up on the latest gossip.

Yujin scanned the crowded room cautiously, always on high alert. That's when she noticed him—a tall guy with bleached hair leaning against the wall, eyeing Y/N hungrily as she laughed with Krystal. Something about him set Yujin on edge.

She watched him weave through the partygoers until he was right behind Y/N, speaking low in her ear. Y/N turned with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, trying to politely excuse herself. But Bleach Boy reached out to trail his fingers along Y/N's bare arm, making her shiver uncomfortably.

Yujin was there in an instant, placing herself firmly between Y/N and the intruder. "I think she said she's not interested," she growled, noticing the glint of a silver ring pierced through his eyebrow.

Bleach Boy smirked, sizing Yujin up with his gaze in a way that made her fists clench. "Problem, tough guy? We were just chatting." His breath reeked of alcohol and cigarettes as he leaned in closer, clearly not taking the hint.

That's when Yujin lashed out, kicking him hard where it hurts before fixing him with a cold glare. "Back. Off. Now." Bleach Boy doubled over with a whimper, proving he was all bark. Satisfied, Yujin turned back to Y/N protectively. "Are you alright? Let's go find some better company, shall we?"

The rest of the party passed without incident, though Yujin didn't leave Y/N's side except to refill their drinks. As the crowd started to thin out Y/N turned to Yujin. "Walk me home?"

The walk home was quiet but comfortable, Yujin hyper aware of Y/N walking so close beside her. When they reached the door to Y/N's apartment, Y/N turned to Yujin with a shy smile.

"Thank you for coming tonight, and for protecting me from that creep. I really appreciate you looking out for me." Her eyes were soft and sincere.

Yujin felt her heart swell, wanting to comfort Y/N. "Of course, it's my job to keep you safe. And I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

Y/N searched Yujin's gaze, seeming to find what she was looking for. Before Yujin could process what was happening, soft lips pressed gently against hers.

Yujin stiffened in surprise, eyes flying open wide. But then Y/N made a small distressed noise and started to pull away, mistaking Yujin's reaction.

Seeing Y/N's hurt expression melted Yujin's reservations, and she wrapped her arms around Y/N's waist tenderly. She leaned down to kiss Y/N back slowly, pouring all her feelings into it—her desire to protect, her fondness, her growing love.

Y/N sighed into the kiss, hugging Yujin close. They broke apart with shy smiles, a new understanding blossoming between them under the moonlight. "I've got you," Yujin whispered, and Y/N knew everything would be okay as long as they had each other.

a/n: hi everyone lol

#ahn yujin #ive #yujin x reader #ive x reader #ive yujin #ive yujin x reader #gg x reader #girl group #izone x reader #izone #izone yujin #iz*one

79 notes · View notes

youandtom2 · 1 year

Text

Little Birdie Part 2

Summary: You always thought you hated Tom more. But after a wild night that has now led into a confusing situationship you start to question who you should be hating more: your nightmare brother Andy, or his best friend Tom? w/c: 8.8k TW: just brothers being horrible A/N: Wow wow wow okay here it is. Please be kind as I am still easing myself back into this. And I know compared to the first one, it's barely anything, but writing 8k was actually a REAL struggle for me. There's probs mistakes and horrible writing but hey! i did it. And also DO NOT WORRY THERE WILL BE A PART 3. I DON'T INTEND TO LEAVE THIS STORY AS IS BUT I THOUGHT YOU GUYS SHOULD AT LEAST HAVE SOMETHING. okay okay okay all forgiven? Enjoy :)

LITTLE BIRDIE PART 1 // MASTERLIST

There was a book you once read years ago exploring the relationship between humans and dreaming, and it captivated your mind from the instant your fingers turned the first page. You were thrilled by its language, its storytelling, its theories and explanations to the point where you were absolutely obsessed by the enigma that is dreaming. The leading theory intertwined with its words was that dreaming was a human’s way of analysing their memories, learning from situations with hindsight and acting as a rehearsal for future challenges.

It was a book you rarely forgot and a book you rarely shut up about. You remembered the moment you finished it and the profound imprint it left on your mindset. Your hands didn’t want to let go of it. From then on, it prompted you to question every dream you ever had since then.

The dream you had last night certainly fulfilled that theory. Images of your own troubled memory involving your own troubled brother flashed before you. Aside from the unstable, hostile relationship, there was actually another reason why you tended to stay away from Andy. And for some reason, your mind decided to remind you just last night in the form of a dream.

Ten years ago, when you were eleven, you had just finished reading Matilda for the first time, one of the few books that occupied a home on your shelf as one of your all-time favourites. The storyline was almost an uncanny retelling of your life and because of that you immediately fell in love with it. You found so much of yourself in Matilda; a lonely girl with a love of books living with a family that didn’t quite understand her. Admittedly, your parents were much kinder to you than Harry and Zinnia Wormwood, but you couldn’t say the same about your brother. Andy resembled Matilda’s menacing brother, Michael Wormwood, in every way.

Prior to reading the book, you had had an awful week dealing with your brother who was in the early stages of his teenage years and you had yet to find a way of escaping his torment when your parents weren’t around. That was until you read Matilda, sitting on your front in a pillow fortress, swinging feet and unblinking eyes with the book perched so close to your face. One of your favourite moments was when Matilda had cleverly pieced together a very daring prank involving bleach hair dye, originally intended for her father but you took inspiration from it in any way you could and decided to replicate something similar for your brother. With the confidence given to you by Matilda, you found your mother’s bleach and concocted a mixture that was poured directly into your brother’s shampoo, cackling as you had finally gained a way to get back at your brother. At the time, you thought it was enough to keep him off your back, that with enough time he would realise the error in his mistakes for ever having mistreated you like Matilda’s brother Michael did.

It was the biggest regret of your life.

Things didn’t go your way. In the end, it was Andy that made sure you realised your mistake and a day later, you had suffered more than you ever had before.

Enraged, Andy had stormed into your room, hair blazing with a tinge of orange that originally had you in fits of giggles, but when you realised the true extent of his anger, you weren’t laughing for long. He had fought to grab you by your ankles and vigorously drag you from your bed whilst insults and slurs passed through his lips. You had kicked and squealed but your parents were out for dinner with business partners. You were left by yourself, left to suffer the carpet burns up the length of your spine as he pulled you out of your bedroom, to defend yourself when he had pulled you to the edge of the half flight of stairs and sent you tumbling down the steps. Being a carpeted staircase with fewer than 10 steps, you got away with what could’ve been worse but it didn’t mean that the injuries you sustained you didn’t ache from. So blinded by anger, unprecedented for a fourteen-year-old, Andy couldn’t explain to your parents how you ended up with a split head that needed stitches. He couldn’t explain how you had ended up with carpet burn blisters on your back. He couldn’t explain why he did what he did simply because your parents didn’t need an explanation. They knew what had prevailed.

It was a night you realised just how far Andy was willing to go to show how much he hated you and you vowed to never risk provoking him again. It was also a night Andy vowed to never risk hurting you again after the trouble he got himself when your parents arrived back home.

Well, at least not physically. Little birdie would already have scuttled away before it escalated to that point.

The dream had fizzled out into a dark void as the memory turned blank. As you arose from your slumber, you wondered why, of all nights, would your conscience decide to resurrect such a memory. Again, you reminded yourself that no one really knows exactly why people dream and what messages they carry, but if you were to guess; perhaps knowing what transpired last night between you and Tom, it was your deeper conscience telling you to consolidate an old opinion of yours; that Andy was the truer evil you should be hating more. Not Tom. Not after how Tom looked at you with a soft glazing of affection in his eyes just before you fell asleep, tenderly caressing the skin of your thigh with a grounding squeeze, the very feeling that made your heart jump with giddiness.

Longing stare, gentle touch, soft whispers.

Maybe it could be a feeling you could get used to. You were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt just to feel more of it.

The soft cotton of your black suite caressed your skin as you tossed and turned. The early morning sun streamed in through the small square window in the corner, illuminating the entirety of the shed. You had never slept on the couch before; it felt so out of routine. You were much more used to the bed upstairs hidden behind the blackout curtain, so you weren’t accustomed to waking in the bright morning light. It was somewhat uplifting. Albeit, the cramp in your neck was less so.

You basked in daylight’s glow for just a minute before acknowledging how bare you were sandwiched between a blanket and the couch. Despite it being a foreign feeling, it was hardly startling compared to the savagery your body endured last night. Your ass stung, your pelvis throbbed and your head pounded. But nothing hurt more than the tightness in your chest, a pressure so suffocating that your heart was almost murmuring to be free. The pain of solitude was a bitter one.

You, along with the black cinders of a dead flame, a raggedy towel and bottle of half-empty whisky lying by the side of the couch, and a broken promise were the result of what happened when Tom Holland got his way.

He didn’t stay.

You wanted him to stay and he knew that, but he didn’t stay.

Your pain tolerance had been worn down to its last thread and you wanted nothing more than to be cocooned in comfort and warmth. You sought recovery under the thin blanket, grasping it in fists and pulling it tightly over your shoulder as you turned on your side while a sigh deflated from your lips.

It was too good to be true. Tom was never going to change and now, neither will you. You should just keep hating him like you did before.

~~~~

Andy also seemed to be a no-show when you eventually entered through the back patio doors into the living room. Although the air was still and calm, there was still a feeling of unease crawling up your spine when you walked past the mess left behind by Andy’s friends. Without thought, your eyes subconsciously landed on the settee where Tom had placed himself last night before he came to you, where he had sat with fire in his eyes as you bravely threatened to expose his misdemeanours. You remembered feeling like you had achieved something, like you were the victor of a battle that seemed impossible to overcome. Little did you know it was a threat he was going to face head on, and suddenly last night’s…punishment instantly flashed in your mind.

Upon the thought, a sudden flash of realisation coloured your mind and your hand whipped to clamp over your neck. You almost forgot. The bruise on your neck. Shit, was it bad?

You shifted nervously in front of the sheen of the oven door, seeing not one but multiple red splotches staining the skin of your neck in its reflection. Fuck, fuck, fuck! How could you walk around here so brazenly with that on your neck? Trust Tom to be an issue even when he wasn’t here. Bastard.

“You got nerve comin’ back in here after your little stunt last night.” Andy’s groggy voice along with shuffling bare feet entered the kitchen. Fuck, you were hoping for a little reprieve to wash, change and lather your neck in makeup before Andy even had the chance to leave his bedroom. Between the dream you had last night and the bruise to your neck, Andy suddenly being here caused your heart to thump a little harder in your chest, but it was his tone that made your blood run cold.

He sounded…pissed. Well, that was nothing new. But aside from his usual abhorrence towards you, there was something about his expression that resounded a little deeper. Grumpier. His eyes also looked at you a little differently, like he knew something about you that he hadn’t before, something contemptible and there were no second guesses as to what it was. He can’t know. How could he know? Tom--he wouldn’t…would he?

Your hand stayed resting against your neck out of pure guilt while Andy roamed the kitchen, searching fridges, cupboards, drawers.

“What?”

He froze in his tread and turned to look at you expectantly with a deep scowl. “Uh, the whole Tom thing? How can you not remember what you did? Are you that fucking stupid?”

You swallowed thickly, quickly preparing words. “It…it wasn’t my fault! I didn’t know what he was going to do!”

“Well, what did you expect? You were pretty much asking for it!”

You took a hefty breath, body shaking with anger. “Fuck you, Andy. Just fuck you. Why can’t you just be on my side for once? That’s what brothers are supposed to do!”

Andy scoffed and turned back to the measly bowl of cereal he poured himself. “Well if you had just given me a slice of pizza like I asked then none of it would've happened! That’s what sisters are supposed to do, right? Do you know how pissed he was after you blackmailed him? He was blaming me for it, saying that I told you everything and how I betrayed him and how he can’t trust me anymore. I mean, how the fuck did you even know all of that?”

Oh. He’s talking about that.

Your hand remained casually resting against your neck, under the shield of your hair as a sigh blew past your lips. With quieter subdued words, you mumbled, “you guys aren’t exactly the quietest when you’re drunk and high.”

“Well mind your own business and put some headphones on next time!”

“Whatever.”

“Why are you holding your neck like that?”

“I slept on my couch last night. Got cramp in my neck.” Ready to leave with your secret still undisclosed, you turned to make your exit from the kitchen, heading towards the bathroom.

“Weirdo.”

The shower was a degree or three colder than you would usually have it. Something about the freezing cold water inflicted a feeling of clarity upon your skin, like a breath of fresh air, cleansing the stains of the debauchery of last night’s secret. Even as you stepped out, you exited with a new mentality and left the promiscuous past to drain away with the water. However, in its place frustration took over. Typical that whatever relief was to be had from the refreshing shower was only to last mere minutes, because now the heat of loathing had consumed you. Of course, your inner-consciousness blamed it on Tom, but there was a small minority that was self-loathing too for even letting it happen. You should’ve known better.

You stopped, frozen to the spot. The thing was…you did know better. You passed him off as a womaniser, the ‘selfish player’ who strives for nothing but his own satisfaction and only chases girls that share the same intent. You read him like one of your books, exposed everything you knew about him directly to his face and he confirmed it all without hesitation. So was there really anything surprising about what he did? No, of course not. You knew how sharp the blade was before you let yourself get cut by it.

So why were you still bothered by it?

The thought still followed you as you mindlessly dabbed concealer over your neck. You watched yourself in the mirror and for just a moment tried to avoid looking at yourself as just a reflection and rather how others would see you.

It was obvious you had never been adventurous with your appearance, your virgin locks hung around your usually make-up free face, adorning wise but inexperienced eyes. What you saw was what you got. Nothing you wore represented your family’s wealth; plain, basic clothing and lacking the expensive accessories that your brother might choose to wear, but it showed that you didn’t need money to be content and preferred a simple life. The more deductions you pointed out about yourself, the more you regretted ever reading Sherlock Holmes, because fuck, you were so readable. So transparent to the eye that you assumed it was why Andy knew how to push your buttons, that your parents knew exactly what books to get you for your birthday, and possibly how Tom was able to win one over on you.

The epiphany hit you hard and fast. Perhaps knowing Tom wasn’t the issue. After all, it certainly didn’t cause any vulnerability on his part. Perhaps the issue resided with never considering what others saw in you. Tom knew you would grow curious despite how adamant you were of opposing the idea. He knew that even though he was everything you hated about your brother and more, you would still fall into his trap. He knew how he made you feel when he was near, dissecting every sign until they were raw and unfiltered. He just knew. He even fucking told you!

“You’d be surprised at what I know about you.” Because you were so fucking readable.

Your head sunk deep into the caverns of your hands, quietly swearing an oath to yourself to stay away from Tom Holland until you figured out how not to be so transparent.

“Hey, dude. I’m sorry about last night. You up for comin’ round again tonight? I’ll get dinner and beers. My treat. Cool, dude. See you at about 7.”

As the words of an invitation echoed through the hall, you realised it was going to be much harder than you anticipated.

~~~~~

You spent most of the afternoon fretting over how you could avoid Tom’s inevitable return to the house. Your eyes gazed out of your bedroom window to see your shed exactly the way you left it. You couldn’t face going back there tonight. Tinted with Tom’s presence, it now served as a constant reminder of last night so it wasn’t exactly the best place to be if you wanted to avoid him. Being in the house was too risky which meant the only option you had left was to simply leave.

As 6:45pm ticked by, you tied your shoelaces, grabbed everything you needed and descended down the stairs, ready for your walk. You weren’t exactly sure where you were going to go, maybe you would find a Starbucks somewhere and read, but right now, your priority was to leave the house first and foremost.

“Where you goin’?” Andy had asked, his lips already sealing around a bottle of beer. You were surprised he even cared enough to ask.

“Out.”

“Good. Can finally give me some peace.”

Never mind. “Whatever.”

“Scuttle away, little birdie,” he chimed, seconds before you slammed the front door.

The pebbles clicked loudly underneath your feet as you marched your way down the private driveway. The sun had already begun to set beyond the horizon leaving behind orange remnants to colour the sky. Despite the day creeping into night, it was still warm and you praised yourself for leaving behind the jacket you considered wearing and indulged the feeling of having a warm breeze gloss over your arms. It was the first time you had seen outside of your house in a while and with that came the realisation that there was as much beauty in the real world than there was in your books. You should’ve done it sooner.

No, really. You should’ve. Because Tom’s Lamborghini was slowly rolling up your driveway towards your house. You checked your watch; 6:49pm. Fuck. He was early. Why was he early? Why couldn’t he have turned up when he was supposed to? Why must you have to go through this again?

Heartbeat accelerating, you looked back towards your front door calculating whether you had enough time to run back, but it had seemed you had walked too far and he had driven too quickly. There was no turning back. You had to face him head on.

Sweaty palms sunk deep into your pockets as you continued your stroll towards the gates, head down and ignorant of everything around you. Naively, you hoped for him to simply drive past you and pay you no mind, but of course, it was Tom Holland. Any opportunity to be a pain in your arse he was going to take it. You just wanted to be invisible, and despite the tinted windows and the pounding music coming from within, there was no way he wouldn’t see you and there was no way you were going to be able to avoid him.

You expected a slow stop, a rolled-down window and a witty comment to leave his mouth before making the rest of the journey towards your house. And in all honesty, you would’ve preferred it that way. In fact, you would’ve preferred anything over what actually happened.

The bubbling rumble of the engine stilled just a few yards ahead of you. The door opened and slammed shut again seconds later where a hearty silence followed. Quietly desperate to know what he was doing, you couldn’t resist the urge to lift your head to see him casually resting against the side of his car, waiting for your approach with his hands deep into pockets. Dark eyes latched themselves onto you as you neared and they instantly ignited a flame inside you, one that you hadn’t learned to tame yet.

In the split second you had before anything was said, you reflected back upon your earlier epiphany about how readable you were to him. Although you hadn’t found a solution to it as of yet, you decided to play into it, letting your brows sink into a scowl, writing the words ‘fuck off’ across your features with as much ambition as you had.

His head cocked to the side, purposely exposing the blemish you had regrettably left on him last night. You seethed at the sight. “Hey, little birdie. Where are you headed?”

Fuck him and his patronising, mocking tone. “Out.”

“At this time?”

“Maybe I would've liked it to have been at least thirty seconds earlier, or if you were ten minutes later. Either way.” You had intended it to be a clear insult to him, but yet you couldn’t fathom why he was chuckling with that stupid grin on his face. He took a step closer and folded his arms, his eyes examining you head to toe. Even in a different light, his eyes still contained the same lascivious quality as they honed in you. You really wanted to shiver but you also didn’t want him seeing what those eyes did to you, not when you were supposed to be pissed at him.

Longing stare…

Wordlessly and without warning, his hand reached out towards you allowing his fingertips to glaze over your jawline, purposely tilting your head to expose the part of your neck you doused in makeup. Your body burned at his touch, a violent act of betrayal of your own conscience as it pleaded with you to hate him rather than quietly yearn for him.

Gentle touch…

He watched the hidden bruise carefully, twitching under the bob of your throat from swallowing nervously and perhaps with a twinge of guilt for having concealed it. Why you felt guilt, you weren’t quite sure. It had been estranged from your emotions all day, and if anything, you felt empowered by concealing what he left behind. But under the scrutiny of his disapproving glare, you were far from the feeling.

The click of his tongue spiked in your ears. “Andy doesn’t know, does he?”

“No. But I guess that doesn’t matter, does it? I suppose you’re just going to go and tell him anyway-”

“He won’t believe me. Not unless he sees what you’ve covered up.”

“It’s better that way.”

“And why’s that? I thought we agreed that little birdie’s free to do what she wants--”

“And I thought you agreed to stay.” The words had fallen out in a trice before you had a chance to stop them. Tom wasn’t a fool to miss the anger behind them, and had he been a straight-up idiot, he would’ve missed the sadness in your eyes too.

His hand retracted the moment you continued. “That’s why Andy doesn’t know; because I got played by your game even though I know what you’re like, and it’s fucking embarrassing. I didn’t want Andy to find out that I was that stupid and naive to think that maybe for once, you wouldn’t be an asshole. It’s like it’s all some sort of prank for you, isn’t it? Because after all, you’re the one that comes out on top and I’m the one being humiliated. It’s always been that way, I should’ve been fucking smarter to know it was never going to change.”

Tom swallowed every word and embraced the silence for a moment before muttering your name in a voice quieter than normal.

Soft whispers…

“Just…do me a favour and leave me alone. Shouldn’t be too hard for you. God forbid Tom Holland spends more than one night with the same girl.”

Not sparing a second look, you turned towards the gate and quickly walked further from Tom who was left with nothing else to say. Although you were already fully convinced, you had secretly given Tom one last chance to explain himself. Just one chance to stop you and explain why he didn’t stay like he said he would, and still as you walked away and exited through the gates, he didn’t take it.

Each step you took was harder and quicker than the last. You drove your heel into the ground as that same frustration pumped through your veins, constantly abasing you for being so caught in the humiliation of it all.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself when you noticed your hands shaking. For a while, you spiralled into your own subconscious questioning why his absence this morning hurt you in a way you didn’t expect it to. No matter how profound your own self-analysis of what you were feeling was and why you were feeling it, you couldn’t find a remedy for it.

And like with every other problem in your life, instead of confronting it, you ran away from it.

~~~~

“Hi mum. How’s the holiday?” Your tone was chirper than usual as you spoke into your phone. It didn’t at all reflect how you were feeling inside, but you couldn’t let your mum worry about you. It would ruin her holiday.

“Hi honey, it’s nice hearing from you. It’s amazing; weather’s sunny and warm, the food’s great and all is relatively stress-free, well, except from when your dad dropped his passport at the airport and nearly lost it--”

“Jesus!”

“I know! I told him! The moron. Anyway, how are things with you and Andy? You sound like you’re outside. Oh God. Is the house still standing? It hasn’t burnt down has it?”

An airy chuckle fed through the line. If only she knew that Andy was just half of your problems. “Yes, it’s still standing so no need to panic. And I’m out for a walk. Decided I needed to leave the house for a bit to get some peace and fresh air. Andy has…been his usual self. Don’t get mad but he had a party the first night.”

“Ugh! I knew it! Truthfully, I always knew he was going to throw a party but I didn’t think it was going to be as early as the first night! Great. Now I owe your father a grand. It wasn’t too disastrous, was it? You must’ve spent the night in your shed. Did you get pizza delivered?”

You opened your mouth but no words came out. You never told her you were going to be staying in your shed, nor did you ever tell her about ordering pizza, regardless of the fact they happened on separate nights. She was still, in some aspect, right.

“Y-yeah, I did.” A long sigh broke the pause in between your words. “Hey, can I ask you something? And be honest with me.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Am I predictable?”

Your mother somewhat spluttered through the phone as she tried to find her words, obvious enough that if she had just said the first thing that came to her head you would’ve already had your answer.

Yes.

But of course, she was your mother, and in her sweet, maternal manner, she decided to answer delicately. “Well, you were always set in your ways, even from a young age. Very much a creature of habit. Routines and tendencies, you know?”

“So…I shouldn’t have a routine?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. Everyone has a routine. For example, your dad and I get up at 7 every morning, we’re at work by 8, we come home at 5, we make dinner, we watch TV. Every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday, I go to the gym. Yes, I have a routine but that doesn’t mean you’re going to know whether I’m in the mood for tea, coffee or vodka and it’s the same with you. I know you spend your evenings reading, but that doesn’t mean I know whether you’re going to read romance, mystery or horror. My point is; just because you have a routine, doesn’t mean your personality is predictable too, just the likelihood of your next steps. I’m just making it apparent that yours hasn’t changed since you were young. What’s got you asking?”

The truth sat on your tongue.

Andy’s best friend, Tom, whom I’ve hated most of my life, said he was going to fuck me even though I didn’t want to fuck him, but I still let him fuck me, and now I’m angry that I let him fuck me because it proved that he knew I was going to let him fuck me.

Obviously, that wasn’t what you really said. “Lately I’ve been feeling like everyone seems to know what I’m going to do before I even know what I’m going to do.”

“Well, change up your routine. Read in the afternoon and take a walk in the evening. Spend time in the living room instead of the shed.”

You hummed quietly, deliberating her advice. You remained quiet for just a second too long for her liking.

“Honey?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t help but wonder if this has something to do with Andy. He hasn’t said or…done anything hurtful to you, has he? You know it would break me if he was to repeat what he did ten years-”

“No, no, it’s okay. He hasn’t done anything in particular, at least nothing I can’t handle myself. Now go and enjoy the rest of your holiday. I’ll text you soon, love you.”

She sighed, unconvinced, but replied back with the same familial passion she had always shown you.

As the hours drifted late into the night, you made it to your local Starbucks and sat with your hot chocolate encased in your hands. While your book lay unused beside you, your old habits drove you to blankly stare out of the window, casually watching other people as they continued on with their life while you reflected on your own. The conversation you had with your mother still ran circles around your mind, and as ever the insightful person she was, you thought it best to heed her words carefully. Change your routine, she said.

What was your routine? What was a guarantee in your life? Well, for one, you had to look no further than your own memory of Tom’s words not too long ago. ‘It's hard enough that the sight of Andy makes you scuttle away so easily…’. As much as it pained you to admit, he was right. It was the only cause-and-effect Andy and his friends could rely upon. The longer you thought about it, the more and more of your little tendencies surfaced in your head.

So you decided to change them all.

When your mother said to change your routine, when translated into your mind it read along the lines of ‘when Andy comes along, don’t scuttle away. When his friends are invited over, stay in the house. Throw them off, don’t let them know your next steps.’ Although it was going against your human nature, you were going to put your mind to it. Do not let anyone have a higher power over you. Do not let anyone know what you might do next. It was going to be a real test of your mental and emotional stability.

~~~~~

As it had appeared, that test arrived sooner than you anticipated. Not two days after your mother had bestowed you with her advice, Andy had organised yet another party at your house. There wasn’t exactly a strategy in place per say, but you had already pre-emptively taken everything from your shed because you didn’t want to dangle the temptation of retreating to your sanctuary in front of you. You wanted to remain strong in your ambitions no matter how you were going to do it or how difficult it was going to be.

As night fell, you watched from the upstairs office’s tall windows as people started to flood into the house, just to get an idea of what to wear. You wanted to look the part, wanted to look like you belonged there and not just a lost ghost floating around the house like you had been before. Most girls you saw were pretty casual, thankfully swapping the short dresses and skirts to jeans and a nice top, choosing comfort over style, nevertheless still maintaining that expensive price tag. That shouldn’t be an issue; you pondered over the choice of Balenciaga shoes you had in your wardrobe.

Once the party had started, you gave yourself a generous 45 minutes to psych yourself up for the night ahead, throwing back a few drinks you had brought in from the shed, fixing up your hair and makeup with a little more detail, and spending many, many minutes staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes fell to your neck, the deep purple of the bruise had simmered to just a faint wash of pink that it wasn’t completely obvious to the eye, almost invisible in the dark. The foundation brush in your hand hovered a few inches above it, wavering between covering it up and leaving it be.

No. Leave it. Who cares who sees it? Not you. Not anymore.

The brush rattled against your vanity desk as you dropped it, turning towards your bedroom door and walking downstairs before a second thought could cross your mind.

With each step you took, you counted the number of things that were a guarantee for tonight: drink, drugs, games, chaos, debauchery, gambling, a mess. You had always seen the result of those things when you stepped onto the scene the next morning, but tonight, you were going to see them happen in action. A little daunting if anything, but if you were trying to look on the brighter side, you were fulfilling an unsuspecting part of your curiosity that had always wanted to see what exactly Andy got up to during these parties of his.

The crowd was once again split between the open living room, the kitchen and the veranda. There was no doubt that in time other rooms would eventually be used for other things, but the night was still young, sober and relatively innocent. You wanted to grow with it.

You couldn’t help but notice how you caught a few eyes with your entrance; a group of girls in the corner whispering between each other, a few of Andy’s friends turning their heads to catch a glance; shock, confusion and curiosity evident in their pregnant stares. It was attention you weren’t used to receiving, but that was the whole point of tonight. Change your routine. Be unpredictable. Be unreadable. Take control.

There was a pair of eyes you had yet to see, though.

Longing stare, gentle touch, soft whispers.

Stop it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” It was Andy, lips pursed, teeth gritted. It was obvious your sudden appearance was startling to him, and it was no surprise to you that he wasn’t taking it well. His control was slipping…

“Here? As in my own house? What could I possibly be doing here?” The sarcasm dripped from every word as you yanked back your own arm from Andy’s fist.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

You smirked. “Says who?”

He opened his mouth again, at a loss, but was interrupted by louder, higher-pitched voices as they swarmed in from behind him. “Oh my God, Andy, is this your little sister?” It was Morgan, the girl Andy had brought back to your parents’ bed on the first night. She seemed to be engrossed with you, introducing herself animatedly and already inviting you to get drinks with her from the kitchen, much to Andy’s dismay. Despite being a little dumbfounded by Morgan’s sudden interest in you, you decided to not question it with the sheer satisfaction of knowing that you were stealing his attention.

“She was just leaving.”

“What? No, come on, let her join. You said tonight was going to be chill. ‘The more the merrier’, you said. Remember?”

Morgan whisked you away by the curl of her arm wrapped around your shoulder, bearing nothing but her pearly whites as she escorted you to the colourful array of expensive vodka bottles, mixed amongst the fat, golden champagne bottles on the kitchen counter, every second one uncorked. Morgan helped herself to the champagne glasses stacked up in the tall cupboard like she had done it so many times before, grabbing one for herself and one for you. God, it was like this wasn’t even your house and she was the hostess.

“It’s so nice to finally talk to you. You know you’re like a myth to us.”

Your laughter was loud and abrupt. “What?”

“No, seriously. We all knew Andy had a little sister but, like, we never see you.”

She handed you a glass of bubbling champagne and you took it delicately between your fingers, twirling as you reflected upon her words. “Well, I’ve decided to change that.”

“Good for you. I’m sure there’s plenty of people who want to meet you--oh! Talia! Over here! It’s Andy’s little sister!”

A slender body circled around yours and facing you was Talia, the girl you once fantasised over replacing. She greeted you with a smile on her face against the backdrop of her long, blonde hair as a red hue crossed yours. It was a smile that seemed genuinely welcoming and a sly thought spawned in your mind; maybe she doesn’t know about you spying on her that first night…

You couldn’t imagine her being so welcoming if she did.

“Oh hey! I can’t believe you’re here. It’s so strange seeing you outside your shed.” It was so strange to see her not latching onto Tom. Speaking of, where was he? “By the way, thanks for letting me use your toilet that first night, I don’t think I would’ve made it if you hadn’t. I was just so drunk and I literally couldn’t hold it.”

“Sure, it was no problem.”

“Really? I kept thinking that I had pissed you off.”

Well…“Don’t worry, it wasn’t you. It was…um, Tom. Didn’t want him in, honestly.”

A look of disgust contorted her features at the mention of his name. It didn’t make sense in your head albeit it was something you could resonate with. Perhaps you weren’t the only one to be foolish enough to lose at his game. Her eyes rolled widely and the click of her tongue conveyed a message that didn’t need words. She apparently despised him. Both a sucker for gossip, Morgan filled you in on the details with Talia giving extra snippets of insight every ten seconds or so, and after an unnecessarily long and dramatic build up, you found out that Talia and Tom used to have a little friends-with-benefits-no-strings-attached situation going on over a number of months. Talia had been using Tom in the same way he was using her; to alleviate boredom. It wasn’t news, honestly. In fact, it was hardly discreet. But the shock came from what Talia told you after.

“He texted me like three nights ago saying he wanted to end it.”

He would’ve been with you when he texted her. You must’ve been asleep by the time he did. A nervous glance to your left gave away your paranoia, regardless you probed for more. “Why?”

“Something about maturing or growing up or whatever.” She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder with a short, unbothered sigh, her phone now perched in front of her face. “Oh well. I mean it wasn’t like we were exclusive. I can get my fun elsewhere.”

Stuck in thought, your eyes mindlessly gazed over Talia’s shoulder where your focus pulled your attention to the living room, full of bodies sitting, standing, conversing, drinking, all blurring into one amalgamation of movement. But there in the centre of the room was one motionless figure, a solid rock amongst the waves and it caught your attention immediately.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Adrenaline was fed through your veins at the sight of Tom, just like it had done before. His stature was strong and confident as he faced you, clutching a beer in hand while the other burrowed into his pocket. He had you in his sights and with a glare so firm from eyes so dark, you found yourself being ensnared by them. You couldn’t put a name to the expression on his face and it left you wondering what his intentions were. Several ideas coursed through your mind but none had any semblance of plausibility.

With slow and careful movements, Tom tilted his head in a smooth motion to crack his neck. Only then, did you figure out what was going through his head.

With a breath caught in your lungs, you stayed vigilant as he subtly raised his beer just inches into the air with the neck of the bottle tilted slightly in your direction, dedicating a small, personal toast with the gentle nod of his head. What the hell did that mean?

You swallowed, cautious. You turned your attention back to Talia. “So…um, you haven’t heard from him since?”

Her eyes looked at you from the phone. “No. Knowing him, he’s probably moved onto someone else. Lucky bitch whoever it is. Tom was kinda my favourite to fuck around with. He knew what he was doing if you know what I mean.”

“No.” You deadpanned. “I don’t.”

Oh yes you do…

Having that very enlightening conversation with Morgan and Talia was just the first of many. Every second you spent around the house, the more people began to realise that you were here to stay and took the opportunity to find out all about Andy’s mysterious little sister. As introverted as you thought you were, you were actually enjoying the conversations, realising that not every one of Andy’s friends were as conceited as he was. At first it was the girls, watched by many begrudging boys as you single-handedly stole their attention, a problem that could only be resolved by joining them, chatting to you, finding out more about you and lure out the embarrassing stories of Andy they knew you had stored away somewhere. You were more than happy to oblige as it passed that point in the night when people had estranged themselves from sobriety, opening up with every drop they drank, including you. Although, you told yourself you didn’t want to take things too far, not on your first night of liberation from Andy’s silent clutches of which he was struggling to retain.

You had chatted to all but two. Two boys who had cowered to the far ends of the room for the majority of the night, watching, observing, refusing to follow the crowd. There was no attempt to patronise you, manipulate you, mock you in any way because, like your mother had suggested, you were completely out of routine. So out of character that the boys didn’t know what to do and unlike what you were dreading earlier, the party had developed into something you were happily embracing. It had actually pained you to take a break from the party when your phone had completely drained of its battery, so overused from adding multiple people on socials, adding numbers, taking photos that it had actually died.

Quietly excusing yourself, you made your way up to your bedroom believing you hadn’t been followed. It wasn’t until you tried to close your door behind you that a foot had stopped it from sealing you in. You barely made it to your charger when the intruder grabbed your arms and violently spun you around.

“What are you doing, get the fuck out my room!” Alcohol fuelled your anger as you spat words at your brother who was far from pleased.

“You little shit. You told all my friends about Mexico?!”

Mexico was your biggest weapon against Andy. It was a time where you and your family went on a summer holiday to Cancun a couple of years ago; an amazing time for you, but for Andy, it was his most embarrassing memory. Just days after arriving, Andy had an unfortunate incident involving the sea, lost swimming trunks, and a very awkward interaction with a lifeguard. Andy was absolutely mortified and the rest of the family giggled uncontrollably as they vowed to him to never tell a soul. It didn’t stop them from talking about it when the family got together, and while they kept their promise to never tell another soul, you had been embarrassed one too many times by Andy to solemnly keep that vow.

“Serves you right for embarrassing me in front of your friends all those other times-”

“That’s not the fucking same!”

“In fact, you’re right. Mexico doesn’t even begin to cover the amount of times you’ve embarrassed me. Now get off me before I start telling all your friends about everything else.”

His grip tightened, containing your struggle. “You’re not going back downstairs,” he ordered.

“Face it, Andy. You’re just too scared to admit that all your friends actually prefer me over you. That’s why you never ever let me near when you have them round.” You knew all too well that you were provoking him, something that you promised yourself never to do again, but you’ve lived so many years cowering from him. Just for once, you wanted to give him what he deserved.

“Shut up!” Enraged, Andy shoved you, and you landed just short of your bed, your spine landing onto the wooden bedframe with a clatter. With the door being closed and the music blasting downstairs, no one could hear the fight ensuing in your room. Once again, you were left to fend for yourself. But you were older and stronger than what you were ten years ago, surely you could stand a better chance against him.

In a tanlge of limbs, punches and kicks were thrown where and when possible, the two of you caught up in a careless fight with no clear winner. It lasted several pain-inducing minutes until the final, winning blow was taken by Andy who had managed to get you pinned to the ground. You weren’t sure what to expect from him as he forced you to the ground. Of course damage had already been done, but what else could Andy do to ensure you would stay here like he wanted you to? He knew as well as you did that at the first chance of escape, you would take it, so with every second that passed, the worry and fear in you increased. He was stuck for options, having nothing to keep you pinned.

There was an intense moment of anticipation. Your eyes remained locked in place with his as you internally battled it out with each other, waiting for either to have the chance to do something.

You clocked the moment his eyes wandered to your neck and heat rushed to your cheeks because you knew exactly what caught his attention.

“What’s that?”

“None of your business,” you spat. “Let go--”

“Is that…is that a hickey?” His voice was incredulous as he brushed a harsh finger over it, expecting it to be make-up but when it didn’t disappear, his eyes locked back onto you and his hand remained around your neck. “Who?” He demanded. The fire inside him roared ferociously. For a moment, the thought that he could potentially suffocate you crossed your mind. “Who?!”

To both of your surprise, the door swung open. “Dude, what the fuck are you doing? Get off of her!”

Andy’s weight was alleviated from you very swiftly, and your eyes caught on to the soft brown curls of Tom as he hauled him away from you, giving you just enough time to catch your breath and find your feet. By the time you came to stand, Tom had Andy shoved against your bedroom wall, a look of confusion riddling his face. He still didn’t know why his best friend had sided with you, and it made him all the more angry to think about what you had said earlier. He wasn’t ready to admit anything.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Tom yelled, face reddening by the second. “She’s your sister?!”

Andy glared at him through furrowed brows. Defending you was so uncharacteristic of him so it felt like a stab in the back for Andy. “Why are you taking her side in this, man?”

“How could I possibly take your side when you just attacked her?”

The two boys continued to argue in front of you while you stood silently behind them. The novelty of having Tom openly defend you against Andy had yet to wear off, so you were curious to see how far he would go and how it would play out.

“Dude, she told everyone about Mexico!”

“So? You’ve embarrassed her in front of all of us before.” Damn, right he has. “You told us all she was a virgin--”

“Was?” There was a brief silence in the argument, the gears winding in Andy’s head. His eyes twitched, stealing a glance of you behind Tom’s shoulder but contempt drove them back to Tom. “You know, don’t you? Who did it? Huh? Who left that thing on her neck?”

“Probably someone who can do a better job of looking after her than you can--”

You decided to finally cut in. You mustered the confidence and spoke firmly. “Tell him.”

Tom turned to you, a little surprised, almost as if he wanted confirmation of what you just asked him to do. With his eyes gazing over your features like they had done so many times before, he was able to clearly see the resolution written in your eyes and the confidence he saw as you stood your ground, unblinking. A small smirk tugged at his lips. He could read you so well.

Little birdie’s free to do what she wants.

“It was me.”

“You…no, you’re lying. I don’t believe you.”

“He’s telling the truth.” You came to a stand in front of Andy. “The night you had all your friends round for sports night. Tom left early, didn’t he?”

“How do you know that, you were in your shed…”

“Because he didn’t go home. Did you not think it was weird that he came back the next day with a hickey on his neck? That it’s just as faded as mine is now?”

An epiphany soon glossed over Andy’s eyes. “You were holding your neck…but you-you said you had neck cramp.”

“Or I was covering something up.”

Andy looked to you, to Tom and then back to you, betrayal and anger riddling his features. Between you and Tom, neither of you could quite tell who he was going to lash out at first and as a precaution, Tom took a step in front of you, curling his arm around your front. You initially thought it strange that Tom felt the need to protect you given what your brother had just found out, especially since you knew that you were considered ‘off-limits’ to your brother’s friends. Then again, it wasn’t out of brotherly-protection, it was out of greed and possession, and knowing Andy and his lack of familial compassion, you realised that you were just as much in the firing line as Tom was. His next words attested to that.

“You…whore.”

Now Andy had called you a lot of things, but a whore was never one of them. It had your blood boiling, your skin crawling with absolute disgust, and your molars grinding together. What did you do to deserve a brother as rancid as him?

The moment he uttered that word, you pounced for him in a blinding rage. What stopped you from actually hitting him was Tom, making a very mature decision to collect all of your flailing, swinging limbs and calmly escort you out of the room. Andy attempted to retaliate but with a swift and threatening ‘do not fucking touch her’ from Tom, he retreated and sulked his way to his room. Regardless, you refused to relent until you were safely out of his sight, out into the front garden and trailing towards the front gate with the music of the party dulling behind you.

Once you reached the gates, Tom turned to you once to ask you if you were okay and in your alcohol-adrenaline-induced state, you simply nodded. That was good enough for him.

Wordlessly you followed Tom, having little to no idea what he was doing or where he was taking you. All you knew was that he had your hand in his and you were walking out of your driveway. You shook your hand lethargically to test whether or not he would let go but his grip only tightened, apparently adamant on his decision to take you away from here.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going back to my house.”

“Why?”

“So that this time, you’ll know I’ll stay.”

All things considered, you should’ve said no. You should’ve reminded yourself exactly why you were trying to avoid Tom. You should’ve stopped him and given him a ‘what-for’ for all the hurt he had caused you like you did with Andy. But you didn’t because you couldn’t stop reminding yourself of why you wanted to say yes.

Rough hands, dark eyes, desperate moans. Longing stare, gentle touch, soft whispers.

You were tired of the reasoning, tired of the tension, tired of constantly battling, and tired of trying to decipher what every little minute detail meant. You just wanted to say yes and get on with it.

So you did.

Part 3 coming soon

#why am i nervous to post this???#i rlly hope you guys like it #i know its just a filler #this shit will have a part 3 #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #smut #dom!tom holland #rich!tom holland #tom holland imagine #enemies to lovers #big brothers best friend #little birdie #tom holland x you #peter parker fic

246 notes · View notes