#i feel like that leaves enough unanswered questions to justify leaving it there?

[clever-queen]

Barbie movie made me have gender feels.

Like I'm AMAB and don't try to pass as a woman very hard (not that's the end all be all but in the scenario of being objectified it's kind of a factor) but when the movie makes a highlight of women living a double standard, I don't feel the full brunt of that (yet). Like women have a lot more shit to go through than I realized, but as someone who doesn't present very womanly I don't have that baggage (even though being trans is a pretty impactful statement in of itself with it's own baggage).

Then my boyfriend had to remind me that it was made by cis gender people and I was like, "Oh fuck that makes my womanly feelings even more confusing"

So I guess it just boils down to "I'm a woman because I am"... which I guess is the best thing I could ask for.

Gender (to me) is inherently unknowable, even though it can be felt. We feel out our gender more so than... knowing exactly what it is. I mean, I at least doubt someone can be 100% confident in their own gender but maybe that's my own hang up. Like I know I'm a woman, but there are a lot of days that has room to feel more nonbinary ;>w> or just forgetting, "Oh right this is my gender".

Barbie has no wiggle room for gender because it hinges on the fact that women are treated like how it's depicted in the movie, a depiction that is mostly true, just... without the inclusion of trans people.

Like a good piece of art, Barbie took a complicated idea and made it easy to digest, but that just leaves me asking more questions, ones that are typically unanswered because they literally couldn't cover all of their bases

I want a Barbie that is trans, and if they were ballsy enough to do it they could've, but I think (completely speculatively) that if they had a Barbie that was trans then they would've had to justify it in some way rather than just letting President Barbie happen to also be a Trans person or something to that effect.

Either way I love being a trans woman tbh I wouldn't trade it away for being cis.

[spidey-d00d]

Paris Rain

Jake Seresin x Reader (Although his name is never used so it could be anyone really)

Summary: Based off of the song IDK by Haley Joelle In which they leave you with a letter and no answers

Word Count: 798 TW: One (1) Curse word, angst, heartbreak, poor writing

(NOT MY GIF)

(I probably already used this gif for a different one shot but just go with it)

You were pretty smart. You knew a lot of things about a lot of topics, not a lot could get past you. That is what made you so confused. How could this get past you, the biggest thing in your life and you didn’t realize it and that’s what made your heart break. 

You knew his favorite radio station, his great grandparents name, his favorite team member, even though he swore you to secrecy. You knew the love he made you feel was electric and like it was something you could enjoy for the rest of your life, but what you didn’t know was how someone like that, someone that radiated so much love for you on any given day, could just up and leave. 

The two of you were supposed to last, get the happily ever after, the dog, the kids, the wedding every little girl had ever dreamed of. You guys were supposed to have that, so how could it be so easy for him to leave like this. 

Being shipped off to France for a detachment, he left a letter, saying that he wouldn’t be coming back. Or, eventually he would be back, stateside, but he wouldn’t be back for you. It left you so heartbroken, with so many unanswered questions. Things you didn’t know, a guessing game that was eating you alive for a long time. 

The love of your life had just up and left without looking back. You had played back the past few weeks between you guys, trying to see if there was anything you missed that would’ve led to him not wanting to be with you anymore but you were coming up short. 

You guys had spent every waking moment together, whether it was doing domestic activities like cleaning the house or going grocery shopping, or going to play mini golf with the dagger team that you had recently gotten close to. There was nothing that set you off with a red flag that could’ve left you alone in the house you had shared together, with nothing more than a shitty letter and feeling of emptiness and confusion. 

The worst part of everything was over-thinking. Was it because he met someone new? Someone he was taking to France instead of you? Was it someone you knew? Was he just not in love with you and everything was for show? The unanswered questions were eating you alive and you didn’t have any facts to help ease your mind. 

The team he bonded with didn’t have very much more answers than you did. He didn’t speak to any of them before leaving, none of them knowing the decision he made, breaking you heart, before you had called Phoenix crying, asking if she knew anything about what was going on with you. 

Eventually you lost contact with most of them, not being able to bear the fact that you saw him in all of them. You hated losing friends, but if it helped any not being near the people that reminded you so much of the person that did so much damage to you, than thats what you needed. 

The team understood where you were coming from, though they were just as upset to lose someone they loved like family as you were to lose them. 

Although the questions never became answered, you found some sort of peace in it. Maybe it was for the better that you didn’t know. If you would’ve known he was sharing his love and life with someone else, would it help you at all? If you known that he was kissing someone in the Paris rain while being stationed somewhere in France, would it make you feel better or worse? 

You knew what the two of you had, and how real it was for you, and that even if he didn’t love you the way you loved him, that you gave someone the love you wished you had gotten, and that was enough for you, for that’s all you had. You didn’t have answers to give you peace, so you gave it to yourself. 

You justified yourself and how you felt, and took it as things to do and look for the next time. Because there will be someone else out there that you can share your love with, and you will use the experience from this heartache to make sure you love hard and well enough for the next man that walks through the walls that were built around your heart. 

The unknowing of how a man you thought was so unirrecibley in love with you could just walk away without blinking an eye with a pitiful note as a goodbye inevitably made you stronger in a way,and that was enough to bring you peace. 

[memory-echo]

The Root of Evil

“All parents screw up all children”, as Dr. House would say. In some ways, Seiko is not remarkable. There is something that separates her actions from a lot of other parents’ actions, though. See, most parents are trying to do right by their kids. They may fail miserably, but they’re trying the best they can.

What truly separates Seiko from everyone else is that she’s not trying. None of the past later events proved that Seiichi’s abuse started with good intentions. Quite the opposite, in fact. Seiko just confessed that she always planned to use a baby to fulfill her own emotional needs.

“In a way, I felt as if I were the baby soaking up my own mothering. I didn’t feel lonely or abandoned when I was with him. Every moment I spent with him was a convoluted way to mother myself.” What looked to the outside world like devoted parenting was in reality a way to satisfy her own unmet needs for attachment. “I was so blind, so totally blind to what I was doing,” she cried in anguish. “Where were the warning signs?”

This is a quote from a book called The Emotional Incest Syndrome, although could’ve come from Seiko’s lips. It never will, though, because she’ll never take responsibility for her actions, for destroying her son’s life.

Here’s another quote from the same book:

"All parents derive some degree of comfort and satisfaction from their children. Parenting is never a totally thankless task. If it were, the human race would have vanished long ago. No one could put up with the late-night feedings, the dirty diapers, the incessant crying, and the constant need for attention if there was nothing to gain from the relationship. [...] Some of the hidden joys of parenting are: increased physical contact; is increased intimacy, and unconditional love. Children love their parents regardless of what they do. Their need for attachment is so great that they can make a banquet out of crumbs. Imagine this typical scene: A man drags himself home after a hard day at work. He’s lost a key client, and his frantic efforts to contain the damage have made him an hour late for dinner. When he gets home, his wife gives him a peck on the cheek and chides him for ruining supper. His 4-year-old daughter, however, gives him a much warmer reception. She vaults across the room, leaps into his arms, and smothers him with kisses. “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!” His late arrival has only heightened her anticipation. Who can blame a parent for reveling in this devotion?"

She spent three years reveling in the glory of unconditional love, and then she tried to kill her only son. How do you justify that?!  

And no, postpartum depression - one of my earlier suspicions - is no longer an option. There’s absolutely no evidence she suffered from postpartum depression. The pregnancy was not traumatic in any way, heck, the marriage was not traumatic in any way, even though these two people were never in love with each other to begin with. In spite of this, they agreed to get married. I always thought that the marriage had to be traumatic enough because she seemed desperate to get out of it. But I was wrong! 

Was unconditional love suddenly not enough for her? Was it the fact that she doesn’t understand unconditional love enough to feel it when her son hugs her? Or was it the fact that Seiichi wanted to achieve little bits of independence (like tying his own shoes) that made her give up on him? Maybe it was the fact that you cannot use other people to make yourself feel better for too long. Eventually, you’ll realize that it doesn’t work that way. 

And are we really going to forget that she thought about abortion? She conveniently left that out in her little ‘walk down memory lane’, although she had said it before in the court of law. 

Many questions are still unanswered: why did she try to kill Seiichi the first time around? Why didn’t she finish him off when he could barely move? Why did she return home with him? Why can’t she just pack her bags and leave, if she’s so unbearably miserable? Why does she have to wait for police intervention? This bitch is so weird… She was the adult, she had an obligation to take responsibility for her own needs and her own happiness.

One thing is true, though: she destroyed the life of an innocent child for nothing, and none of this was accidental, and that’s why Seiko is a real monster.

[pontevoix]

❛ could this be a trap ? ❜ (and ushijima to tendou before i drown you out again dbhjfv) princess bride starters | @giiants

tendou holds his index fingers up — side by side, far enough apart that he can imagine a string of electricity connecting them. he holds up two fingers & names them two endpoints of a scale. ‘ careful, ‘ he hums. ‘ this might be a trick question. ‘

he’s sixteen, then twenty, then twenty-two.

at that time, he would ask silly questions — would you rathers that either deepdive into absurdity or that intrude. example: would you rather have someone read your thoughts for an hour or see your entire search history ? communicate through emojis or never text again? if you had another hair color would it be? what kind of friendship is the best friendship? what do you wish your family did differently? what do you wish your friends did differently? what would it feel like to feel miserable every time you won?

there were never good answers to these questions.

he’s sixteen, then twenty, then twenty-two. sometimes tendou asks these questions to excavate answers he thinks he wants to hear or knows he doesn’t want to hear. he has always had the tendency to scatter pushpins in a circle around him, to see who might navigate past the hazards / who might be stopped / whom tendou can justify keeping at arm’s distance.

tendou is no longer sixteen, twenty, twenty-two. he refuses to play his old game, though he wants to. the game sometimes leaves a lingering sour taste that helps no one, so it . . . is something worth resisting.

sometimes he’s tempted to play again.

sometimes he forgets his old pattern trick questions entirely.

but today he asks ( in spanish ) : if you could live anywhere, where would you live?

it turns out : ushijima has apparently not forgotten the trick questions. tendou’s brow wrinkles; he figures that ushijima didn't mean to imply trapdoors & hostage situations & ducktape sorts of traps that may show up in manga. but they've agreed recently ( since they travel & are uncertain about next steps ) to talk for 15 minutes (when they manage to talk) in a language other than japanese.

it's a stupid agreement because tendou misses the feeling of japanese on his tongue, but it's easier to practice a language when there's someone who understands that you're confused so --

today they've settled on a rundown of spanish, & neither of them are really saying what they mean but

still, tendou translates: ' is this a trick question? ' from ' could this be a trap? '

the translation makes him dance a little in place, changing the distribution of his weight between left-right, right-left —- tendou deflects by tripping up the rhythm of his steps just enough that he can cut off ushijima's stride.

' absolutely could be a trap, ‘ he agrees. star-spread, tendou brings his arms to wide points & takes a standing split. ' you should tell me about that. what kinda trap are you thinking ? ' his fingers wiggle in the air - they do a terrible impression of the dances performed by inflatable men at car dealerships. tendou sometimes snags into moments where he smells a whiff of ushijima's imagination on the wind. it's usually a false-lead, but it's fun to entertain.

it’s also easier than answering too honestly. at sixteen, twenty, twenty-two, & even now . . . tendou snips away tethers at his feet. he answers from a distance & balloon-dips through conversation. it doesn’t help anyone.

ushijima is a bit of a monster, of a superhero, in the way that he doesn't stumble over pushpins or balloon choreography.

maybe that’s why it feels like a shit move to leave ushijima’s question unanswered. tendou runs a hand over the short crop of his hair. he has to reconsider what he was really asking ushijima before their language-practice fell flat.

' i mean. usually, yeah. but usually a trick question for me used to be . . . would you rather be right handed or give up volleyball? would you prefer a to speak spanish in japan or japanese in argentina? ' this is not entirely true . . . trick questions used to be intentional. & tendou hadn’t asked anything intentionally, but ushijima is right.

tendou asks a question, & he’s not prepared to know the answer.

remember: ushijima & tendou split ways once. they split ways twice. the idea of splitting ways three times feels like swallowing tree bark.

it’s a hard question, & tendou feels like a jackass for asking it without realizing so — for old time’s sake, he holds up his index fingers side-by-side. electricity pulses somewhere between. it sucks.

' yeah, i mean. i guess that's what i asked, isn't it? if you could live anywhere, where would you live? would you rather live in japan or here ? in poland or here ? in italy ? in argentina? thailand ? '

but he admits that he's been on edge the past few days. walking on tiptoes when he welcomes himself into ushijima's home, trying to pinpoint the minute that they have a conversation (again) about how they had previously tackled distance & again what distance might mean.

it’s hard to tell what patterns persist. what ambitions may have changed.

tendou cuts his tethers. ushijima builds foundations. tendou is growing older. ushijima is growing older.

it’s a trick question.

[themthistles]

About The Siete Gallos, Spanish Jackie and Jim's Revenge

So when Jim recounts the events of their family's murder to Oluwande they say this:

So we know that at some point Jim takes the family dagger from their father's corpse. And then hides in the woods for a while. That's it.

But between their father's murder and the woods there is a lot of lost time and unanswered questions. Why was Jim the only one unharmed? Where is their brother? We don't see him or his body anywhere. I find it hard to believe that Jim simply ran away and left their sibling to die considering they immediately try to protect him when Alfeo stabs their father.

The way The Siete Gallos act in general is strange. If they wanted to take money or any of the family's stuff (which is like three chickens and some oranges) why were they just standing there waiting for Alfeo's signal? Why did seven of 'the most dangerous and brutal killers this land has ever seen' come and rob one small household in the first place? Why kill a man who wasn't resisting and clearly said they could take all they want?

Speaking of.

I don't think Alfeo's talking about actual oranges here. It seems to me like he’s saying 'What a nice life and family you've made for yourself here'. Jim's father tells him that he can 'take everything he wants' meaning 'take all my money and possesions, just don't touch my family' but after Alfeo replies 'I will' he looks directly at the kids.

There's also the murder weapon.

Isn’t it odd to leave a knife in the wound during a simple robbery? That kind of thing seems personal.

I think Alfeo killed Jim's father because that's exactly what he and the others came there to do. I think the mercenaries knew who they were killing very well. Just look at father's reaction when he sees Alfeo. Yes, it's normal to be cautious of strangers but the man looks completely terrified, almost like he feared someone might come looking for him one day.

I also think Jim's brother might be alive. We haven't seen definitive proof of his death. I think he managed to run away and is tracking down the remaining gang members. Either he and Jim got split up or he decided to leave and take revenge on his own.

Now on to Spanish Jackie. You're telling me it's a coincidence that not one but two of her husbands happen to be in The Siete Gallos? I don't buy it. And her being 25 is definitely a lie.

She says that she wants Jim dead because they murdered her (favorite) husband but considering how easily she shoots Geraldo and then later casually sits down to drink with Jim right by Alfeo's corpse, I doubt she cares all that much for any of them. So then what's up with this reaction?

In episode 8 she tells Jim that she knows what it's like to want the people who took your family from you to feel the same loss. So if she recognized the dagger Jim used to killed Alfeo, remembered who it belonged to and maybe what was done with it then these strong words would be justified. Just not directed at Jim. But at their family name. Jiménez.

Jackie is very careful to keep identities of the rest of The Siete Gallos secret. She masterfully avoids answering any questions about them, disguising it as care for Jim's future and not wanting them to go down the same path as her. Her advice about not wasting your life on revenge is solid but you can say the right thing for the wrong reasons.

'Those bastards are probably dead' is all we get out of her. Why? Because she doesn't want Jim looking for the rest. Because she was the one who ordered them to kill Jim's father and if Jim found any of the five mercenaries left and got that information, of course they would want to stab Jackie in the face.

Anyways, that's it from me. Hope this is dramatic enough for the telenovela that is Jim's entire life.

TLDR: Spanish Jackie is closely tied to The Siete Gallos. Jim's father was the cause of death of someone dear to her or crossed her in some other way and then ran away to start a new life in St. Augustine. Jackie tasked The Siete Gallos with tracking down and killing him. Jim's brother is alive and is hunting down their father's killers.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Always

Summary: You overhear Steve talking to Bucky about going back to be with Peggy. Rather than confronting the situation, you write him a letter.

Warnings: I cried just thinking about writing this, so much angst, some swearing

Word Count: 3305

a/n: here it is folks: the sad fic I mentioned a few posts ago. Inspired by a multitude of songs from the album Ashlyn by Ashe. I high key recommend listening to that album while you read or just in general. I'm pretending like nobody died in Endgame because that shit is sad and I know this is sad aside from that, but I still have a heart ya know?

Per usual, any song lyrics (or song lyrics that I changed a bit) are in bold! I think used lyrics from Me Without You, Save Myself, I'm Fine, Love is Not Enough, and Always.

Masterlist

"You'd really want to go back?" You overheard Bucky right before you walked into Steve's room.

"I don't know." He let out a deep sigh. "I mean, I do know, but what do you think?" Steve's answer left you wondering what they were discussing.

"All for Peggy?" Your heart stopped waiting for Steve to reply.

Another sigh escaped his lips. You could easily picture him running his hands down his face, a signal he was deep in thought. "I mean, I never got a chance to see what would happen with her. Don't you think she deserves this much?"

You felt frozen. You couldn't hear the rest of Steve's answer or Bucky's reply over the sound of blood rushing through your ears.

It was all too much to handle. Rather than confront the grab bag of emotions swimming inside of you, you turned around and went back to your room in a zombie like haze.

"Friday, don't let anyone in my room."

You know the AI replied, but you were still too caught up in thought to understand it. Your mind was full of questions you knew you couldn't figure out the answers to alone.

Why would Steve want to go back for Peggy when he had you? Why would he even consider it if he loved you like he said he does? Is he still in love with Peggy? Has he been in love with her the whole time? Why would he choose her when he's spent so much more time with you?

"Y/N?" The sound of Steve's voice outside your door startled you. "Y/N, honey, are you in there?"

You could hear the doorknob rattling in his attempt to open it, but Friday was doing as you asked.

"I thought you were going to meet me downstairs?"

His words only broke your heart more, a small sniffle escaping despite your efforts to remain quiet.

"Are you not feeling well? What's wrong?"

His questions were left unanswered, much like the questions swimming around your head.

Steve kept talking to you through the door for a while, but you never replied. You weren't ready to face him, not until you knew you wouldn't say something you'd later regret.

-

The next few days carried on much the same. You refused to leave your room, relying on various snacks and protein bars you had for food. Every few hours, you would try to write down what you were feeling, but it didn't help calm you down the same way it typically did.

Everyone tried talking to you, but nothing worked. Steve spent hours outside your door every day in an effort to get you to talk to him, but you just couldn't figure out your emotions. It was all still too much to handle.

Late one night, Steve said something that forced you into action.

"Y/N, I don't know what happened, but if I did something I'm truly sorry. I'm returning the stones tomorrow. We've never not said goodbye before a mission... I just hope this one is the same."

You listened as he quietly walked back down the hallway, steps slowly receding until you were left in the same absolute silence you've spent the last few days.

You knew you had to talk to him, but hearing him say to your face that he's staying with Peggy would kill you.

You couldn't survive a permanent goodbye, not in your current state of mind.

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, you decided to write Steve a letter. Maybe you'd give it to him or maybe it would just help you organize your thoughts. Either way, it would be helpful to write to someone for a change.

Hi Steve,

I, well, I guess I'll start with this. You deserve an apology. I'm truly sorry for ignoring you for the past few days. I just... I heard what you said to Bucky and I didn't know how to deal with it.

You know I've never been the best at controlling my emotions, so I just holed myself up in here. I avoided you so I could figure out my own feelings first.

I know I should talk to you. You deserve that too, but I don't think I could survive the heartbreak. I guess I'll try to explain everything I've been thinking and feeling since that night.

Honestly, I'm not sure where to start. It feels kind of stupid to say, but I obviously experienced a range of emotions when I first heard you and Bucky talking about going back.

You know I've always found solace in writing, so that's what I'm doing. I needed a way to clear my thoughts, and it turned into this concoction of thoughts and some poems - you know how I feel about poems. (Look at that! A sarcastic comment! I didn't think I was capable of humor anymore.)

This might not surprise you, but the first emotion I clung to was anger. I'm not angry anymore, well at least not as angry. Anyway, I wrote this next part when I was absolutely pissed at you.

-

What the fuck?

You want to go back in time and stay there?

You want to leave me behind?

Steve, what the fuck is wrong with you?

I could keep you here. If I really wanted to, I could figure out a way to do it. I could cut the brakes just to keep you from leaving. I'll do it too. My hands on the wheel would drive us into a wall.

You must think I'm being petty. Hiding in my room like a child to avoid you. All the while, here I am writing all the things I could do to keep you. Well, news flash: I don't need you. You made me think the only world I could exist in, was one you lived in, almost had me fooled.

Here's something you probably never considered, because I sure as shit never thought I'd even need to. I can be me without you. I don't have to rely on you for my own happiness. I thought you loved me, but if you want to go back and be with Peggy, do it. Go find yourself, let me down.

It's easy to sit here now and look back on how everything we had would always be second string to your relationship with her. God damn hindsight's 2020.

I want you to know, you did this to me. You broke my heart. When I heard you say you wanted a chance to be with Peggy, it's like my whole world crumbled down around me.

Everything I thought I knew was ripped out from under me. You poured rain all over my sunny. Yeah, someday, this could all be funny, but right now it's absolute shit.

And maybe everything will work out the way it's meant to be, but honestly I couldn't give less of a shit about that right now.

If I had the chance, I would take it back. Everything. Meeting you. Becoming friends. Dating you. Falling in love. I'd be jumping off your sinking ship, instead of going down with it.

It'd be so much easier that way. If I never fucking knew you.

One day I'll be good. I'll be over all of this bullshit. Right now I'm just mad. And you know what, it's justifiable. I think I'm allowed to be mad at you.

I'm over being so mature. If only I was never yours. Maybe I'll go back in time and undo it all. Then at least I could save myself from you.

-

Like I said, I wrote that in the heat of the moment. Once my brain caught up to my ears, all I saw was red. Anger didn't last as long as you might think though.

All that was how I felt in the moment, but I want you to know it's not true. I don't really believe any of it. I was hurt and angry and avoiding the pain I knew was just around the corner.

I've always told you anger would be my downfall because I just can't control what I say.

Let me be completely clear, I would never want to undo meeting you. You've been the best part of my life for years. I need you to know that I don't regret any of it and I never will.

Anyway, the anger shifted to tears pretty quickly. It wasn't hard to feel the pain that comes with someone you love leaving you. I can't honestly picture a world where I don't love you.

This is the first poem I wrote. With tear blurring my vision, I put pen to paper and this is what came out.

Complicated. Understated. On the way to, Devastated. I'm just holding on for dear life.

Short and sweet, right? Well, not so much sweet, but you get the point. I feel broken. Here's another bit of poetry for ya.

Right now I'm sorry, Burns through me darling, But I can't help hope In thirty years it won't.

Maybe I just need time. That's what everyone always says. "Time can heal all wounds."

It's hard to even think about moving on though when everything reminds me of you. I've got emotional souvenirs from fleeting moments we spent together. If this is the end, I'll always know you were my golden years. I know in the future I could close my eyes and go back there.

Maybe that's the hardest part. Knowing I'll always have these memories.

All I've been thinking about for the past three days is if this will ever feel better. And maybe it will, when time has passed.

Maybe when I'm older, I'll run out of stories about you. Maybe when I'm older, I'll know what it's like not to love you, Anymore.

Despite my best efforts, it's still only a maybe. Maybe when I'm older I'll be able to stop thinking about you every second of the day. Maybe when I'm older I won't feel like crying everytime I see your face.

But maybe not. Maybe I'll always feel this way.

Maybe when I'm six feet, underneath the concrete, I'll know what it's like not to want you, anymore.

I'm not saying all this to make you feel guilty. You don't need to tell me you're sorry. I know you are. I know you would never hurt me like this without a reason.

I should just talk to you, but I don't think I can. Not yet. We don't need to talk til we're ready. Both of us.

I guess I do have one question. Do you really love me?

I don't think I want to know the answer right now. Because even if you do... it takes a lot more than a rose, more than a kiss, more than a heart to truly love someone and spend forever with them.

It takes a lot more than a ring, more than a vow, more than a promise to build and maintain a relationship.

Love is not enough. I know that now. Even if you love me to the best of your abilities, you could still love Peggy more. Love may not be enough for us, but at least we got that much.

If you leave, I'll live the rest of my life grateful that at least I got your touch for as long as I did.

I used to think we could take our sweet time, that everything would be just fine. But now I know maybe not.

I cried for days. Like I said, I'm not writing this to make you feel guilty though. I just want to be completely honest. I cried a lot, probably more than I ever have before.

I kept replaying memories of time I spent with you. Not even dates, just the small moments that made me know I love you.

Like that day I woke up too early, almost put salt in my coffee. Oh I thank God that you stopped me before that.

I've never been a morning person, but ever since I met you you've always been there to keep my head on straight.

I think the thing I love most about you is how you can read me better than anyone I've ever known. I can hide from everyone else and they won't bat an eye. They never can tell when I'm falling apart on the inside.

No matter how hard I try to hide it though, you don't believe me when I say I'm alright. You can always, always tell.

It's like you've got a sixth sense that tells you I need you when I try to say I'm fine.

Before I met you, I would get so lonely everyday. Now I'm only lonely until you ask if I'm okay and then I remember that I have people who are there for me. I have you.

All this to say, I love you, Steve. I love you more than I've ever loved another human being.

Forever yours,

Y/N

-

It took you nearly all night to write a coherent letter and come up with a plan to talk to Steve. A quick glance at the clock let you know Steve would be up any minute, so you had to act fast.

You opened your door for the first time in days, running in a full sprint to the stairs and down the hall to Steve's door.

With one final burst of courage, you shoved the letter under the door and ran away before anyone could find you out of your room.

-

"Y/N?" A familiar knock on your door woke you from a restless sleep. "I read your letter, Y/N please let me explain."

It felt like time slowed down as you stared at the door.

"Y/N, I have to bring the stones back, but I really want to talk to you first."

"Come in." You steadied yourself with a deep breath, but one look at Steve ruined your flimsy resolve.

"Y/N... I tried to wait for you to come to me, but..."

He stopped talking when you shook your head, a painful sob forming in your chest.

"I've been thinking a lot." You started slowly, voice scratchy from days of not being used except to cry. "What if staying with me isn't the best thing to keep you happy?"

"Y/N, I-"

"Please let me finish." You waited for him to acknowledge your words before you spoke again.

"If letting you go is the best way to show that I love you, I will." Tears poured down your cheeks, breaths coming to you shakily.

"Captain Rogers, your presence is requested in the backyard." Friday's voice echoed through the room.

Steve looked more torn than you've ever seen him.

"Let's go." You nodded toward the door. "I've got more to say, but you've got somewhere to be."

Slowly, the two of you walked down the hall and entered the elevator.

"I don't know if you'll ever come back-"

"Y/N, really just let me-"

"Steve, please." You begged him to let you get it all out. "I won't ask 'cause that's selfish."

"It's not." He cut in again.

"It is. You deserve to be as happy as possible." With a slow, shaky breath you continued your speech. "I've come to terms I might never feel whole again."

The elevator doors slid open. You followed Steve to the yard where they set up the time machine.

"I'll be broken when you're gone, but I won't hold you back if it's wrong."

"Steve, there you are! Let's go-"

"In a minute, Sam." Steve's eyes never left you, remaining soft and caring. "We can go back inside if you want." He ran his thumbs over your cheeks, ridding them of tears only to be instantly replaced. You've always hated crying in front of people.

"I don't care what people say." You shook your head, ignoring the potential pitying looks you could receive for crying in front of others. Another deep breath, and you continued. "You know I won't force you to stay."

It was your turn to wipe tears from Steve's face.

"If you leave, I'll be okay. Just promise that you won't forget me babe."

"I could never-" He cut in again only to stop when you gave him a pleading look.

"I understand if leaving is what you have to do. I don't want you to go, but I'll be okay, eventually." You let out a watery chuckle, wiping your eyes again.

"Y/N, I never meant for-"

"Steve, you ready?" Sam interrupted again.

"It's fine. You can go." You did your best to hold back any lingering tears. You had to physically turn Steve around yourself and push him towards the machine.

"Y/N, please, I can't-"

"Steve, they're waiting for you. It's okay, I promise." He finally started to walk away only to pause when you called out one more thing. "Oh, Steve?"

"Yeah?" He wore a solemn smile.

"I'll love you always."

You watched as he listened to Banner's instructions and bid farewell to Sam and Bucky. The bitter part of you wondered if Sam knew.

A strangled sob left your mouth as soon as Steve disappeared. All three men standing around the machine looked your way, Sam and Bucky running toward you to help.

"He should be back any second. It's fine!" Sam desperately tried to console you, but you knew it wouldn't work.

"Y/N. Y/N! Listen to me. Did Steve talk to you?" Bucky asked, ignoring Sam's bewildered expression.

You nodded pitifully.

"Did he explain-" You cut him off.

"He- he didn't ha-have time.: You stuttered as you tried desperately to gulp in air through the tears. "I did most of the talking. I needed him to know it was okay."

"To know what was okay?" Sam asked, still clearly confused.

The thought of explaining it only broke you down more. You would have fallen to the ground if not for Bucky catching you. Your body leaned into his.

"Doll..." Bucky shook his head. "You should have let him explain."

You choked on another sob just thinking about it.

"Shh, it's okay. You'll be okay." Bucky whispered in your ear, ignoring Sam's confused glares.

"Y/N..." The sound of Steve's voice echoed in your ears causing another painful sob to jolt through your body.

"Baby, please look at me."

You genuinely thought you were hallucinating when you opened your eyes to see Steve towering over you.

"Steve?" Your voice was barely a whisper.

"It's me, I'm here." He gently took you from Bucky's arms, cradling you close to him but leaning his head far enough away for you to look into your eyes.

"You came back..." Your tears slowed, gently falling down your cheeks as you stared at him wide-eyed.

"I was never planning to leave." He spoke while gently stroking your hair.

"B-but, you were talking to Bucky about going back?" Your tears gave way to confusion as you glanced between him and Bucky.

"Just to say goodbye." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, breathing in your scent. "I just thought she deserved a real goodbye."

New tears pooled in your eyes as you took in his words. "So, you never wanted to leave me?"

"I could never, and would never, leave you. I love you so much. I just wish I knew why you were holed up in your room sooner." He smiled at you, the same adoring smile he gave you the first time you met.

"I love you too. Always." You leaned into his embrace, relishing in the touch you thought you'd lost forever. He whispered his reply, clinging to you just as much as you were to him.

"Always."

a/n: today I discovered I am truly incapable of writing a sad ending. I just like the idea of escaping to a reality where Steve would never abandon me.

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner

@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@strawberryspence

@sebastnstn

[darkktea]

In Your Eyes - ☾ Albedo ☽

You’d always thought there was something wrong with his eyes.

They were wide and blue, lovely, enticing. When you’d first met him, you had thought that his insatiable want for knowledge meant that the thing that lurked in his eyes was childlike wonder. Now, you knew it for what it was: calculated hunger.

He knew how to get what he wanted, and when you had first stared working with him and Sucrose, that had been a good thing. It meant that no question went unanswered, that no experiment went without conclusion. He always said that the means were more fascinating to him than the answers, but Archons, did he want answers.

You didn’t know when Albedo started paying extra attention to you.

You supposed that was the point; to lure you in, to make you believe that you were safe, in control, untouchable. And he had been very good at doing so. In hindsight, the questions he had started asking should have given you some indication.

But when had he ever given you a reason not to trust him?

It’s a nice day out, today. When had you started thinking that the days could be nice in Dragonspine?

The paintbrush slides against the canvas, smearing paint in red, like blood. You used to enjoy painting for the sake of painting; it was one of the things that you and Albedo had bonded over. Now it’s all you can do to hold the paintbrush in your hand. Even the weight of it, familiar, makes you feel ill.

“That looks very nice,” says a voice that is unwelcome. Your grip tightens involuntarily on the paintbrush.

“How are you feeling?” says Albedo, his voice as careful and analyzing as ever. Your paintbrush stills.

Like shit, like I want to die, like I want you to die, like I hate that this is what my life has become.

You don’t say any of these things. You don’t say anything at all. You see his hand reach around your head, index finger tracing the still-wet paint idly. When he pulls away, there’s red on his skin.

“What are you painting?” he tries again, and you know he sees the way your shoulders curl in on themselves.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. Your voice is so small.

He says nothing, but comes into view now. He’s carrying a plate of food. Your stomach twists at the sight of it. You put the paintbrush down.

“I’m not hungry.”

He raises an eyebrow quizzically.

“That’s what you said last night.”

You chew at your thumbnail. You’re not usually so involved. You don’t like it.

“It was true then, and it’s true now.”

He holds the plate out to you. Two mora meat buns sit steaming next to a large helping of salad. He’s trying to entice you; mora meat buns used to be your favourites. Now, looking at them makes you feel sick.

“You need sustenance. Eat.”

You turn back to your painting. That’s enough involvement for one day. He’s forced you to pick your battles, and this is a mountain you’ll die on. Besides, it’s true that you aren’t hungry. It’s because of him that you aren’t hungry.

He sighs, and it’s the kind of sigh that a parent might make when faced with a troublesome child, or the sigh that Albedo himself would make when something with his experimentation proved particularly difficult.

In your peripheral, you watch him hook an ankle around the leg of a stool, pulling it toward you. He sits, leaning forward on his elbows. You can feel his unnatural eyes boring into you.

Your paintbrush drags aimlessly across the canvas.

“Why do you make things so difficult?” he asks, and his voice sounds nearly… pained. For a moment, you find yourself nearly falling for it. But then you remember who he is, and how he had developed a specific way of gleaning reactions from you once you had gone so… numb. “You’re wasting away. It’s upsetting.”

He feigns emotion. He feigns pain. Hurt. It’s insulting.

So you ignore him.

“I don’t want to do this the hard way. It’s… unproductive.”

You chew at the inside of your cheek. Let me go, and I promise I’ll eat something, you almost say. You don’t, of course. You could, though. But you don’t.

“Eat,” he says, and there is a final warning in his voice.

“I’m not hungry,” you say, and you are just as surprised as he is when your voice breaks. Your eyes slip shut.

It’s the truth. The reality of the situation, of this, of being here with him, has stolen the luster from things. It has stolen your hunger for food, your hunger for life. When you look in the mirror these days, you don’t recognize the dead eyes that look back. You’re empty. You’re hollow.

A tear slips down your cheek.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is so soft, so gentle. “Please tell me what’s wrong.” It feels like a knife pushed through your heart.

When he reaches out to touch you, it is featherlight. It feels like being burned by the sun. You flinch away, and you hear him sigh.

Your head sinks forward, paintbrush fallen and forgotten, your knees pulling up. For a moment, for two, you say nothing. You wish that you could fold yourself up so small that you could disappear.

You wish that you could go home.

“Why am I here, Albedo?” you finally say, voice soft and quiet. You don’t look at him. You don’t remember the last time you said his name. It feels heavy and foreign on your tongue.

“Because it’s where you should be. Because you’re safe here.”

“Let me go home.”

“You are home.”

“Why me?” you ask, a question that has been asked countless times. And every time, he says:

“Because there are so many things that I want from you. There are so many questions that I need answered.”

“That’s not fair.”

And it isn’t. Why must you suffer for the sake of his curiosity? His insatiable appetite for knowledge should have nothing to do with your right to freedom. Besides, there is no knowledge that justifies this. What could he possibly want to know? What could you possibly give him?

“What is fair, then?” he asks, and his voice has hardened now, impatient, snappish.

“Not this!” You cry, and lift your head up to meet his eyes. This is the most emotion you’ve shown in a long time. Or, what feels like a long time. You don’t know anymore. The spark inside dies down, and you slump your shoulders again. “I’m not hungry. Leave me alone.”

He doesn’t leave. He never listens. Instead, he leans even closer to you, and picks up a mora meat bun, pressing it against your lips. His eyes are so strange, you think again. So cold.

“Eat,” he says, and his other hand comes around to pry at your jaw. Part of you wants to bite his fingers off. Part of you wants to scream, to fight him, to do something. But that part of you is small and withered now, suspended somewhere deep inside of you, like a flower in resin. Untouchable, unreachable.

And his eyes are so devoid of anything resembling sympathy for it.

He doesn’t care. He never did.

And he never will.

[wisteria-blooms]

time after time (f.w. & reader) (4/7)

chapter directory: [one] [two] [three] [four] [five] [six] [epilogue]

taglist: @impossibelle @ellenerys (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed)

pairing: fred weasley x reader/you

summary:

Every summer like clockwork, Fred Weasley is paid a visit by a woman from the future. Every encounter is a chance to learn a little more about himself as he heads into adulthood. She divulges all he wants to know, but leaves one question unanswered: why is she here?

Written in Fred’s point-of-view (third person) and Reader’s (second person, italicized).

tags/warnings: time-traveling, romance, war, mourning, grief, death, drinking

**this chapter is short but angsty, like the next one**

(4) july 05 1999; 12:20 am (890 words)

Apparating to many could be described as feeling squelched and squeezed. It was an odd sensation at first, but once you grew accustomed to it, it wasn’t awful. Time traveling, on the other hand, was a different beast. It felt like being torn apart both physically and emotionally; one part of you willed to remain in the present and the other pulled you back to the irrevocable past. The damned act chipped away at your conscience each time you did it.

But nothing hurt more than lying to Fred straight to his face. There was a sudden searing pain that rippled through your chest when you answered his question in his backyard. Seeing him so happy, so contented with your lie was unbearable, and you couldn’t stand to look him in the eyes again when he opened them. It was your fault for revealing so much. But had it really been a lie? You could get away on a technicality if you really wanted to.

A knock sounded from the door.

“Come in,” you breathed heavily, hand on your chest.

“Good evening,” said George as he entered. “It’s late. Where’ve you been?”

“I stepped out for a minute,” you responded, fingers grazing your golden necklace. “Needed some air.”

“Didn’t hear you come back.” George raised his eyebrow. You could’ve been wholly believable had it not been for your telltale sign of lying: fiddling. It was usually with your ring or your hair, but never with this necklace that he’d never seen before.

He stepped closer as you inched back. But his grasp was fast. He pulled the chain gently so as not to hurt you, but to get a clearer view of the object.

“Three,” he stated, reading the number on what he immediately recognized as a time turner. “You’ve used this twice already.”

“It’s mine, George,” you shouted, clinging to the object and keeping it away from his hands. “I’ll do what I want—”

“You can’t do that!” yelled George in the bedroom. It seemed that Fred’s death had broken both your calm dispositions, and you often found yourself temperamental and short-fused. “It’s dangerous and you’re smart enough to know that.”

You remained silent.

“You could change the course of the future,” he warned. “There’s no saving him. He’s gone.”

But George, always the more rational of the twins, was doing nothing to calm you.

“It doesn’t happen as long as you don’t do anything catastrophic,” you rebutted. “Which I’m not, I’m just—”

“—doing this in your own self-interest?” he said. “I never pegged you to be such a selfish person.”

“Selfish?” you said exasperatedly, fury tickling your cheeks at George’s choice of words to describe you. “I loved him. I loved him for as long as I’ve known him, which unfortunately happened to be the last months of his life.”

“(F/N)—”

“And he cared for me! Clearly, you don’t care at all!”

“I don’t care?” Now it was George’s turn to be mischaracterized. “I wanted you here in our old loft so you wouldn’t have to do this alone.”

“But I am. I have no one, nothing,” you choked, feeling hot tears leaking down your face.

All your emotions were finally free, unraveling before George. It seemed that everything that was happening was unfair but justified. Fred’s death was unfair, yet justified in the world’s eyes; if fate wished an early death for him, then so be it. Molly’s treatment of you was unfair, yet justified. You weren’t her dear daughter-in-law; you didn’t deserve to be coddled with her affection.

George pulled you into his arms, not being able to bear watching you suffer any further.

“You know, he really loved you,” George consoled. He meant every word, being the sole witness of your relationship over the months you spent during the war. He looked over at the little white cradle in the corner of the room. “And he’d love both of you.”

His words only made you sob harder. If he was here. If Fred was here. If he lived, you’d be three instead of just two.

“He always told me about his childhood,” you murmured. "It was beautiful.”

It was one of the things you loved most about him: his fondness for his family. Fred had always shared memories from his youth in those late nights at the cottage in the woods. You learned so many unspoken things about him through his stories. Like as much as he’d thought his older brother Percy was a prat, you could tell he had a deep aching for his return. And as much as he teased the daylights out of his younger brother, Ron, you knew he’d take a bullet for him in a heartbeat.

These were things that made you fall deeply in love with him.

“And he promised—” you continued.

“You still can,” George suggested. “Pass it on for his sake. It doesn’t have to die with him.”

“It’s too late,” you cried. “I fucked it all up.”

“Talk to her,” George pleaded, stroking your hair. “Talk to my mom.”

“And say what?” You sniffled a sob, burying yourself in George’s arms. You really didn’t want Molly’s pity, or worse, her judgment; you wanted her to love you for who you were, and not what you could’ve been.

“Tell her the truth.”

[ombreblossom]

i am and i am not (what you choose to see)

This is a birthday fic for @rosy-cheekx, but in many ways I wrote it as much for myself as I did for them.

Featuring: a gender-questioning Martin in the safehouse. What better time to explore one’ gender identity than while one is on the run from dangerous eldritch forces?

Content warnings (please let me know if there anything i’ve missed): kissing, very minor internalized transphobia, and a brief discussion of Martin’s mother.

AO3 Link: here~

.

“There’s no rush, Martin. Take your time,” Jon raises his voice from the other side of their bedroom door, passing time running his fingers across Daisy’s sparse knick-knacks—just enough of them to present a front of homeyness to any errant visitors but not enough of them to clutter her otherwise spartan living space. Several Archers novels and otherwise miscellaneous reading materials line the single squat bookshelf in the entire cottage, an unbroken coating of dust overlaying everything. Jon picks up a porcelain dog (or a wolf?) and rolls it over in his hands.

“The longer I take, the more likely it is I’m never going to leave this room.” Martin almost-yells back, interrupting the muffled frustrations of someone wrangling an unfamiliar article of clothing.

“And what a shame that’d be. I rather hoped we’d trot down to the village today for a late lunch.”

"Gotta take advantage of the warm weather while we have it," Martin adds.

"Exactly."

"And I'm sure you have no ulterior motives whatsoever."

"Yes, of cour—wait, what?"

“Don’t worry," Martin says with a worrying lilt. "I know what you’re really after.”

Jon pauses and, after a beat, replies, “Oh? And what would that be?”

“Here, I’ll set the scene for you: enter Fiona’s Used Books.” Jon can see (in his mind’s eye, not his eldritch one) Martin preparing his best mock-theatrical pose before continuing. “In the far-right corner, the side of the establishment that faces the setting sun, is a raised platform. Cushions and pillows of all shapes and colors and sizes are strewn about the platform, some left contorted by their previous users before they left the shop to go about their day. Two wide-pane windows allow a full complement of the sun’s rays to gently warm the area. A lone figure lies nestled among several cozy-looking pillows, completely dead to the world but for a purring cat atop the figure’s chest—”

“Yes, yes, all right. You’ve made your point,” Jon grouses. “I hope you know that I consider spending time with you much more important than sunbathing with the bookshop owner’s cat.”

“I know, Jon; don’t worry.” An audible grin carries through the door.

Jon directs his own smile at the door and says, “Yes, well, now that you mention it, I did want to stop at the bookshop if we had time.”

“I think we can make that work. I’d hate to miss seeing you be adorable with Maggie.”

Jon sputters a bit in futile indignation. Martin has made his opinion of Jon's alleged adorableness abundantly clear, and it's not worth challenging him on it. He'd let Martin have this, even though the idea of anyone thinking he's adorable rankles him almost as much as the word spooky does.

(This is less the case coming from Martin, but he’d sooner shuffle off his mortal coil than tell him that.)

The weight of the porcelain wolf—he’s decided—in his hand grabs his attention. In fidgeting with it, he’s managed to rub all the dust off its coat, revealing a delicate blue glaze swirling around the figure. Wiping the excavated dust on his trousers, a concerning realization creeps into Jon's awareness. "Martin?" He calls out.

Martin yells back something questioning, the exact words lost in their reverberations around the inside of their bedroom.

“I know you’re trying to distract me right now,” Jon says matter-of-factly. “If you don’t want to do this anymore, I completely understand.”

All sounds of movement cease on the other side of the door—worryingly quickly.

“Martin?” Jon ventures.

“No. I…want to do this. I want to be more myself.”

Jon nods. “All right. Let’s have a look at you, then.”

It takes several long seconds, but the door creaks open, leaving just enough room for Martin to poke through the gap and reveal dark, furrowed brows set in a face that belies its owner’s vocal confidence just a moment ago. Tension lends Martin’s grip on the door a strength that looks painful from where Jon stands.

“Just gimme a second, gimme a second. Let me…let me get my bearings.” Martin’s visible shoulder, draped in a sheer dark-blue fabric, lifts and sinks with long, deep breaths.

A wave of concern washes over Jon. “What’s wrong, love?”

“I’m-I’m scared, I think. There’s no reason to be scared, but—"

“Who says you need a reason to be scared of something?” Jon interjects, and he immediately regrets the hard edge he hears in them.

Martin exhales sharply and averts his eyes away from Jon, grip tightening on the door, something Jon wouldn’t have thought possible. “Oh, you know, just the fact that we’re on the run from a body-hopping avatar of the Beholding, who can see us through anything even resembling an eye and almost certainly knows exactly where we are.”

“Yes…I know. I’ve been trying not to think about it, if I’m being honest. But even though there’s this uncertainty looming over us, you’re more than justified in feeling afraid of more…mundane things.”

Martin can’t help but scoff at that. “Yeah. Right."

“Do you…do you want to talk about what’s going on?” Jon asks, softness smothering any nascent trace of compulsion. The Beholding doesn’t get to have this, not if Jon has anything to do with it.

“I don’t….” Martin exhales again. “I’ve never tried to be this before,” he says, staring at the neat rows of hardwood planks to Jon’s left. “So much of my life has been just letting other people see me how they wanted to see me because it…I don’t know, helped me be someone specific to them when they needed it. I’ve been someone who won’t stir up a fuss; someone to project their frustrations onto; someone who cares for others for the sake of it; and, definitely most frequently, someone who presents as a man.

“There never seemed a point in saying, no, there’s more here than what I’m letting you see, you know? Sometimes it’s simpler to reduce myself to a single quality, even if it’s never helped me be close to people.

“But if I leave this cottage now, people are going to try to categorize me, try to match me up with some image they have preconceived in their minds, and they won’t be able to. And I’m not sure I should want that anymore, either. I guess the main thing is….” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “It’s terrifying to try to be something other than what the world sees you to be.”

Jon can’t let that go unanswered. Jon needs Martin’s attention for this, so he brings his hands to rest on each of his cheeks, not so much holding him in place but gently suggesting that’s his intention. Jon wouldn’t begrudge Martin his space if he needed it.

“You’re right. It is terrifying letting people see past the outward veneer we put up.” Jon says, concern still present but receding. “It’s not really my place to tell you how to work through that terror, but I am here for you—all of you, not just the parts of you you’re used to showing the world—and I’ll support you however I can.”

“God, Jon, how can you just say things like that?”

Jon makes a sound that’s something just shy of a laugh. “Because they’re true, Martin.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Come on out, Martin; it’s just us, and I want to see all of you, if you’ll let me.”

Still mostly hidden by the door, Martin stares at Jon, Jon with his myriad marks and scars; his long, unbound gray-streaked hair; and an extra ten years perpetually set in his shoulders. He’s pinned by the intensity of the affection in Martin’s eyes.

“Can I kiss you first?” Martin asks, voice terribly quiet.

The request shakes Jon to his core, but he recovers quickly, nodding his assent. “Please do.”

Martin steps out from behind the door and kisses Jon, Jon’s eyes closing on reflex before he can get a good look at him. The romance novels Jon used to pick up when the ache for a happy ending of his own became too painful to ignore any longer would have him feeling light and airy, almost senseless, as if suspended in space and time as he and Martin exchanged breath. Jon has never felt more grounded. He’s never felt more aware of every sensation within and without his body; the sensations of Martin’s hot breath on his face and his chapped lips pressing against his own keep him firmly tethered to the here and now. Jon’s heart hammers in his chest—so much so he’s sure Martin can feel it, too, their chests pressed together as they are.

When they break apart, Jon opens his eyes and says breathlessly, “Let’s get a good look at you. The mirror’s just over here.” Jon takes his hands back to make the journey easier but feels his heart drop when Martin looks back at the door left ajar in their haste to come together. He looks bereft. Bereft of what, Jon’s can’t be entirely sure, but Jon makes a judgment call and grabs one of Martin’s hands and pulls him along toward the far end of the room, their fingers interlaced.

It had seemed a bit odd for Daisy to have such a vanity piece, but Jon's thankful for it and thankful it wasn't as firmly affixed to the wall in their bedroom as it at first seemed. It would have made for cramped space indeed to have them both crowding around it, and Jon doesn’t want Martin to be alone for this.

They stop just in front of the mirror, Jon off to the side and Martin situated front and center. He gives Jon’s hand a grateful squeeze and looks at his reflection.

“What do you see when you look at yourself, love?” Jon prompts, squeezing Martin’s hand right back.

“I see myself wearing this dress we found rather miraculously in this northern Scottish village of three hundred whole people.”

“And?”

“And it’s…fwooshy.”

“Fwooshy.”

Martin nods with all the sage wisdom of a learned poet. “Yes. It’s light and it moves when I move. It feels like it’s barely touching me at all times, which is so different from how my normal trousers and jumpers feel.”

“Ah, I see what you mean.”

“Mm-hmm. And it’s just pretty, don’t you think?

“Indeed.” Jon debates drawing attention to the question Martin is dancing around, but he trusts Martin to get there in time. “I thought so the moment we found it.”

Martin makes a non-committal sound. “You know, this is a lovely color on me.”

“Come to think of it, I’ve never really seen you wear darker colors before now. You always wore jumpers with a lot of bright colors around the Archives.”

“Yeah. It was, um. My mum, she used to say stuff like, ‘Why do you want to look so dreary all the time? Bright colors look so much better on you,’ and I guess that stuck.” Martin’s voice takes on an affect somewhere between disappointed and exhausted as he imitates his mother, and Jon struggles not to form opinions about that until they’ve had time to talk about her more. “I think she liked looking at the brighter colors I’d wear, especially once she couldn’t really leave our flat very often. I want to think they reminded her of the outside. She never said that, though. I don’t know.

“Wearing a color like this makes me happy, though. Wearing delicate clothes like this that don’t hide me away makes me happy. I want to say I feel….” Martin trails off.

“I feel beautiful, Jon. I really, really do.”

Jon tugs Martin’s hand, still joined with his own, up to his lips and places a kiss on his knuckles, at once affirming you’re beautiful, love and urging Martin to continue.

Visibly reorienting himself, Martin continues: “I see a Martin I’ve never let myself be before. A Martin not at odds with himself. With the rest of the world, maybe, but not with himself. I want to be him, Jon.”

“Then be him.”

“What, just like that?”

“Well, not ‘just like that.’ It’ll take time to feel comfortable presenting your whole self to other people, and that’s okay. The time and effort will be worth it; the world is better for having you, all of you, in it.”

Martin nods shakily, looking for all the world like he’s adrift in the middle of the ocean with sliver of land visible in any direction.

Jon waits for Martin to gather his thoughts. It's the least he can do, lend Martin his patience, patience he's long deserved and nary gotten from Jon for most of their relationship. Plus, it gives Jon some time to look, to really look at this beloved person standing next to him.

Jon's never given much weight to a person's looks as a part of his attraction to them. More often than not, Jon would start to find someone pleasing to look at only after becoming attracted to them in other ways. Otherwise, people were people and what they looked like mattered little in the face of their ideas, their arguments, and their kindnesses (or lack thereof).

Things progressed much the same way with Martin, and now? Well, Jon would like to never stop looking at Martin, thank you very much, and the universe would do well to cooperate with him on that.

Jon looks and looks and looks as Martin twists from side to side, watching as the dress billows out around him. The dress is elegant, made more so by the person wearing it. It's long, the navy chiffon wrap falling down around Martin’s ankles in gentle fluttering waves. A more opaque under-layer provides him some coverage from his chest to his mid-thighs but by no means diminishes his silhouette: soft and sturdy in equal measures. The dress cinches together an inch or so below his pecs, highlighting the generous curve of his hips. Shoulders Jon knows teem with freckles are enveloped in wide navy chiffon sleeves. The wrap-around style of the dress creates a deep V-shaped neckline, revealing more lovely freckles spread across his ample chest.

Martin is gorgeous—full stop. He fills out the dress beautifully, fabric flush with his skin in all the right places. Jon has to keep himself from flying apart with fondness for the man. The dress suits him; there was no way Jon could have anticipated how much it would after observing its shape uninhabited.

Martin cuts through Jon’s musing with a whisper: “Thank you, Jon.”

“For what?”

“For…for being here with me. Throughout all this.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be, Martin,” Jon says in a tone that brooks no argument.

“Right. Cool,” he says airily, earning a light chuckle from Jon. He’s not at all surprised when he finds himself at the receiving end of a playful nudge.

“If you’re up to it, I’d still love to go into the village and share a meal with you, show you off to our lovely neighbors.” Jon stops for a moment before continuing, gesturing wildly with his free hand, “That is to say, I’m not trying to imply you’re my possession or that I get to parade you around as I please. I just mean that….” Jon looks deep into earthy brown eyes and presses on. “I just mean that I want everyone to know and see how much of a privilege it is to be with you, to be able to bear witness to you putting more of yourself out into the world—if you’re ready.”

“We’re already the novel English couple from out of town staying in the infamous nigh-abandoned cottage on a mysterious holiday—what’s another oddity for the list, eh?”

“Hey! I won’t have anyone talking about my—oh.” Jon makes a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “It occurs to me that you might prefer different terminology for yourself. Is it still all right for me to refer to you as my boyfriend’? Or would you prefer something without a gender connotation like ‘partner’?”

“Jon, I spent the last two and a half years wanting to be your boyfriend, and that hasn’t changed. Having you call me that doesn’t bother me and is, in fact, one of my dreams come true.” Martin lets go of Jon’s hand and wraps him up in his arms; Jon’s follow suit. “Thanks for asking, though. I’ll let you know if anything doesn’t feel quite right.”

Jon buries his face in the crook of Martin’s neck, savoring the warmth and gentle scent of something vaguely herbal permeating through the chiffon dress. They’ll return to Martin’s comment later, he’s sure. “All right. I like ‘boyfriend,’ too, just for the record.”

“I’m glad,” he says, leaning his head on Jon’s.

“So,” Jon starts, pouring all the comfort he can manage into his embrace, “how about it? A late lunch at the pub, and then we can go see Maggie if there's time?”

Martin pulls away from Jon and smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m good. Let’s get going,” he says.

“Yes, let’s.” Jon moves toward their makeshift mudroom, which is nothing more than a sorry shoe rack leaned against the wall next to the front door and a couple of wooden pegs designed to hang heavy coats.

“And, Jon?”

Jon turns part of the way back around, cocking his head to the side in mild confusion. “Yes?”

There’s a subtle tension in Martin’s stance when Jon looks back at him, but he’s standing up noticeably straight and puffing himself up. This is familiar to him; he imagines he looks the same way when he’s about to go into a situation that involves delicate social interactions.

However, this is unfamiliar to him as something Martin does in the face of imminent discomfort. Martin isn’t a lip-worrier. Nor is he a fidgeter. Too much practice maintaining a guise of false cheer. No, what Martin does is shrink. He hunches over imperceptibly and draws his arms into himself, and makes the space he’s in feel that little bit bigger, that little bit lonelier, for his diminished presence in it.

Resolve blooms on Martin’s face. It’s a fragile thing, Jon can tell, but it’s there. Jon hopes this is just one instance of many of Martin deciding to take up his due space and filling the world with his presence. “Would you start also using ‘they’ and ‘them’ for me sometimes?” Martin starts, in a rush. He continues, slower and more hesitant, “I just want to try them out; see how they feel and all that. Might not be a permanent thing.”

“It would be my utmost honor and pleasure to use whatever language my boyfriend feels most comfortable with me using for them.” Jon says primly, bent slightly at the waist and arms swept to one side.

In a second, Martin closes the distance between them, hooking one arm under Jon’s legs and behind his back and twirling him around, both of them giggling all the while. Jon gets the impression Martin’s taking it easy (in consideration of the abundance of fabric flowing free around their ankles, if he had to guess), but it’s perfect anyway.

For his part, Jon is taking this opportunity to admire his boyfriend between giggles: the sepia highlights in their hair, brought out by the (no doubt by now) sinking sun; the double chin Jon likes tucking his head under when he wants to feel at home; the strength in all of Martin’s body but especially their arms, arms that hold him close as they spin around the room, never showing signs of faltering. Mingling with admiration for Martin’s physical form is an enduring respect for Martin’s courage and his life-long compassion. This is a person Jon would trust with his life and his heart.

Eventually, Martin returns Jon to solid ground. Jon would say it was too soon, but they’re both slightly out of breath, and time is moving ever forward. Jon practically falls into Martin, pressing their foreheads together. The smooth chiffon slides against Jon’s skin as they shift into comfortable positions. He closes his eyes and isn’t aware of much else that isn’t Martin.

“Hey there, handsome,” Martin says after more time passes. “What’s someone like me got to do to get someone like you out that front door so we can actually go on our date sometime this century?”

Jon’s eyes crinkle in the corners, deeply amused. “You might have to carry me over the threshold at this point. Just make sure to grab our shoes—wouldn’t want leave without completing your ensemble, after all.”

[liibrii]

fem!Miya!reader x Ginjima Hitoshi & Akagi Michinari || part of the Third Miya series

Synopsis: It’s just a courage test. Just a nightly walk through a labyrinth of statues. Even the moon refuses to peek out from behind to clouds to witness your stupidity. Oh, did I mention there've been ghosts sighting here? There've been ghost sightings here.

Warnings: cursing, some spooky atmosphere, spooky things happen, some prime examples of sibling love

wc: 2.3k

a/n: should I post this chapter after the one establishing Reader's friendship with the team? Yeah, probably. also what I could do is write a little author's note that Reader is a friend with all the boys on the team and move on from there, ya know? 

In case you missed previous chapters, Twins call their sister San, while others simply refer to her as Miya. (I'm experimenting and trying to use y/n as little as possible. lemme know if you like it). 

if you wanna be tagged in future chapters lemme know and as always feedback is greatly appreciated! 

Nothing scared you.

Well, except Mr-No-Gaps Kita Shinsuke but you're pretty sure there isn't a being on this planet that wouldn't be afraid of him so that disqualifies him from this particular competition; or mom that one time she discovered nobody had taken the trash out even though she said to do it several times. And the dark sometimes. And ghosts! Ghosts are spooky. You can't punch a ghost

But other than that nothing scared you.

This nightly walk though is making you reconsider the statement. Maybe the time has come for you to put 'dark' and 'weird noises whose origin you can't see' to the top of the list. Shivers run up your spine and you step faster, closer to Ginjima beside you. He gives you a questioning glance but luckily doesn't say anything. You hope he won't mention it later either. The only thing worse than your brothers finding out what a scaredy cat you're being right now is... Well, nothing would be worse than that.

The Gallery Tangle is what this place is called and you find the name strangely fitting. Stone statues, some crumbling and all overgrown with moss, stand lined by the path going in twists and turns. No matter where you turn cold unseeing eyes watch you. If you were the one choosing the name for this place it would be something along the lines of 'that corner nobody in their right mind would ever go close too'. Some people believe it used to be a cemetery but really it's just a meadow where someone left an unwanted statue once, and then another, and before you knew crowds of curious tourists and stupid teenagers visited the place all the time. Even the moon refuses to peek out from behind to clouds to witness your stupidity. Oh, did I mention there've been ghosts sighting here? There've been ghost sightings here.

So naturally it's the perfect place for a courage test. The only one at fault for this entire situation is Osamu for daring Akagi and Ginjima to go visit the site, and you for falling for his trap when he turned to you and, with that annoyingly sweet voice pretending he's a caring older brother who's just looking out for his little sister, said: “Thank the heaven yer too much of a baby to go out of the house after sunset.“

Yeah well, maybe you are and he knows it, and he also knows the easiest way to get you to do something is to tell you you don't have the guts. It's all a well tested trap you keep falling into. Walking amongst countless silent statues you want to ponder how the mice traps are always so obvious and yet the mice keep falling for them like dummies, but that would be a silly thought to have in the middle of the night and taking your current circumstances into consideration also incredibly hypocritical.

Nothing much scared you, except for Kita Shinsuke, but if you were given a chance to get help from one person right now you'd chose him. As much as the mere thought of him makes you straighten up and check if your clothes are on point you're sure ghosts and demons and other creatures of the night would rethink once or twice before coming closer to bother you. Not to be rude but he'd probably be a better ghost repellent than trembling Ginjima beside you who at the moment is being more of a ghost attractor. Can ghosts sense fear? Apparently even horses can smell fear so why would ghosts be any different? Maybe better for that question to go unanswered.

“Are ya sure we're goin' in the right direction?“ asks Gin.

“Maybe.“

“Akagi-san ya do know that's not the answer we wanna hear right now, right?“

“I'm yer senpai so I can't lie to ya,“ answers Akagi and you wish he wasn't your senpai so you could give him the well deserved kick in the shin. As Osamu would put it, getting a straight answer out of him was sometimes harder than eating udon noodles with only one chopstick. Your smart-ass replied with 'Just drink them', which was a funny response at the time, a justifiable enough reason for Osamu to slap your head, but in the end this solution didn't really apply to the libero. “We're takin' a little detour to avoid inhabitants of this place,“ Akagi says and if you didn't know him better you'd think his words were meant to reassure you.

“Ya mean the statues? I don't think they really mind us trespassin'.“

“Ah no, not the statues.“ He turns and points his torch up to light up his face. “I meant ghosts.“

“Ha ha, very funny,“ you say pretending a shiver didn't just run up your spine. Your hold on your own torch tightens.

“Skepticism doesn't suit ya Miya. There's a ghost of a little boy hidin' round here. Ever since his old house was demolished he walks around lookin' for his parents.“

“Sure he does,“ you answer and quickly change the topic because if Akagi doesn't stop you're sure Gin will climb in your arms and the question if you're strong enough to carry him is another one you don't want to know the answer to. “Where did Samu say he left the scarf?“

When Ginjima answers his voice is strangely high pitched: “By the statue of an old lady with a cat.“

Akagi nods. “We should split up so-“

“No!“ you and Ginjima half yell.

“We could get lost,“ you add, feeling heat rise on your cheeks.

“Exactly,“ Ginjima agrees, “look how many statues there are! It's a labyrinth 'round here!“

Akagi gives in without much convincing with a gleam in his eyes you really don't like because it looks suspiciously similar to the gleam Atsumu has before blackmailing you with one of too many embarrassing things he knows. “Right, right, last time I was here the cat lady was on the other end.“

“Was?“ Ginjima follows close behind and you're just glad to have you back covered.

“Statues move sometimes. Usually when no one is lookin'.“

“Funny,“ is all you say.

Still, as you continue the expedition you don't let your gaze wander around. It's not like you could see anything anyway. It's too dark! At least that's what you keep telling yourself. Anything could hide out there.

You shudder. Why did you think it was a good idea to leave without taking a hoodie? As if summer nights aren't chilly. Or maybe you just walked past a cold spot where ghosts linger. Now that sounds like something Akagi would tell you.

You're acutely aware of how close Ginjima is walking and you're glad he is. His shoulder bumping into yours every now and then and the sound of his steps are the last things keeping you from letting your imagination run free.

That's the thing about imagination. It makes the pile of unfolded clothes look like a child crawling out of the floor. It makes sitting stone statues seem to blink and turn their heads when you pass by.

When you nervously glance over at Ginjima you notice he's clenching his jaw so hard you start fearing for his teeth. He puts you at ease. As much as that is possible while walking in the dead of night around seemingly endless line of statues. If he was as carefree as Akagi you would, all your foolish pride be damned, most likely burst into tears right then and there.

The nearby bushes rustle and maybe it's just the wind, or a cat on a nightly adventure, or maybe it's something entirely different, but whatever it is lures you into making the mistake of looking over at the statues, where you catch a pale face with unblinking eyes behind long, black hair staring back at you. You scream. Jump, trip over a stone and end in Ginjima's arms, your ears ringing from the high pitched shriek you presume is his.

Akagi jumps too and points his torch around to see what made both of you finally lose the brave facade. He searches around the statues but there's nothing to be found. “It's gone now.“

“Ya sure?“

“What was it?“

“A white face and... black hair.“

“So, a ghost?“ asks Akagi and you nod, holding tightly on Gin as if your life depended on it. A sly smile spreads across Akagi's face. “See, I told ya there's ghosts.“

“Not helpin' ,“ says Gin as Akagi's words make you shudder.

Only then does it hit you Ginjima is holding you bridal style and you swiftly climb back down, still shaken and now completely embarrassed as well. You don't even dare think how much bribing will take to convince Akagi to keep his mouth shut about this. Oh, if your brothers find out they will never let you live it down.

“Maybe we should go home,“ suggests Ginjima still holding you up because your knees turned to pudding.

“Like hell we are,“ you sneer, the blood rush turning fear into burning determination. If this is what it takes to shut Samu's annoying shit mouth, then so be it. “Cat lady, right? I bet she's this way.“ You pick up your torch light and head into the wrong direction.

“Miya, we have to go right,“ Akagi calls after you.

“I am goin' right!“

“The other right.“

You turn on your heels and head into the 'other right' direction. You think you hear Akagi snicker. Step by step your sudden burst of determination and fearlessness drains but like hell are you going to show it. It's just ghosts and spooky demons and maybe some cursed children, what are they going to do? Scare you? Joke's on them, you're already scared! And cold, and embarrassed, and you just want to find that damn scarf already and go home.

It waits neatly wrapped around the cat's neck. It's eyes have an almost mocking look. As if the stone is judging you for taking on this courage test in the first place. Well, you think, it ain't wrong.

“There, now we can go,“ you proclaim when your trembling fingers finally manage to unknot the silky fabric, and as if some cruel fate or inhabitants of this eerie place watched you only a few statues away something rustles.

All three of you freeze and listen. In the distance you can hear cars driving by. A late night train stops by the station.

“What was that?“ asks Gin.

You stuff the scarf into your pocket. “Doesn't matter, we got what we-“

“Let's go check it out!“

“O hell no,“ is the first thing that leaves your mouth but for some reason Akagi thinks it's a sunny Sunday afternoon and the perfect time for a stroll.

“Let's go,“ Gin nudges you to get you to follow Akagi but you don't budge.

“No.“

“He's our senpai Miya, we can't just let him wander off.“ He lowers his voice. “He might get in trouble.“

“Let him. I've had enough of this place,“ you say and head into the opposite direction. Ginjima hesitates, casts a few lost glances between you and Akagi before he decides the prospect of something happening to you would get him into much bigger trouble. “Are ya okay?“ he asks when he catches up.

You give a stiff nod. All you want is to get away from this place.

It doesn't take long for Akagi to come running back. “It was nothin',“ he says, out of breath and smiling as always but if you'd pay more attention you'd notice he's a bit paler.

And you are about to find out why.

A white figure appears from behind one of the statues, howling and shrieking, or maybe that's Akagi and Ginjima. Your heart stops for a mere moment before jumping into overdrive. You grip your torch, step back with one leg to gain momentum, and chuck your only source of light into what you guess is ghosts head.

“Aargh!“ shrieks the ghost before it starts screaming its lungs out at you, “Are ya stupid?! Ya could've hurt me ya shithead!“ It pulls the sheet off to reveal a very irritated Atsumu rubbing his forehead where the torchlight hit him. “OW!“ he shrieks again when you kick his shin. You'd probably kick him again for good measure if another figure, this one clad in black and with an oni mask, didn't jump from behind the statues and scare you into leaping in the air. The figure laughs and avoids the kick aimed at it's knee. “Samu!“ you shriek. “This isn't funny!“

“It is a little,“ says Akagi and to his luck he's your senpai and standing out of your reach. At least Ginjima doesn't look amused by your utter embarrassment.

In an effort to regain some of your pride you pull out the scarf and chuck it into Osamu's face. “Here, yer kitchen cloth.“

“San don't speak about mom's clothes like that,“ teases Atsumu who at the stare you send him immediately takes a careful step back.

Osamu pinches your cheeks and not even a death glare stops his teasing: “Maybe ya ain't such a baby after all. But ya do scream like one.“

“Absolutely hilarious,“ you deadpan. “Who was the white faced lady? Suna?“

“What white face?“

“Don't play with me ya shit pig. The one that almost gave Gin a heart attack!“

“Ya screamed louder than me-“

“That wasn't us,“ your brothers shake their head. You don't believe them because, why would you?

Akagi bursts into laughter. “Maybe ya saw a real ghost after all!“

A... a real... ghost. The rest of you exchange uncomfortable glances.

Gin is the first to speak. “It's gettin' a little chilly. Maybe we should,“ he gestures towards the path, and you nod, enthusiastically.

“It is gettin' late. We'll hear it if we come home past curfew,“ says Osamu.

Walking away you don't want to look back but something compels you to throw a quick glance over your shoulder. Wide unblinking eyes stare as you leave, face ghostly white and almost glowing in the dead of night.

Or maybe it's just your imagination.

tag list: @espressons @trashy-simp @nachotrash @megumiisee @foxxtrot-116​

in case you’re curious, Gallery tangle is based on a real life Statue village in Japan.

[shoutosteakettle]

a cry for help • katsuki bakugou

⤷ genre: lil bit of angst & a lil bit of fluff & lil bit of law student katsu!au

⤷ word count: 1213

⤷ a/n: so this fic isn’t perfect and it might be a little messy but i really like this fic and i hope you do too!! thank you @ererokii for proof reading like always (love you aims

☆彡

“Okay, so if the defendant is under investigation for criminal activity, what rights do they have when referring to their privacy?” you asked Katsuki, reading off the index card you held in your hand. You watch the stressed pre-law student bring his hand up to his temples, rubbing them in hopes of a sense of relief. 

“C’mon Katsu, you got this,” you whisper-cheered to him. When you saw his vermillion eyes set on you, there was a chill that ran down your spine; this was his infamous ‘fuck off’ look. You gave him another thirty seconds to answer the question before setting down the card in the ‘wrong’ pile. The scoff that he sent you in return to your actions made you stop your midway, your fingers pinched at the corner of the next index card, “Do you know the answer?”

“No,” Katsuki scoffed once again, this time accompanying it with an over the top eye roll. You watched as he fiddled with the keys on his laptop before gaining the confidence to look him in the eyes again. The bags underneath them were heavier than yesterday, and his usually perfect skin was breaking out right by the pores of his nose.

“Did you sleep last night,” you asked him, worried that you already knew the answer.

“No,” Katsuki answered. This time, his tone was less harsh. You could sense the tiredness and stress that was laced in his voice. This was so unlike him. Usually, the Katsuki Bakugou was the type of student to pass every test without fail, regardless of studying But ever since the two of you had started college, he had been struggling, hard. Last night he texted you asking if the two of you could meet up at the library; the last thing you expected was for him to ask you to help him study.

“Oi, ask the next shitty question,” Katsuki’s husky voice pulled you from your thoughts. His frustration was obvious and was growing to be a bit contagious, but you were trying your best to keep a cool head for him. You picked up the pile of unanswered index cards, shuffling through them and purposely picking out the easiest question. “What is the fifth amendment of the constitution,” you read, waiting for his answer.

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t fucking know. Is that what you want to hear,” he hissed, his voice raising half a decibel with every word. “Do you think you’re better than me because I can’t answer a few of your dumbass questions?” At this point, he was half yelling. Nowhere near his regular volume but still loud enough to grasp the attention of your peers studying in the library.

“Katsuki Bakugou, you know I don’t think that,” you spat back at him, standing up from your seat with both hands pressed on the desk in front of you. Almost all thoughts of containing your temper having been thrown to the wind... almost. You straightened your back, brushing the wrinkles from your skirt before sitting back in your seat. You tried your best to keep your eyes from the ones watching the broadway worthy performance you and your boyfriend were putting on for them.

“What the hell is going on with you,” you asked, any remnants of your previously attitude laced tone completely gone, instead replaced with something softer, a tone more crossed with love and concern.

“Tch. The fuck are you talking about,” he asked, refusing to meet your gaze, preferring to read and reread the sign that hung above your head pointing to the young adult romance section of the library.

“You know what I’m talking about Katsuki. You’re not sleeping, and I have to call you eight times a day just make sure that you eat. You’ve basically cut all ties with everyone except me and Eijirou, and I don’t know how much longer we can handle Denki on our own. What’s wrong with you?”

“You want to know what’s wrong with me,” Katsuki started, the ice from his voice sending a chill throughout your corner of the room, “It’s you. And my mother. And everyone fucking else. I promised that I would be the best and greatest, but what kind of fucking idiot can’t even pass their mid-term?”

Katsuki was never big on expressing his emotions, so the shock you felt when you saw a single tear fall from his eye and down his cheek before he wiped it away was completely justifiable. Tears aren’t a sign of weakness, they’re a cry for help. And you’re never more strong than when you’re asking for help. Remember that. Those were the words he spoke every time you came running to him for comfort, for shelter, for love. 

“Katsu,” you cooed, taking his cheek in your right palm and steering his attention towards you. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. The last thing I wanted was to pressure you. We can do this together, I can help you.” Your voice, soft and quiet was a good example as to what proper library etiquette was. Opposed to your boyfriend who had been yelling his head off just seconds before. But any and all thoughts of what was right and what was wrong were thrown out the window when you felt Katsuki rest his forehead against yours, letting one last tear fall from his eye. Tears can also be a sign of love. When you’re so overwhelmed with the feeling and just don’t know what to do with it, that’s when tears come in handy.

So caught up in the feeling of love and the aura that had settled around you two, neither of you noticed the library security guard walking your way. It wasn’t until he was close enough for the two of you to smell the coffee he had drunk this morning from his breath that you remembered there were other people on earth. When the guard had asked you and Katsuki to leave due to a noise complaint (well, several noise complaints), you didn’t really put up a fight because you understood completely.

 ミ☆

“I’ve never been kicked out of a library before, “ you confessed, drawing small circles on your boyfriend’s chest through the black tee that he dawned, “Do you think we can ever show our faces there again. Wait, what if they have, like, a wall of infamy for people who are no longer welcome and our faces are on there now.”

“Then we’ll find a new library,” Katsuki shrugged, rolling over on the twin-sized mattress to face you in favor of the off white ceiling of your college dorm. You dragged your index finger from the bags underneath his eyes to the cliff of his chin, in the same motion that a tear would fall, before using that same finger to wipe away a tear that had fallen from your eye. “Damn, if it’s that important to you then I guess I could talk to the staff and explain to them that it was my fault.”

“No, no. It’s not that- I just really, really love you,” you gush, hoping that he didn’t hear the awkward snort that followed as you tried to cover up your sudden burst of emotion with laughter.

“I love you too dumbass.”

[t-lostinworlds]

The Choices We Make (Tom Holland) [2]

A/N: First off, i would like to say thank you so much for all the love and support on part 1, it truly means the world to me <3 second, i am so sorry for the long wait but here we are! thank you for your patience you kind angels! Hope you guys like this as much as the first aha! x

Pairing: Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Summary: Tom realises what you two had and everything that he wasted. He realises he needed to fight for you and that he can’t lose you for good. But will he be able to make things right and have you back in his arms again or will it be too late?

Warnings: heart wrenching angst, a lot of crying from both persons, a bit of fluff but it’s flashbacks and typos?

Word Count: 14.4k+

Masterlist in Bio

NOTE: Flashbacks are in Italics

-:-:-:-:-

Where does Tom start?

Well, he can start with the fact that he's miserable. The fact that he's a disgusting piece of shit who deserves nothing but to be miserable, no less, maybe more.

You were so good to him, too good. You treated him more than he deserved. Even after what he did, even after he betrayed you, never did you treat him any less of man when in fact, he deserves to be treated like shit.

With a heart as kind as yours, when you showed him nothing but pure love, how could he have done what he did? A question so heavy as Tom asks himself as to why, but only ends up empty, it only ends up unanswered.

This makes him feel even more stupid. A downright disgrace given that he's ruined something so precious and special all for nothing, not even for something remotely worth it.

He could say he did it for sex, which is really rotten no matter the circumstance, doesn't make things better even by the littlest bit. But even then, it still wasn't worth it. He threw away so much just for sex? What a shallow reason to destroy such a beautiful relationship isn't it?

Quite frankly, nothing he will ever say will make things better. Not a single reason would justify the way he broke such a kind heart that gave him nothing but blissful happiness, gave him the truest forms of love.

The damage has already been done, he's already destroyed everything, hearts and trusts turned to nothing but fractured pieces.

Just how could he? How could he have done that to you?

You didn't deserve any of it.

All the times he's ignored you, made you feel unwanted. The countless times he's pushed you away and hurt you with his angry words. Hell, just the fact that he's made you feel like you weren't enough was a crime in itself.

Tom has been with you for three years, three fucking years, and during that time you had always been enough, more than enough. But that's the thing, realization and regret always comes last, always comes when it's too late.

You only realize just how much something is worth until you lose it.

It's been hours since you left, and Tom feels so utterly lost.

You we're his true north and now that you're gone, he was lost. Lost on where he'll go from here, lost on what to do, lost on who he's become.

A part of him knew he should've chased after you, but then what? He doesn't know what more he could say. He was still in deep doubt if he was fixing things or breaking it further if he continued to run his mouth. He at least needs to get his mind straight, get himself together or he'll say something that will make things even worse than it already is.

Tom sulked in bed right after everything, right after he heard that front door shut. He let himself drown in his tears and his regretful thoughts, both overwhelming him to the point that he passed out without even realizing.

Now, here he was, fully awake but still in bed. The sun was on its highest but Tom had no clue what time it was. With a broken phone, there was no way of telling unless he moves to grab a watch. But he doesn't really feel like moving. He just wants to rot in bed — or in hell as he rightfully deserves — and do absolutely nothing.

The whole house was eerily quiet and very cold, and he doesn't want to explore its state when he knows how it was coated with so much warmth before, your warmth. Was this how it felt for you when he doesn't come home? If so, then Tom feels even more of a shitty person than he already is.

But the world won't stop its course just to wait for him now won't it? So despite it all, Tom willed himself to get up and out of bed with a heavy heart, pushed himself to at least do the next right thing, whatever it may be.

Feet dragging against the tiled floor, Tom reached the living room with a broken sigh. His bloodshot eyes landed on the number of frames on top of the fireplace, photos upon photos of you and him, his frown deepening as the pain squeezed at his heart.

He walked over and took one in his hand, the one where Tom had an arm wrapped around your waist as he rests his head on your shoulder, eyes crinkling at the corners as both of you smiled wide and bright, the calming view of the Grand Canal just behind you as you explore the wondrous city of Venice.

The photo was taken by Harry during the shooting of Spider-Man: Far From Home, where you traveled with him and supported him from the first day to the very last.

It was such an innocent picture, mundane even, but so many memories came flooding inside Tom's mind with one simple look. And slowly but surely he was reminded how it used to be, how happy you both were just being together. Tom was reminded how special, how real it was, what you two had.

It doesn't even end with just the pictures, the whole house was a constant reminder too all the things he's wasted, all the beautiful things that made him feel nothing but pride and joy, utter euphoria to have such a wonderful woman in his life.

The whole house that was littered with all things you, from every room to every hall, from your precious laughter to the gorgeous sounds of pleasure that once bounced off the very same walls. Tom can still hear it, replaying inside his head loud and taunting to not let him forget each blissful memory that composed of you and him.

But now it's tainted by his blatant mistake, spoiled by his scandalous choices and he will never be able to forgive himself for that.

With a sharp intake of breath, Tom wiped the tears that slipped down his cheek with the back of his hand. He brought the frame up to his shirt to rid of the droplets that coated the glass, returning it back gently, carefully in sheer fear that he'll break it if he wasn't cautious enough.

Tom knows he owes you countless amounts of apologies, and at least a proper closure. He wasn't going to let last night be the end of it all, he knows he needs to talk to you. He needs to answer whatever question you have, and tell you what he truly feels. He just knows that the demons in your head are relentless. In whatever way he can, he needs to appease your mind with nothing but honesty so that it won't eat you up from the inside out.

He won't be able to live with himself even more if he just leaves you to blame yourself for his choices. And he's not going to stop until it sticks with you that this was nowhere near your fault. This was all on him, and he has to make sure you understand that loud and clear.

So right after he's bought a new phone, he drove towards the only place he knows where you'll be.

***

"Come on guys, open up," Tom tried again, knuckles rapping at the wooden door for the tenth time.

He's been outside the twins' house for roughly fifteen minutes now, and it's either no one was home or they were ignoring him. He figured it was the latter for obvious reasons, and he was proven right when he heard rushed footsteps on the other side when he gave the door another knock.

"Go away Tom, I genuinely don't want to deal with you right now," Harry fumed, boiling anger evident in his tone, a dead giveaway that he was well aware of what had happened.

Did Tom really expect his brothers to be calm about it? No, not even by a little. If he fucks up, they're the first ones to put him back in his place. And now—well, now he fucked up very badly.

Too add to that, the boys care about you a lot. It's been such a heartwarming thing for Tom to see you grow close with them, to see them accept you as part of the family. He understands why they're angry at him and they have every right to be.

"I know she's in there. Just open up, please," Tom sighed, palm flat against the surface as he waits for the lock to click open. Harry scoffed at that, voice muffled due to the door that's still in the way. "She is, but what gave you the idea that she wants to see you?"

That stung, but Tom also can't say he was surprised. Hell, he can't even look at himself without grimacing, so he wasn't expecting any less from you. He wasn't expecting things to go smoothly at all with the weight of his actions.

"Look, I get why you're mad at me. But Harry please, I just need to talk to her," he begged, but still to no avail as his brother growled in response. "What part of 'she doesn't want to see you' do you not fucking get?"

Tom was running out of patience, especially now with his emotions all over the place as with his mind. It was crowded in his head, very loud and obnoxious, just pushing and poking until he felt his anger bubble slowly. And before he could stop himself and take a deep breath to stay calm, his voice boomed,

"Just let me in damn it!" Tom's fists hit the door harshly, his emotions overpowering him to the point where he's becoming rash with his actions. He wasn't frustrated at his brother by all means, he was frustrated at himself. After all, there was no other person to blame why everything in his life has gone to absolute shit.

"Oh go and fuck off!" Harry barked, just fuming at the fact that Tom had the audacity to show his face at his house and give him attitude.

"I'm your fucking brother!" Tom knew that was a bullshit come back but he tried it anyway, he'd try anything at this point, growing desperate with each passing second.

He just really needs to see you. He needs some sense of familiarity, someone to ground him back, someone who's going to tame his mind before he losses it completely. That someone has always been you, his sense of peace, his rock.

"Ah yes! Please do remind me Tom because that's the only thing stopping me from going out there to break your fucking teeth you asshole!" It was obvious that both brothers were now feeding off of each other's emotions, voices loud as they go back and forth, and it was only a matter of time before one explodes which well then make things take an awful turn.

"Jeez Harry, calm down for a second yeah?" Sam's voice interrupted before things start to escalate further. What Tom heard next was fairly inaudible, but he can picture the twins arguing, just hearing the exchange of muffled voices. Then a few seconds later —much to his surprise — Sam opened the door.

Tom met his brother's eyes, a breath of relief coming out of him. "Thank you Sa—"

"Don't thank me, this wasn't my decision," Sam said solemnly with a stoic look on his face, a dissatisfied tone in his voice that Tom was quick to catch. "She's waiting for you in the garden," his brother added, stepping out of the way to let Tom in. He locked with Harry's angry eyes on the way, Tom's frown deepening as he tries to say something, to basically apologise for yelling when he has no right to.

"Harry I—"

"Just fucking walk," his brother sneered, tone ice cold. All Tom could do was nod as he pressed his lips into a thin line, walking pass the twins with his head hanging low in shame. Though never did he miss — nor will he forget — Harry's death glare and Sam's disappointed gaze as he made his way towards the back door.

***

The loud bang on the front door and the yelling was what you woke u—no, the fact that the loud voice belonged to Tom was what woke you up.

You don't know how long you've been asleep for, and to be honest, you could still need a bit more.

Last night was still clear as day inside your head. Everything that had happened you remembered as detailed as it can possibly get, from you reading that text message to then running out the house and calling Harry to come pick you up. You knew fully well you weren't in the right state of mind to drive, and you were glad that he didn't mind at all.

Sam came with him, both sporting their worried looks once they pulled over and saw your state. Though they didn't ask any questions once you got inside the passenger's seat, neither pushed to give you air to breath, them only knowing that Tom did something terribly wrong by the way you were crying on the phone.

The three of you just drove around the city for a while, windows down with the music blaring to try and get your mind off of it as much as they can. Both ordered pizza and opted on eating in the car that was parked near the River Thames, looking out into the gorgeous view of the Tower Bridge as it shines its lights in the night. You talked about anything and everything but the elephant in the room—well, car.

You only poured everything out to them when you got back to their house. Full on balling on the couch as you try and form a coherent sentence on what just happened. First they were surprised, unable to believe that their brother could do such a thing. Then you saw the anger cross their features little by little, more so with Harry than Sam. You've traveled with Harry quite a lot, you were a little closer with the boy due to the time spent together, but not by much of course.

They offered you the guest room right after, said that you can stay for as long as you need to. They both were real sweethearts about it, and you owe them a lot for keeping you sane for those couple of hours. You couldn't stomach to imagine what you could've done if they weren’t there.

You thought you'd just let them handle Tom, to not come out of the room until he's gone. You have no idea what more you could say or do if you see him again face to face, especially when everything that has happened was only in a span of under twenty-four hours. You were still overwhelmed, a complete mess both physically and emotionally.

But when you heard just how angry Harry was and how Tom was close to reaching there as well, you couldn't just sit still and let the problem grow even bigger. You can't let yourself be the reason that would cause a tear in their relationship with each other. Because by the end of everything, they're still brothers no matter what.

So slowly, you got out of bed, treaded into the living room where you found Sam sat on the sofa. His leg was bouncing anxiously as he listens to his brothers argue, clearly torn on what was the right thing to do. You walked up to him with a small smile, surprise crossing his features once he saw you awake.

He quickly said that he'd try and talk to Tom and make him leave, assuming that you are uncomfortable with him around but you only shook your head no. You told him it's okay to let his older brother in and that you'll just wait in the back garden for whatever it is he wanted to talk about.

Although relunctant, Sam didn't question your decision further. He just pulled you in for a warm embrace before flashing you a reassuring smile and then walking towards the front door.

Once sat on the wooden bench that was right on the back porch, you kept your gaze steady on the greenery in front of you, back facing the house as you tried to clear your head as much as you can. Basically to organized your thoughts and emotions. The cold evening breeze was helping to calm your nerves, your eyes following the gentle sway of the trees and the soft rustle of the bushes, the hum of the wind invading your ears in the most soothing way. It was a serene sight, so comforting, and slowly you felt yourself relax.

But the moment of peace was soon cut short, your eyes screwing shut once you heard the sliding door open and then close. His footsteps were light but the sound was already deafening for you, as if the rest of the world turned mute for you can only hear his shoes hitting the pavement, just ringing in your ears as you waited in anticipation.

Tom sat down beside you with a hold of his breath, heart aching once he saw your tear-stained cheeks, once he noticed how you kept your eyes tightly closed, purely refusing to look at him for even a split second.

His fingers started to fidget as nerves started to consume him. The action was also in a way to stop himself from reaching over to take your hand, to just feel your skin on his, because oh how much he's miss it, how much he's miss you.

He wasted a month of not holding you, of not getting to truly touch you, and he so badly wanted to pull you closer to him now, to make up with the time lost. But Tom wasn't going to push his luck, not going to over step boundaries because he wasn't in the place to make such decisions, not anymore. He knows that there were so little of both left that if he gets too near, he might end up pushing you farther away. He wasn't going to risk it.

On the way here, he's thought about all the things he was going to say to you. He repeated his speech over and over inside his head even though his words were a jumbled mess. It was something at least, a start. But now that he was seating here with you just a couple inches away, Tom's mind has gone blank. With the hundreds of words he's planned on saying, his lips could only let go of one.

"Y/N..."

You could pinpoint so many things with just the simple call of your name. The guilt, the longing, the regret, even the adoration, it was all there. Having known him for a while, you have gotten good at reading him, even if it's only from his voice, from the highs and lows to the different tones. But that was before, now, you weren't so sure if you actually ever knew him at all.

"What are you doing here Tom?" you asked softly, eyes opening with a sigh but still avoiding his at all costs. Tom ran an anxious hand through his hair, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees as he kept his gaze trained on your beautiful face, smile gone and glow dimmed out, but still so beautiful in his eyes nonetheless.

With a deep breath, he spoke, "I-I came here to apologise, for everything. I know it won't do much but I'm not going stop saying how sorry I am. What I did was so fucked up and I am so sorry darling, I really am," Tom paused and waited for you to get a chance to respond. But when you kept looking forward, when you didn't even move a single muscle, he sighed before adding. "And I just need you to know that this is all on me, none of this is your fault, please keep that in mind Y/N. You did absolutely nothing wrong."

You nodded with a shaky breath, and as you gathered all the strength you could muster, slowly you turned to face him.

The look in your eyes only did nothing but sharpen the pain in Tom's chest. Your once joyful orbs were now bloodshot and full of hurt, all because of him. The more he stared into them, the guiltier he got. The weight of what he's done so evident in your gaze, reminding him of all the promises he broke, reminding him just how much he's broke you.

"Do you have feelings for her?" you asked after a few moments of silence, bottom lip trembling despite trying your best for it not to. Tom shook his head with a deep frown, "No, I don't."

He knew where this was heading. You were going to ask him the questions that's been nagging inside your brain, and Tom was going to answer each one with the truth, no second guessing, just pure honesty.

You shifted in your seat, clearing out the lump that formed in your throat before speaking. "Was she better than me in bed?" you trailed off.

Tom couldn't help but wince at the fact that you've thought about it. He felt so disgusted at himself for such an awful deed, so revolted for putting that image inside your brain.

"No. She doesn't compare to you. I'm so so late on realising this but she doesn't make me feel things the way only you can," he answered truthfully, but you looked away.

You just couldn't hold his gaze. To stare at those brown eyes you once called home, those eyes that used to make you feel safe, it's just a sharp stab at your heart knowing that those same eyes betrayed you. It took everything in your power to not break down, unable to think further about everything without bursting into endless tears, unable to believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.

Tom saw this, he saw it in the way you looked at him for that split second, how you just don't trust him anymore. And oh does it hurt, but what did he expect?

You picked at your fingers nails as you kept your head low, trying your hardest to hold yourself together, concealing everything in. But you were grasping onto broken pieces, your heart and mind all fractured, too fragile. The harder you try to keep them as one whole piece, the deeper the cuts you inflict on yourself.

And the picture of him with another woman, touching her in a way that he used to touch you, it feels so vile, an agonizing torture for your already broken heart, and you don't know how much more of the pain you can handle. You don't know how much more you can endure before everything finally falls apart and becomes too damaged to put back together.

But what if that was the right thing to do? What if it was needed to let everything fall apart, to loosen your grip on the broken pieces of yourself for the wounds to heal, for you to be able to start anew? Maybe all you need is for everything to break down completely so you can build them back up, stronger and better.

"She's more beautiful than me isn't she? Has a better body? More talented? She's simply just better than me?" you croaked, trying your best to keep it together. But you were almost there, almost at the point of just letting the whole thing go, to let every emotion come flooding out, the bad and the ugly.

"Fuck no," Tom protested, rubbing a palm across his face in anger, entirely directed at him for planting that thought inside your head in the very first place. He hates seeing you like this, so hurt and full of doubt for no other reason than because of what he did. Tom wanted nothing more than to take away your pain, to take it in himself. He's the one who deserves to suffer, not you, never you.

With a deep breath, Tom tried to keep his emotions steady, gaze still set on you — despite it not being returned since you kept looking forward — his voice soft as he continued, "I know my words don't have any weight for you right now but believe me when I say that you will always be the most beautiful woman I've ever met, both on the outside and the inside, from your heart, to your mind and your soul. You are a gorgeous, wonderful and amazing woman Y/N. Please don't doubt that because of the stupid mistake I did."

The moment you locked eyes with him again, Tom's breath got caught in his throat. Your eyes coated with question, utter distress and seething anger, but the pain, God the pain, Tom can feel it sharp and deep in his bones.

Tears fell from your eyes as tried your best to keep your voice steady, but you just couldn't, with the all the different emotions boiling deep inside, you just couldn't.

"Then why Tom? Why?" you sobbed, Tom's heart shattering at the agonizing sound.

He sat straighter, eyes turning glossy but it never left yours, brown orbs boring into your own. "I-I wish I could give you a good enough reason why I did it but I really don't know. All I know is that I was stupid and it was a huge mistake. I realise that now, a little too late but I did. I took what we had for granted—I took you for granted, and I will always regret it until I die."

"You're just saying the things I want to hear." You shook your head with a soft whimper, breaking his gaze as you shut your eyes, enabling more tears run down and coat your cheeks.

"No darling, look at me," Tom croaked, taking the risk as he reached over to take both your hands in his, and you let him, no flinching, you let him touch you. His heart beat rapidly against his chest as he gave it a squeeze, a silent way of asking you to look at him.

A shaky breath came out of you at the feeling of his warm skin, your tear-filled eyes meeting his own once again, seeing nothing but transparency as he spoke, "I haven't lied to you from the minute I sat here. It's hard to believe, I know. But I swear on Tessa's life I'm telling you the truth, every single word I've said."

Tom moved closer, fingers nervously fiddling with yours as he tried his best to keep his tears at bay. "I-I really do want you back. I want you to come back home, I want to hold you in my arms again but after everything I've done to you, I understand why that won't ever happen. And y-you deserve someone better, so much better than m-me," he choke back a sob, bottom lip trembling at his last sentence.

"You hurt me Tom, so bad," you whimpered, voice laced with so much agony, no more holding everything in as the strong façade you've been putting on crumbles.

To see you break down in front of him, your hands shaking in his grasp, nothing but utter pain coating the dips and valleys of your face, that was all it took for Tom to crack. His tears now streamed down his face, falling freely one after the other as his emotions came crashing through like a tidal wave.

"I-I know darling, I know and I'm s-so fucking sorry," he spluttered, feeling his throat close up as he tried to blink away the tears, to rid of his blurry vision so he can see you. He just wants to see you, cherish every second since he has no idea if there would be a next time after this.

Then delicately, Tom lifted your hand up to his lips, kissing your palm sweetly, all adoringly before he placed it flat against his warm and damp cheek, leaning into your touch with a shaky breath. "I'm so sorry angel," he whispered, voice filled with pure regret and guilt.

You remained silent, still looking into his eyes but you kept still, not knowing where you'll go from here. But then Tom lets out a nervous sigh. "And I want you to know that I—" he cut himself off as cleared out his throat, eyes staring deep into your own before he spoke with absolute sincerity,

"I love you."

Your lower lip quivered with a soft cry, eyes closing as shook your head at him. "That's the first time you've said that to me since you came back home," you said, breath unsteady as you replay those three words inside your head.

Eight letters tied together giving you an overwhelming feeling. That's what it does when you haven't heard those words escape his lips in a long time. And oh how you missed it, you missed hearing him say it, but what did it cause for you to hear it again? Too much, way too much to the point that you were unsure if the words hold the same true meaning as before, doubtful if it meant anything at all or if he just casually threw it in there for the sake of it.

Tom nodded regretfully, letting go of your hand as he went to hold your face, thumb caressing your cheek tenderly, your eyes opening at the feeling of his skin on yours. "And I wish I could've said it to you more often because I truly love you Y/N. If I could go back and change everything, I would in a heartbeat. If I could go back in time I'd tell you over and over just how much you mean to me, how important you are in my life. I'd tell you every hour of every day just how much I love you."

With a sharp intake of breath, Tom leaned forward until his forehead was now resting against yours. His proximity was intoxicating, the tips of your noses were almost brushing and you thought it would be too much, but it wasn't. You welcomed it, the feeling of being so close to him because after everything, his eyes still have the hold against you, Tom will always have a hold against you.

"I love you so much darling and I fucking hate myself for not showing you that enough, because you deserve nothing more than to know that you are loved, to feel that you are loved. And I am so sorry for failing you at both." he whispered, and with one look into his eyes, you knew he was being genuine, his voice was trembling but still, you can hear it, feel it inside you that he was being honest.

But was that enough to make you feel reassured? Was that all enough for everything to go back to the way it used to be?

No, it wasn't. It wasn't enough to let your heart win over your brain.

"I just need space to think, I'm sorry," you muttered softly as you pulled your face away from his grasp, letting out a small sniffle before crossing your arms over your chest in a defensive stance, to hold yourself in a way. Tom felt his whole chest ache, but he didn't protest. He lets you go despite not wanting to.

"No, it's okay love and I completely understand. I wasn't expecting you to just jump back in my arms when I came here. I just really needed to say all of these to you." Tom shot you a small, broken smile before he lowered his head, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

Silence hung in the air for a few hellish seconds, turning awkward, deafening with each tick. And when you didn't say another word, Tom took that as a sign, took it upon himself to draw a conclusion.

"Uhm—yeah, I-I think this is my cue to leave," he muttered under his breath and stood up from his place, giving you one last glance to see you only spare him a nod, eyes looking anywhere but at him. With a defeated sigh, he started to walk away, but before he could reach the door, your voice stopped him.

"Tom wait—"

He immediately spun around with hopeful eyes to see you on your feet, already facing him with a small frown. Tom was ready, eager to run to you, to hear the words he so desperately need, to kiss you with all that he has as you take him back. But just as how quick he built that hope up, it was slapped away in an instant when you spoke again.

"Can you pack my stuff up for me please? I-I can't—I don't think I can go back at the house," you breathed out, eyes meeting his as you shifted from one foot to the other. "Just my clothes and toiletries, you can throw the other stuff away."

Tom's heart sunk into the pit of his stomach. The thought of you unable to go back to the house, your home, it was heartrending but there was no other person to blame for that. He searched your eyes, tried to read any hesitation on your face, because he can't accept it. He can't bear to fathom the thought of getting rid of each trace of you in the house. Tom won't be able to handle it because it feels like the final nail on the coffin, after it's done then there's nothing more to go back to.

But when he saw nothing, when he saw that you do in fact mean it, that it is what you want, he forced a tight-lipped smile. "Anything you need love."

You nodded somberly, "Just leave it in the front porch and I'll get it once you're done."

No more words were said after that, Tom unable to slip in a response as you turned your back on him. And with a gloomy sigh, he pulled the door open and went back inside the house.

The moment he reached the living room, the twins both stood up from their places on the couch, both sporting worried looks as they watched their older brother walk with his head hanging low.

"Uhm, thank you for looking after her and I'm really sorry," Tom said as met his brother's eyes. The boys saw a glimpse of what happened outside, and by the look on Tom's face, they knew that their brother deeply regrets what he's done. If anything, he needs them more now, and what harm will it do when they cut him some slack? Tom was already beating himself up black and blue, he doesn't need more of it from everyone else, especially the ones he truly cares about.

Sam was the first to approach him, a sympathetic smile plastered on the lad's lips as he gave him a comforting hug, a loving pat on the back before moving out of the way. Harry came into view next, hand rubbing at the back of his neck guiltily as he said, "I'm sorry for being an asshole earlier." Tom shook his head at him with a faint smile. "It's fine Harry. I deserved it."

His brother tilted his head to the side with a sad smile, moving closer to pull Tom in for a warm embrace. "Take care of yourself," Harry muttered. Tom lets out a shaky breath as he gave his brother a squeeze.

"I'll try."

***

It was so hard packing your stuff up. The fuller your bags got, the heavier Tom's heart grew. And it took him so long to get it done because he just needed to take a breather in between, the ache in his heart overwhelming him to the point that he can't stop his tears from free flowing.

On a slightly brighter note, he does have a sweet girl to comfort him, a precious staffy who'd lay her head on his lap whenever she hears him stifle out a few tears.

Tessa was supposed to stay with his parents for a couple more days, but Tom couldn't endure being alone in the house. So, he cut her little vacation short and stopped by at their house on his way home right after you two had the talk. Tom told them what had happened, disappointed looks unavoidable but they still gave him a much needed comfort and a few heartfelt advice, and for that he was grateful.

He drove home and went straight to bed right after, tried to get some sleep but struggled to say the least. But after a few doses of alcohol and a couple more tears, exhaustion took over him eventually.

Now it was midday, the rays of the sun shining through the bedroom windows, wrapping the space with warmth but Tom wasn't mirroring the mood, the clear blue sky unable to lift his spirits up.

He was sat on the floor of your shared closet, eyes trained on the already empty shelves. He stared at it for a couple seconds before his gaze fell right beside him where your suitcase was situated, now filled and entirely full.

Tom blew out his cheeks as he reached over to zip it up, the sound unpleasant to his ears, unbearable that his eyes screwed shut to keep the tears in. His head was already pounding; he figured crying some more wasn't going to help.

After a few calming breaths, he felt something nudge at his arm, lids shooting open to see Tessa with a stuffed animal in her mouth. "What have you got there?" Tom asked sweetly as he took the toy from her grasp, heart aching once he saw what it was.

He looked back at Tessa with a small smile. She's a clever girl but Tom just knows the dog was properly confused as to why he was packing her mummy's stuff up.

It pained him to think about it, that he would have to try and explain to her why you'd be no longer around. Tessa loves you quite a lot, absolutely attached that the pup tends to look for you first each time she's back in the house, a jab at Tom's ego but he adores it nonetheless. Hell, she explored each room when they got back last night, a soft whine coming out her once she didn't find you. And now to come and reflect that you two were going to be separated all because of him, it's just an addition to the guilt that was already filling him up to the brim.

Tom pulled her close to his side lovingly, placing a soft kiss on her forehead as he whispered on her skin with every ounce of remorse,

"I'm so sorry princess."

***

As he sat on the steps of the front porch, Tom's heart and mind were running a hundred miles per second. Your packed up things were sat on his left while Tessa laid flat by his right. The sweet girl still had no clue why they were outside, just sitting and doing absolutely nothing. But Tom was in much need of some company, and she's always happy to give him that.

He'd sent you the text few minutes ago, saying that it was all done and ready to be picked up. It did cross his mind that he wasn't going to do it, that he'll just keep your stuff here so you won't be able to leave, but that's just downright cruel, selfish and disgusting, so he quickly shut the thought down. Now he was left to wait anxiously, fingers picking at the fabric of the stuffed animal that Tessa lent him earlier.

It wasn't long after when a familiar car pulled up into the driveway, his heart hammering even more at the sight of the vehicle. Tom stood from his place with a shaky breath, dread slowly seeping through his skin at the mere thought that it genuinely was happening. That you were really leaving and it wasn't just his mind playing tricks on him.

Tessa perked up when you and Harry came out of the vehicle, the pup not wasting any time as she bolted straight towards your direction. You crouched down to greet her with open arms, a small giggle escaping your lips when Tessa showered you with her kisses.

Tom's heart stuttered at the sight, a feeling of adoration spreading in his chest, but only lasting for a split second as it was quick to be replaced by one with grief. His heart felt like it was getting torn out of his chest at that thought that he might not be able to see this wholesome interaction ever again.

You walked over to the front porch with an unreadable look on your face, Tessa trailing right behind sporting a wide smile as she kept her gaze on you, tail at an all-time wag, still oblivious to what was happening.

"Hey," was all that Tom managed to get out, his heart warming a little at the sight of you, but ached the moment he noticed your puffy face, bloodshot eyes meeting his as you flashed him a faint smile. "I'm taking my car on the way back, so uhm, I think I left the keys inside," you explained, fingers nervously fiddling at the hem of your hoodie.

Tom frowned at that, but he already knew you weren't stepping inside anytime soon. You did ask him to pack your stuff up for that sole reason. To add to that, he also kind of expected that you were going to say that too, so he fished your car key from his pocket and handed it to you.

"I saw it laying on the counter so yeah," Tom trailed off, eyes still set on you as you took the key from him with a slight frown, and when he saw this he panicked. "Fuck, this looks I'm kicking you out or that I'm looking forward to you leaving and came prepared. I'm not. I figured that you would take your car too that's why I have the keys prepared, not because I want you to go, because I really don't want you to go," he rambled before he could even stop himself.

You stared at him for a full second or two, contemplating on what to say — or if you should even say anything at all — but with much thought, not wanting to say the wrong words, you opted on staying silent as you only nodded at him with a hum.

"I think this is everything," Tom cleared his throat to fill up the silence, cheeks all warm and red as he gestured towards your bags. "If I forgot something just let me know," he offered shyly.

You were about to move, to take your things and get this over and done with but before you could even do so, Tom spoke again. "And uhm, I don't know if you wanted to keep him but—" Tom revealed a very familiar stuffed panda from behind him, holding it out for you to take—or not—with a nervous smile.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of the toy, frown unconsciously deepening as you took it from his hands.

It was the stuffed panda he won for you during your first date at a carnival. You remember it vividly, his grin wide and proud, eyebrows wriggling as he offered you it with a curtsy. Such a memorable night filled with hearty laughs, screams from terrifying rides, clouds of cotton candy and a handful of friendly competitions. The night then ended with him dropping you back home, and as cliché as it can be, with a sweet goodnight kiss at the front of your door, leaving you both smiling like idiots as he drove away.

After that night you had a feeling that there was something special about this boy. And months down the line, you realised you were right as he was quick to snatch your heart without much effort.

You'll always cherish that day, the simpler times as some would say, and the very panda you held in your hands now was a huge reminder of that. Was there any harm in keeping it? You're not sure. The memory does fill you up with genuine happiness, but then the pain follows soon after as you're reminded that it was once like that. The thought that the memories wouldn't be added with more, it hurts, deeply.

But as you looked at the toy again, you don't have the heart to throw it away. You don't have the strength to give it back either, so you held it closer to your chest as you looked back up to see Tom already staring at you in a certain way, a slight gloss coating his brown orbs.

That's when you knew he thought about the same thing too, remembered that same night, that same exact memory. You both held each other's gaze with such intensity, a slight hint of longing in each other's eyes. There were still so many words left unsaid, you both saw that. But neither of you spoke, neither of you dared to move a muscle.

The tension in the air only grew from there, almost turning awkward. That until Tessa nudged at your leg, making you break eye contact with the man in front of you to look at the pup with a curios yet sad smile. You were unsure if you're going to see her precious face again, and gosh it stings. She's your baby too and in no way do you want to leave her, but sometimes the right decisions requires a bit of sacrifice.

"Spend some time with her. Harry and I will take care of your stuff," Tom spoke as he gave you a reassuring smile, already knowing what's going through your head with just a simple look in your eyes.

You gave him a thankful nod, your own lips curving up and Tom felt his heart melt. It was small, didn't reach your ears by all means, but it's genuine, the warmest smile you've given him since everything that has happened.

With one last look at you, Tom took as much of the bags he can carry and made his way towards Harry, who was leaning on his car with his phone in hand. When the lad heard Tom approach, he smiled, helping him set the bags on the floor before pulling him in for a warm hug.

"You look like shit by the way," Harry joked as pulled away and went to open the boot of the car. Tom scoffed playfully at that. "Thanks bro, feel like it too."

Harry tilted his head at his older brother, hand coming up to give his shoulder a squeeze, making Tom meet his eyes. The brothers shared a smile, Harry not needing to say anything for Tom already knew what he was trying to say, that Harry is there for him, as he always is.

"How is she?" Tom asked softly, continuing the task at hand of loading your things in the car. "Still the same," Harry sighed sadly.

The older brother lowered his head with a deep exhale, just utter guilt filling him up from head to toe. His eyes were now staring at the last bag set on the ground, tears welling up again as reality starts to creep on him.

"Hey, she's a strong girl. She'll be okay. You both will be," Harry reassured and all Tom could do was nod. He wasn't sure if was going to be okay after all of this, his future blurry without you in it. But a brave face he can manage, taking in a deep breath as he placed your last a bag in the boot.

He looked back at the front porch to see you sat on the top step, both hands cupping Tessa's face as your lips moved. Tom could make out the glisten on your cheek, the light of the sun reflecting against it, chest heaving in a way that's had your hands slightly shake. He watched you pull Tessa in for a hug, your eyes screwed shut as you placed a loving kiss on top of her head, the pup giving you one big lick on the cheek once you pulled away, her way of returning the gesture.

Tom's heart took at big swing at the sight, a shaky breath coming out of him as he kept his eyes steady on his two favorite girls, bidding their goodbyes despite not wanting to, but having no choice because of the horrible things that he's done.

He caught his sniffle with a clear of his throat, quickly wiping away the tear that managed to slip with the back of his hand as you stood from your place and made your way towards them. Tessa was following you still, demeanor now different as she looked at your figure with a tilt of her head, almost with a frown.

She was definitely still a bit confused, but Tom has a feeling that she knows what was going to happen, and he will definitely have to hold onto her when you... when you leave.

"Everything ready?" you asked, voice a bit hoarse with the obvious tear lines on your cheek but neither boys said anything about it. "Yeah, good to go," Harry answered when his brother stayed quiet. Tom's eyes elsewhere just so he won't become a balling mess yet again.

"Okay, uhm thanks Tom." His head shot up at the mention of his name, flashing you a forced smile with a curt nod to match.

He tried keep at it his silence as he watched you walk to your car, just knowing his emotions would betray him the moment he opens his mouth. Plus, he genuinely doesn't want to make things harder for you again for putting more things in your head to think about. But the moment you opened the door to your car, he couldn't stop himself, he knew he needed to say something.

"Y/N wait—" Tom called out, walking closer towards you, though when you turned back around to face him, he hesitated. He contemplated if it was worth a shot, if he should at least try and ask. But when he took in your frown up to your glossy eyes, the glow and joy on your skin all faded, he inhaled a sharp breath.

"Take care of yourself," said Tom instead, not the same words that were stuck on the tip of his tongue, not the words that his brain wanted to scream into the open.

"You too," you mumbled, quickly getting inside your car, making Tom miss the expression that crossed your face. The car door slamming shut followed by the silent roar of the engine, drowned out the shaky breath you let out, eyes never meeting his again.

There was a simple question not asked. A question that could make things turn around, make this day have a better outcome, but Tom didn't dare to spit it out. He held himself back thinking that it was for the best.

He crouched down to take a strong hold of Tessa's collar as the two cars backed out of the driveway. The pups heartbreaking whines filled Tom's ears, the sound making his tears run down his cheeks, unable to keep them at bay any longer.

There were still words were left unsaid, but there was nothing more he can do with them now as Tom watched your car disappear down the street, eyes steady on the vehicle until the only thing left to see was the skid marks of the tires of your car on the pavement, a reminder that you were once here but may never return again.

***

A week has passed and Tom wasn't feeling any better. If anything, his life just turned shittier with each day gone without you in it.

The house was a complete mess, more so his bedroom with all the crap that's lying around. Said crap ranging from bottles of alcohol – some empty, some half-full – the broken glasses he has yet to pick up, dirty and clean clothes mixed up on the floor, up to the random food wrappers that decorated the area.

Hell, he hasn't even taken a shower in days, that's the state he was in right now. Tom also had to ask his mum to pick Tessa up a couple days ago, given the fact that he can't even take care of himself. Plus, he didn't want to stress the poor girl with him constantly being down in the dumps and more.

Long story short, he was a broken mess, both physically and emotionally. And the light at the end of the tunnel seems too far away where Tom doesn't even believe if it's there to begin with.

But despite wanting to rot in bed for maybe another week or two, to drown in his self-pity basically, he received a few emails that were too important for him to simply shove aside.

So, an hour-long, hot shower and a fresh set of clothes later — and a few pain relievers to help with his headache — Tom made his way outside his room only to look for his computer. Once he found it just on top of the coffee table, he held it in his hands and went straight back to the bedroom.

He couldn't bear to stay outside with the sun shining all bright, especially with it accompanied with the clear blue sky. The beautiful day just makes him feel bad about everything, makes him feel worse about himself. Tom felt more comfortable staying inside the bedroom where the curtains were all closed, the space dark and gloomy to match his mood.

Plopping back down on the bed with his back resting against the headboard, he placed the computer on his lap, taking in a tired breath before turning it on. Much to his surprise, he stared right at a photo of Tessa and him, confusion filling him up at the sight of the lock screen because that wasn't what he set it as. His lock screen was of you and Tessa, not him.

Sure enough when he tilted the laptop up, there he saw your initials written on the bottom surface. A frown made its way onto his lips as he realised that he might have given you his computer instead.

You two have the same computer and the only way to tell which one was who's without seeing the contents, was by the initials on the bottom. And just as cheesy as it can get, you were the one who wrote his initials while he wrote yours. Kind of like an autograph, hence why Tom was staring right at his handwriting, as if it wasn't obvious enough that this was in fact your computer.

At the time you both thought it was just cute and silly, a simple gesture for couples in love. Never did it cross Tom's mind that day that looking at it would bring hurt. But now it does, the gesture turned into remembrance, a mere memory of what it used to be.

He was a mess when he packed your things up. It wasn't unlikely that he missed to check which computer he gave to you. But what confused him was that a week has passed yet you hadn't contacted him, nor did you ask the twins to fetch it for you if you still can't bear to see him again.

It could've been that you haven't noticed yet or could've been something else. Tom has no way of knowing as he hasn't spoken to you since. He does know you're still staying at the twins' house courtesy to Harry, but that's about it.

He was about to reach for his phone to contact said lad but he accidentally pressed on the keys, screen now showing your desktop. Tom frowned with a shaky breath, a picture of you two on the beach glaring right at him. But what caught Tom's attention more was a certain folder, the name too long that he had to click it to show the rest.

B-ideas (If by any chance you're Tom please do not open this folder you're gonna break my heart if you do bub)

That only perked his curiosity even more. And given that he's already broke your heart due to something far worse, he double-clicked it to open. What more could he lose?

Tom felt a sharp stab at his chest as he scrolled through countless amounts of photos of different kinds of cakes, certain venues, and lovely decorations.

B-ideas... Birthday ideas.

He screwed his eyes shut, hand going up to pinch the bridge in utter frustration. First it was your relationship with Tessa, even his family for that matter, and now his birthday. What else did he ruin? Well, aside from the obvious anyway. How many times will he have to be reminded about all the things that are affected due to his mistake? Not enough apparently.

You always loved to plan his birthdays for him. He adored how you always get so excited to ask him a few things or when you keep it a secret as much as possible for it to be a surprise. You've made him the happiest boy every birthday. You make him feel even more special and he was glad to have you by his side each time. But now, he's ruined it by a long shot and his birthdays will never be the same.

As he reached the bottom, Tom found another folder within the folder named: For Slideshow (Gift)

Tom dared to open it as well, the pain in his heart only magnifying at the sight of old photos and videos of you and him. There were a few from all around the world — during the whole press tour to be specific — but most of it was just here in London or right at this very home.

You always went the sentimental route when it comes to his gifts. 'You can buy anything you want now,' as you've said. And despite him telling you that he won't care where you got it from – whether it from Tesco's or whatever – as long as you're the one giving it, then he will cherish that gift with all his heart. But of course, you just had to go the extra mile by making sure it was handmade by you. Whether it's a handwritten letter, a collage, or whatever cute thing it may be, you have never failed to make him emotional with each one, a tear or two shed every birthday.

It looked like you were going for a video compilation this year judging by the name of the folder and the contents of said folder—well, what you were supposed to do but it's not happening now, is it?

It was such a trip down memory lane, just photos upon videos, mostly candid, some intentional jump-scares and a few cheesy yet funny ones sprinkled here and there. The one video that caught his eye first though was the one where it had you and him kissing on the thumbnail.

Tom recognized it right off the bat. He remembers that day clearly to this moment. It was from the set where Harry filmed Roses for Lily, where you and Tom helped with all the little things. And his assumption was proven right when he pressed play...

"And that's a wrap everyone!" Cheers erupted around the field followed by applause as Sam and Sophie took a playful bow.

"Connect it to the speaker and play it on my cue," Tom whispered against Harry's ear, confusion crossing the younger lad's face before Tom jerked his head towards you. Harry shook his head at his brother but took his phone anyway, getting so used to his cheesy ass antics.

This wasn't your greatest week regarding work and school, even more so today. So, Tom thought head lift your spirits up in the cheesiest yet sweet way he can managed.

You were talking with Nikki when Tom suddenly came up to the both of you with an expression that you didn't quite read, hands behind his back as he stood with immense posture.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Oh no, what are you up to?" you asked suspiciously.

"Will you do me the honour of granting me this dance mi lady?" Tom offered his hand with a curtsy, voice sporting the most posh accent he can muster with a cheeky smile plastered on those pink lips.

You shook your head with laughter at your boy. You turned to look at the woman who you were having a conversation with, only to see her give you two thumbs up with a wide smile, and with that, your gaze landed back on Tom sporting a smile of your own.

"Pleasure is all mine kind sir." You mimicked his accent and took his hand, fits of giggles coming out of you as Tom dragged you towards the front of the bench, the view of the field endless behind you.

He interlaced his fingers with yours as his other hand took home on your waist while yours rested on his shoulder, just like a proper ballroom dance. "We don't even have music you dork," you pointed out the obvious, to which Tom only grinned all proud.

"Says who?" He shot Harry a nod and not long after the soft tune of 'The Way You Look Tonight' by Frank Sinatra filled your ears.

You threw your head back as you let out a loud yet hearty laugh. "You're a huge cheese ball aren't you?" you teased.

"Oh please, you love it," Tom flashed you a knowing smirk as he then starts to swing to the tempo of the music. He guided you with gently care as he spins you out and then pulls you back in again, his background in dancing making it easy for him to lead the dance.

And you always admire this talent of his, adored it with all your heart as you break out to random dances – may it be silly or slow – around the house whenever to whatever music. It was not new to you so you can easily follow his rhythm having dance with him before. Plus, the steps were simple enough for you to catch. And having known each other for a long while, it was easy for the two of you to move in sync.

But then he started to sing, and that caught you off guard.

"Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm; and your cheeks so soft; there is nothing for me but to love you; and the way you look tonight."

You can't stop your grin from growing at his sweet voice, heart warm as you stared right into those beautiful brown orbs. Tom doesn't sing much often, not seriously anyway. But when he does, it makes your heart melt ten times over and then some, because the boy can definitely sing.

"Am I wooing you darling?" Tom cooed with a wriggle of his eyebrows, earning yet another laugh from you. And with him being all cheeky with his timing, you didn't get to respond as he continued to sing,

"And that laugh that wrinkles your nose; Touches my foolish heart," Tom sang with a cheeky wink, the smile on your lips ever growing that your cheeks we're starting to hurt, but you could care less.

"Lovely, never, never change; keep that breathless charm; won't you please arrange it? 'Cause I love you; just the way you look tonight,"

He kept singing, not for but to you, dedicating each word, meaning each note that the smile on your lips was impossible to wipe off. Not to mention the simple yet lovely dance, bodies swaying sweetly to the music, it was just like a scene from a movie.

Tom twirled you around courteously, pulling you back closer to him that had both your arms resting over his shoulders. He wrapped his own arms around your form, noses delicately touching as you two mirrored each other's eyes, nothing but the look of love coating them.

And when you nudged his nose adorably, Tom chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, leaning closer until his lips captured yours in a charming kiss. A kiss so blissful that your hearts were filled with nothing but warmth, spreading from head to toe as you kept dancing to the slowly fading music.

Both of you were unaware that Harry recorded the whole thing, making the little dance, the sweet gesture as pure and raw as it can be. Just two couples in love, cherishing each other's company, adoring one another with everything that they have...

Tom lets out a strangled breath as the video stops, trembling fingers hovering over the space bar as he stared at the still of you, warmly wrapped in his arms, absolutely content, delighted and purely in love.

Next thing he knew, Tom found himself watching videos upon videos of you and him, endless clips that showed just how happy you two were, how happy you made him. Each video showed him the way you use to glow, smile bright as day while your eyes were filled with nothing but pure adoration, a blissful expression on your face and oh how stunning it looks on you. Pure happiness suited you so much and Tom took that away. He took away your shine; he snuffed out that radiance you always bring whenever you're in the room.

He only decided to stop when Tom felt his chest tighten harshly, breath turning uneven as his eyes started to burn. He was about to close the laptop, to set it aside and give himself a breather, but then he saw another one with a thumbnail that has only you in it. Despite being too emotional, despite deciding that the torture was enough, his curiosity was stronger. So, he played it...

"...right, is this recording? Yup, it is, okay."

You sat back on the chair after you adjusted the camera – which Harry kindly let you borrow – on the little desk you had in yours and Tom's shared bedroom. "It's a little too early to make a video message since your birthday is months away but I've got nothing better to do so," you trailed off, adjusting your hair before sitting up and smiling at the lens.

"To the man of my dreams, my knight in shining armour, to my handsome prince," you paused with a scrunched of your nose. "Oh gosh too cheesy. Okay, reel it back, whew, okay, Thomas, spider-boy—well, more like spider-baby..." You let out a laugh at that, shaking your head at yourself before taking in a deep breath and looking back straight at the camera.

"To the absolute love of my life, Tom, happy birthday. Oh now, where do I start? Well, I can start with how proud I am of you. The fact that you've achieved so much in so little time? I couldn't be any prouder. You're the most hardworking man I know, it's not really a surprise how you got to where you are today. But despite all the accolades, the awards you've won — and soon to win — there's always one award, well two actually that's far more important than the rest. First one is you-being-such-an-incredible-human award. You, Tom have the kindest most compassionate heart I've ever had the pleasure of seeing. I could list so many great things but then we'd be here all day, just ask me it later and I'll send it to you in post," you giggled. "But trust when I say that you are a true hero, even without the mask."

"And well, the second award, oh gosh, it's the best-boyfriend award. Forgive my cheesiness — although you do like it — but it is in fact true. You, Thomas, you make me the happiest girl ever. I—oh no here comes the water works," you joked, fanning your eyes in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. And when you felt like you can hold it together, you continued,

"I feel so lucky to have you in my life. You've always been there for me through the good, the bad and the ugly. I don't think I could've made it pass things without you Tom and for that thank you. Thank you for sticking with me through thick and thin. For being my shoulder to cry on when I really need one, for being such a great listener and for being my rock. Thank you for helping me through the hardest times bub," you paused to take a deep breath, eyes glossy but with a proud smile on your lips nonetheless.

"...granted our relationship isn't perfect, we've had our disagreements and petty fights but I wouldn't trade it for anything else. I wouldn't trade you for the world, Tom. I am happy to be with you, so content with what we have. We've laughed together, cried together, we've grown together, and as promised, we're going to be there for each other, always." you let out a soft giggle to try and clear the lump in your throat, blinking rapidly to keep it in, though it already obvious in your eyes that you weren't going to be successful.

"And lastly... I love you so much Tom. My heart could literally exploded with just how much, and I just want you to know that whatever it takes, whatever challenge life will hurl at us, whatever happens in the future, I will always, truly, with all that I am, lov—"

"Darling? Where are you?" Tom's voiced echoed down the hallway, halting your words as you turned your head towards the door. With a sweet laugh, you look back to the camera. "You and your impeccable timing Thomas."

You quickly wiped the tears that managed to escape your eyes, making sure you don't look suspicious to not ruin the plans of surprise.

"Sweetheart?" Tom called out again.

"Bedroom babe!" you answered, taking in deep breaths before reaching for the camera. "I'll finish this later I guess. I'll see you—well in a couple seconds but future you sometime soon, love you!"

And with a blow of a kiss, you turned the camera off...

The whole bedroom turned eerily quiet as the screen turned pitch black. Almost quiet aside from the soft tap, tap, tap – the sound of Tom's tears hitting the computer keys, one after the other.

Tom stifled out a whimper as he screwed his eyes shut, hand coming up to tug at his hair in anger, sorrow, regret, hurt. You were good to him, you were everything to him and more. How could he waste that? He lost someone so rare, someone who's out of this world from beauty to heart. No one could ever replace you, nobody will ever come close to how much of an amazing person you are, how special and lucky you made him feel.

He had everything, and he threw that away.

As he tried to catch his breath, he reached for his phone, dialing the number of the only person who'd give him comfort but without all the bullshit.

"Hey Harrison, I know you’re probably still disappointed with me right now too but I just really need someone to talk to..."

***

"...and then I found this folder of hers that has all these ideas for my birthday. It even had old photos and videos of us but what struck me the most was her video message and I just—" Tom stopped to catch his breath, wiping away the tears on his face before he looked up a Harrison with a soft sob, "I ruined so much."

"You did," the lad answered bluntly, no sugar coating, no bullshitting. He wasn't going to say the words that his friend wanted to hear, if he kept doing that then how will he learn?

Tom buried his face in his hand in shame, sniffing loudly before lifting his head up again, face all puffy as he met his best friend's eyes with his bloodshot ones. "I miss her so much Haz, and I really want to fix things between us, to have her back. But I don't have a chance anymore."

Harrison frowned at that. He knows the full scope of the situation, but he doesn't recall you saying those exact words, well, as what Tom has explained to him anyway. "Did she say you don't have a chance anymore or did you just put words into her mouth?"

You didn't. You haven't told him those exact words, but your actions were an enough sign right? Tom leaned back on the couch, hand running through his hair with an exasperated sigh. "She told me to pack up her things, I think that's a clear message that it's over," he grumbled.

Harrison shook his head at his friend disapprovingly, "Tom, she has been fighting for your relationship for more than a month and you're already giving up in a week? After what you've done, I think you need to fight harder than that mate. Put more effort in, you owe at least that to her."

Tom frowned at his words, guilt growing more intense as the gears started to turn in his head. Did he really give up that easily? Could he have done so much better? If he asked you to sta—

But then the nagging voice was quick to shut down his questions. A certain reason why he feels like he can do nothing about it grew louder in his mind, said reason he felt the need to speak out loud.

"She deserves someone better than me Haz. I broke her heart and I—" Tom rubbed the nape of his neck. "I don't think I deserve another chance," he concluded in defeat.

Harrison sighed, placing a comforting hand on Tom's shoulder before he began. "Okay look, there are only two paths you can choose regarding this. Path one, you can mop around, drown in your pity party and just give up with everything like a fucking wuss. Or path two, you can get off your ass, thrive to be better, right your wrongs and be the man that she deserves. You have to fight for her if you truly want her back Tom. It's just a matter of choice," Harrison finished as he shot him a knowing look.

"I think you've been so busy telling yourself that everything is too late, but what if it's not yet? You think it's too late, but is it actually too late for her? What if she just needs more persuasion? What if she just needs a proper reassurance that you're going to make things right? For you to truly show her that you do in fact still love her? All I'm saying here Tom is that you won't know the answer to these questions unless you ask them, unless you give them a try. We don't get what we want easily, you have to work hard for it." Harrison added.

Tom stared at his best friend in pure shock and amusement given that he's never heard him sound so wise with advise before. They usually do stupid shit together, and when it comes to relationships, they both can be as equally as clueless.

But nevertheless, Tom felt like his eyes got opened, a new perspective settling in his mind and he will be forever grateful at Harrison for that.

"Fuck you're right." Tom didn't waste any more time as he got up from his place and went to go get his keys. Harrison sat there bewildered, calling out to Tom again when he saw him go towards the front door, "Where are you going?"

Tom turned to his friend with a small yet hopeful smile, the most he's felt in a while, "I'm getting her back."

***

Sam looked at his brother in complete surprise once he pulled the door open, "Tom what are yo—" the lad cut himself off once he saw Tom's face, clear in his expression who he was looking for.

"She didn't tell you," the twin muttered with a frown, his sudden change in demeanor making Tom worry. "Didn't tell me what Sam?" he asked cautiously. Tom thought he already prepared for the worst, thought that he can handle any sort of rejection, but when his brother spoke again, all the color drained out his whole body.

"Harry drove her to Heathrow thirty minutes ago."

It took a few seconds for Sam's statement to finally sink in. And when it did, Tom cursed as he quickly turned on his heel and ran, heart pounding, head spinning.

"Tom, wait!"

Sam didn't get a chance to stop him as he was already back inside his car, engine roaring as he veered into the road at top speed. He was driving dangerously, Tom was aware of that, but he can't let you step even a toe in that plane. If he does, then it will really be too late.

***

"Come on Harry, pick up, pick up, come on lad pick u—Harry! Which terminal?" Tom asked in haste, fingers drumming against the wheel impatiently.

"Huh? Terminal?"

"Bro, I beg, just tell me which terminal you dropped her off, please." Tom heard Harry sigh on the other line, his anxiousness growing with each silent second, and when his brother gave him the information, he felt the tears prick at the back of his eyes.

"Terminal 2... She's off to Abu Dhabi."

***

Tom's lungs were gasping for air, both from him running as fast as he can, and from the fear that was overwhelming him to every bone. Fear that he might not catch you on time.

The crowded airport wasn't helping his anxious state at all, his eyes quick to dart around as he tries his best to look for you. He asked around, looking like a lunatic as he shows your picture to random strangers. He even asked at the desk just to narrow where you could've gone, to make it easier to find you in this huge haystack. And when he hadn't had much luck, Tom was quick to assume that you already got pass security.

It may had been dumb, but everything he's done at this point has been dumb, what's the worst thing that could happen if he tried to get pass the guards?

But before he could even attempt and sneak his way in, a large, tall man blocked his way. "Boarding pass?"

Tom shook his head, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, mind an utter mess that it was hard for him to think straight, "I-I don't have... it's an emergency please I–"

"Sir, you're not allowed inside if you don't have a ticket," the security reprimanded, hand held up as he stops Tom's chances of slipping by. He's an idiot really, thinking that he can talk his way through, but he tried it anyway, begged in desperation just so he can find you before you get on that plane. "Please just let me through, it will be quick, I just need to—"

"Tom?"

Never had he ever turned around so quick in his life, relief washing over him once he saw you standing there, bottle of water with a receipt in hand, confusion written all over your face at the sight of him.

Tom just ran straight towards you, his burly body almost knocking you out of balance as he buried his face on the crook of your neck, arms engulfing you tightly, like he's holding onto you for dear life. Tom's whole body shaking as he balled his eyes out, a stuttering mess when he tried to speak to say the least.

"N-no, p-please don't leave me, I-I can't—I can't do this without you, p-please don't leave," Tom sobbed against your skin, his hold around you vise-like but just enough for it not to hurt. He's just downright scared to loosen his grip for you might vanish into thin air if he does.

You tried to pull him off of you but a useless effort as he is much stronger than you. And the harder you try, the firmer his grip on you becomes, muttering his protest over and over of him not wanting to let go. You sighed, "Tom, look at me, bub..."

Tom lets out a whimper at the nickname, pulling away just slightly until he was able to rest his forehead against yours, his warm tears dropping on your cheek and your heart stung at the feeling.

"Breathe for me," you whispered, cupping his face with both hands. Your thumb caressed his cheek tenderly, wiping away the tears that ran down them as much as you could. Tom did as told, attempting to steady his breathing, the warmth in your eyes helping him by a mile.

When he finally got a hold of himself, he took one deep breath before speaking. "I should've asked you before you could even leave the house, should've chased after you. I should've fought harder for you. I wanted to ask you this before you got into your car and I didn't, which was a mistake," he trailed off, clearing out his throat as he gave you a gentle squeeze.

"I should've at least tried and asked you stay. I hope it's not too late but now I'm asking, begging you to stay. I want you to stay with me, please?" Tom pleaded, ready to be on his knees but you stopped him, he didn't need to be. Your fingers traced his jaw delicately, heart aching at the sight of broken man in front of you, but you've already made a decision. It was hard sticking to it now with him here, but you just had to remind yourself that this was for your own sake. You've already thought this through and it was final.

"I—I can't," you paused as the number of your flight echoed through the speakers. You turned back to Tom with a soft whisper, "You know I can't."

"At least you could've said goodbye?" he squeaked, voice breaking at the fact that your mind was already set, and when that happens, even before your worlds got flipped upside-down, it takes so much to change it.

"I couldn't, because I know for a fact if given the time, you might actually change my mind. Hell, just seeing you right now, it's already making me doubt my decision. But I need this Tom, I need to do this for myself. I've realized that my world revolved too much around you, and I don't regret it at all but I need to find my own path, grow as my own person."

Tom nodded dejectedly, eyes shut tightly because he knows he would have to let you go in a couple minutes. He needs more time, he wants more time with you. But when he heard your flight getting called again, Tom knew there was not much he can do about it.

"But when are you coming back?" he asked, voice frail but full of dread. And Tom felt his heart shatter some more when you looked away, his frown deep and sorrowful as he muttered, "You're not planning to."

You shook your head with a close of your eyes. "No. I am... I just don't know when," and it was true. You were going away for quite some time but you have a life here in London as well. It would be too hard to stay away. But as of now, you don't think you'll be back anytime soon.

As you open your eyes to look at those brown orbs again, you knew he understood.

He always does. Tom is quick at that when it comes to you. Not needing a whole lot of words to know what you mean, one look in the eyes will suffice. Tom couldn't say much more either, so he lets his action speak for itself instead.

He pressed his lips against yours, the gesture catching you off-guard but only for a split second as you melted in his arms not long after. Tears slipped pass your eyes at the feeling, the feeling of his lips you've missed dearly, and Tom was the same. He missed how your lips fit perfectly with his, he missed how warm it feels, tender and soft.

It was a bittersweet kiss with the sense of goodbye laced in it, but it was beautiful nonetheless, special in a way as two hearts melt into one once more. Neither of you wanted to pull away. You just wanted to be stuck in the moment on repeat, destroy the buttons so that it plays on a never-ending loop. But when you heard your name through the speakers, you had no choice but to pull away.

As you stared into each other's eyes, both of you knew there was one more thing left to say, and as you did, as you spoke with nothing but sincerity, your hearts were filled with nothing but pure—

"I love you Y/N."

"And I love you Tom."

And with that he lets you go, hands going limp at his sides as he watches you gather your things and walk towards security. Before you could disappear out of sight, you spared him one last look over your shoulder, a smile written on your lips, one that was genuine, filled with adoration and... love.

It was a look that would always be burned in Tom's memory, but hopefully it won't be the last. Hopefully, with every choice made from here on out, if it's destined, then you'll find your way back to each other.

-:-:-:-:-

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[literaryfic]

Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong/Hong Cha Young
Characters: Hong Cha Young, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, vincenzo leaves, set five years after he left sk, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending


Summary: “She’d buried him next to the false hopes and broken promises he’d given her, growing her resentment and longing in the same garden as his missing corpse, taunting reminder of her failure to make him stay. Occasionally, she would revisit his empty tomb and greet his ghost, tormenting him with the same question over and over again; why?”

Chapter two is out! Read on ao3 or under the cut.

“Have you been well, Cha-young?”, the same deep voice she’d missed asks. The ghost that’s been haunting her came back in the flesh.

He hasn’t aged at all, his youthful face still handsome as ever. He’s not smiling per se, but she can tell he’s happy to see her. She gets up and walks away. This couldn’t possibly be happening.

He catches up to her after a few seconds.

“Cha-young-ah. Hong Cha-young. Talk to me.”, he urges her. Suddenly, she can’t control her anger anymore.

“Talk to you?”, she faces him. “You made it extremely clear five years ago that we had nothing to say to each other.”, she screams. His face is unreadable, years apart have made him a stranger. “And now what? You want me to talk to you? You disappeared on me out of nowhere and never looked back so don’t you dare ask anything of me, got it?”

Panting, the anger she thought gone felt just as hot as the day he left her.

“Fuck!”. She’s not done yet. How could he come back like nothing ever happened? He had given her shelter, just to make her homeless. He had made her believe in love and happy endings, built her a castle and set it on fire. She hated him, his stupid hair and his stupid face. “Why are you doing this to me now? I don’t get it. Why now?” She starts crying out of anger, out of frustration, out of exhaustion.

For years now Cha-young had spent all her energy trying to forget Vincenzo and what they could have been. She had fooled herself into thinking she was over him but even after all this time, even when she was this angry at him, all she wanted to do was to touch him. She felt like she’d been cursed by the Gods, condemned to have him in her sight, yet forever out of reach.

She’s shaking now, sobbing. Vincenzo slowly approaches her, his eyes full of anguish.

“Can I please hold you?”, he almost begs as a single tear runs down his cheek. She doesn’t remember a time where he’d sounded this desperate, and she nods, almost against her will.

He wraps his arms around her, her head falls on his chest. She takes a deep breath, filling her nose and lungs with his scent, the one she hasn’t been able to forget. Somehow, she’s crying even harder now and he starts stroking her hair. “I’m sorry,”, he whispers. “I’ve missed you so much.”

She can’t quite convince herself yet that this is not a dream, so she holds him tight, afraid that the ocean will swallow him and turn him into foam.

They stay in each other’s embrace for a while. It could be minutes or hours, Cha-young doesn’t really know. It seems that tonight, on this beach, her grasp on her reality is loosening. Dreams and ghosts come to her in waves, and she can’t help but wonder when the tide will recede.

In the beginning, she dreamt that he would stay with her. Cha-young thought herself strong enough to anchor Vincenzo, yet he had fled and renounced her. Then, she had dreamed of his return, punished to share the fate of a seamen’s wife awaiting her husband’s homecoming.

He had chosen to leave and, until now, had never bothered to come back, and so after a while she had declared him lost at sea. She’d buried him next to the false hopes and broken promises he’d given her, growing her resentment and longing in the same garden as his missing corpse, taunting reminder of her failure to make him stay. Occasionally, she would revisit his empty tomb and greet his ghost, tormenting him with the same question over and over again; why? The ghost stayed mum, mere fragment of a person who had once been alive.

Yet, here he was, the one she had lost at sea, standing in front her. There was no doubt that it was him, alive and well. She felt herself regain control over her emotions and stepped out of his arms.

“You owe me an explanation”, she demands, looking him in the eyes. He nods slowly, his face serious. He is about to speak when she cuts him off, “Not here.” Here, where dreams become reality and prayers were heard. “Take me to your room”.

And so he does. They walk back to the hotel in complete silence, the sea breeze clearing up her foggy mind. They go up to the very last floor and Cha-young almost laughs. Their rooms are exactly a floor apart.

When they get inside, Vincenzo invites her to sit on the couch while he settles for a nearby armchair. The suite is as big as an apartment and the view of the ocean is stunning. It suddenly dawns on Cha-young that he’d probably been living in luxury for the past 5 years, and why wouldn’t he when he was that rich, but the thought annoys her. As petty as it sounds, she had wanted him to be miserable, just as she had been.

“Why?”

The question that had been haunting her hangs in the air for a while, and at one point she thinks he might leave it unanswered.

“That time I ended up staying, I’d managed to take care of the situation in Italy, but it was temporary solution. I needed to come back to save our family from being killed off.” He explained, choosing each word carefully. She could tell he was nervous, his eyes scanning her face, looking for cues.

“That explains why you had to leave, but that’s not what I was asking, Joo-hyung-ah.”

He looks like she’d just slapped him across the face, and she might as well have. She had never called his Korean name in such a harsh tone before. No, this name had been reserved for their most intimate moments, when she made love to him and played with his hair afterwards, as he fell asleep in her arms, when he told her about the few memories he had with his mother, or described his life in Italy with his adoptive parents. It was the first she had used his name as a weapon, and he looked devastated. Good.

He takes a shaky breath and bites his lip, trying to hold back his tears. In that moment, he looks as old as the world and as weak as a child. Although it pains her to look at him like this, she shows no compassion. This man had destroyed her and she would hold him accountable.

“I left without telling you because I didn’t trust myself to go through with it.”, he finally manages to say after a while. “I had to leave but I just couldn’t bring myself to let you go.”

“You’re a coward, Mr. Cassano.”, she spits out his name, hoping the formality of it would hurt him too.

“I know.”

“Why did you have to leave me? I get that you needed to go back, but why did you have to leave me too?” Cha-young tries to stay as calm as possible, but it proves difficult when she keeps blurting out her most vulnerable thoughts. She feels defenceless against him, but it is the only way she’ll get the answers she needs.

“Turns out the situation was even worse than what Luca had told me, and I wasn’t sure any of us would get out of it alive. You didn’t deserve to have to wait for me indefinitely.”

“So dropping me out of the blue was the best solution you came up with? That’s the only thing the great Vincenzo Cassano, one of the best masterminds in the game, could think of?” Her words are met by silence. “Guess what, genius? I still waited years for you. How was I supposed to get closure when you just disappeared? Wouldn’t you, out of all people, know what it feels like to be abandoned?”

It was a low blow, she had to admit, but she was past that. She needed to bring him to his knees, she needed to shatter him, she needed to break his heart.

“The truth is, I thought—I thought I was freeing you. From me, from my sins.” He’s not looking at her anymore, head hanging down, tears falling onto the ground. She compels her heart to look away, just this once, to not care for him.

“And who do you think you are? Do I not get to decide for myself?”, she’s almost screaming again. Everything that was coming out of his mouth sounded ridiculous to her.

Of course, she had imagined this confrontation countless of times, coming up with all the possible reasons he would use to justify what he did, but none of them mattered. None of them were enough to appease her, to undo what had been done. Nothing would ever repair what he’d broken and they’d never be the same again.

“I have no excuse, tesoro.” She hears the plea in his voice.

“Don’t call me that.” He looks at her, visibly in pain.

It was bizarre, seeing him like that, so hesitant, so vulnerable, so scared.

She realises it at once; she’s witnessing his fear for the first time. She hadn’t been able to spot it at first but there it was. He’d allowed her to see his anger, his sadness, his unfiltered joy but he’d never been afraid in front of her. Vincenzo was scared to mess this up, scared to loose her again. She had to hold back a smile.

“Did you follow me here? Don’t lie to me.” She demands, reinvigorated by her newly found confidence.

“I’d never lie to you.” She rolls her eyes at that. “I landed in Seoul two days ago, but Mr. Nam told me you’d be spending the next few weeks here, so I hopped on the first flight I found. Meeting you here, tonight, was an accident. I didn’t know which hotel you were staying in.” He looks to his right, suitcase opened on the floor, near the bedroom’s entrance.

“Why are you here, Vincenzo?”, she’s trying not to let her emotions seep through her words, to remain distant. But he knows her well, and she can tell by the way his eyes suddenly look at hers that he hears it, the part of her that wants him to answer “For you, I’m here for you.”.

“To repent. I’m here to repent, Cha-young-ah.”. His words carry the same certainty they once did, his tone the one of a fearless man. Her heart threatens to leap out of her chest.

“Do I look like a fucking church to you?”, she forces out a laugh she hopes sounds bitter. Not letting him time to reply, she gets up from the couch, feeling dizzy. “Right, I’ve heard enough. Goodbye.”

She can’t tell if he calls her name or goes after her but she’s out the door before she knows it. She runs down the stairs, gets into her room and heads straight in the shower. The water’s freezing cold, but she finds comfort in not being able to feel the tears streaming down her face.

She tucks herself into bed, confused about whether she’d rather wake up from this nightmare or continue to live this dream.

[ddarker-dreams]

Bride in White. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

When you had fantasized about this day in your youth, this is not what you had desired.

In those days, you pictured how you would count down the days until your wedding. Mulling over a dress you wanted to wear, one that was within your budget but pretty nonetheless. Maybe an outdoor venue, friends and family alike joining together to witness your union. There’d be butterflies in your stomach as you held onto your bouquet, breath hitched. Most important of all, the one who would be waiting for you at the end of the aisle. 

A person you truly loved. 

Eerily, certain lavish elements align with what you would’ve wanted. Almost as if he peeked in your mind and stole it for himself. The venue you were to be wed reminded you of a whimsical fairy tale, indulging you in its architectural beauty. A cathedral with warm, earth tone colors with tall ceilings that reached to the heavens. Colored sunlight shone through broad, mosaic windows, illuminating aisles of wooden pews. 

“I’m not a pious man,” Giorno had claimed, as he monitored you with his eyes. He must have mistaken your wide eye look for acceptance of the situation. “But it feels right.” 

But it feels right.

Those four words haunted you the moment they left his roseate lips. He couldn’t have expressed the gravity of your situation, the living nightmare of your life more perfectly if he had tried. Every freedom he readily plucked from you like a flower petal, all the undesirable parts of you that he trimmed away, planting you wherever he saw fit to soak in your beauty. The single difference you can find is a flower will eventually wither away to nothing and wilt. 

Whereas Giorno, your ever dutiful lover, cruelly refuses to let you meet the same fate. 

All of this was thrusted upon you because it felt right to him. He’s assured that this is what love is and you’d be a fool to think otherwise. What happened in his past to delude him into believing this sick parody of love is right? Questions like this will remain unanswered, Giorno skillfully dodging them with ease when presented with your numerous concerns. 

Freedoms you were generously given did little for you. Giorno took care of a majority of the planning, considering what minuscule input you offered. Whether it’s because he envisioned your union in a particular way -- or he was tired of your lackadaisical responses to wedding detail questions -- he stopped asking. The illusion of choice he presented you with was insulting in your eyes.

You don’t want to choose the flavor of cake, what orchestral arrangements are to be played during the reception, or what kind of veil you’ll wear. It’s as macabre as preparing for your own funeral down to the letter, you concluded. No, none of those frivolous things will bring you the true desire of your heart. 

Living your life as you did before meeting the Don of Passione.

“I-is it to your liking?” 

A young woman around your age asks, pulling back to allow you to see your own reflection. The person working on your hair continues in silence, the pair only speaking to you when absolutely necessary. It’s not like you can blame them, you think bitterly. Treading carefully and minding your mannerisms is an all too familiar dance. 

“Yes, thank you.” you offer in response after brief deliberation, to which she lets out a shaky sigh of relief. A fluffy brush dances across your face as she continues her work, blending together your foundation or making small touch ups when necessary. Seeing your own somber reflection being dolled up stirs unknown emotions within you, almost prompting you to laugh humorlessly. 

Your hair has been pulled back into a loose braid. Woven into your hair are flowers, likely created by Gold Experience. From light pink juliet roses to white hydrangeas, all stunningly beautiful despite your inner hatred for what they represent. It’s not that Giorno can’t afford to obtain flowers from other sources. The act of claiming you is what this represents. 

Highlight that compliments your skin color is set upon your cheekbones and lightly dusted onto your nose, cheeks subtly rosy from blush. The color of your eyes is brought out by smokey eye shadow, eyelids covered in flecks of gold then finished with dark winged eyeliner. Lastly, in the color that Giorno had picked out himself, your lips plump and covered in a deep pink.

As for the dress, Giorno considered your minimal input when deciding on it. Weeks of fittings and measurements in his private villa come flooding back to your mind, the irritating experience bestowing upon you an extravagant dress. A sweetheart neckline, with a mermaid silhouette that extended past your feet. It has a bare back, with a long cathedral chain behind you. The fabric clings to your curves beautifully, made of lace and tulle. 

It’s hard to justify messing up their work, as much as you’d love to. As innocent bystanders in this entangling mess, you loathe the thought of them getting in trouble for your tantrum. Knuckles tightening by your sides until your nails press painfully to your skin, you stop only to realize how it’d displeasure Giorno to see your beautiful skin tainted by crimson. 

A door opens behind you, the sound of fine orchestral accompaniments growing louder. In the mirror, you’re able to see one of your bodyguards, Fugo. His normal outfit riddled with holes replaced by a coal black tux, gaze serious as ever. 

“She walks out in five minutes. Is everything done by now?” he asks in a way that leaves room for little argument. Fugo has always been a no nonsense type of man, the stress from keeping a monumental event like this safe and moving along weighing down on him. Your hairdresser doesn’t look back while she responds, adding final flourishes while time allows.

“It will be. We’re just wrapping up now.” 

Fugo runs a hand through his hair, sighing but nodding his head. For privacy he closes the door, likely standing by it for added security. The comfort of this room will soon be left behind you, as much as you want to stay hidden away forever. All you can think is this aspect will be over after today, though a much crueler fate awaits you with open arms. 

After what feels like a too short amount of time, they begin prompting you to stand, handing you your bouquet of expensive and vibrant flowers. Your grip on which is weak, hands shaking too much to gain a proper grasp. Taking in a deep breath and closing your eyes, you do everything within your power to quench this stifling anxiety. 

With no rest for the weary, Fugo once again opens the door. He meets your gaze, lips set in a tight frown but not commenting on your aghast expression; likely in an act of mercy towards you. He silently offers you his arm to steady your teetering figure, to which you shake your head. You’ve made it this far on your lonesome, the rest of the world failing you at every opportunity. 

It’s more of a symbolic act now since you’ll have to take his arm later, Fugo being the one to give you away in the stead of your father. This is one of the conditions you presented to Giorno in return for your full compliance, that he leaves your family alone from all mafia related circumstances, this included. He seemed more than pleased at the time to accept his beloved’s request.

Wedding veil gingerly placed atop you, all the preparations steps have been completed. There’s no other acceptable excuses you can present at this moment, the calling before you beckoning. Fugo prompts you to walk out with him, a hallway not long enough for your liking in front of you. 

Each step takes every ounce of your willpower. All you can hear, like a mantra within your own mind, is that you need to get yourself together. That’s the deal you made with him, the one that you need to stick by in spite of yourself. For the safety of those you care about, you must present yourself as a perfect and overjoyed bride. 

Two intimidating looking men dressed for the occasion stand on either side of the large doors, ready to open the gates of your own personal hell. Fugo nods to them, his authority within the organization prompting them to open the doors to the chapel. At the very second of doing so, the orchestra changes their song to the bridal chorus.

Rich sounds of the organ flood your ears, lips quivering at the crushing sound reverberating within these tightly packed walls. The sensation of hundreds of faceless strangers staring at you makes your knees go weak, all of them now standing out of respect for your soon-to-be husband. None of them mean anything to you, but you’d be a fool to not acknowledge their importance. From politicians to fellow mafiosos, all eyes are on you. 

Sensing your hesitation to continue walking, Fugo gently nudges you forward. The act breaks you from your momentary stupor, allowing you to continue down the aisle with faux grace. Running out of other sights to look at, your gaze hesitantly falls onto Giorno, who grows closer by the second. 

He’s composed, as you’ve come to expect from him. There’s an image of rigidness that needs to be maintained with being a Don. His lips curl into a content smile when your eyes meet. Every ounce of your being screaming, pleading, for you to look away. To run away. Yet you can’t, the logical side of your brain being won over by the intensity of his presence. 

Your body moves in a trance-like state towards him, drawn to his serene expression and loving eyes. Otherworldly is how you describe him in this moment, sunlight shining against his golden hair which is loose from the normal braid. No expenses were cut on his own outfit, wearing a luxurious navy blue Givenchy suit. 

There’s no denying that the devil incarnate is nothing short of beautiful. 

Fugo goes to shake Giorno’s hand, instead of your real father. He gives you one last look before descending down the stairs and taking his seat in the front row. Now feeling all on your own, you feel the anxiety from before returning in full force. What frightens you the most now is how gentle Giorno’s emerald eyes are, how much heartfelt love shines within them for you. It feels like his gaze pierces through your being, capable of reading every thought. 

Offering him a smile that you pray he finds satisfactory, Giorno lifts the veil over your face. 

“I’ve never seen someone so breathtaking.” he mutters under his breath, only for you to hear. Goosebumps dot your skin at his affectionate proclamation. 

He then turns to look to the altar. You mirror this action, seeing an eldery man who must be the priest. Seeing his lips move, you faintly process that he’s addressing the two of you. All the world slows down as your fate is sealed, head growing dizzier by the second. This stifling atmosphere all but grabs you by the neck, suffocating you. Body on autopilot, you respond only when prompted to do so. 

Now time for rings to be exchanged, Giorno grabs your hand with utmost care. He smiles at you, one that’s different than normal. One that doesn’t have hidden intentions behind it, an agenda to manipulate your feelings. No, this comes from the depths of his soul. From his overflowing love for you, that drowns out any other sensations.

He places the ring on your finger, expensive diamonds and gold band sliding on with shackles. “With this ring I, Giorno Giovanna, take you, [First], to be my own. To have you by side and support you until I draw my final breath, to love you with everything that I am and more. Let this be a symbol of our union that will last until the end of time itself.”

Words flow from his mouth with practiced ease, silver tongue threatening to draw you in. Your heart rate hammers away as you realize it’s your turn to speak your own vows, no longer protected by having to repeat someone else’s words. Giorno required of you to write it yourself, one of the cruelest things he could’ve had you do. 

To speak of an abundance of love for someone you have nothing but deep abhorrence for. 

Giorno’s eyes flicker at your lack of response, muscles of his jaw taut. A darkness momentarily seeps within his expression, one that you recognize all too well. This is the Giorno that you know. Lightly clearing your throat in mock sentiment, you pass it off as being choked up. Placing Giorno’s ring onto his ring finger, you shiver as your skin brushes against his. 

Recalling the dishonest words, you speak them through a forced smile. “With this ring I, [First], take you, my dearest Giorno, to stand by you through the trials of life. The joys of my life are brought to me by you, and now I wish to return the favor. Allow me to repay you by being yours, and may nothing stand between us.” 

Any signs of malice have melted away, a beaming expression taking their place on his countenance. Every word brought bile to your throat, numerous lies spilling from you like sweet venom. Your impeccable acting goes unnoticed, as he draws closer to you. Or maybe he does notice it but wants to delude himself into believing you’re being honest. 

“By the power vested in me by God and man, I pronounce you wife and husband. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. You may kiss your bride.” 

Warm hands on both sides of your face caress you, the pads of his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. What’s meant to be a tender moment causes your blood to run cold, hairs on the back of your neck standing at the realization of what this next action means. Giorno leans forward, long eyelashes fluttering shut. Soft lips mold against your own in a chaste kiss, your body tingling and scent of his rich cologne enveloping you. 

He lingers for a second longer, before pulling back a few inches. Golden locks tickle your skin, his warm breath fanning against your flustered face. Giorno greedily drinks in the unfolding events in front of him, wordlessly portraying to you the depths of his obsession. You can only imagine what he’s thinking, and what it means for you. He feels like he’s won, that this victory will cement your place with him. 

Closing his eyes once more, he offers you his arm. Understanding the gesture, you take it without protest. The smile never leaves his face as he turns around to face those who have gathered to the ceremony with you at his side. 

Meaningless cheers erupt behind you, a once in a lifetime event of witnessing the union of Passione’s Don filling the air with palpable electricity. As you assume he wants, you follow Giorno’s lead by walking out towards the large wooden doors. His grip on you is tight, both physically steadying and emotionally unsettling you. 

Going through the motions, is what you decide this detached state of existence is. Pushing through the numbness that threatens to take hold, you smile your best dazzling smile. It all happens in a flurry, crowds parting to allow for your safe passage. Once you walk out the Cathedral doors, you’re met with grains of rice fluttering onto you from either side and more delight. 

All the faces that go by you like a blur appear overjoyed, paling in comparison only to Giorno. In the time you’ve had to share with him, you’re incapable of recalling seeing him this thrilled. The day is long from over, an outdoor reception already set up for you to sludge through. At least for this aspect, you doubt anyone will speak to you directly. Or if they do, it’ll be a predictable conversation that you already have designated answers to give. 

Their attention will mostly remain on Giorno, congratulating him on the union. You wonder if some poor soul learned through experience that it’s unwise to have their eyes linger on you for too long. Giorno is a walking contradiction, wanting to both present his beautiful lover yet setting boundaries to prevent people from getting too close for his liking. 

As you predicted, congratulatory words are shared hundreds of times. Hours pass of the same, monotonous routine. The one aspect that causes you to subtly stiffen every time is when an individual addresses you as Mrs. Giovanna. It feels like a part of your identity has been stolen, among all the other things he has taken from you. 

“Do you need to rest? We’ve been standing for some time.” Giorno whispers into your ear, after a mafioso expressed his regards to his Don. You shake your head, not wanting to be alone with him. With all these people around, you oddly feel safer. Though none of them would stand up for you as it’s a certified death wish. 

“I’ll be alright,” you respond to him with a sigh, lowering your head to look at the tile underneath you. “It’s just been a lot.” 

Giorno considers your words, searching for emotions that aren’t there. You distract yourself by looking around, feeling content that these people are having fun even if you’re not. Families speaking amongst themselves enjoying the fine catering, partners dancing and almost everyone holding a wine glass. Asking him never felt like a priority, but you do wonder how much this spectacle cost. 

As the evening progresses, the sun lowers into the sky. Beams of orange and yellow mixing together enrapture everything in sight, the scent of delicacies and wine mixing together. Milan is an enrapturing city. All day you’ve had no appetite, Giorno having to convince you to eat something. Looking down at the plate that he brought you, a slice of buttered focaccia is what you settle on.

Speaking of Giorno, he left your side for the first time in hours to speak to some security. You feel like it’s easier to breathe outside of his presence, though the respite won’t last much longer. As expected, he returns to you and extends his hand. You hesitate before grabbing it, to which he helps you up.

“We’ll be heading to our hotel now.” he instructs you, leading you to the curb where a limousine awaits. Ever the gentleman, Giorno opens the door for you to take your seat before sitting next to you himself. A final group of cheers for the new couple break out, before the crowd is behind you. 

Only the low drum of the engine fills your ears, your lap holding your interest. Feeling emotionally drained to the core, you don’t offer any resistance when Giorno lays his hand over your own. Working up the courage to look at him, you’re met with a serene expression. He loosens his tie some, upward curl of his lips never faltering.

“Cara… you looked troubled,” he squeezes your hand reassuringly. “Is something bothering you?” 

“Ah. I’m not used to all that attention and socializing.” you admit in truth, a sheepish smile of your own creeping up. Giorno is the only person who you have contact with on a regular basis. You forgot what it was like to converse with strangers, even in passing. Giorno seems to understand, bright green eyes softening.

He reaches to a pen in his jacket, and before your very eyes, it turns into an impressive burgundy rose. Giorno’s ability is a mystifying one, no matter how many times you witness it. He quietly laughs at your wide eye look, before tucking it behind your ear. 

“We’ll be alone soon enough.” 

It’s a phrase meant to soothe you, yet it has the opposite effect. A hidden meaning glimmers underneath the surface, one that you anticipate. 

Still in a dreamlike state, you eventually arrive in a luxurious suite. This is one of the finest hotels in Milan, with a vast view of the historic city. Placing your hand to the glass of the window, you hear footsteps approaching you from behind. Not feeling the need to turn around to greet your husband, Giorno makes up for it by wrapping his arms around your torso. 

He presses himself against you, head lowering to the crux of your neck to take in your scent. A perfume that he chose for you. His lips ghost over your pulse, appreciating how it gains speed at his teasing touch. He knows this body well. This is a culmination of all he’s desired, the payoff of you before him. Giorno’s hands hover up to your shoulder, where he plays with the straps of your dress. 

You close your eyes.

Lifting his head to your ears, you shiver at his low declaration. “Now, give all of yourself to me, mio bellissimo amore.” 

[confused-beany]

Iron Widow review: 4/5

Spoiler and rant alert

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.

I really really want to give it a 5 out of 5. But I have a reason.

Perspective.

Iron Widow is a story told from the pov of a very angry girl going absolutely feral and getting worse. I love that for her but it doesn't leave much room for the world.

XJZ did really good work at showing first person pov and the limitations because of it. I get what Zetian thinks and her thought process and feelings. But little to no context on HOW she has that thought process because that backstory is probably traumatic or just not relevant enough to think in too much detail for Zetian.

(I can make assumptions that Zetian started noticing the discrimination and differences in treatment properly when she met Yizhi and he introduced her to a ~whole new world~ . And her sister's death probably pushed her off the edge, from where she kept digging till she was holding the heart of her ruined world in her hands only it was so rotten that even crushing it would not bring anything but more misery.... but in the end, they're assumptions. I'll never know. That's not where the story starts)

I couldn't get much info on how much Zetian's big sister meant to her and how that effected and shaped her as a person. So I, personally couldn't really get into Zetian's extreme thirst for revenge even when I was cheering her on. Similarly, because it's all seen from Zetian's perspective and kind of in a vague sense in the mind share thingy, she has to be TOLD about Li Shimin's backstory and I couldn't really care about that. (I love that boy but I was kinda meh about that entire reveal tbh). A few things like this were just Told, when they would've been better showed. I had to take at face value and I don't like that kind of storytelling so it kind of dampened the experience for me.

On top of that, because it's all background and probably irrelevant information for Zetian I didn't find out much about the world system and how it really works, which is something I really love about stories and I always look forward to the most. Or the Hunduns, who Zetian doesn't care for at all. It works in favor of the shock I got at the end (WHAT THE FUCK???) but I have so many questions that are going to go unanswered.

Also we see Zetian doing all these frankly mind blogging things but because we don't really have any perspective, it doesn't have much impact besides personal satisfaction. I wanted to see an impact, the BOOM that happened everytime Zetian did something insane and how that kept effecting even when she walked out of the room.

And the last thing that really didn't do anything for me... the relationship. Everyone's gonna get angry at me but, I wasn't really feeling it with these three? I'm very happy for them but I also do not care at all that they got together? Which was one of the selling points for me at first, so the getting together bit was kind of disappointing when I read it. It felt a little bit rushed and impersonal, how they just did that with like two conversations.

This is most likely because I'm ruined by slow burn and agony in romance and mtxt's ridiculously long but satisfying stories tho. So it's probably just me. But... ehhhhh?

Aside from these things tho I LOVED IT.

The setup and the concepts, Pacific Rim meets Handmaiden's Tale *chef's kiss*. The transforming robots, the five elements and qi cultivation, the wall, the descriptions, the absolute mad feralness sparks immense joy.

I like how unhinged Wu Zetian is and she doesn't "get better" like most ya protagonist do. She just keeps getting angrier and more op. And I'm all for it. She's angry and she owns it. Some might say it's edgy and how all of her terrible acts are framed to make her look cool, well she IS cool AND you're seeing everything from her perspective. Of course her everything is justified go her. And honestly, Wu Zetian did nothing wrong ever. I'll die on that hill.

I love love love Li Shimin. Big soft nerd who'd kill if necessary but also feel bad about it is honestly one of my favourite character tropes. When he did that thing with the chain I totally felt what Zetian felt. I would want that too.

And Yizhi... everyone knows I'm all for sweet characters who are absolutely bonkers on the inside and support their gremlins. He did everything right and I love him.

So, I loved the main characters and how, despite their differences, they'll fight to the death for everything they believe in. The side characters did their part good at making me hate, doubt, be tentatively hopeful about and absolutely loathe at the end (y'all know who I'm talking about). And I loved the plot twist where we find out how the girls are discriminated against.

In conclusion

GO READ IRON WIDOW!!

[k-dokja]

“ someday someone better than you will love her in all the ways you couldn’t ” for oikawa tooru please ♡ because i love seeing him suffer ♡

Okay, I'll make him suffer ♥ Just as a treat.

Oikawa fixes the strap of his backpack the nth time and rubs the calluses of his fingers on the rough materials. No matter how many times he fidgets where he stands, it doesn’t change the indisputable truth.

“She’s not coming,” Iwaizumi reminds him of what exactly it is, and Oikawa finds himself wincing on instinct. 

“I know, I just,” Oikawa sighs without restraint, unnaturally despondent compared to the normal him. Anything is better than thinking about the unavoidable. “I just need to wait.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything after that, but his expression is heavy and Oikawa tries to ignore it to the best of his ability. He knows when Iwaizumi has something to say but holds himself back for Oikawa’s sake. It doesn’t happen, but when it does, Oikawa knows it’s a lost cause.

He pulls out his phone again, checking the time, checking the notification. Nothing out of ordinary shows up that would imply there will be changes for his current situation. Ten minutes left until he really has to leave. 

Oikawa taps on his message despite knowing there’d be no new message from you. Past the many well wishes and the farewells, one chat remains unanswered no matter how many times he checks it. The sight of it alone makes his chest feel heavy, but he opens it anyway. 

Yesterday: [ I’m leaving soon. I really want to see you before I leave. ]

[ I came to your house but your mom said you aren’t home. ]

[ Can you make it to the airport tomorrow? ]

[ Do you want me to come over to pick you up? ]

Today: [ I have to leave at 10. ]

[ I came over earlier this morning but no one is home. ]

[ I have to leave in an hour. I’ll be waiting in front of my house. ]

[ Can we meet? Please? ]

All of them are left unread. In fact, the last time you read his message has been weeks ago, the last one you have checked is an apology, a beg for forgiveness, and after everything, you leave him in silence. Pitiful silence.

“She’s not coming.” Iwaizumi repeats again, this time grabbing Oikawa by the bicep. “C’mon, let’s go, no point in waiting.”

“Five more minutes,” Oikawa hisses before pulling his arm back roughly, “I still have five more minutes.”

He doesn’t have to look to see the disapproval on his best friend’s face. Then again, it’s not often that Oikawa would lower himself for someone, only to be trampled on this badly. Not that he doesn’t deserve it, seeing how the end of your relationship turns out, but Iwaizumi can’t help but feel pity over how pathetic his best friend becomes. “Honestly,” he mumbles, “where is your worthless pride when it comes to her?” 

Oikawa doesn’t hear his question. He doesn’t want to hear. His eyes remain fixed on the direction towards your house, but no matter how long he looks, no one would show up. He left you broken and scattered that day, only to regret the immediate moment after the damage has been done. Even with the grief he got from his loss, nothing would justify the words he told you that day.

You refuse to face him since then, it has been months and he hasn’t stopped trying to reach out. But you are every ounce as resilient as he is, and something he always admires about you now becomes the source of his suffering. 

The longer the time drags on, the more obvious it becomes. Five minutes feel like an eternity, and an eternity is more than enough for him to come to term with the reality. He lost you, for good. Forever would be the time he has to live without you from there on. 

“Time’s up,” Iwaizumi grumbles, “c’mon, the rest of our friends and your family are waiting.”

“I know, just,” he sighs, resigned.

Maybe in years time, you will learn to forgive him. Maybe one day, the memory he has of you won’t be the betrayal and hurt in your eyes when the thoughtless words came out without thinking. Maybe you’d find someone else better, treat you the way you deserve instead of brushing you aside as an afterthought like he did. All he knows that there’d be no hope left for him and you.

“Let’s go.”