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orionwhispers · 4 years

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Fools Gold // Tommy Shelby

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

Thomas Shelby needed a distraction.

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

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

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

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

His breath hitched in his throat.

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

A girl that could be the perfect distraction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t even think about it Tommy.”

——————————————————-

It was hard for him not to.

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

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

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

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

———————————————————-

The flowers came three days after you had met.

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

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

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

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

——————————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, more like three bouquets.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s been through a lot.”

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

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

—————————————————————-

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

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

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

He liked the way his name sounded on your tongue.

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

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

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

“Me?”

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

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

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

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

“Let me take you to dinner.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what do you do?”

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

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

“Even if they hold some truth in them?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To getting what we want.”

———————————————————-

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————————————

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

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

“It’s not that big of a deal!”

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

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

“Yeah, like a fox.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have tickets for the play tonight.”

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

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

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

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

But you couldn’t.

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

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

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

“What about your sister?”

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

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

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing. She’s a good friend.”

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

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

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

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

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

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

“Who is he?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He died a hero.”

“He shouldn’t have died at all.”

Tommy agreed with that.

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

“And destroyed those left behind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to come inside?”

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

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

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

“Please don’t break my heart.”

He pretended to be asleep.

————————————————————-

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

“Fuck off.”

“Please. Please. (Y/N).”

“No Tommy - Thomas. Fuck!”

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

“I - No.”

“Please.”

Fuck him and that fucking voice.

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

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

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

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

“Huh.”

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

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

“I really am sorry.”

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

“I have a habit of ruining good things.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He would be gone tomorrow.

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

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

—————————————————————-

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

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

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

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

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

———————————————————-

It had been almost a month.

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

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

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

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

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

“No I’m not, Ada.”

“Yes you bloody are!”

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

“Tell me everything.”

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

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

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

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

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

You felt your spine go rigid.

“Grace?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God I’m such a fucking idiot.”

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

———————————————————-

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

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

Three months of no contact had passed.

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

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

“Get the fuck away from me.”

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

“Please, Tommy. Just go.”

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

“You’ve seen me, now leave.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“You don’t get to ask me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

—————————————————————

He finally got what he wanted.

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

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

But maybe that had changed.

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

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

Perhaps his dreams had changed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Tommy? What’s the matter?”

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

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

He almost laughed at the irony of the situation.

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

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

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

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

“I have to go.”

———————————————————-

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

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

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

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

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

“I need to talk to you.”

Fucking hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m in love with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I need a cigarette.”

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

“How did you find me?”

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

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

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

“I don’t know what to think.”

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

“A distraction.” You repeated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

crown of your hair.

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

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

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

“I won’t.”

And it’s a promise he’ll keep.

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

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whitewolfandthefox · 4 years

Note

Hello! For the requests, how about dialogue 19 and scenario 8? I was hoping you could do angst with a fluffy ending, with Geralt and reader and he trained them beforehand? So chances are at least a bit more even.

Dialogue 19: “I thought l lost you”

Scenario 8: Person A is mind controlled and forced to fight Person B. Person B refusing to fight them and getting injured. Person A coming to and seeing what they’ve done.

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: major character injury, slight description of injury, angst that turns to fluff

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Summary: Something goes wrong while on a hunt and you are forced to defend yourself against Geralt. How will he feel when he wakes up to see what he’s done? Geralt x fem!reader

Say My Name

It was supposed to be a simple hunt. Get in, kill the monster, get out, no one was supposed to get hurt. What you weren’t counting on was the cursed objects that it had been collecting. The actual hunt went off without a hitch. Geralt had begun trusting you on hunts, supplementing your basic knowledge with his own as you journeyed together. You had distracted the monster, holding your own while Geralt landed the killing blow.

Wiping your blade before resheathing it, you watched as Geralt examined the room, poking through various items that lined the shelves. Rolling your eyes in exasperation, you turned your attention to yourself, tugging at your armour to put it back in order from where it had shifted when you were thrown against the wall. You rolled your shoulders in an attempt to release the tension that had gathered in them from the fight and the weight of the leather you wore.

Your attention was drawn back to your partner at the sound of coughing. As he had opened a small box, a cloud of dust rose from it and set him coughing, staggering away from the item as he waved his hand in front of his face to clear the air. The corners of your lips twitched up as you watched him, half in amusement, half in exasperation. “See Geralt, this is why we don’t go touching things in the evil monster’s lair. We get evil monster dust in our faces.”

As he bent at the waist continuing to cough, a frown came over your face. Pushing yourself off of the wall where you were leaning, you approached. “Are you okay, love? Why don’t you go outside and see if the fresh air helps, it’s so musty in here.”

Frowning at the room, you almost missed the sudden movement behind you, spinning to the side just in time to miss the swing Geralt took at you, almost tripping over your feet as you scrambled to put some distance between the two of you.

“Geralt?” You tried, concerned at the blank look on his face. He didn’t respond, continuing to stalk towards as you backed towards the wall, glancing at the door behind him. “Love? Please, talk to me. What’s happened? Are you okay?”

Again receiving no response, you feinted to the left before darting to the right as the man in front of you fell for your movements, ducking underneath the arm that came out to grab you as you made your way towards the door. You burst through the opening, flinging the door shut behind you in an attempt to slow Geralt down, sprinting for the trees in an attempt to find cover. You heard the door shatter against the wall behind you, lumbering footsteps quickly catching up to you.

You dropped to the ground, rolling out of the way of the blade that hissed through the air above you. Had you still been standing, the sword would have gone straight through your ribs. You regained your feet, unsheathing your own sword as you backed away, locking eyes with the man in front of you.

Geralt’s posture was tense, coiled like a spring, ready to pounce in any direction. His face was blank, but his eyes. His eyes were an eerie dark green, the colour stark against the whites of his eyes, pupils constricted to pinpricks. There was no recognition in his expression, a blank slate that frightened you, sent terror through you to your core. There must have been a curse in that box. He’s not himself.

As he approached you, sword held loose in his hand, you continued backing away. You couldn’t fight him, you could hold your own but you were sure he’d eventually overcome you, but you didn’t want to hurt him either. Suddenly, he rushed forward, sword raised over his head as he came towards you. You leapt to the side, the sound of steel on steel ringing through the clearing as you knocked his blade aside, turning to keep the man in front of you as he swung again, the blow coming from the side this time.

You stepped into his space, shortening the swing as you caught his blade on yours, frozen as you searched his face for any sign that the man you loved was in there. “Geralt, love, please come back to me. This isn’t you! You need to fight the spell!”

With a growl, he pulled his sword back only to thrust at your chest, your sword circling to come from above, forcing his blow down and to the side as it missed you. You allowed your body to follow your sword, pivoting on your heel as Geralt’s momentum brought him past you, slamming a kick into his side as he did, forcing him to stumble and lose his momentum as you finished turning, dashing towards the forest.

Reaching the treeline, you sheathed your sword and jumped, grabbing a branch as high as you could, anchoring your foot on a lower branch as you scrambled higher. You felt a hand on your ankle, looking down, you could see Geralt reaching for you, sword left hanging by his side. Tensing, you lifted your other foot from the branch, arms shaking as they held your weight, before bringing your foot down on Geralt’s face, feeling a crack as his nose broke under your blow. With a howl he released you, letting you scramble higher into the tree, safely out of reaching distance.

As he looked up, you could see the blood running down your lover’s chin, staining his teeth red as an animalistic sneer came over his face. His lips pulled back as a low growl rumbled out of his chest. He stalked back and forth beneath the tree, staring at you the whole time. You crooned at him, hoping the distance would allow you to talk to him, to hopefully break whatever spell he was caught in.

“Geralt, baby, come back to me.” He growled at your voice, scowl deepening as he continued pacing. “It’s me, darling, you need to fight this. Come back to me, I love you.”

Your last sentence drew a roar from his chest, the man leaping as high as he could, hands brushing at your ankles. You squeaked and lost your balance as you tried to avoid him, falling from the branch with your motion. You gasped as you hit a branch on your way down, frantically twisting as you grabbed at whatever you could reach, fingernails and skin ripping against the harsh bark of the tree. You hit the ground and rolled, Geralt’s sword biting into the dirt where your head had been.

Coming to your feet, you blinked frantically, blood coming from a cut on your head running into your eyes and obscuring your vision as bruises bloomed across your back. Relying on your senses alone, you ducked as you heard the whistling of a sword, felt the wind as the blade passed above your folded body. Drawing your sword, you met the next blow, shock travelling from your hands all the way up into your shoulders. You almost missed as Geralt struck again, managing to divert his blade to the side, the edge slicing into your left arm as it passed. Warm blood ran down your hand, making your fingers slip where they held the hilt of your sword.

Releasing your grip with your left hand, you desperately tried to keep up with the fast pace of the blows coming from the Witcher, arms starting to shake as you tried to keep the man you loved from killing you. You were too breathless to talk, hoping only to survive this encounter long enough that the spell would wear off.

Too late, you realized Geralt had backed you to the treeline. Turning desperately, you cried out as you tripped over a root, stumbling to catch yourself as you teetered, ankle turning over as you stepped, pain flaring as your leg threatened to give. This distraction cost you, Geralt getting in close as he struck at you, the blow causing you to lose your grip on your sword as it went flying. You limped backwards, ducking as you tried to avoid his blows, receiving a cut on your thigh as a reward.

You tried one last time. “Geralt, please, listen to me. This isn’t you, I am not your enemy! You need to come back to, Geralt, just listen to my voice!”

Hope flared in your chest as he faltered, frustration appearing on his face as gold glinted in his eyes. You hesitantly took a step towards him. “Geralt?” you queried tentatively.

His face morphed back into an expression of rage, the light dying in his eyes as your own hope died in your chest. A snarl forced its way from between his lips as he drew his sword back and thrust, a gasp pulled from your lips at the feeling of the cold blade slithering into your skin, the feeling of the leather pulling away from your skin as the sword emerged from your back.

A pained howl tore itself from your lips as you stepped backwards, feeling the sword pulling itself from your body as warm blood began pouring down your side. The exhaustion and shock overwhelmed you, the world going blurry as you collapsed to your knees. The last thing you remember was gold flooding Geralt’s eyes as you heard him call your name before the world went dark.

**~*~*~*~**

“Please no, not her, if there is anyone out there, I beg of you, take me instead, just let her live. Y/N, please wake up. I can’t- please- take me instead, she doesn’t deserve this, please just let her live.”

The man who held you was shaking as he ranted at the air, desperate that you might live. Trembling, you brought your hand up to cover the one that was pressed against your side, feeling your body pressed against an unyielding wall of muscle. As he felt your hand against his, Geralt went stiff, slowly drawing back from where he had pressed his face into your hair so that he could look at you. Your eyes slowly fluttered open, scrunching when your movement brought a wave of pain over you.

You opened your eyes to see Geralt staring down at you with his golden, golden, eyes staring back at you, a heartbroken expression on his face. Relief swept through your body, the spell was gone. He leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, the arm supporting you against his chest tightening as he let himself break, tears falling against your skin as he wept.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered brokenly, “You were so pale and weren’t moving, I thought I had killed you.”

“Hey now,” you tried weakly. “I think I did a fairly good job at holding out, you just cheated because you’re tall.”

A wet laugh broke from his lips, closely followed by a sob. “I am so sorry, Y/N. I’ll drop you at a healer and be on-”

“Ah,” you pressed a finger against his lips, your strength coming back slowly. He looked at you in confusion, disbelief on his face. “None of that, love, we’re not getting started on this ‘I’m a monster, how can you live with me after what I’ve done’ bullshit. It could have been either of us, and you wouldn’t let me talk this way if I had been the one cursed, so you don’t get to.”

You struggled to sit up, hissing as your movements pulled on your wound. Geralt helped you sit up, arranging you so that you were draped over his lap as he focused on bandaging your wounds, refusing to look you in the face. Holding the bandage for him with one hand, you reached up to gently touch his face with the other, pulling his chin up to look at you as his movements stilled. You smiled softly before leaning forward slightly to brush a kiss against his lips.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Dubiously, he stared at you. “You cut out the self-pitying crap and I will stay in bed for one week and be careful for the next two. But only if you stay with me and don’t spend the next year beating yourself up for something that was totally out of your control.

As he opened his mouth to protest you clamped your hand over it, effectively cutting off his words. “If you don’t agree to my deal I swear to Melitele I will be out of bed the day after you leave and will chase you down unless it kills me. And if it does I’ll tell Jaskier what happened and send him after you. And then I’ll come after you and haunt your ass so you’re really sorry.”

As you finished your rant, you flicked your finger against Geralt’s nose, causing him to startle and glare at you, slowly dissolving into laughter at your attempt to look intimidating. Finally calming, he continued working on your bandages, chuckling as you squirmed against him, hissing whenever you would agitate your injuries.

“Two weeks?” his low voice asked softly, not looking at you as his hands worked. You stilled, staring up at him suspiciously. Slowly, you nodded.

“One and a half. And I’ll take it easy.” Smiling, he looked up at you, mirth present in his golden eyes as he stared down at you. “You asshole! I should have started with four days! You know I hate staying still!”

He chuckled as he brought his other hand up to press you against his chest. Nosing at your hair, he inhaled your scent as his body relaxed, the adrenaline of the fight slowly leaving the both of you. You nestled into him, enjoying the warmth from his body. Gently, Geralt gathered you into his arms, standing and making his way to where the two of you had left your horses.

“I love you,” he murmured, arms tightening around you briefly. “And I am sorry.”

“I know,” you looked up at him, freeing one of your hands to reach up and cup his jaw. He hummed at your actions, leaning into your touch like a cat. “And I forgive you, there was never any question about it.”

He rubbed his jaw against your palm, eyes closed as he paused next to Roach. Carefully, he set you in the saddle before swinging himself up behind you, pulling you back against his chest. The feeling of his slow heartbeat against your back along with the gentle cadence of the horse quickly lulled you to sleep as you relaxed in the comfort of your lover’s arms.

**~*~*~*~**

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petra-deserved-better · 4 years

Note

Various canon fanfic of Petra and the squad alive particularly during the Uprising arc ( yes it’s my favorite ) by the way great work love you fanfics

Levi Squad Lived Uprising AU - Part One

Word count: 1752 words

——————————————————————————————————

“I’m sick of baby sitting these children!” Oruo cried, looking on in indignation as Eren and Jean squabbled about who had made the others bed.

“We aren’t supposed to be baby sitting them they’re on our squad now.” Gunther replied, but even as he spoke he could see Petra fussing over the two boys who had just been arguing and Eld helping a girl sneak an extra roll of bread. Gunther shook his head smiling. “You weren’t sick of it when they were all fawning over your kill count yesterday and asking for tips.”

“I can’t help it if I’m an inspiration.” Oruo said dismissively. But Gunther knew he had loved the attention and Petra had teased him about it later that evening.

A squabble had broken out among the new recruits and Petra had thrown herself into the fray smoothing the ruffled feathers and smiling at each of their new squad mates in turn.

“Pfft, what is it with her and these brats anyway. First Eren and now this lot, if she’d wanted to be a mother she should have stayed at home.” Oruo crosses his arms over his chest as he watched Petra and Eld expertly divide the chores between the newly pacified recruits.

Gunther raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Who was she supposed to have kids with you?” He teased.

The colour rose in Oruo’s cheeks. “Yeah she wishes. Come on let’s go help I don’t want to spend the rest of my afternoon doing press-ups because some snot nose brats couldn’t clean this cabin up properly.”

Laughing Gunther joined his squad mates, and together they had the place spotless by the time the Captain returned.

For the first few hours they had been at this hide out Gunther had really convinced himself that this latest mission was going to be a piece if cake. How hard could it be to protect these two kids when you were used to going outside the walls and fighting giant monsters. Truthfully, he had almost been looking at the next few weeks as the closest he would ever get to a proper holiday. Sure, he still needed to do patrols and clean and cook, but honestly he had felt a little bubble of joy well in his chest the way it used to when school closed for summer when he was a kid. When was the last time he’d been able to look so far in the future without seeing imminent danger.

He hadn’t really been listening whilst the boy Armin he been talking about his plans to retake wall Maria it all seemed like a dream to him. His attention had been brought back to the table when his Captain said Hange looked like she was holding in a shit. Gunther smirked, he’d always appreciated the Captains toilet humour more than others.

“Minister Nick was found dead this morning, in the Trost barracks.”

The bubble of joy burst, he wasn’t smirking anymore.

“I know he was murdered, they’d pulled off his fingernails.”

The Captains face was an unreadable mask, Gunther looked to Eld instead, he saw the way his eyebrows where drawn in and his fists were cleansed. He knew this wasn’t good.

“It’s my fault he died.” Hange continued in a downcast voice, the lack of all usual enthusiasm was unnerving. “I hid him in the Trost barracks to protect him from the church. I never thought that it would be the interior police that killed him, I was naïve.”

The room was silent, he looked from his squad to the new recruits. All the happy laughter and playful banter of the morning was gone, each wore looks of shock, disgust or fear as they digested what the squad leader had said.

The silence was interrupted by the sound of their Captain slurping his tea. Even in the midst of such a startling revelation it amused Gunther to see the way the new recruits jumped and looked disbelievingly at their captain. They had a lot to learn!

That evening he was on patrol with Eld, the night around them was cool and silent apart from the crunching of their boots as they made their way around the perimeter of their property, a precaution Captain Levi now felt was necessary.

“Do you really think we may have enemy’s in the interior police now?” Gunther asked in a low voice as they made their second sweep of the area. He felt reasonably confident there was no one around now but he wasn’t going to raise his voice unnecessarily after all that has been discussed today.

“If the Captain says you talk after one nail, then you talk after one nail. He knows more about it than the rest of us. Plus when you think about it, it just makes sense.” Eld shifted the rifle he held from one shoulder to another whilst he spoke.

Gunther felt reassured, he’d known Eld since they were in trainee corps and from the moment they’d meet he’d looked up to him, he couldn’t put his finger quite on what it was, he’d just always found him a reassuring presence, he’d been eternally grateful when they were put on the same squad.

“You think Hange’s idea will work, that we should go after our enemies as well as carry on our experiments with Eren?”

Eld scratched his chin and contemplated the question. “Seems the only sensible option to me.” He responded. “The interior police might not yet know that the Survey Corps has its eye on the Riess family but the fact that Historia is in our ranks might be enough reason to go after us, it makes sense to cover our backs.”

Gunther signed. “I thought we were in for an easy few weeks. Now I feel like there are enemies round every corner.”

Eld threw his arm round Gunther’s shoulders and laughed. “It could be worse?”

“Yeah how?”

“We could still be outside the wall fighting titans. Come on, what’s a few interior police to them. You’ll see will have this all sorted in no time.”

Gunther smiled. “Yeah, your right.”

“As always.” Eld grinned.

Gunther felt better. He always did after he spoke to Eld.

X~~~X

The wind blew tendrils of Petra’s hair about her face as she watched the emaciated form of Eren’s Titan below them ripping apart the the house he had built himself. Her chest felt hollow, not long ago she’d watch him follow Hange’s instruction and built the structure. She’d felt hope like she hadn’t dared to let herself feel before. That hope rushed out of her in a breath as Eren’s Titan fell forward and revealed most of Eren’s torso and legs hanging out of his nape.

“He’s not even ten meters this time and I can see his scrawny arse hanging out.” Levi remarked.

Petra let out a gasp of shocked laughter. Beside her Hange was yelling instructions at Eren screaming at him to move.

“I don’t think he’ll be moving again today.” Petra muttered under her breath.

Levi glanced in her direction and then nodded to Hange who began to make her way to cut Eren out of his Titan form, she was beaten to the task by Mikasa. There was a commotion below as they had some trouble getting Eren out of his Titan form.

“Do you think he’ll be ok?” Petra asked peering over the edge of the cliff.

“He’ll be fine.”

The Captain began arranging their retreat from the area. It was important to make it look like they had never been there. It wasn’t until they were on their way home that she was able to speak to him again.

They were riding their horses a little behind everyone else, they didn’t want to be obvious by riding a long in a large procession. Petra cherished little moments like these. It had been a long time since she’d realised she was in love with her Captain. She knew that nothing could ever happen between them but that didn’t stop her foolish heart from enjoying any little moment she could spend by his side. But things had been so busy over the last month such moments had been few and far between.

“What’s on your mind Ral?”

Petra had been so caught up in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed that the Captain had been watching her so closely. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks.

“Do you think we are safe here Sir, from the military police I mean.” It seemed like a safe enough topic, far safer than admitting she’d been thinking about how much she’d missed having tea with him in their old barracks.

“No.” The Captain was nothing but honest.

“Then shouldn’t we get Eren and Historia to somewhere safer?” She asked.

“For the time being, we need to assume no where is safe.”

Petra looked down, studying her hands as they held onto the reins of her horse. “Things were much simpler when the enemy only wanted to eat us.”

Captain Levi let out a huff of laughter and Petra felt her heart swell. She always felt proud of herself when she made him laugh, she knew not many people ever got to hear it.

“That’s true.”

They rode on in comfortable silence for such a length of time that when he spoke again it made her jump.

“Can I trust you with something I can’t tell the others yet.”

“Of corse.” Her answer was a knee jerk reaction. She spoke without thinking, he could trust her with anything. She knew she would never have his love but his trust was something she would always treasure.

“I think that we might be fighting humans soon.”

“Humans, really Captain?” Her voice came out in a panicked squeak.

“It’s just a hunch, but there’s something about this whole situation, that’s familiar. Like I’ve see it before.”

Petra felt bile rise in her throat and tried to swallow it down. She looked at her captain, he’s brows pulled down into a deep frown, she knew she’d follow this man to hell if she had to.

“Well, whatever happens Captain, I’m with you.”

He looked round at her, he’s grey eyes studied her own with a steely intensity that made heart squeeze in her chest.

“Thank you.” He said quietly.

They couldn’t talk anymore. They rounded the corner that revealed the cabin they were staying in. A familiar figure dismounting a horse took Petra by surprise.

“That’s strange, what’s Nifa doing here?”

———————

A/N - I hope this was ok and what you had in mind. I decided to break this up into a series as I couldn’t decide what parts of the uprising to do so mostly decided it would be fun to do most of it. Will be happy to continue if you’ve enjoyed it!

#rivetra #og levi squad #new levi squad #cannon au #everybody lives au #fanfiction #my writing #prompt #fic request

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harcourtholmesii · 3 years

Text

Unintended Purpose (Part II)

Pairings: As Of Yet; Unknown

Warnings: - Swearing - Slavery (Whether Characters Realise It Or Not) - Mentions of Violence

Words: 2110

Enjoy!

The ride to breakfast was a strange one. ‘Connor’ had taken a seat in front, staring ahead and with back ramrod straight. Hank had been worried the thing had broken the moment they had entered the car, but he was relieved to see it turn its head as he switched on his music.

In the backseat, Cole was excitedly asking about what working as a police officer was like, and even if the android was about to answer, Cole was quick to ask something else. Hank watched the android with some suspicion, a little frustrated that it had not even attempted to answer Cole’s questions or humour the kid even a little. He had to keep reminding himself that this was not your standard model. Fucking thing probably didn’t understand the concept of ‘small talk’.

Hank pulled up to Chicken Feed, Cole dashing out of the car with a wave at ‘Connor’, barely waiting for Hank to stretch his legs. He turned, opening his mouth to order the android to stay behind, but decided against it when the damned thing didn’t even turn its head to acknowledge him. It reminded him of some pompous blue blood from the higher ranks in the force; some cock-sure asshole who ordered officers around from the safety of his desk.

He met Cole by the food truck, lifting him up so that he might have a proper view of the menu. Gary was a close acquaintance, always willing to shirk some dollars off the bill in return for Hank not taking him in. Not that Hank would. The Chicken Feed truck served only the best burgers in Detroit, and he wasn’t going to let the police force take it away.

With their food in greasy paper bags, Cole and Hank returned to the car. And to ‘Connor’. It confused Hank why, of all times, did the android wait until they had left to turn its head and acknowledge them. Warm, brown eyes peered at the bags in their hands, and for a moment, the LED blinked a bright yellow.

As they took a seat in the car, ‘Connor’ finally spoke.

‘Lieutenant.’ Hank nearly jumped in his seat, glaring at the android beside him. How the fuck did he know about his rank? ‘I would not recommend eating what food you have purchased. The food has been prepared in an unsanitary environment, as the owner, Gary Keyes, has a criminal record of violating hygiene regulations.’

Hank just stared.

Cole just gaped.

‘The food may not be toxic to the human body, but the calories are twice the amount recommended for a man of your age, and may cause indigestion for Cole Anderson. I understand that you have a history of minor egg allergy, suggesting that you may have passed the condition onto your son. The condiment, mayonnaise, has egg as its base ingredient, and may cause illness if either of you should ingest it.’

‘Connor’ reached across and grabbed the paper bags from Hank’s hands, the man too stunned to say anything. The android returned them just as quickly, running leftover grease from the bags between his fingers and licking it from his synthetic skin. Hank felt a little sick.

‘It appears that Gary Keyes had been drinking before-hand. He has also left traces of blood in the grease from an open wound, presumably from a cut on his hands.’ The android’s mouth snapped shut, as it tilted its head to look at Hank, almost innocently. ‘Perhaps you should arrest Gary Keyes, as he is still operating the establishment without a license.’

Silence.

The android returned to peering straight ahead, Hank just completely astounded by what he had heard. Yes, he was familiar with the conditions the Chicken Feed worked with, but he never knew so much detail. In fact, he still didn’t understand how the Hell this fucking android knew half of what he did. He shouldn’t have access to those kind of files.

Cole was suddenly pushing himself half into the front seat, babbling on at a hundred miles a minute.

‘How did you do that?! That was so cool! How did you know my dad works with the police?! Did you work with him?! Can you tell me about the criminals you busted?! Did you use a gun?! Can you do that again?! What do you know about me?! What do you know about Dad?!’

‘Cole!’

Hank felt a little guilty when Cole shut his mouth, and slowly slipped back into the backseat. Hank would apologise later, but he just wanted to get the android’s attention and work out what the fuck had just happened.

‘Hey!’ No answer.

‘Connor!’ Those eyes turned onto him. They seemed so emotionless; cold. It unnerved Hank. He didn’t trust this thing. Not even a little bit, and normally Hank’s gut was pretty good to trust. ‘What the Hell did you just do?’

‘Are you referring to what I said, lieutenant?’

‘What else?’ The android tilted its head once more, seemingly confused by the response. ‘Yeah, what you said. What was that?’

‘I simply relayed to you the details of what I scanned of the premises and the staff. It is my duty as your assisting android to aid you in what ways I can; including preventing you from causing potential harm to yourself and your son, or potential endangerment of your career.’

Hank couldn’t believe this. This fucking robot thought that a couple of burgers were practically poison and that ignoring this one man was going to get him fired from his job? That was rather insulting. Hank may no longer have been as popular or as young as he used to be; he had gotten a bit lazy as to who he would bother to bring in, but that didn’t mean he was about to get fired over something minor.

‘Do you scan everyone you see?’

‘Of course. If there is the potential that someone is a threat to you or your son, lieutenant, I must be ready to act. If I fail to search for threats and you are placed into danger, I will have failed my purpose, once again.’

Hank had forgotten about that. If the thing was human, he wouldn’t have been surprised if failure scared it. A human failing once was not often the end of the world. Normally it meant something minor, such as answering a question on a test incorrectly, or mistaking how many steps in an apartment stairwell, causing them to trip. But for an android, failure often meant deactivation, and being torn down for parts.

‘Can you scan me?’ Cole asked, peering up at ‘Connor’.

‘I already have. If you wish me to relay to you what data I found; you are nursing a slight limp in your left leg. Still recovering from a minor shock and minding what pain is there. Perhaps you tripped. Your hands have traces of isopropyl alcohol, and minor stains to your fingernails would suggest you were using a colouring book, specifically, a paper-back book. Fine hairs on your clothes, primarily white, bare the DNA samples of a St Bernard, and from the wear on your trousers, one that is small and excitable. A puppy.’

Holy shit.

‘I am correct?’ It sounded more like a statement than a question, but Hank nodded slowly all the same. Instead of bursting into another round of uncontrollable questions, Cole simply sat there, mouth agape as Hank pulled off the curb.

The drive was a slow one, almost drawn out by the silence in the vehicle. Hank really wasn’t sure what to think. On the one hand, this android was far more advanced than the ones that worked at the precinct; able to gather such in-depth information with a single glance. It was beyond impressive, and Hank would have given most anything to have that power.

On the other hand, he was pissed. The android hadn’t spoken a word since he introduced himself and then he was suddenly telling Hank that he was putting his son in danger?! Well, whilst it had not been specifically stated, it seemed implied. Could androids even imply things? Either way, Hank wasn’t sure how he felt about an android being able to ‘scan’ Cole or himself.

When they finally pulled onto Michigan Drive and then up the driveway, Cole rushed out of the car and practically pulled Connor out with him. Silence broken, he started babbling like mad about how ‘mom’s gonna love you’. Hank doubted it.

Entering into the house, Hank was thankful for the smell of crispy bacon and the sweeter scent of pancakes. He hurriedly tossed out the paper bags full of burgers, and let Cole run over to the kitchen to greet Renee. Cole practically dragged her out by the hem of her skirt, until she was facing Hank. And ‘Connor’.

‘H-Hank…’ Oh, fuck. He knew that tone. It was one of some disappointment. ‘W-What’s this?’ She crossed her arms, indignant at the sight of their new android. Before Hank could answer, ‘Connor’ had stepped forward.

‘Renee Anderson née Tuppens. I’m the RK800 android as made by CyberLife. Intended purpose; a failure. New purpose; home assistance. May my work be satisfactory to you.’

One dark brow arched, red lips pursing as she all but glared at ‘Connor’. Her lips stretched to accommodate a strained smile as she gestured Cole to the kitchen table and then took a step forward, around ‘Connor’ and over to Hank.

‘It’s ‘intended purpose’? And what exactly was that?’ Hank should have known she would latch onto that. It was why he had hoped to speak first. Perhaps, knowing from him that the android was once a police detective, she would have considered it another layer of protection, or some shit. But then the idiot bucket of bolts had to open its mouth.

‘It… It was a police android.’

‘A police detective; a prototype for the new RK900 models due for release in December.’

‘Oh?’ Renee turned her angered gaze onto ‘Connor’, and Hank cringed for him. ‘And, how exactly did you fail your original purpose?’

Hank, admittedly, was just as curious. But he didn’t want it to become another argument between himself and Renee. The last thing he wanted was for her to stress for Cole’s safety because the android had failed some multiple choice quiz.

Both pairs of eyes on ‘Connor’ took notice of how the LED ring lit up almost immediately neon yellow, and then briefly flashed red. Hank knew that was never a good sign. He raised one hand to rest it on Renee’s arm as if to pull her behind him. Of course, she just shrugged it off, too pissed to care.

Sumo, though excited to greet them at first, had slunk away, and was hiding beneath the kitchen table and Cole’s dangling feet. Cole was watching the confrontation, mouth half stuffed with pancakes looking between the three of them.

‘How did you fail your original programming?’ Hank asked, resting one hand over his jacket where his holster would have been.

A moment of silence.

‘It was my first mission; I was supposed to capture a deviant android for questioning and eventual deactivation.’ Hank knew about deviants; very few people didn’t. Androids that ‘broke the bonds of their masters’, or just ‘completely snapped’. Most deviants turned violent, triggered by something that would be traumatic for a human, and sometimes killed their owners.

‘I found them. However, I made a mistake when I confronted them.’ Deviants were often unpredictable, and had the power to turn the tables of a confrontation or the ability to blend in once the LED was removed. Perhaps, an android that was not turned deviant would struggle to predict most courses of action, even one as advanced as ‘Connor’.

‘There had been a human officer that was injured in the crossfire. Though the deviants were incapacitated and eventually destroyed, it was determined that it was a miscalculation on my part.’ Hank didn’t like where this was going. Suddenly, Renee was clinging tightly to his arm, when before she had been so willing to ignore it.

‘I had shot him in the shoulder. He was in critical condition when they shut me down to be wiped of my programming.’

‘Oh my God.’

‘I do not know if I killed him. But I did cause him damage, and as an android, I was fortunate not to be scrapped immediately.’

The LED was bright red.

‘Thank you for allowing me into your home.’ By the way Renee’s fingers tightened, and how her nails dug into his skin even through the jacket, Hank knew he had fucked up.

#DBH #Detroit: Become Human #RK800 #RK800 Connor #Hank Anderson #Cole Anderson #Fanfic #Fanfiction #HarcourtHolmesII

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

The Colour of Our Voices [6]

Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 6.5 OR Chapter 7

➜ Words: 4.1k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

cr.

You try not to let the negative, disgusting feelings get to you. But envy is a monster that keeps hovering over your shoulder, always peering at what you’re doing, always making petty comments in your weakest moments. You try to tune it out, but it constantly tempts you in whispers to be honest with yourself. It’s hard to keep it at bay too when every turn you make, you see Jimin’s face. From the moment you step outside the comfort of your apartment to when you get back — he never gives you a moment to compose yourself, to heal, to overcome the green monster. He sticks to your side like gum and you can’t help the way your resentments build into hatred. “Did you hear?” there are murmurs as you’re cleaning up a spill on the floor, knees sore and bruised blue. The director spilled his coffee and immediately pointed at you and told you to take care of the mess. “What?” “Jimin got a role in the Les Mis production.” “What? Really?” she gasps. “That’s impressive. No wonder he’s not here today.” “I knew he could do it, he’s cute. I’d let him have his way with me.” “God, you’re never satisfied, aren’t you?” There are snickers and giggles. “But he must be really good. Didn’t he just come here too? But we should see if we can get tickets to watch.” “Good idea. I’d love to see him on stage,” she hums. “I wonder if he’ll quit this job.” “Probably. Working as an intern here is pretty much working as a slave for the director. It’s a shitty ass job,” she mutters and you can feel their heavy stares on your backside. “Wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.” “Shame,” she sing-songs. “I was hoping he’d stick around.” Your hand crumples into a tight fist, into the dirty cloth that’s stained your skin. Then you scrub harder until your fingernails hurt, until it’s as painful as the way your eyes sting. // Your appetite is gone. You can’t swallow your food despite having skipped lunch — the director had sent you on a wild goose chase to pick up a package at the post office and by the time you were done, your lunch break was long over. You play with dinner using your fork, and Jimin doesn’t notice. He keeps talking about all about him and his accomplishments. You didn’t want to be here in the first place, but he insisted on going out for a celebratory dinner, pressured you into it even when you tried rejecting him. And here you are. “So I came in today for the first time, and it was so exciting. You wouldn’t believe it, Y/N. You were right when you said the Phantom production was low-budget. These sets that some other musicals have are a world’s difference.” “I see.” Jimin stuffs his cheeks with french fries, getting ketchup at the corner of his mouth. “I’m starting officially on Monday, so I’ll probably quit my internship. I already gave the director a call to let him know tomorrow will be my last day and he sounded pretty happy for me. He even said he’d write a recommendation letter if I ever needed one.” You drop the fork in your bowl, retracting your hands into your lap. “Wow, that’s really great, Jimin.” “I don’t think I’ll need a letter any time soon.” Jimin smiles and shakes his head, sipping on his soda. “I’m just so psyched to begin rehearsals. They ran me through a few things and what my costume will be and what it’ll look like before we perform in a few months. Sometimes I just can’t believe that I’m actually there. It’s just surreal to think about how I’ll be on stage. Everything at that production is so amazing, Y/N, completely different from Phantom’s production, you should’ve seen it.” “Yeah. Wish I could’ve….” “And now people are taking my coffee orders! Can you believe that?!” You can’t even muster a smile. There’s a thick lump formed in your throat that hurts to talk past and you’re holding back from crying, not wanting to lose the last shreds of your pride. Jimin doesn’t know that you never asked to hear any of this, that his innocent gloating is grating to your ears. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” He gives a cheesy grin and then bites into his burger and puts it down after wiping his mouth free of the sauce. “Seriously, if not for you, I probably wouldn’t have made the role. I didn’t know what I was doing before you taught me the ins and outs of the industry. I bet I’d still be at home rolling around in bed.” Your tight lipped mouth attempts to pull. “You’re welcome.” “I’d love to make it up to you some time...s-so...uh...I-I’ve been meaning to ask something.” Jimin nervously laughs and scratches the back of his neck. You wonder why you’re here, why you’re allowing yourself to feel this misery. You should be at home, underneath the covers of your own bed. Not out here in the cold feeling humiliated. You’ve wasted enough time on Jimin and he’s gotten what he wanted from you. The two of you are no less than strangers. “O-Of course, only if you want to, no pressure whatsoever, but there was this theater show coming up tomorrow, I was wondering, well I wanted to ask, um, if you wanted to j-join, I got tickets—” You don’t hear him. Too busy in your own thoughts. You grab your bag. “I’m not feeling very well, Jimin. I think I’m going to head home first.” His eyes are owlish, big and rounded, blinking at you. The boy looks at your unfinished food and then back at you in alarm. “Are you okay? Do you need me to bring you to the hospital? What’s wrong?” “No, I’m fine. I’m just—” You sigh, unable to come up with a coherent explanation. “—tired.” Tired from the day. Tired of your life. Tired of him. Jimin stands when you do. “We can go back together.” “No, it’s fine,” you insist as lies roll off your tongue, “I might actually stop by a friend’s house tonight.” “Do you want me to walk you to the subway then? I can go right now—” “No, it’s okay. Promise.” You can’t bring yourself to smile at him, to spend one more second in his presence. You’re scared you might permanently hate Jimin. “See you.” “Bye…” His hand lifts to wave, watching you walk away. Once you’ve disappeared from sight, Jimin dejectedly plops back down into the seat of his booth. He peeks into his pocket and sighs as he looks at the two tickets to the show. He shouldn’t have been so nervous. He wonders what he should do with them now. But next time. Next time for sure, he’ll ask you on a date.

You’re strung around a lot. You realized this after your many encounters with Jimin, but everyone in your entire life has strung you around like a pet for their own amusement. Even now, the director brings you places to do his dirty work for him while making you believe that he’ll give you a reference someday, that he’ll give you a chance. But if you’re honest with yourself, you know he’ll never do it. He’ll never pick up his goddamn phone and call an agent for you. He’ll never give you the praise you deserve for being his ghost singer. And these facts alone are enough for you to want to grab the nearest brick available and smash it on his dumb head. But you can’t do that as irritated and as pissed off as you are these days. You can’t go to prison and you can’t quit this shitty job. You need money from somewhere, and you won’t be succeeding in any auditions any time soon — you know that too. You’re stuck. Trapped in your own inability to succeed. Stranded in your own routine. Even when the entire world keeps moving. You feel like you’re in a glass case, a phone booth in the middle of the metropolis, watching the universe continue, watching how others move past you. “Intern. Intern!” “Huh?” “Did you not hear me?” The director sighs and rubs his temples. “Don’t make me regret bringing you here, alright?” Except he didn’t bring you here willingly. Taeyeon couldn’t come to the networking event — the stupid party for ‘charity’ that was actually meant for the sponsor to brag about his wealth. The invitation became open and he saw you staring at him intently, so he reluctantly told you to come with. But now the director was acting like he has bestowed onto you a huge honour. “Go get one of the waiters to bring those finger food platters to us. They keep running out by the time they get to this side of the room.” “Yes, sir.” You remind yourself this job is a privilege. A privilege. You cut through the room and crowds that make you sweaty. It feels as though everyone’s eyes are on your backside despite knowing that logically no one cares. You’re a ghost in the sea of fancy dresses and glamour. “—And so, one day I just told him that of course we had to eat during the layover, we were in Italy for god’s sake. It’s eat-aly for a reason.” Seokjin seems to be enjoying himself. He’s drawn in a crowd with his handsomeness and godly appearance. Even his ridiculous jokes rouse laughter. You’d probably giggle along if he ever wanted to entertain you, but at this point, you might end up bursting into tears after laughing. “You’re so funny, Jin.” “Am I? Hmm. Always thought I should do stand-up comedy.” You continue making your way, catching a waiter walking past and in an attempt to grab his attention, you dive straight through a hoard of people. Apologies roll off your tongue while they grunt. But by the time you get to the other side, the waiter is gone. Instead you see someone else — the person that you wanted to see the least in the whole entire world. “Actually, I started in community theater.” “Oh, really?! What did you do?” “Well, I did a lot, but I think my favourite role was when I did Peter Pan. That was pretty fun and a really good experience.” “I can see that.” The suited man hums. “Can’t you?” “Yes.” The woman on the man’s arm is swooning over the younger boy. “I think that role is rather fitting.” The brunette is dressed in a well-pressed suit that looks brand new, as if he had just got it off the rack yesterday in haste. But he looks comfortable surrounded in his new group, probably members of his production. You watch for a second from afar, stuck at another standstill, feet rooted in the ground. Jimin gets along with people easily. He’s only shy on the surface. It’s smart to talk to so many people and to expand his horizons, to actively socialize. He’ll probably get more connections here at the event. It’s only up from here. You’re envious that Jimin is being presented as a new Broadway actor while you’re just an intern. Though you sigh with a smile despite your inner turmoil. For a second, one small second, you’re almost happy for him— But the timing is poor. As you turn away to fully disappear, he catches you out of the corner of his eye. And Jimin takes a step forward, calling your name out loud, clear and crisp in the air. You shut your eyes, hoping your ears are mistaken, but they aren’t. He dismisses himself from his new colleagues and comes over to you with the biggest smile. “I didn’t know you would be here, Y/N!.” “Y-Yeah, um, I’m here as an intern.” “Oh, I didn’t even see the director. I should go say hi.” Jimin glances up and down at you. You wonder if he’s judging your meager attire when everyone else is glamorous. But you don’t let your thoughts stray too far into self-deprecation. You inhale a huge breath, trying your best to get along with him. “You look like you’re having a fun time.” “Hardly,” Jimin admits. “I just came since everyone else did and I didn’t want to be that new guy who didn’t come to social events, y’know?” “Yeah, I get it.” You wonder when it became so hard to talk to him. “The food here is actually pretty good, have you had a chance to try it yet?” “No, not yet.” “I recommend the tiramisu and truffle fries. It’s delicious. Here we should go to the buffet table.” “Actually, Jimin, I have to go—” “There’s something I want to tell you,” he interjects with a softened smile. Jimin waits patiently for your response, so you nod, following him for the sake of not being awkward. The two of you come to a quieter spot by the corner of the room where the tables are. “What is it?” “Earlier I was just walking around trying to make conversation with different people and I spoke to this guy and we had a pretty regular conversation, but it turns out he’s the casting director of an upcoming, original production!” Jimin’s excitedly rambling, sharing the good news with you as if you’re close friends. “It’s called When Summer Meets Winter, and there’s nothing official yet, but he said he really likes me. Do you think I’ll get a part?” You don’t know why he’s telling you this. “I...I don’t know, Jimin.” “Can you believe it though? If I had another role lined up right after this one?!” “Congratulations,” you deadpan. “Well nothing’s decided yet.” Jimin sheepishly smiles, unaware of how he was literally pouring kilograms of salt into your wounds, gallons of gas into the fire. “Is this what you wanted to tell me? I should really get going, Jimin. I’m on the job right now. And I can’t afford to get fired.” “Wait.” He grabs your wrist before you can turn away from him, desperate eyes asking you to stay for a moment longer. “I...a-actually wanted to ask you something…..and I’ve been meaning to do it for a while now but I never really got the chance, well that’s not true, I had a lot of chances but I chickened out because I was a coward—” “What?” you sigh in exasperation, annoyed beyond belief. “What is it, Jimin?” He looks you dead in the eyes. “Will you come with me to an improv class?” “Pardon?” “There’s an upcoming improv class. I heard about it, and it’s free. It’s just that we had gone to so many shows before but we never got a real chance to participate, so I thought it would be really fun.” You don’t want to. Thinking about it makes you scared. And you still haven’t healed from your most recent failure. “I don’t think so, Jimin...I…” “Please?” he insists, “I think it would be so much fun.” “I’ve been pretty busy—” “I haven’t even told you when it was yet! How would you know if you’re busy?” Jimin laughs, the sound bubbling out of his throat. “And plus, they have a lot of days available.” There’s an extended silence. It’s too much work to reject him, to find an excuse, to make this more awkward than it needs to be. You just want to leave, want him to let you go. So you agree. “Fine.” He grins. “Okay. It’s this Friday at seven. I’ll see you then?” “Sure. But—” You’re interrupted by a yell. “Y/N! Where did you go? My god, I sent you to do one task and you got distracted like this?” The director is appalled as he comes over, shaking his head, outright humiliating you. And Jimin smiles. “Director Kang! How are you?” “Jimin!” The older man smiles and hugs him. “What’s my favourite intern doing here?” “I came with my new production team.” “Up on the high ranks now, aren’t you?” Director Kang slings his arm over Jimin’s shoulder as if the pair of them are sharing a secret. “Make sure to remember who got you there. It’s good to show gratitude.” Jimin steals a glance at you. “I remember.” But by then, you’ve already turned away, grabbing the nearest waiter and asking him to bring over a platter of finger foods for the director. People might see you as a timid mat to walk all over. But you just really itch to set the whole place on fucking fire. // Friday comes too quickly, and once you step outside to face the consequences of your decisions, Jimin is there to greet you with a smile as if to show how perfect his life is going. On the way there, he summarizes his week and somehow gives extensive details — from the rehearsals to the new things he learnt, to how amazing the cast is and what it’s like to work with people who are passionate about musicals. You tune him out, and fortunately you arrive soon enough. It’s a dingy entrance way and a hall that leads to a lit studio. But as skeptical as you were, there’s quite a few people there. There are around thirteen folks who are both friendly as they are invasive. Though Jimin is comfortable with them while you linger behind him. It quiets down when the teacher steps into the room. “Hello everyone.” The blonde with bright eyes flashes a boxy smile. He’s dressed in a loose dress shirt, tight trousers, a sophisticated but casual outfit. And he’s charming, outspoken, drawing the attention of the crowd. “Looks like we have some new faces today, so I’ll introduce myself. My name is Kim Taehyung. I am an aspiring screenplay writer and producer, currently assisted to Director Lee if you know who he is. And today, I am your improv teacher, director, leader, whatever you want to call it.” Kim Taehyung…. Everyone goes around the room to introduce themselves, and your fixation on Taehyung shatters when Jimin, next to you, announces himself. “Hello! My name is Park Jimin, and I’m currently working towards my Broadway debut.” “Oh, impressive,” Taehyung genuinely expresses, eyes twinkling with curiosity. “What production are you in?” “Les Mis.” “Wow.” He nods with a smile and looks off at you. You feel the entire focus of the room shift onto you and you begin sweating, uncomfortable, panicking. “I’m Y/N…” You cringe at how awkward you are, at how quiet your volume is. Others have to murmur to each other to confirm what your name is. But Taehyung smiles kindly. “And are you interested in improv, Y/N?” “A little.” He laughs, a glorious sound that’s chirpy and melodic. “Well, let’s hope it changes to a lot by the time this is over.” Taehyung turns to the class afterwards, reassuring that it’s all for fun while explaining what the theme is for today. He also explains the rules, what to do, and how to set up a scene. “Oh no, a man’s been shot!” someone screams, startling you to death. “I’m the paramedic.” Someone else steps in right away. “He can only be saved by true love’s kiss.” “Oh my god, George!” Another comes colliding onto the set up scene, next to the man laying on the ground. Someone asks if she’s his girlfriend and she responds with, “I’m his sister.” It arouses some stiff laughter. “Well that’s awkward. We need someone to kiss him!” “Gross, I’m not kissing him,” the supposed sister drops him back onto the ground. “He has herpes.” “She’s right.” Jimin seizes the opportunity and comes in. “I’m his doctor and he’s contracted herpes through kissing raccoons.” “Are you sure that it’s herpes and not rabies?” “I’m sure.” “They’re very different things.” “I’m aware,” Jimin says smoothly, thinking on his toes, “But we need someone to kiss him stat.” “Well, you’re the doctor! Can’t you go through the medical procedures and kiss him?!” “Sorry. Can’t risk contracting diseases. It’s protocol.” Someone on the scene asks who they’ll contact now. But it’s so bizarre. You don’t know what’s going on — you can’t keep up — it’s happening too quickly and each time you gather the courage to jump into it, the development is too fast for you to conjure more ideas of what to do or say. But you’re the next person to step in and everyone turns to you. You’re apprehensive, nervous. You know you’re bad, that you’ll mess up— “You can do it,” Taehyung murmurs, having watched the scene unfold. His arms are crossed, but his grin is welcoming and warm. He encourages you with a gentle gesture. You clear your throat and try strutting into the scene. “I-I’m nurse Joy. I was told there was a bachelor party at this venue?” Taehyung laughs. “Creative.” The scene unravels in absolute absurdity. You exchange a look with Jimin before your eyes stray off to Taehyung and stay there. It’s surprisingly fun. It’s not so nerve wracking when everyone’s on their toes, when there’s no real audience or anyone to scrutinize you. Everyone’s a part of the performance. “There’s no right or wrong,” Taehyung tells, approaching your side as another scene is unfolding. “Try to relax more into it.” “Okay.” You take his advice and he smiles, endeared. An hour eventually passes and class is dismissed. Everyone bids farewell and you’re gathering your belongings when Taehyung comes up to you while wearing his coat, balancing his own briefcase. “You’re really good. It was your first time, right?” “Y-Yeah.” You try not to show how flustered you are over his praise. “Thanks, I don’t think I’m any good.” “Don’t say that. It all comes with practice and hard work.” “And luck,” you add. Not everything can be achieved through perseverance — you realized that a long time ago. “That too. But did I end up changing your mind?” “About what?” “Are you a little more interested in improv?” You consider it for a moment before becoming honest with your emotions. “A little…?” “Only a little?” Kim Taehyung gives an exaggerated huff, obviously teasing you. “Aw, jeez, I failed, didn’t I? I was hoping you’d love it by the time it was over.” “Maybe next time I’ll love it more,” you banter back to him and he laughs. “So I’ll see you again?” “Maybe.” You shrug. Taehyung smiles, the corner of his mouth tilted gingerly. He glances down at his shoes before peeking up at you past his bangs and thick lashes. “What do you do, Y/N?” he asks in a husky timbre that has your chest stuttering. But you don’t know what to say. You’re embarrassed to tell him you’re an intern. You’ve never been proud of that title and somehow, you find yourself not wanting to tell him. So you opt to evade it playfully. “Why do you want to know?” He hums a low note. “Because I’d love to know your availability—” “Y/N?” He’s interrupted by a soft voice and when the both of you turn, you find Jimin has been standing at the doorway, having watched the entire interaction. His cheeks are pink and he tensely hitches a thumb over his shoulder. “We...should get going. Wouldn’t want to miss the train…” You look back at Taehyung. “Um, I really had a fun time today. Thanks for teaching…” “It’s my pleasure, Y/N.” You like the way he calls your name. The way the syllables roll off his tongue. It sounds nice. Pleasant. When you walk out the door and glance back, you see his boxy grin and cheerful wave. You wave back to him with a kind of smile that hasn’t reached your features in a long time. “Did...you have fun?” Jimin peeks at you as you’re on your way back. “Yeah, surprisingly.” You smile up at the night sky before turning to Jimin. “Taehyung’s super nice, huh?” “Yeah. He is. He’s pretty good looking too.” “I know, right?” You giggle. “I thought I was the only one who noticed.” The two of you keep walking, but you don’t realize when Jimin’s steps slow. You don’t come to see the dismayed expression on his face. It’s the first time in a while that you feel this good.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #jimin scenario #park jimin

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allyvampirelass29 · 4 years

Text

Taste the Blade

A NOS4A2 Fanfiction By: Allyssa J. Watkins

"Time to introduce a gun of sorts to our little KNIFE fight!!!!!!!"

Charlie's voice rasped, lethal with his fury, his entire body seething, simmering, boiling over with his hatred, the kind of dark emotion that could kill by pure force of will.

"Reject ME, will you!? You dare REJECT ME, you scheming, ruined WRETCH!?"

Charlie screamed out the open barn door, wishing he could see that haughty little harlot shudder. I'm going to make you squirm, Victoria, just not in the way either of us would like....... His breathing was heavy, his lip snarled as he took that accursed bike in his hands, his long nails biting into the rubber handlebars, the same way they'd bitten into her cheek. That's right, I know you can feel it, Girl, let your eye bleed, and know it's ME, me REFUSING you, taking your own knife, and raising its blade against YOU!!!!

He roughly hauled it out onto the open floor, hurting it like it was a living thing that Vic loved, and he thrust the heel of his palm in vicious assault, smashing the headlight.

As if in counter, as if she could physically sense the abuse, impossibly hear his furious slurs, Charlie's knee shattered on contact, Vic's wielded fire poker connecting with it, as it smashed into the right front fender of The Wraith. He howled as it gave out beneath him, forced to kneel, his mouth open and screaming.

"YOU HATEFUL BITCH!!!!!!"

Charlie tried to stand, and then gritted his teeth, jerking his head to the side in anguish, as his eardrum popped open, shooting blood, while simultaneously, Vic lopped off one of The Wraith's side mirrors.

"DAMN IT, RUN HER DOWN, DRIVE, DO NOT LET HER GET AWAY!!!!!"

He yelled even louder, barely able to make out his own screams, the hearing in his left ear nearly gone. He struggled to stand, reaching for that infernal bike to steady himself, when he cringed with the scraping, first across the shiny top of The Wraith, and then across his own scalp, and he cursed through his teeth, snarling, finally able to get a firm grip on the damned thing, right as he felt the sharp tip of the poker slam into the back of his head. Vic pounded the top of The Wraith with one final blow, knocking him out, and Charlie dropped, hitting the side of his head with almost as much force, as it met with the concrete of the barn floor.

"CHARLIE!?!? CHARLIE, OH MY GOD!!!!! CHARLIE, PLEASE WAKE UP, OH GOD!!!!!!"

His vision was still dark around the edges, slowly opening his black eyes, drawn from the oblivion by a voice. Her voice. Ally's tearful screams echoed dreamily through his mind, muffled, the sound fuzzy like an old am radio. The breath he drew was sharp, more puncture to his lungs than aid, his temple throbbing, everything a haze of onslaught pain, pretty pinned up curls, and morose green eyes. His name on her lips, and he watched her mouth it, watched it take shape, thankful she had come now, and not however many minutes previous........ He groaned, trying to lift his head, feeling for his injured ear, blood staining his fingertips. She could never know.......

She wouldn't have understood. She would have hated him, blamed him for the kiss, when the fault was entirely Victoria's. She tempts me. Oh how she tempts me, tempts my anger, my hatred. I didn't have a choice, oh that infuriating female! She had to be dealt with....... one method at a time.

Charlie cried out as Ally delicately laid him in the lap of her full skirts, accidently moving his shattered knee, and she sobbed, cradling his head in her palms, her fingers trembling, smoothing her thumb over his good cheek, before reaching for something behind her.

Charlie gasped, his breath escaping with his relief, and there was a loud hiss as the ball of snow pressed into his singed cheek, the badly burnt flesh meeting with the frozen cold.

She held it there, stroking his forehead to soothe him, his lip trembled, and he watched, mystified as she fretted and fussed over him. Well, well, well, look who loves her monstrous husband after all........ That's what she'd called him, that's what they'd all called him. Jo, Vic, not to mention his shrew of a first wife, and yet when Ally had said it, it'd had a much different effect than any of the others. It...... excited him. Because he knew...... that even though his true nature had been revealed, and she knew what he was, what he had done, he could feel it. Her still wanting him. Willing to survive the monster if it gifted her the man.

"Charlie........ Charlie, I'm so sorry, W-What happened!?"

"What do you think happened, My Dear? Vic! Damn it! Vic McQueen happened!"

Charlie growled, nostrils flaring, but something inside him softened as he felt her delicate hand stroking his mussed coif, the other settling against his chest. She went to work unbuttoning the collar of his fine dress shirt, and he watched how nimbly her fingers moved before they froze on one of his pearl buttons, uncovering the diagonal bruise, a pained murmur escaping her lips. He'd never had this before....... This fuss and female concern, this womanly need to care for him, ease his suffering. His own mother could not have been more apathetic to his boyhood scraped knees, when he'd come to her crying, and she'd always cursed his softness, demanding he get tougher. I did just that, now, didn't I, Mummy? Charles scoffed calling that callous, self-obsessed strumpet the ridiculous moniker she could never deserve. But as this beautiful girl held his face, sobbing, lamenting his afflictions, he didn't feel tough at all. He felt weak to her touch, very much the same frightened little boy who'd lived for centuries, starved of the affection that he was so afraid to want.

"Vic....... VIC did THIS to YOU!? I don't understand! The truce! You granted her clemency, spared her from the flame at my behest!"

"Yes, I allowed you to move me to mercy, when I knew the truce was laughable at best. I tried so hard to tell you, to warn you of her scheming treachery. Vic McQueen is NOT your friend. However, you're very persuasive....... especially in that dress."

He watched the colour flit across her pale face, and he admired her royal blue taffeta sleeves, and blue silk bodice, her corset making her figure all the more slender and elegant, a long flowing crimson cloak tied around her snow white neck. Her Coronation Gown. He'd matched the colours to his own attire, crafted every stitch, making sure it was the perfect complement, and still had to practically force her into it come Coronation Day. The day Christmasland was motherless no more. Look at you now, Mrs. Manx......... Wearing it freely, of your own volition, looking every bit like the queen I always knew you'd be........

"How could she break the truce in this most heinous fashion, attack you in stealth, unprovoked, mar My Charlie's beautiful face!?"

Ally sobbed again, desolate, and his long fingernails grazed an escaped curl, as he reached up to brush her tears from her face. Such sadness, such...... tender care, and yet there were the slightest hissing undertones of anger that were utterly delectable. He wanted to stoke them, start a fire. Time to show Vic McQueen just how unshakable our love REALLY is, Ally. You're going to punish her, because you love me........

"Am I then, still........ Your Charlie?"

More silent tears streamed down her heartbroken face, and she held his good cheek in her palm, leaving the slightest whisper of a kiss on his burnt one, taking pains not to hurt him.

"Of course........ Oh Charles, how can you doubt me?"

"How can I not? When you refuse to see Vic McQueen for the wickedness, the vulgarity, the menace that she is? That curse of a girl threatens our home, our perfect world, and still you would seek to save HER from me!? And yet, am I not the one that lays bleeding?"

Ally cried harder, covering her mouth and hanging her lovely head, ashamed. "It is true, Charles, I found your hatred, your ire for this teenage girl unnatural, and was most disturbed by it, by how you forced my hand to bring forth her near demise....... But now the veil has been lifted, and I see through her, appalled by these horrors she has inflicted upon you! Dear Sir, you were just in your fervor, your tirade against her. I am a fool, for this, your brutalized state, is my own folly."

Charles felt her hug him to her chest, and he relaxed his cheek against her corseted breast, his heart trembling, feeling the peek of delicate skin, the warm, womanly softness beneath her bodice. He hugged her body back, nestling into the curve, the pain incredulously dulled.

"Heavens no, Sweet, Sweet, Wife......" His nostrils flared as he breathed in the teasing scent of her skin, closing his eyes. "All is good and lovely in your eyes, so quick to believe the best in all of us, even when you've seen the worst. I can see now how nefarious and under-handed my zeal must have seemed to you."

"Please....... Please forgive me, Charles?"

"T'was not your hand that wrote this evil....... but perhaps, it might just be the deliverer from it......."

He pressed his lips into the swell of her sensitive skin and whether it was from his words or his amourous attentions, she shivered. He gazed up at her, his eyes piercing.

"Of course, Charles, you need only ask! I want only to soothe you, act as balm, say the word, and it is yours, any comfort that my hands may bring."

Charlie smiled, but his dark eyes were all mischief. Just your hands, My Sweet? How could you deny me all the other comforts and fleshly pleasures your body so obviously possesses? Ohhhhhh I would give up Christmas itself, and all of its ornamented wonders, if I could lay forever pillowed upon the curve of such a blossoming breast....... Alas, My Bride, it is not comfort I seek from these artful hands, but rather your most crushing destruction and revenge. He brushed his cheek against her body, as she cradled him in her arms, her legs tucked under her, so very ladylike, so desperate to do penance for her imagined crimes, aching so to please him, begging now, for what she had fought so hard against.

"I must confess......... My Lady, there is something, a gesture, that would prove your love, and inspire my generous forgiveness."

Ally beamed at him, her tears quieted, leaning down over him, wanting his lips, and he took hers graciously.

"Anything. Charles........ Anything." She whispered, and, as much as he lamented pulling away from this most pleasing position, he struggled to sit upright, the malignant request tasting delectable on his tongue.

"I would feel much assuaged........ if you might write me a little something......."

Ally shrank back with a gasp, terrified, shaking her head as he procured one long, slender, iron tipped black pen, emblazoned with a black rose and thorns, from the silk lining of his chauffer's coat.

"You would CARRY that instrument of evil on your person!? Charles, NO....... Please.....

"Take it." He said forcefully, his eyes flashing with obsidian fire.

"No, I can't- I beg you, My Darling, Anything else!"

"Do you love me, Allyssa?" He said softer, reaching to touch her perfectly pinned curls, fingering them with fondness, his eyes focusing on her unflinchingly.

"Yes- With all my heart." She whispered tremulous, and he held it out closer to her, watching her eye it with all the fear and reverence it deserved.

"Good girl. If you love me, you'll take the pen, raise your knife against your husband's attacker, and let the words BURN."

Ally bit her lip, and he moved closer, grazing the pen up and down her cheek, before using it's handle to turn her head to the side, feeling her recoil as it touched her skin, and he leaned in so that his lips just barely grazed her cheek as he spoke.

"Why do you hesitate to avenge me?"

"Oh Charles....... I assure you, my hesitation is not for her sake. I curse Victoria for what she's done to you, how she's hurt you......"

"It pains me not to be as pretty for you......." He whispered softly, easing up on the pressure of the pen, brushing his nose against the side of her head, smelling her hair deeply.

"You're still pretty........ So pretty, Charles." She whispered, closing her eyes with a breathy murmur, so affected, and Charles could feel it happening, her surrendering her defenses.

"How do you feel....... When you see me like this, the man you love, attacked, abused, used so spitefully? He breathed each word, feeling his own enthrallment rise. It was one thing to force her hand, as she'd so eloquently put it, but for her to raise it willingly for him, want to author Victoria's pain, ohhhhh that was an arousal he could scarce wait for. Let's play with fire, Mrs. Manx.

Ally paused, and he could taste something in her hesitation, something she didn't want to admit, even to herself.

"I feel........ Furious. I feel........something I've never felt before, Charles. Rage?"

"Good, ohhhh yes. Let the anger rise with the fire of your words, and take up the pen!!! Pour your revenge into the rhyme until it consumes you."

Ally cried, angry tears this time, frustrated, torn between her paralyzing fear of her duplicitous gift, and this strange new desperation to repay Vic's cruelty in full, the heat burning though her, warping her mind. Hate bourne of Love. The most dangerous kind.

"Curse you, Vic McQueen." She shuddered with the words, how vile they sounded, come from her own mouth, which before today, had only reaped kindness.

"Say it again. Louder." He instructed, slowly helping her to her feet, the cartilage reforming in his knee, rapidly healing. It's about damn time, Bing.

"Curse you, Vic McQueen!!!!" Ally hissed, her eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched, the sound biting, Charles' poor face stoking that tamped down fire.

"Scream it." Charlie demanded, his face manic, eyes intense, pupils dilated, everything returned to full volume, a new ear drum growing, as Bing Partridge reaffixed the side mirror.

"I want to hear you scream......."

Ally felt her hands shake, her rage once kindled, becoming a wildfire, escaping through the door that Charlie had somehow opened, feeding on the rush of oxygen, and in that moment all she could think about was making Vic McQueen scream.

"CURSE YOU, VIC MCQUEEN!!!!!! You DARE to lay a hand on MY husband, I will SHATTER you!!!!!" Ally didn't recognize her own voice, feeling outside of her body, and Charlie Manx reveled in it, his nerves trembling with the shrill danger of the sound.

"Take the pen, and DO it........ AVENGE Me. He rasped, and he fell even more in love with her, as she furiously snatched it out of his hand. Being led by something else now, not Charlie, not her own sound mind, but something he'd created in her, something he'd hidden within, unbeknownst to her, her love for him, twisting into something dark.

She surprised herself, having sworn she would NEVER do it again, never raise those HELLISH words against anyone else, but she HATED that horrid girl for hurting him, and she knew Charlie was right........ Vic McQueen had to be punished.

"Tell me....... Tell me what to do......." She shuddered again, more angry than scared, but this time it was not just fear of her knife, or Charlie's malevolent influence, it was fear purely of herself.

Charlie, his eyes screaming murder, strode over to the blazing red motorcycle that Vic McQueen loved more than anything in this world, the motorcycle that meant her freedom. He picked it up, as if it weighed nothing, and roughly set it down before Ally, his voice as cold as ice.

"Oh Mrs. Manx........ I think you know exactly what to do. Get...... Creative."

She shivered as he circled behind her, her pen poised in her quivering fingers, the sharp tip of her knife pointed at the motorcycle that had caused all this trouble, this needless suffering.

Charlie placed his hands on either of her sides, taking her into his arms, turning his nose into her cheek, his voice proud and coaxing.

"Write. Write with your fire....... and my ice."

She shook even more as he let her go, the fury of words bursting from her lips, as if she couldn't control them, scribbling frantically, possessed by her revenge, the air itself igniting as she wrote, but Charlie's thrill came in knowing that she was very much in control, his pretty puppet cut loose of her strings, and it was even more crazed physical passion than he'd ever dreamed, hanging onto her every smouldering word, having never loved her more than this moment, when she embraced and became what she had denied herself to be for so long. Powerful.

"VICTORIA MCQUEEN HEAR MY SCREAM YOU, VENOM! POISON TO MY CHARLIE VENGEANCE IS MY DESTINY YOU HATE THAT I LOVE HURT WHAT I ACHE FOR NOW IT'S MY TURN TO TAKE BLADE TO THIS THAT YOU ADORE RED CHARIOT THAT BROUGHT YOU HERE DELIVERED YOU TO THIS ACT MY GREATEST FEAR OH THIS MENACE ON TWO WHEELS FREEZE NOW BLOOD RED METAL TASTE THE BLADE TASTE THE ICE CRACK AND BREAK LIKEWISE UNTIL BY FIRE YOU SUFFER TWICE

Charlie's laugh was rollicking and wicked, watching hungrily as Vic's bike froze over, crystallizing, cracking and breaking apart, as if introduced to a supernatural cold, the handlebars and axles brittle, snapping off, the tires melting, the red paint peeling like blood, as the fire met the ice, and the two finished Big Red off in their drastic extremes.

Ally collapsed with the intensity of the creative force ripping through her, the barn filled with her scorching words, and Charles rushed to catch her, the pen falling from her ink stained fingers.

He plucked both it and her up, carrying her inanimate form, cradled in his arms to the open door, and he felt a slight sting as his face began to heal itself, his former handsomeness returned in the fiercest fashion. Burning words became white smoke, and he looked back over his shoulder at his wife's good work with a devilish smirk.

"Bang. Bang."

#nos4a2 #charlie manx x oc #vic mcqueen #charlie manx #the wraith #christmasland #paradise for the lost #paranormal romance

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xmenimagine · 5 years

Text

Imagine: Father’s Son.

Requested by Anon. Includes: Jean Grey x Male!Reader Request: * May I request a,Jean Grey x Male Reader, where the reader is the son of Wolverine from an old affair Logan had with the reader’s mother. when the reader joins the x-men, he keeps it a secret from everyone of his relation with Logan until after Jean and the reader are already in a relationship, the reader comes clean to her and tells her. Jean reads the reader’s thoughts by accident and encourages the reader to talk to Logan and try and form a bond and that she is here for him no matter what.

Note: Jean's a cutie and I love her. I went through like 5 different titles and ultimately kept coming back to this one, which was the first one I made up. Still not sure if I really like it, but I'm shit at coming up with titles. Do I know how to end these things? No, no I do not. When I was writing this, I started the first two actual paragraph parts, then the phone call, then like 4 sentences before the phone call, then part of the ending, then the rest of the first part, then the ending. Absolute mess, but that pretty much describes my writing style to a T.

When the mattress slowly dipped to your left, as you laid on your stomach with your arms under your head as your pillow, you knew it was Jean. The soft, grey, weighted quilt on the bed mostly covered your pyjama trousers, only coming up to the waistband of the black and dark green checkered material, and Jean, although already dressed for the day, tucked her legs under the quilt as well, quietly humming at the warmth that it gave her. At the sound of her hum, you turned your head away from the window and towards her. Through tired eyes, you watched as she slid down to lay against the pile of pillows at the headboard to comfortably watch you as you slowly woke up. There was a loving gaze on her face as she followed the motion of your right hand rubbing at your eyes before you quickly ran it through your soft, messy, wild, brown curls, to then place it back on the light blue sheet covered mattress. The soft laugh that left Jean's lips as she pushed her hand through your unruly bed hair, only to watch it spring back to where it was before, caused your cheeks to warm up. With a tired groan, having only woken up a few moments ago, you buried your head into your mattress.

"Good morning," her gentle voice carried over to you and you looked up, seeing the sweet, yet tired, smile on her face.

"Mornin’," you managed to croak back, your voice deeper than usual, and slower as well.

There was an angelic glow cast upon Jean's face from where the sunlight had carried through the gap between the half-drawn curtains. Her red hair seemed as if it burned against the crisp white colour of the pillowcases, fanned out and lightly curled at the ends from where her hair was air drying after her shower. The light also shone against the right side of your face. There was a slight heat from the light that came with the early hours of the morning during the first few days of spring. Jean had complained about the half-opened curtains all the time, never understanding why you never closed them fully, or why you would leave them open so much as to allow the bright light to beam in and hit your face—more often than not causing you to wake up annoyed and grumpy, having been awoken before you were ready. Although, every time she did, you would shrug and smile faintly, never really having the nerve to tell her it was because you knew that every time you did wake up, she'd be there beside you, waiting for you to wake up, with the light glowing against her skin and fiery hair.

"What time is it?" You asked, breathing in deeply as you stretched your body, hearing the pops and cracks as you did.

"Half-past eight in the morning," she replied in her soft voice, still smiling to herself as she watched you.

With a groan and slight shake of your head at her response, you shuffled over to her, resting your head on her stomach, wrapping your arms around her waist. "Five more minutes," you mumbled, letting out a sigh as you closed your eyes. Jean laughed faintly and placed her left hand on your head, running her fingers through your hair, her fingernails lightly scratching your scalp which began to lull you back into your sleep.

"Okay," she said, yawning herself, "five more minutes."

It wasn't until her breathing shallowed and her heartbeat slowed down that you knew she had fallen asleep as well. The corners of your lips tugged up as you felt her hand slip from your head and drop down onto the mattress with a dull thud. As you slowly lifted your head from her stomach, you saw that Jean's lips were parted as she slept, the faint sound of her inhaling and exhaling filled the room. Carefully, you shifted until your head was propped up on your right hand as you rested on top of the pillow next to her head, watching her sleep peacefully for the next half an hour before she was bound to wake up. Although it might have been deemed creepy to someone else, you couldn't help but admire the way she looked in that moment. She looked peaceful and completely relaxed, her fingers twitching as she dreamed. With a smile, you lifted up her left hand and pressed your lips to her knuckles. The movement caused her to squeeze her fingers around yours as her eyes fluttered open, turning her head to the other side to see your alarm clock, the numbers changing to four past nine.

With a small stretch and groan, Jean turned her head back to look over at you, a faint blush on her cheeks when she noticed you watching her, rubbing your thumb on the soft skin of her hand. "Were you just going to let me sleep? Were you going to wake me up?"

With a shrug and a grin, you replied, "Eventually."

"You're annoying, you know that, right?" She asked in a teasing tone.

"Yeah, my mum tells me that all the time as well."

"What about your dad?"

"Oh, uh, he's not in my life, never has been. It's just been me and my mum." You couldn't quite meet her gaze, feeling slightly embarrassed, and you cleared your throat, letting go of her hand to scratch the back of your neck.

"Oh, do you not know—?"

"I know who he is," you told her quickly. "He's just not exactly father material. He doesn't even know I exist."

Jean stayed quiet after you said that, and she remained quiet for almost twenty seconds. Worried, you looked up at her, she had a look on her face, one you hadn't seen before, not directed towards you, at least. She continued to stare at you, her eyebrows began to furrow in confusion. Your expression mirrored hers. After ten more seconds, she blinked, finally opening her mouth, "Logan's your father?" She asked in a hushed voice, although it sounded more rhetorical than an actual question.

With a gulp, swallowing the lump that began to form in your throat, you sat up, rather abruptly. Jean sat up as well, her mouth slightly agape. "How did you—?"

"I'm sorry," she interrupted you, and lifted her hands quickly, covering her mouth in disbelief at her own actions, "I didn't mean to, I swear!"

"Did you just read my mind?"

"I swear I wasn't trying to! I didn't mean to do that, I'm sorry."

Sighing, you pushed your hair back from your face again, feeling the curls brush against your forehead as they fell back down to where they were before. "Well, shit," you mumbled, moving to press your back against the pillows that were leaning against the headboard, and you crossed your arms over your chest. "No point in denying that anymore."

"I'm sorry," she placed her hands over your arm, squeezing gently, worried that you were angry with her.

"It's okay, Jean."

"No," she spoke while shaking her head, "it's not. I shouldn't have done that. There was probably a reason why you didn't tell me."

"I'm not mad at you, Jean, I promise," you told her softly, looking at her with a small smile, trying to ease her worries and nerves. "I just wasn't planning on telling you now, that's all." Jean let out a sigh, biting her bottom lip before she shuffled closer to you and slipped her arms through yours, which were still crossed over your chest, leaning her head on your shoulder. She brought her legs up, hooking them over yours before moving one of her arms to grab the quilt and drape it over both of your legs. Gradually, you leaned your head on hers and stared at the grey quilt, thinking over what had just happened.

It was dark out. It was close to being half-past eleven at night. Most of the younger students were asleep, while the majority of the older ones were hanging out in the common areas or in each other's rooms. You had left the others—namely Jean, Scott, Kurt, Jubilee and Ororo—back in one of the smaller common rooms, to head back to your own room to call your mother, which was something you did almost every night, or whenever you got the chance to. When you got to your room, you didn't bother turning the lights on, but, instead, you left your door open and allowed the light from the hallway to creep in and light up part of the wall that your bed was pressed up against. Even in the dark, you managed to dial your mother's number, and you held the phone up to your ear, waiting for it to connect. The phone rang a few times before it clicked, and you heard the faint mumbles on the other side of the line from the TV that your mother had been watching.

"Hey, Ma," you greeted with a smile, despite knowing that she couldn't see you.

"Hello," she replied in a soft voice, "everything okay?"

You cleared your throat, rubbing the back of your neck as you slowly began to spin on the desk chair, side to side. "Everything's good, I promise."

"How's Jean?" She asked, and it was clear in her voice that she was smirking.

"Ma," you groaned before hearing her laugh, and shuffle about, more than likely tucking her legs underneath herself as she got more comfortable on the small sofa back home.

"What?" She laughed. "Am I not allowed to ask how my son's girlfriend is?"

You couldn't help but grin, moving your hand away from your neck to lean on the armrest of the chair. "You are," you answered, still spinning from side to side before stopping, facing your window where your curtains were half pulled shut, "but not in that tone," you finished.

"What tone?" She stifled her laughter once more.

"You know what tone, Ma."

"Mhmm." Her laughter quietened down, but you could still tell that she was smiling. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah," you nodded slowly before stopping, realising once more that she couldn't actually see you. "She's great."

"I'm glad. You seem happier with her, she's good for you. She's a good influence."

"Yeah, uh, that's what I called to talk about," you spoke stiffly, wincing slightly as you thought about what you were going to say.

"Oh?"

"She knows… about Dad. I, uh, I told her. I thought it was about time, you know? I didn't think that I should keep it from her. I care about Jean; I really care about her. I thought that she should know." There was a pause on the other line before she breathed out through her nose. "Are you mad?"

"No, I'm not mad," she replied. "You know how I feel about him. It was a long time ago, it was a very short relationship, we both ended on good terms. He was gone by the time I realised I was pregnant, and I honestly think that was for the best. But, I'm definitely not mad at you. If it was the right time to tell her, then it was your choice, it's up to you who knows who your father is. You know that, right?"

"You have a say in it too."

"I made my choice the moment I first knew I had you, and now it's your choice."

There was silence between the two of you for a few seconds before you swallowed, feeling pressure in your chest as you closed your eyes and dropped your head slightly. Realisation suddenly dawned on you, and your thoughts began to go to the darkest parts of your mind. What if Jean was to now judge you based on who your father was? What if it changed things between the two of you? Would she look at you differently? Would she treat you differently? Would she expect you to be like him? You couldn't lose her; she was one of the best things to have ever happened to you. The pressure in your chest made you feel like you were about to have a heart attack. It hurt, and the pain wasn't going away anytime soon. There was now a lump in your throat as your anxiety continued to spread throughout your body, making your limbs feel heavy, and a disgustingly overwhelming sense of fear from not being able to control the situation just seemed to linger and get thicker as time ticked by.

"Baby?" Your mother asked quietly, having picked up on the changing of your breathing.

"I'm scared, Ma," you answered in a hushed voice.

"About what?"

"What if this changes things?" The pressure in your chest remained. "What if she thinks differently of me? What if her opinion changes? What if she looks at me differently? I can't lose her. I can't go through that."

"You know full well that Jean isn't the type of girl to do that, you know she'd never look at you differently just because she now knows who your father is."

"I love her, Ma… I'm in love with her."

Your mother let out a deep breath, her voice was low and soft, trying to keep you calm, "Just talk to her. Tell her how you feel, about all of it, about everything. Just talk to her, okay? And get some sleep, it's late."

"Okay." You nodded. "Okay, I will."

"Good. Sleep well, okay? I love you."

"I love you too, Ma. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay, I'll talk to you later," she repeated before hanging up the phone, leaving you in the darkness of your room.

Jean stared at you as her hands were clasped around her cup of hot tea. The common room was fairly empty, and only a few people were sat on the other side of the room, too engrossed in their own conversation to pay any sort of attention to the both of you. The cup of coffee in front of you had small wisps of steam rise and disappear. You could feel her gaze on you, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at her. The anxiety that you had felt the night before still lingered, even though you knew your mother was right, Jean wasn't the type of person to judge you just because she now knew who your father was. She knew you as you, and only ever that. But, the feeling of doubt still remained, only getting worse as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, ignoring your coffee, and instead, staring at the lines on the wooden table. Jean placed her hand on top of yours, giving you a soft squeeze, smiling gently at you once you looked up from the table and to her face.

"It's okay," she spoke quietly.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"Don't be. I put you in this situation."

You furrowed your eyebrows, shaking your head at her. "He did, technically. You didn't do anything wrong. I was going to tell you about him eventually. I guess this just gave me the push I needed to do it."

"Did you talk to your mum last night?" She asked, knowing about your nightly phone call to her.

"Yeah." You nodded, letting out a sigh.

"What did she say?"

"That it was my choice to tell people, and that I should talk to you about how I feel, you know, the usual 'mum stuff'."

"And how do you feel?"

"Honestly?" You asked, and she nodded. "Scared."

"Why?"

"I was worried that you'd think differently of me because of it. I never really knew him, I still don't really know him, I only know him through the stories my mum used to tell me. I don't know what he's like… I don't know him."

"Did you want to know him? I mean, do you want to get to know him?"

"I don't know, would there really be a point?"

"He's your father."

"He doesn't even know I exist. I doubt he even wanted kids."

Jean watched as you looked away, out of the window this time, and she frowned, knowing how difficult it must have been for you to say that out loud. "You should try to reach out, just get the message out to him, what happens after that is on him, it won't be on you. I'll be with you the entire time, okay? You don't have to do this alone. Just try to reach out, you'll never know what will happen…" She moved her cup away from herself as she shuffled her chair closer to yours. "Hey," her voice was soft and light as she cupped your cheeks in her hands, turning your face towards hers. "I love you, you know that, right? That's not going to change, I promise."

"I love you." You nodded faintly; Jean's hands were still holding your face delicately. At your response, she smiled, it reached the corners of her eyes, and she slowly leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips before resting her forehead against yours.

#jean grey #phoenix #x men #jean grey imagine #phoenix imagine #x men imagine #imagine

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sirius · 5 years

Text

Young gods Part 6

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader, Sirius Black x Reader, Regulus Black x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of anxiety

Word Count: 7361

A/N: Annnd we’re back baby! It feels soooo good to be able to publish this chapter after so long! A lot of things are explained in this chapter so yeah. Also, I was trying to find the original video for the gif above but i couldn’t for the life of me find it anywhere on the web! I was so annoyed! anyway, sorry about the format but this gif suited the chapter. Btw this chapter is dedicated to everyone who was trying to guess who Kaitlyn’s crush is and the couple of people who nearly figured it out: I got u.

Chapter six: Fix You or Show Me the Way

***

Snow.

You can hear it crunch around you, numbing your fingers as they curl around it, deceptively soft but still digging under your fingernails and shooting shivers through your entire body. Darkness surrounds you, but you suppose that makes sense given your eyes are still closed. A sweet, florally fragrance blooms in the air, resilient despite the cold. Distantly, you can hear the telltale echo of voices murmuring rapidly, so close but so far away, muffled like your ears are plugged up with cotton balls.

Focusing hard, you recognise a familiar baritone, spoken by someone nearby.

“It’s good that you found her when you did,” he says, and even in the darkness you can hear the relief leaking through his words, like colour bleeding into a blank canvas, “Otherwise I fear the worse could have happened.”

Professor Dumbledore, you realise, somewhat dimly. There’s no mistaking that rich, low rumble of your infamous Headmaster.

There’s a short pause, a delayed response.

“Will she be alright?”

A second voice asks one that seems to poke through the muddy presence in your mind like you’ve noted every single detail of his voice before in a million different ways. His voice is like smoke rising off the water, like the consistent and deliberate thud, thud, thud of rain.

It’s Sirius. He’s here. Your fingers twitch, body relaxing into the bed of snow almost automatically. It feels nice to sink into the icy cushioning of the bed of snow, knowing Sirius is right beside you. To let your body relax under his watch, knowing the silent promise of protection that his presence seems to elicit.

You are tired, after all. Your body seems to ache like you’ve been pulled apart and stitched back together, and theres a prickling ache that shoots up the back of your spine, settling at the back of your head like a snake. But there’s something more to the pain, something that feels a lot like anguish, guilt, regret. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it swells uncomfortably in your ribcage and presses up against your chest like an air bubble that’s close to bursting.

“Yes,” says Professor Dumbledore, “She’ll need time to recover, but she’ll be fine.”

Someone places a warm hand over your forehead, melting the flecks of snow that had settled there.

“She’s coming home with me,” says a woman’s voice, warm, calm and full of affection, “She’ll recover there for the rest of the holidays and then she can come back to school.”

She moves her hand from your forehead to your cheek, cupping it gently.

“As you wish, Thea,” Says Dumbledore, warmly, and a burst of excitement shoots through you.

“There’s something else,” Your sweet, strong and beautiful grandmother murmurs, “I must discuss something important with you, Albus. It’s about (Y/N)’s future.”

Time slips away again, like sand sliding down the narrow, slippery slope of an hourglass and your consciousness flickers, falters, fades, in and out of time like candlelight. You seem to float on the snow for hours, laying completely still, eyes not wanting to peel back just yet. The only thing anchoring you to time being the esoteric ache between your temples, throbbing painfully like someone had carved a six-inch valley down the middle of your skull. And, just when you think you may drown in all the shadows and pain, something - someone - breaks through the darkness like lightning arching across a starless, black sky.

“I came as fast as I could. Is she alright?”

The soft-spoken, masculine voice hits your consciousness suddenly, as though it had combed through thick branches to reach you.

“Yes, Remus,” says Professor Dumbledore, calmly, “She’s stable, still unconscious, but stable anyhow. It’s quite remarkable that she was able to endure the Cruciatus Curse for so long.”

There’s movement, and then a hand, large and warm, is melting the ice in the palm of your hand. It wraps around your smaller one like a blanket, warming you to your core. And, as much as you had liked the cold, the warmth of his hand is much more comforting in ways that you couldn’t possibly begin to describe.

“Well, she’s stronger than you think,” Remus murmurs. His voice warms you up like sunlight in your veins.

“She gets that from her father,” says your grandmother Thea, a small smile teasing her words.

Another beat of silence pulses between them.

“Oh - um - Mrs Ashton...I’m Remus Lupin. I’m a - ah - friend of your granddaughter’s...”

“Yes, my granddaughter has told me many things about you, Remus,” Thea says, fondly, “She’s quite fond of you, and I can see why. You’re a good friend to her...”

“I’m obviously not good enough,” Remus snarls, scathingly, “I-I won’t let him near her again.”

And then, the ice beneath you melts into cotton sheets and you recognise the subtle, honeyed sweetness in the air, realising that its not the forest's natural fragrance but the expensive perfume sitting on your dresser and it hits you like a bludger to the back of the head that you’re no longer lying in the snow but in your bedroom back at the Ashton manor. A part of you regrets coming to this revelation; it had been so peaceful in the snow, the cold almost like a comforting breath of fresh air filling your choking lungs. But then the hand around yours tightens, and a different kind of comfort fills you.

“I know we all have a lot of...strong feelings at the moment,” says Dumbledore, soothingly, “But that's nothing a nice, big mug of hot cocoa can’t fix. Besides, you should be resting, Remus. You are in frail condition yourself.”

“With all due respect, Professor, I’m not going anywhere,” Remus snips, determinedly, “I can't leave her again.“

“She’s at home now, darling,” says Thea’s calm, slightly accented voice, “She’s under my protection. No one would dare hurt her while I’m around.”

“I don’t mean to offend,” Remus begins, slowly, “And I’m absolutely sure that you’re more than capable but...still...I’d like to stay with her.”

“You might as well drop down on one knee and propose,” Sirius snickers, “Besides, Regulus isn’t going to come near her again. I made sure of that...”

Sirius’ words, spoken with a cold, venomous level of animosity you hadn’t heard before, triggers something deep inside of you and your eyes fly open. You lurch forward, gasping and spluttering, colour bursting in front of your eyes like a curtain being drawn quickly and deliberately.

Remus surges forward, cupping your cheek with one hand while the other squeezes your hand.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, softly, his eyes never leaving yours, “It’s alright. You’re safe, you’re okay.”

“Not sure if she really is ‘okay’,” drawls Sirius, “but whatever you say Moony.”

Remus ignores him.

“You’re back home in your bedroom,” he continues in a low, soft murmur.

Your heart thuds violently in your chest as your eyes dart around the room, taking in everything you can.

Dumbledore and Sirius sit at the end of your bed, the curtains drawn for privacy. Remus sits beside you in a chair to your right while your grandmother, Althea Ashton, sits in the chair to your left, as beautiful and as strong as ever. Morning sunlight streams into the room, bouncing off rows of glass bottles.

Remus' thumb drifts across the apple of your cheek, smoothing over your skin and drawing your eyes to meet his own. He looks concerned but calm, relief stirred into the deep blue depths of his eyes.

“R-Remus,” you stammer, weakly.

“I’m here,” he reassures and you lean into his touch.

“Grandmama,” you smile at Thea, who beams back.

“Just like your father,” she smiles, squeezing your hand.

“Miss (Y/N),” says Professor Dumbledore’s rich, smooth voice, “It’s such a delight to finally have you back with us after three very long days.”

You drag your eyes away from Remus, meeting Dumbledores benevolent blue ones, and the memory of your failure floods you, dampening the comfort that had once given you peace. Remus drops his hand from your cheek, taking all his warmth with him and you shudder violently like an exposed nerve. You feel exhausted under his twinkling gaze, ashamed and sad all at once.

You want to apologise to Dumbledore, to Grandmother Thea, to James, to Sirius, to Remus, to all the people who expected you to succeed. You want to apologise to Regulus for failing him. But all that comes out is a trembling whimper, soft and weak in volume and caught in the back of your throat.

“You don’t need to apologise,” Dumbledore says, as though he had reached into your mind and read your thoughts. He moves to your side, eyes shimmering, “In fact, if anyone should be apologising, it should be me. I underestimated the situation and I put you in danger. And for that, I am deeply sorry.”

You bite your lip, blinking back tears. One escapes anyway, sticking to your lashes before rolling down your cheeks, pooling on your lips like sea water.

“I failed him,” you rasp, thinking of Regulus’ wide, terrified eyes as they stared at you.

“No,” growls Sirius, folding his arms over his chest, “He failed you.”

You release a trembling sigh.

“Sirius is right,” Remus spits, acidly, “If Regulus truly was your friend, he’d have chosen you over the Dark Lord. He betrayed you.”

Tears stream down your cheeks and you wipe them away hastily. You take a deep breath in and exhale; your breath rattles on your lips.

“I’ll get the elves to make you something nice,” Thea smiles and gives you an encouraging wink before rising from her seat. Dumbledore tips an imaginary hat at her as she passes.

“So what happened after I...passed out?” You ask, not sure if you want to hear an answer.

“Sirius found you and attacked them,” Remus begins, “He promised to follow you while James and I were under the cloak. We got caught up in the crowd at The Three Broomsticks, you see. So by the time we got out, you were already at the Shrieking Shack.”

“How?” You ask, brows furrowed, “I mean, I didn’t see anyone in the forest? Usually, invisibility charms leave prints in the snow and usually, I can-I can sense when people are around me...”

Remus and Sirius exchange a look, edging around something they don’t want to discuss openly, or at least in front of Dumbledore. Sirius simply shrugs.

“He was in disguise,” Remus says, glancing at Dumbledore.

You frown a little harder. It still doesn’t explain why your sharp intuition hadn’t sensed anything. At the same time, you hadn’t realised you’d walked into a trap, either, so maybe your intuition was not as sharp as you originally thought.

“What about Regulus?” You ask, voice crumbling on your lips.

“What about him?” Sirius snips.

“Well, where is he?”

The three of them share a look.

“We don’t know,” Remus answers, earnestly, “He ran off after Sirius found you.”

“But he can’t escape punishment for long,” Sirius adds, bitterly, “Eventually, he and his gang will have to go back to School and face the consequences. And they’ll get one last look at Hogwarts before Dumbledore snaps their wands in half and I shove it up their stinking ars-”

“-Actually...” Dumbledore begins, slowly, “They won’t be getting expelled, Sirius.”

Sirius’ mouth drops open and Remus leaps from his seat.

“Wh-What do you mean?” Remus stammers, “Professor, they used an Unforgivable Curse on a fellow student. They nearly killed her!”

Dumbledore sighs, rubbing his forehead, “I’m quite aware of that, Remus, thank you. But if I expel them, we lose our intel on Voldemort.”

“Is intel really more important than a student’s life?” Sirius barks, “They can’t just get away with this!”

“Who said they were getting away with it?” Dumbledore says, calmly, “They will get detention and Slytherin will lose points, of course, but they can not leave this school. They leave and they come under Voldemort’s control and that will come at a price we simply cannot pay. Lives are at stake.”

“Including (Y/N)’s!” Remus snaps, incredulously.

“(Y/N) has her life,” Dumbledore continues, “I do not believe Regulus truly wanted her dead. But I cannot say the same for the innocent civilians - both muggles and wizards and witches alike - who will be in unspeakable danger if more of Voldemort’s Death Eaters are let loose into the world. If we can delay the future, we must.”

“But-”

“Professor Dumbledore is right,” you begin, cutting Remus off and taking his hand again, “If Professor Dumbledore expels them, they’ll go straight to Voldemort and Voldemort will win. They have to stay here.”

Dumbledore smiles softly at you, eyes glittering like pools of aqua crystal, “Once again, I admire your wisdom and bravery, Miss Ashton. But for now, you must rest,” Dumbledore turns to Remus and Sirius, speaking seriously, “Stay if you must, Remus, I’m sure Mrs Ashton won’t mind. I’ve heard from James and Lily and they’ll be coming to visit sometime tomorrow. As for you, Sirius, I will need your assistance. Follow me, please.”

With a final nod and a warm twitch of his lips, Dumbledore leaves your room with Sirius in tow. Remus drops into the seat beside you, still clutching your hand, just as your bedroom door swings open and a tall, familiar witch strides in.

“(Y/N),” Kaitlyn sighs, panting, “Thank fuck. You’re awake. I was so bloody worried about you.”

She races forward and drops to your side, pushing a ribbon of hair off your face.

“Um, Dumbledore said that (Y/N) needs rest so...”

Kaitlyn stares at Remus, “I’m her best friend and I’m staying.”

Remus opens his mouth to argue but thinks better of it. Instead, he sits back in his chair and pulls out a large thermos.

“I can’t believe him,” Kaitlyn snips darkly, “And I can't believe I...” she cuts herself off, biting her lip and adjusting her glasses, “...anyway, are you feeling a little better?”

You shake your head wearily, “I’m sore but I’m also just...exhausted.”

“Well, yeah,” Kaitlyn says, unsurprised, “You were under the Cruciatus Curse for almost ten minutes. Any longer and you...Just as well Sirius...”

Kaitlyn trails off into a knowing, heavy silence that seems to loom over the three of you hauntingly. Remus holds out a steaming mug of hot chocolate and you take it from him, wrapping your hands around the mug and feeling the warmth tickle and soothe your skin. Taking a small sip, you feel the tension in your body soften a little.

“It’s good to have you back,” Kaitlyn murmurs, ripping your hand away from the mug and gripping it tightly, “I was...we were all so worried. Even Sirius.”

“Sirius seems to have warmed up to you,” Remus mutters, staring into his mug of hot chocolate.

You turn to Remus, studying the way the light streams through the soft curls of his sandy brown hair. Smiling softly, you carefully place your mug of hot chocolate on the bedside table and take his hand in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Who cares about Sirius?” You shrug, casually, and Remus looks up at you. He smiles, and it has such a profound effect on your body, like watching the sun sink beneath the horizon.

He’s so very beautiful...

Kaitlyn smacks her lips together and you reluctantly tear your eyes away from Remus. Kaitlyn raises a sharp brow at you. She looks as though she may laugh.

“Well, Remus,” Kaitlyn smirks, “I have two questions for you: One, does that hot chocolate have fire whiskey in it and, two, are you going to offer me some or what?”

***

A low whisper and a gentle brush of heat against your cheek wake you up in the middle of the night. You stare up at the delicate canopy draped over your bed and sigh in the darkness, wondering why your mind is playing games.

Remus is still sitting in the chair by your side, his head resting on your bed while he sleeps. You think about tangling your fingers in those soft, gentle curls but decide against it, not wanting to wake him up. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps like he’s resting on a bed of cloud.

Maybe he dreams of me, you think, hopefully, fingers twitching to touch him.

On the other side, Kaitlyn is curled up in your plush armchair, hugging her knees to her chest. She had managed to collect her thick, brown hair and throw it up in a tiny knot on top of her head to keep it from her face, but the bun is coming undone. She looks adorable, her glasses crooked on her face.

You release a soft sigh. With your two close friends on either side of you, the soft mattress beneath you feels even softer, like sinking into the soft clouds of a daydream. You smile to yourself, fingers reaching up to play with your necklace, eyes roaming across the room one last time before closing your eyes.

Your eyes slide shut.

Big inhale

Gentle exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhal-

Wait

Your eyes fly open and you lunge forward, scrambling out of bed and rushing toward your dresser. Shockwaves of pain shoot through you but you push the throbbing ache to the back of your skull as you clutch the sides of your dresser, staring wide-eyed and in shock.

Next to your collection of delicate perfumes and your ornamental hairbrush is a book. And not just any book, it’s your beloved copy of ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.’

The same book you lent Regulus.

“Regulus was here,” you whisper, eyes wide as you raise a trembling hand to your cheek, still warm from where Regulus must have trailed his touch across your cheek, “Regulus brought it back to me!”

Behind you, both Remus and Kaitlyn jolt awake.

“What happened?” Remus murmurs, groggily as Kaitlyn runs to your side, “Are you alright? Do you need me to get Thea?”

“Regulus was here, Remus,” you gasp, turning to face him with a wince, “I gave him my personal copy of Alice in Wonderland and he brought it back. He-he was here!”

“How did he know you were here?” Kaitlyn asks, frowning.

“They must have gone back to Hogwarts first,” Remus murmurs, “But they couldn’t find you so Regulus....got your address...”

“We used to write to each other over the summer holidays,” you explain, “So he must have apparated here.”

Remus’ eyes flit between your eyes and the book in your hands, guilt, shame and concern bleeding into his eyes. He pulls himself out of the chair and strides toward you, prying the book out of your grasp and blinking down at it.

“I promised that I’d never let him near you...” his grip on the book tightens, knuckles white with fury,

“Well that was a bit stupid of you, wasn’t it?” Kaitlyn snips and Remus’ eyes snap back up to you, “Of course he’s going to come near her! We go to the same bloody school!”

“Well obviously,” Remus snaps, agitated, “What I meant was that I never want him to hurt her ever again!”

“Well I don’t want that, either, but that doesn’t mean I go around making promises I can’t keep.”

“Stop it, both of you,” you snap, sternly, and they both fall quiet. You sigh composedly, “Neither of you can stop people from hurting me. Only I can do that.”

You take the book out of Remus’ vice-like grip and hug it, holding it close to your chest and thinking of your father, “Now I can't say that Regulus won’t try to physically hurt me again. But I can say that he won’t be able to break my heart ever again. I won’t give him an opportunity to do so.”

Remus nods in understanding, “I’ll be here to support you. Always.”

You turn to Remus, meeting his shimmering blue eyes. His eyes could contain the mysteries of the galaxy and no one would be able to read them, no one except you. And maybe that’s what this unspoken...thing is that lingers between the two of you, this silent understanding of how you both work and how the world you’ve both built up around you functions. And the connection is profoundly beautiful; an ethereal sort of energy that you feel deep inside of you, spluttering like a dying star being reborn again.

You look at Remus and you smile.

“Same.”

You jump. You had been so taken by Remus, you’d completely forgotten Kaitlyn was standing right next to you. You smile weakly at her and she takes your hand, giving it a little squeeze.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” she smiles.

As Kaitlyn begins to lead you back to bed, you glance out of your window, spotting a shadowy figure gazing up at your window from the ground.

“Regulus?” You whisper, recognising the familiar shape of his silhouette. He hesitates, and you frown at him.

Before you can tell Remus or Kaitlyn, Regulus is gone, swallowed up by the darkness, a ghost of the night.

***

Thankfully, you don’t see Regulus for the rest of the week. You’re not sure what you’d do if you did see him. In fact, you’re not even sure what Remus would do if he saw him.

Probably something bad. Or Illegal. Or both.

Still, you can’t help thinking that Regulus took a huge risk by returning an ordinary book. You had leafed through the pages, wondering if he had left some secret message behind in the book but there was nothing. It was in the exact same condition as it was when you gave it to him.

You sigh, running your hand over the cover as you stare out the window from your window seat.

“(Y/N),” says a warm voice from behind you. You turn, finding Grandmother Thea approaching you.

“Hello Grandmama,” you smile.

Thea takes a spot beside you on the window seat, taking a moment to gaze out the window where the house elves are hard at work in the gardens.

“I must say, I’ve missed having you here,” she admits, “This house is so large and it only has me and the house elves in it.”

You cover her hand with your own, giving it a gentle squeeze, “Have you heard from Aunt Lie?”

“No,” she sighs, “She’s yet to reply to my owl. You know what your Aunt is like; she’ll sleep when she’s dead, that one.”

You hum in agreement, your lips twitching into a small smile. Your Aunt Delilah’s work ethic and determination have propelled her to the top of the mountain, or in her case, the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement in MACUSA. She was even awarded ‘Witch of the Year’ for three consecutive years by and she’s always been a subject of admiration, especially for you.

“What about Uncle Logan?” you ask, and a pained expression crosses your grandmother’s face.

“Still in St Mungos,” She sighs, “He tried to break out the other day. They had to restrain him...”

As though dragging herself out of her thoughts, Thea sweeps her gaze from the manicured lawns bellow to your face and smiles gently at you, that same, loving curve of her lips that she passed down to her son - your father. But her eyes look worried, forlorn almost like she’s carrying a burden that’s too heavy for her. In the late afternoon sun, she looks older than her fifty-four years, the creases on her usually smooth cheeks looking deeper and more defined. It’s worrying; you’ve never thought that there was a burden heavy enough to worry the Great Althea Ashton.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, turning to face her completely.

Thea heaves a heavy sigh, “There’s something I need to discuss with you...something important.”

“What is it?”

Thea hesitates, biting her lower lip. After stringing her words together, she opens her mouth to speak but is cut off by a knock on the door.

“(Y/N)?” James’ voice sounds from the other side of the door.

“Come in.”

Your bedroom door swings open and James emerges from the other side, beaming as he approaches. When he spots Thea, James stops. He shoots a hand through his hair and bows his head, smiling.

“Mrs Ashton,” he greets, “You look as radiant as ever.”

“You flatter me,” she smirks, “Of course, a young man like yourself knows exactly what to say.”

“I’ve been told I’m quite the conversationalist,” James flashes a million dollar smile, “Among other things.”

Thea raises a sharp brow, “Oh I’m sure.”

What the-?

James grins devilishly, eyes glittering, “I would be happy to show you a thing or two, Mrs Ashton.”

You cringe, nearly choking on air as James winks at you. You really can’t believe this is happening right now Obviously, you knew James was quite the flirt, and your grandmother is quite beautiful. Thea laughs, rising from her seat and approaches James, stopping just beside him as her lips curve into a wicked grin.

“You wouldn’t be able to handle me.”

A single laugh of surprise escapes your lips at Thea's witty reply. You slap a hand over your mouth to contain the rest of your giggles. James flushes as Thea sidles past.

“That sounds like a challenge,” James calls out to her and you hear her laughter echo through the house.

James turns back to you, grinning from ear to ear and jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, “She’s amazing.”

Nervous energy flutters inside your stomach. You hate being left alone with boys, especially confident, handsome and intelligent boys like James. Unsure of what to say, you blurt the first thing that comes to mind, which is...

“Do you usually flirt with other people’s grandmothers?” You ask, grimacing.

James saunters toward you and sits in the seat Thea had previously been sitting in, “Only when they look like that. I wouldn’t even dare to flirt with Sirius’ grandmother, half the time, we’re not even sure what’s holding that woman together. Thea though...she’s a goddess. She’s young too, younger than my dad.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “She was married by seventeen, pregnant with my dad at eighteen, raising three children by twenty-six and a grandmother by thirty-eight. She’s incredible.”

“Tell me about it,” James shakes his head, his hand taking through his thick hair, “Anyway, that’s not what I’m here for. I actually came to ask if you wanted to come out for a bit. We were thinking of taking you to a winter carnival we saw in muggle London...”

“We?” You ask, thinking of the crowds with a twinge of anxiety, “Who’s we?”

James shrugs, “Me, Peter, Sirius, Kaitlyn...Remus...” James gives you a knowing grin and a wink. You bite your lip, feeling a prickly heat swell in your cheeks.

“What about Lily?” you ask, recalling her visit the other day, “Is she coming? She’s a lot of fun...”

James looks away from you, his cheery demeanour suddenly fading.

“She’s not coming,” He murmurs, “Got her sisters engagement party or something.”

“That’s right,” you say in recollection, “Her sisters getting married, isn’t she?”

James scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah. Anyway, would you like to come with us? It’ll be fun...”

You stare at James, deliberating silently. Leaving the comfort of your bedroom seems scary when you think about it. Despite having recovered physically, you hadn’t really left your bedroom for long periods of time except for meals and bathroom visits. Since the attack, you hadn’t really had much mental energy to process anything, and staying in bed reading a good book sounded much more easier than having to venture into the cold, snowcapped world.

But this carnival sounds fun. And - if it turns out to just be noisy, crowded and cold - you’ll be able to return home and crawl back into bed. Your friends will understand.

“Okay,” you shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, “I’ll come.”

***

The winter carnival is bright and colourful against the shocking white of soft snow; a burst of light and colour splashed against a white canvas. It’s romantic and whimsical; the air smells of melted sugar and baked pastries and that crisp freshness that chills the wind in that delightful, wintery way. Kids are either screaming in delight, terror or dismay and parents are looking either exhausted, exasperated or both. Overall, the atmosphere is very warm, despite the December cold.

Rows and rows of stalls line the streets, with vendors offering exciting, winter-themed games and steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Of course, the hot chocolate paled in comparison to Remus’ but they filled the spot. Still, it was fun watching James and Sirius experience this side of the muggle world. Sirius even managed to win James a large, fluffy reindeer, which the Marauders found amusing for some unspoken reason, and Peter slipped into a cheese fondue tent, spilling melted cheese down his front. A quick, cleaning charm by Kaitlyn banished the cheese away but the memory remained, and the boys were laughing for the rest of the afternoon, much to Kaitlyn��s discomfort.

You’re very, very glad you came.

“Look at this place,” Kaitlyn nearly laughs, beaming, “The last time I went to a winter carnival, I was eight and I don’t remember it looking quite as magical as it does now.”

“Really?” Peter asks though he doesn’t seem to be listening to a word Kaitlyn is saying.

Beside her, Sirius takes a swig from his flask and pockets it in the inside pocket of his black aviator's jacket.

“Your sentimentality is nauseating,” Sirius grumbles, rolling his eyes. Kaitlyn glares at him through her glasses.

“Your entire existence is nauseating,” Kaitlyn snaps and Sirius barks a sardonic laugh.

“Real original, O’Hara. Did you figure that out all on your own?”

Kaitlyn opens her mouth to argue but Remus intervenes.

“Would you two shut it?” He snaps, irritated, “This isn’t about your little pissing contest, it’s about helping out a friend in need.”

Kaitlyn closes her mouth begrudgingly, shooting Sirius a nasty look. Sirius gives a sarcastic eye roll, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Ever the diplomat,” Sirius teases, shaking his head.

“Well someone’s got to be,” Remus snips, “With you and Kaitlyn always at each other’s throats...”

“Looks like a lot of unresolved sexual tension to me,” James murmurs into your ear, and you swallow a fit of giggles. Peter frowns, flushing furiously.

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you Prongs?” Sirius sniggers, having overhead his best friend, and James punches his shoulder, hard.

“He’s always punching me,” Sirius whines, “You see the way he treats me, (Y/N). He’s cruel.”

“You deserve better,” you joke, grinning teasingly. Sirius rubs his arm, pouting exaggeratedly.

“I do, don’t I?”

Beside you, Peter mumbles something that sounds a lot like “He deserved that.” You and Sirius glance at each other, and Sirius shoots him a side long glance but doesn’t comment.

“What in Merlin’s arse hair is that?” James gasps, gaping up at something just ahead of you.

Both you and Sirius turn, facing a large Ferris wheel, decorated in muggle fairy lights. From where you’re standing on the floor, you can spot couples cuddled up close together, kissing and laughing together.

You glance at Remus, only to find him already gazing at you and the two of you turn away, cheeks burning against the cold.

“It’s a Ferris Wheel,” Kaitlyn explains, tucking her hair behind her ear and flushing as James stares at her, “It works by combing gravity and centripetal acceleration, caused by rotation and angular velocity-”

“-Yeah, yeah some boring muggle science shit, let's try it out,” Sirius says, cutting Kaitlyn off, “Come on Wormy.”

Peter glances sheepishly back at Kaitlyn, opening his mouth as if to say something but the words get lost on his tongue as Sirius drags him toward the Ferris Wheel. James gives Kaitlyn a lopsided grin.

“Ignore him,” James says, flapping a dismissive hand at Sirius, “Let's give it a go while you tell me more about the - ah - ‘boring, muggle science shit’.”

Kaitlyn beams, cheeks rosy from more than just the cold. James listens, intrigued, as he pays for their ride and they climb into a gondola.

“So...” Remus begins, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, “Did you want to...”

He nods at the Ferris Wheel. You smile at him and nod, biting your bottom lip as Remus’ face lights up. You follow Remus toward the technician, who plasters a forced smile on his face.

After paying for your ticket, you and Remus settle into one of the gondolas. In the gondola in front of you, Sirius turns around to grin teasingly at you. Remus ignites him.

“So, how are you feeling?” Remus asks, casually draping an arm across the back of the seat.

You shrug, “Better. I feel a lot better, actually, but...”

“...You’re hurting,” Remus finishes and you sigh, rubbing the moon crescent on your necklace.

Remus leans forward and takes your hand in his, warmth suddenly flooding you. He smiles as he gazes into your eyes, and he doesn’t look away, not even when the Ferris Wheel awakens and slowly begins to rotate.

“Let me fix you, (Y/N),” he whispers, hand trailing up your arm and cupping your cheek affectionately. His thumb flicks over the smooth skin and you close your eyes, relaxing into his touch.

It kind of hits you; how natural it feels to be sitting here with Remus, his touch warming your entire body. Every doubt and every fear seems to slip through the cracks and out of sight, washed away by the certainty swelling in your heart.

All of it becomes a little more clearer now. Whenever you were upset or distressed, Remus was there, like he had listened to a call for help you don’t even realise you made. He’s always been there to pick up the shattered pieces of your heart, piece them together like a puzzle only he knows how to solve.

When he looks at you, he sees you. He sees every detail as though your were painted in screaming colours, vibrant and radiant and beautiful to his eyes. Never transparent. Never invisible. But real, very real. When he touches, he feels.

It’s no longer a choice between two, but a choice between confession or silence.

And if the past few weeks have taught you anything, it’s that there’s nothing wrong with taking a leap of faith.

Your lashes flutter as you open your eyes, the world coming back to you in dazzling colour. Remus seems closer now than he was before, his arm now wrapped around your shoulders. His eyes drink you in, keeping you bottled up somewhere inside his chest. The thought makes you smile.

“(Y/N)...” he begins in a whisper, “I-I really like you. I always have, since the day we met, I’ve liked you.”

Your smile broadens, a little laugh slipping from your lips as your gondola reaches its peak.

“I like you too,” you breathe, “I know it’s taken me a while to realise it but...I know. I like you too.”

Remus beams like he’s swallowed a star, the worry and fatigue washed away by the joy that lights up his eyes. Slowly, he leans in, and you realise what he’s doing, what he wants. Your heart hums like a hummingbird gone haywire, fluttering inside your chest, ready to take flight on imaginary wings as Remus closes the distance between the two of you, tentative lips meeting yours for a gentle kiss.

Soft. Warm. Unassuming. These are just a few words to describe what it is like sharing your first kiss with Remus Lupin. He smells of cinnamon and tastes like chocolate and moonlight and fresh, clean air and it’s magical, whimsical, romantic.

It feels like a black and white movie, where the music swells just as the lovers meet and they melt into each other in all the ways you had only dreamt of. Except now, it’s real, you’re really in Remus’ arms, tasting the slick sweetness of his lips and the hot desire that wells beneath them.

It makes you whimper when he breaks away hesitantly, shades of soft pink blossoming on his cheeks, that surreal, poetic dream fading away as you return to reality. He licks his lips as though he wants to memorise the taste of you, his eyes glued to the smile slowly crawling across your lips.

“Wow,” you whisper, suddenly giddy.

“Wow,” Remus repeats in a low murmur, “I’m still waiting for the part where Sirius shakes me awake.”You giggle as Remus presses his forehead to yours and sighs against your lips, “Please tell me this isn’t a dream.”

(He's tired of dreaming and fantasising and cold showers)

“It’s definitely not a dream,” you smile, a part of you shocked at how liquid you suddenly feel in his arms.

Grinning, he leans in to kiss you.

You let him.

(Right now, you’d let Remus do just about anything)

***

Remus has his arms draped around your shoulders for the rest of the evening.

Everyone knows but no one bothers to comment on this very new chapter in your life. Kaitlyn looks estatic, she keeps glancing back at you and Remus and grinning goofily as you stroll down the city’s streets, soaking each other up. James flashes a knowing smirk, winking at Remus as though he’s proud of him. Peter watches the two of you almost enviously, though he appears more happy than jealous for Remus. Sirius, on the other hand...

Well. Sirius is a little harder to read.

You catch him grinning at the two of you as you turn a corner, walking back to the dark alley you apparated to from your home. But when you all stop off at a muggle liquor store,

Sirius pulls you aside, his expression is sterner and - well - serious.

“Listen, (Y/N),” Sirius says in a low murmur, “I’m going to make this quick. Remus has never really had a girlfriend and he-he really cares about you. I know, you’ve been through some shit recently but Remus needs someone who he can trust. There’s more to him than what you know.”

“Of course he can trust me,” you snip, frowning at Sirius, “We’ve been friends for years, Sirius.”

“Yes but...look. Just-just be careful with his heart, okay? He’s never given it to anyone before, and he doesn’t deserve to have it broken.”

“I have no intention of breaking his heart,” you mutter, glancing as a drunk muggle staggers past.

“That’s what they all say,” Sirius whispers, and for a moment, you see a flicker of regret in his eyes.

Before he can say any more, the door to the liquor door swings open. James, Kaitlyn and Remus step through, carting two bags of alcohol each.

“Fake ID worked like a charm,” James grins, winking at you.

“That’s because it is a charm,” Remus chortles, walking up to you and pecking you on the cheek.

“What did you get?” You ask him, peeking into the bag.

“Just some vodka and gin,” Remus smiles, “Once we get you back home, we were going to mix some drinks and take them...somewhere. Do you have any cool hiding places in that impossibly huge mansion of yours?”

You rest your head on his shoulder as you begin to follow the others, “There’s a treehouse that my grandmother doesn’t know about. It was my fathers. He used to say that he would bring all his ‘girlfriends’ up there but that was just him pretending to be cool.”

Remus laughs, “Secret, make-out treehouse, huh? Might come in handy later on...”

Your lips crack into a smile as Remus leans in to kiss you, his arm wrapping around your waist and holding you close. You break away grinning, certain that you could do this for all eternity and never tire of it.

Remus tugs you close to him as you round the corner, entering the dark alleyway. You follow your friends into the empty alley, passing garbage bins and feral cats, until you reach the end, where you take Remus’ hand into yours.

“Is everyone ready?” James asks, glancing at you and Remus.

“Yeah,” you and Remus both answer in unison. Remus squeezes your hand.

“On three,” James says, and you close your eyes.

“One...”

You think of the large, iron gates outside the mansion.

“Two...”

You think of the perfectly manicured lawns and beautiful, flourishing gardens.

“Three...”

You think of your grandmother and her face as she welcomes you home with open arms.

With a crack, you disappear from the alley and land just outside the manors doors with a pop.

You open your eyes.

Your hand is still in Remus, sitting snuggly inside his warm, welcoming palms. James and Kaitlyn are laughing and Peter and Sirius are having a whispered conversation, glancing furtively at James.

“You guys wait out here,” you say, grabbing everyone’s attention, “I’ll just tell my Grandmother that we’re home.”

“Can you give her a kiss for me?” James asks, grinning, “Actually...you’d better not do that...”

“I’ll come with you,” Remus insists, handing his bag to Kaitlyn.

“I think you just found yourself a new shadow,” Sirius teases, winking at you. Remus rolls his eyes, taking your hand as you push open the large, decorated doors and enter the foyer of your home.

Your footsteps echo on marble and gold, singing a familiar tune that you’ve heard since you were twelve-years-old. Remus follows beside you, your fingers laced together.

“Grandmama?” You call out, your voice bouncing off the walls. Unfamiliar voices echo back from the living room.

“You have guests?” Remus asks in mingled surprise and curiosity.

“I think we do...” you mutter, frowning, “Grandmama?”

“In here, darling,” Thea’s gentle, serene voice says, guiding you toward the living room.

You and Remus follow her voice until you enter the living room, excitement bubbling up inside of you as you prepare to tell your grandmother all about you and Remus.

“Grandmama, I-”

You stop, voice dying on the tip of your tongue, eyes widening in shock.

Two strangers are sitting in your living room, cast in vibrant shades of orange from the flickering fire. The first is a very tall man, strong and unyielding with all kinds of razor sharp edges. Raven haired and eyed, he looks strikingly handsome, his features familiar in a daunting way. You could slice your finger across his firm jawline or get sucked into the depths of his dark, glinting eyes. He holds himself with aristocratic dignity, spine steeled and demeanour cold and unforgiving.

The second stranger is a woman, young and very beautiful but cold to the touch. Her long, black hair is pulled into an elegant, French bun and her eyes are a violent shade of grey. Her painted, red lips flicker into a smile that holds no warmth, lighting eyes that have never known true love.

“Sweetheart,” Your grandmother begins, softly, “This is Orion and Walburga Black. They’re here to talk about your future.”

“What do you mean?” You murmur, frowning at Orion and Walburga. Walburga’s smile curls.

“You don’t know, do you?” Walburgas voice is like a breath of cold air, icier than any winter you’ve ever known. Behind Walburga, a shadow ripples, peeling back to reveal a third figure, though he’s no stranger.

Regulus steps forward into the amber light of the fire, and you feel Remus’ hold on your hand tighten. Bile turns in your stomach, threatening to surge up the length of your throat. Regulus doesn’t quite meet your eyes, instead, he chooses to stare at your necklace.

“What’s going on?” You whisper, turning to your grandmother.

Your grandmother sighs, and for the first time since you’ve known her, she looks as though she may cry, “Regulus is your...your...”

Regulus steels, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin, fixing himself to stare into your eyes. Without even a hint of hesitation, Regulus speaks firmly, a coldness to his voice that you’ve never heard before.

“I’m your betrothed,” Regulus states, apathetically, “This time next year, we are to be married.”

@whysoseriouspadfoot @ashkuuuu @sly-vixen-up2nogood @hervench @rageofcaliban @amelya5567 @hylianhighlander @lousimusician @littlewriter55 @jackie-houston @sirius-lysad @marauderskeeper @royalmaknae @yllwtaxi @trumpettay @lilaccoveredteapot @evyiione @swim-deep-or-die @pugsandcuddles @tamosbien @xrosegoldwolfx @clockworkherondale @dude-whatawave @avipshamitra @saturnaah @reimiwritrs @tchalland @mckjnnon @lucifersnipnips @reducto-bitch @bluskai @socialheartbreak @heliopvth @who-said @mhftrs @bwayorbust @whimsicalangels1234 @eleatheirin @bernadineisreborn @madeofstarsdust @siriuswitches @qrangr @mixedupsammy @gryffinclxw @steph-fowlie @funkycoldlatina @acciorinn @fallern618 @writingcroissant @cinnamonbees

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isitgintimeyet · 5 years

Text

The Ties That Bind

AO3

Thanks to everyone for reading. Time for Jamie and Claire to have an honest discussion.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta.

Warning : Some swearing and NSFW below the cut

Chapter 16: An Uncomfortable Revelation

I do not think I responded immediately, for it took me a moment or two to fully digest these words of Miss Kenton. Moreover, as you might appreciate, their implications were such as to provoke a certain degree of sorrow within me. Indeed- why should I not admit it? - at that moment, my heart was breaking. -Kazuo Ishiguro, The Remains of the Day

Claire opened her door to find a sweating Jamie leaning against the door frame.

“Claire, Sassenach...” He managed, between gulps of air.

“Oh, god, look at you. Come in, sit down. Have you run all the way from yours?”

Her eyes were immediately drawn to his scraped and bloodied knuckles. She ushered him into the living room and gathered her first aid kit, ready to tend to his injuries.

Jamie tried hard not to wince as the sting of the antiseptic cream hit his hand. Claire gently massaged the cream into his skin with her fingertips. Soothing and relaxing, she held his hand between hers before lifting it to her lips and lightly kissing his palm. His throat tightened, the pain in his knuckles was nothing compared to what he knew he had to do.

“So, can you flex your fingers for me?” In professional mode, Claire took Jamie’s hand through a range of exercises and movements, finally confirming that it was fortunately not broken, merely bruised.

“And how did it happen?” Claire released his hand and sat back.

“I banged it on a tree.”

“Did you lose your balance then? Are you hurt anywhere else?” She scanned his body for further signs of injury.

Jamie shook his head. “Jes’ ma hand. I… I may have punched a tree.”

Claire began to laugh. “Punched a tree? Is this some sort of male testosterone-y thing? You’re never going to…”

She paused as a thought struck her. Her face grew worried. “Geneva. You’ve been to see Geneva. And now you’re in a bad mood. Because you’re going to have to tell me something. That I’m not going to like. Oh, fucking hell, Jamie, you said you weren’t going back to her. How could you say you love…”

Claire stood up, about to move away. Jamie grabbed her waist and pulled her, protesting, back on the sofa beside him.

“Claire, please listen tae me. Aye, something has happened, but…”

Claire struggled to pull away as Jamie’s arms wrapped even more tightly round her.

“Listen, LISTEN, PLEASE.” Jamie’s voice raised, then softened again as Claire relaxed her struggles. “Claire I love ye and only ye. I want us tae have a future together and I have told Geneva that. Ye are my girlfriend and nothing will change the way I feel about ye.”

Jamie could feel the tension in Claire’s body start to disappear. He took her hands in his and looked into her amber eyes, those amazing whisky-coloured eyes, looking right into his with complete trust. She smiled encouragingly.

“I’m listening.”

Jamie took a deep breath and looked down at his hand. “Ye ken I used tae go out wi’ Geneva last year and we met up again at that wedding, where I first saw ye. After that we went out for a couple of drinks but I knew it wasna right, so I ended it, before it had begun really. And most definitely before ye treated Wee Jamie and I asked ye out. She didna take it too well but I hadna heard from her since, until she started callin’ this past week or sae.”

He hesitated and looked up to Claire. Anxiety was etched on her face, her forehead furrowed, her eyes half closed, her teeth gnawed her lower lip. Waiting for the killer punch she knew was to come.

“Why Geneva wanted tae talk tae me is… is… weel,” Jamie stumbled over the words. This was the first time he had had to say them aloud. “She’s pregnant, she’s having a baby and…”

“But you said you knew it wasn’t right between you. You said you only went out for a drink a couple of times. What’s it got to do with you?”

Jamie felt his cheeks burning red hot. Claire pulled her hands out of Jamie’s grasp.

“Ah, I see. You idiot. You fucking great idiot. You knew it wasn’t right between you. You knew she wanted a relationship with you. And yet you still slept with her. Was it that important to get laid? To have a shag? Was the fuck worth it?”

The words of recrimination poured out of Claire, each sentence cruder than the one before, little barbed arrows designed to smart and sting.

Claire’s voice grew hoarse. “How can you have done that? Is it too great a distance for common sense to travel from your brain to your dick? Or is all your thinking done by your dick anyway? Was Geneva just a convenient and willing hole for you to stick your prick in? Is that what I am to you, just another hole for your cock?”

Claire stood and walked to the kitchen. Jamie remained seated, ashamed. She returned with a glass of water, slowly sipping it.

“Talk to me, James Fraser. Explain it to me.” She sounded calmer.

“I’ll tell ye. I’m no’ proud of ma actions, but it wasna all me either. I made no promises tae Geneva, didna lead her on. I dinna ken what went on in her head. But when she asked me tae go tae bed, I did. ‘Twas jes’ the one night and when she asked me again, I said ‘No.’”

Claire sat down next to Jamie, on the edge of the seat, tightly coiled ready to spring up again. Jamie placed his hand on her leg. She let it remain there but didn’t react to its presence. Her eyes were focussed, not on him but over his shoulder, towards her shelves with the twinkling fairy lights. Even without looking at him though, he knew she was listening, processing the information, hopefully giving him a chance to explain. He took a deep breath and continued.

“That’s why she was tryin’ tae get hold of me. Tae tell me. I canna tell ye how much of a shock it was, how much it upset me knowing how I'd have tae make ye feel. And, yes, Geneva did suggest that she and I could make it work. But I told her, I told her straight that I was wi’ ye and that I love ye. And that wasna goin’ tae change, bairn or no. Ye must believe me. I willna lie tae ye. I said I will support her and help, but not wi’ out ye.”

Claire exhaled. Jamie hadn’t realised she had been holding her breath. Still not willing to look at him, she asked shakily, “How do you know she’s pregnant? What if she’s not and it’s a ploy to get you back with her? What if she conveniently fakes a miscarriage and has to rely more and more on your emotional support? She could drag you back into her world. There’d be no room for me. Or what if it’s not your baby? What if she slept with someone else?”

“Nah, I believe her. She’s no’ lyin’.”

An image briefly flashed into his mind of Geneva’s face when he asked about the pill. The unwillingness to make eye contact, the hesitation in her response. He thrust it aside. Now was not the time to dwell on that.

“Nah, ‘tis mine. I’ve nae doubt. The dates...they match”

Claire sat quietly for a moment then gasped as another thought suddenly manifested. “But how… we always use protection. Why didn’t you? Or would it somehow have ruined the moment?” The sarcasm was obvious in her voice.

“D’ye really want tae know these details?”

Claire nodded.

“Weel, when we were together last year, she was on the pill. I asked her, afore… afore we… er, and she told me she was still on it. She now says she got a wee bit of a sickness bug. I suppose the pukin’ would’ve affected it.”

Claire emitted a typically Scottish sound of derision, making her opinion on that very clear. “So what happens now? About the baby, I mean. I assume she’s keeping it.”

“Aye, she is. Weel, I have tae tell Da and Jenny. I’m piss scared o’ Jenny. I’m sure she’ll have ma balls in a vice if she could. I said I would go with Geneva tae the twelve week scan. And then we will have tae figure something out.”

Claire turned and rested her head against Jamie’s chest. He felt her start to shake as her tears mingled with the sweat stains on his running vest. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head.

“Claire, hush, ye are ma love. This willna come between us, I know.”

“But, with me now, it’ll never be the first. Never the first time you hear the heartbeat, or see that blurry image, or hold your baby in your arms. I’ll never have those firsts with you. That’s been taken away from me. They’ll always be reruns.”

“There’ll still be firsts. The first time ye tell me ye’re pregnant and I ken that bairn was conceived in love, the first time I go to sleep wi’ my arms around yer belly feelin’ the kicks within ye. The first time I’m there fer the birth. And even the reruns, as ye call them, will be all the more special because I’m sharing them wi’ ye.”

Claire sat up and wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeve. “I’m sorry. I was getting ahead of myself there, talking about having children with you. We’ve only been together for such a short time, my thoughts there were somewhat premature.”

“Dinna apologise, Sassenach. I have the same dreams, meself, wi’ ye.”

Finally, Claire looked up at Jamie. So many thoughts crowded inside her head, a jumbled seething mass of emotions too complicated to unpick tonight. One stood out, a beacon in this whole mess. Jamie was hers and he loved her. As though seeking affirmation, she brought her hands up to his face, holding him before bringing her mouth to his for a moment then breaking away.

“Jamie, come with me.”

Jamie recognised a note of urgency in Claire's voice.

Claire took Jamie’s hand from her leg, pulling him up and leading him into the bedroom.

She pushed him onto the bed and straddled him, one leg either side of his hips. She pulled at his vest, peeling it off his body and flinging it to the floor. Her fingernails raked down his chest, leaving thin red paths through his ginger hairs, until they reached the waistband of his shorts. Jamie rolled his hips towards her, his arousal clearly defined through the thin material. Claire climbed off him and quickly pulled off his shoes and socks before tugging his shorts down his legs to join his vest on the floor.

Jamie watched as, without any ceremony or teasing routine, Claire quickly removed her shirt and unhooked her bra. He reached out to capture a breast but Claire moved just out of reach. She raised her hips and pulled her yoga pants and knickers down together in one motion. For a moment, she stayed still kneeling next to him, watching as he ran his eyes all over her body. Then swiftly she moved, bringing her mouth to his stomach, biting and nipping around his abdomen, red marks showing the path of her lips and teeth. Her hands cupped his buttocks, pulling his hips closer into her.

Her movements became more frantic as she raised herself up Jamie’s body. Her mouth pressed hard against his, her tongue pushing and probing, before biting his lower lip. Her hands moved through his hair, grabbing it in her fists. Jamie groaned in pleasure as Claire reached for his hand and placed it between her legs.

“Do you want me?” She whispered harshly in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“Oh, God, Yes.”

He rolled Claire onto her back, positioning himself between her legs. Stilling himself for a moment, he leaned over and opened the drawer of the bedside table, pulling out a foil packet.

“Do you want tae put it on me?” he asked.

Claire opened her eyes fully and stared at the little square packet. Snatching it from Jamie’s fingers, she threw it across the room.

“Oh yes, have to take precautions. Can’t have any little accidents with your girlfriend, can we? A one-night stand, well, that’s a different matter.”

She pushed him off her and rolled away from him, pulling the cover over her body.

“I think you should go.”

#outlander fanfic #outlander fan fiction #the ties that bind #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #Chapter 16

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turnupswritessometimes · 5 years

Text

The One With the Zombies - AshEiji - Ch5

Title: The One With the Zombies

Chapter: 5

Word Count: 4673

Description: Another what it says on the tin from me - it's a Zombie Apocalypse AU because how else could this anime/manga get any darker? Whilst on the run from the outbreak of zombies, reporters Ibe and Eiji stumble across a New York street gang, safely huddled in an abandoned warehouse. As if the undead weren't surprising enough, Eiji finds himself becoming closer and closer to the gang's leader, mysteriously dubbed Ash Lynx. But safety doesn't last forever and soon it's only Ash and Eiji. And they're up against more than just zombies.

Note: This is available on A03, and I would recommend you follow it there, as I remember to update it. I would post a link, but then Tumblr wouldn’t include it in search results.

Eiji had never been glad that he hadn't been able to pull a trigger.

The two dark shapes had not been zombies. They were moving slowly, but they hadn't been dragging their limbs behind them. No, it had only been a very tired Ibe and Max.

There had been no time for a happy reunion. Ash had given them a sharp nod and they had nodded back.

They kept walking, though Eiji had wanted nothing more than to collapse into Ibe's arms and sob. He ha been scared - so scared - and he wanted someone bigger than him to tell him it was okay now, the danger had passed.

The danger hadn't passed.

They had walked until dawn. After an hour or so, Skip had gotten tired and Ash had given him a piggyback without saying a word. So they had continued walking – until they had been bathed in amber light and they could see a house in the distance.

Nothing was following them. Eiji glanced back every ten seconds until they had reached the building. Every moment that he wasn’t looking behind him, he was sure that there were hands reaching out towards him – fingers ready to grab at him. But no one had followed them. Which probably meant that the zombies had been occupied with other things.

It was a farmhouse. They climbed over the wooden fence and passed empty barns and stables until they came to a sprawling, wooden house. It was like something from a book – from Anne of Green Gables or the Wizard of Oz. Empty windows with checked curtains were visible from outside and there were two rocking chairs on the porch.

As good a place as any to stop had been the thought that Eiji was sure was going through everyones minds.

Max kicked the door open and had traced the room with the nose of his gun. With the light outside, the inside looked pitch black, the furniture just shadowy shapes that looked like crouching figures. It was empty. So they had entered.

They had found Skip a room with a quilted blanket and a painting of sheep grazing outside pinned to the wall. He had fallen asleep before his head had even hit the pillow. Max and Ibe had taken the double bed in the backroom, with the gun resting on the bedside table. Bones and Kong collapsed in the attic room – twisted around each other on a twin bed.

Ash had volunteered for the first watch. Eiji had followed him. He had expected Ash to sink back on one of the rocking chairs with a ciggie and watch the dawn. Instead, he was leaning against the door, still looking taut.

“Get a few hours sleep.” Ash said. He hadn’t even needed to turn to know Eiji was there.

Eiji pushed past him – he had started to ignore Ash’s commands. Whenever he told him to go to sleep, he had always stubbornly stayed up, leaning against the door and standing with him. It didn’t matter if they didn’t say a word. Ash was lonely. Eiji wanted to make him less lonely. Everyone else had thought he was crazy when Ash would tell him to get him something and Eiji would say “no,” even if he was getting up to oblige. Ash’s bark was less than his bite. So Eiji settled himself into one of the rocking chairs, his back aching from relaxing after so long.

“I can’t,” he said, and it was the truth.

“Yes, you can. There’s not as many of us now, you have to take a turn sleeping so you can take a turn on guard. We can’t share it anymore.”

“I really can’t.”

Ash’s eyes softened. He was still holding his gun. Not fiddling with it; he was ready to shoot it. “You’re scared of what you might dream.”

Eiji nodded, his gaze not leaving Ash’s green eyes.

“From my experience, your brain stops giving you nightmares once life becomes one.”

“Experience?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you one day,” Ash said. “But the main thing is that you will be able to sleep. You need to sleep, Eiji. You’re exhausted.”

“So are you.”

“Two hours,” Ash said. “Sleep for two hours, okay? Sleep in the living room and I’ll wake you up if you have a nightmare.”

“You promise?”

Ash nodded. There was dark smudges under his eyes. “Two hours.”

“Can I sleep here?”

“Inside.”

Eiji pushed himself out of the rocking chair, feeling his knees give way as he stood. He caught himself on the door and passed Ash again. He felt a hand on the small of his back and turned to see Ash giving him a sleepy smile. The sun behind him made him glow.

Eiji opened his mouth slightly – then realised he didn’t know what he was going to say and closed it. Instead, he put a hand on Ash’s wrist; making sure that he was real. Real and warm and here. He could hold him.

It was strangely hard to pull himself away, but he eventually managed it. Managed to make the two steps over to the sofa and collapse onto it.

Ash had been right. Eiji drifted off almost immediately, and when he did, he hardly dreamt at all. Everything was dark. Not a scary kind of dark – a warm, comforting dark that was protecting him from everything. There were arms around him. He didn’t know whose arms, but they were warm and real and there.

So he slept.

Ash hadn’t meant to watch Eiji. He knew it was exceedingly creepy, so he only allowed himself a glance every five minutes or so. It was just simply less nerve wracking to glance inside than to look out over the day. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched; of being followed and he hadn’t wanted to stop at all. It had been for the others. They needed to rest. He didn’t.

So he allowed himself a single glance every five minutes. The door was half-open and golden sunlight brought out the browns and reds in Eiji’s dark hair, like the iridescence of a blackbird’s feather’s. His hair was thick – thick enough to cast a shadow on his expresso coloured skin. Expresso coloured, apart from rosy pink cheeks and rosy pink lips. It was only obvious because of the bright orange jacket.

Ash loved that jacket on Eiji. He liked it more than the sweaters and the button up shirts. It just suited him more – the boy who didn’t bat an eyelash at a gang leader. Who lit up the room with his smiles and glowed when he laughed. A boy like that should wear huge orange jackets. He needed to stand out.

Of course, Max Lobo couldn’t know that Ash was doing this – and as he appeared from one of the backrooms, Ash glanced away, back out the door.

“You decided whether to tell him or not?”

“We leave once everyone’s had a couple of hours sleep.” Ash said. He didn’t bother to keep quiet – Eiji hadn’t moved a muscle in almost two hours and was breathing deeply. He was far gone. “We can’t stop.”

“Are you going to sleep?”

“I don’t need to.”

“Right.” For once Max wasn’t patronising. He leant his elbows against the porch railing, looking out over the abandoned farm. Ash joined him, after a moment. He didn’t want to, but he suspected that it wasn’t the end of the conversation.

“We can’t stop,” he repeated.

“Is it about Griffin?”

Breath left Ash for a moment, so he nodded instead. He tapped his fingers on the wood in front of him and wished he had thought to roll a cigarette before. He hadn’t realised quite how much he wanted one until he remembered.

“There’s no time,” he managed to say. “He’s running out of time.”

Max was silent for a moment. Ash had barely been able to get the words out – hadn’t, really, been able to get them out – and he wondered if Max understood them.

“Are you sure there’s time?”

Ash didn’t reply. He watched a woodlouse crawl out of the woodwork and scuttle across the top on the bannister, the sun glistening on it’s back. Ash let it crawl across his cracked fingernails. Cracked and dirty, he realised, with a certain satisfaction. Worker’s hands. Man’s hands. He wasn’t impeccably clean anymore and there was a certain relish in that. It was easier to think about the state of his fingernails than the state of his brother.

“Ash, what happened back there,” Max said. He was still looking at the horizon. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You see a lot of zombies?”

“A fair few coming out the city. They didn’t behave like that – that was –“

“Organised.”

“None of the others have organised themselves like that. It was like they were after something.”

“Someone,” Ash said. He tapped his fingers with more speed. “Some brains. That’s all they want. They must have – they must have figured out that there were a lot of us in there. All drawn to it because it’s the only place with anyone in it for miles.”

“They figured it out, did they?” Max repeated. He sighed. “Smart zombies.”

“Fuck off, Lobo. I know as much as you.”

“You’re – admitting that you don’t know something?” Max put a hand to his chest, rolling his eyes in mock surprise.

Ash could have knocked his teeth out. He hoped he conveyed that with a facial expression. If he did, Max had no reaction. He lowered his hand, and smiled slightly.

“Rest,” he said.

“No thanks, dad.”

He got a wince at that and remembered to file it away for future reference. ‘Dad’ got under Max’s skin.

“Then just sit. Your legs need to take a break.”

“Like I would do anything that you tell me to do.” But Ash’s body was betraying him. He was sinking into one of the rocking chairs and suddenly it hit him just how tired he was. Every muscle that he had suddenly relaxed, as though he had just stepped into a hot bath. He was sore. Every part of him was sore. He had been tense for so long and it felt good to relax.

Just for a minute, though. Just until everyone had rested. Then they had to get going again. He had to go to New York. He had to get to Griffin.

After all, he told himself as he stared at the silhouette of Max Lobo, Griffin had been abandoned too many times.

He hadn’t even realised that he had fallen asleep until he heard his name being called from somewhere high above him and he realised that he had to open his eyes. He did, peeling eyelids back that felt as though they had stuck in place.

It was hot. A hot day. One side of his face was boiling hot, sweat trickling down his temple in the humid heat. He was sweating – right through his shirt, he was sure. The air felt thick and he could hear bugs chirping in the distance.

Eiji was over the rocking chair, one hand on it to steady it. His brown eyes looked gold in the morning light and for a moment, Ash had forgotten everything. He smiled up at Eiji, because he was alive and there – because he looked absolutely wonderful in the daylight.

Then the previous night hit him like a freight train.

“What’s the time?” he demanded, all but jumping out of the chair. It creaked and groaned, rocking to itself as if it was consoling it’s loss.

“Midday,” Eiji said.

“We need to leave. Have you got your stuff together?”

“Max and Ibe left.”

“What?”

"They've gone to find more supplies," and at the look on Ash's face, he added. "You're out of bullets. Max is too. And the others."

"Fuck." Ash said. "Fuck – fuck that. As soon as we get to New York we'll get more bullets."

"I said you'd be angry." Eiji had stuck his hands in his pockets and the jacket made him look small. He looked up at Ash from below his fringe.

"What did Max say?"

"Something like 'oh well.'"

"Of course he fucking did."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Ash said. He found himself smiling slightly. "You don't have to apologize for everything, you know."

Eiji shrugged.

"Did they take Skip with them?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck," he ran a hand through his hair, looking out over the porch. The sky was blue – midsummer blue – the kind of deep blue that you only saw in story books. "We could go – just us. I can send a message to Skip and ask them to wait here for a couple of days."

"Here doesn't seem safe," Eiji said, carefully. He hesitated, drawing the jacket closer around himself. He must have been boiling. "I don't think it's a good idea to go alone."

His English had gotten better – loads better, since he had arrived. But now he seemed to be struggling – hesitating to find the words.

"You don't trust me?" Ash found himself smirking.

"I do." Eiji's voice was strong. He made eye contact as he said it, then he wavered again. "I don't want Ibe-san to worry about me."

"You don't want to lead him." That was the answer behind the puzzle of Eiji's hesitation.

He nodded.

Ash sighed. A long, heavy sigh that he exaggerated just to make Eiji smile. He wanted Eiji to keep smiling. It was as important as keeping Skip smiling. He leant on the railing, feeling it wobble underneath him.

"This house is like the one back home," he said. Mostly to himself. Mostly because he was thinking of Griffin. Partly because he wanted to tell Eiji about himself, and that was the only thing he could say. "I used to wish for a cyclone to take me away to Oz."

When he was eight. When he was eight his class had watched The Wizard of Oz on a rainy day. Ash had still been sore. But when he had seen Oz, with it's too bright yellow roads and popppy fields and Emerlad Cities, he hadn't been thinking about it. He had been completely transported – the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, the Lion all rolled into one.

But then Dorothy had clicked her heels and said 'there's no place like home,' and Ash had crashed back down to the real world.

"I wish that could happen now," Eiji said, softly. He leant against the wood next to Ash, his face turned up to the sky. There was a mole under his jaw. Ash had never noticed it before. And he needed a shave – his jaw was covered in the thin, downy hair of a boy who hasn’t shaved enough to grow a proper beard. Ash let a hand run over his own skin. Barely anything. He felt that he would be cursed with a baby face forever.

"You don't get cyclones here."

"Or in (!!)?"

Ash smiled then – a genuine smile that he couldn't stop from spreading across his face. "Not there, either."

Eiji paused. "You're not supposed to get zombies here, either. There's always hope."

"You're weird."

Eiji shrugged. He was still smiling as he looked up at the sky.

Ash should have hated this. He should have hated being trapped on a farm with no bullets when his brother needed him. It might be too late already – every voice in his head was screaming at him to leave – to run to New York if he had to. Maybe he was scared.

He was scared to see Griffin again.

So maybe staying on an abandoned farm with no bullets wasn't too bad.

"Well then," he said. "Come on, Dorothy. If we're stuck here, we might as well explore."

He wasn't sure how Eiji's hand found its way into his, but he wasn't going to point it out. It was warm and real and there and he didn't want to let it go as they padded back into the shade of the house.

It was humid inside too – the kind of heat that you could taste. The curtains had been closed and the relentless sun outside burst through them, casting everything in a rosy light.

The living room was cliché. Sofas with patchwork cushions and handstitched embroidery in wooden frames on the walls. But then there was a large t.v and a stack of blu-rays that felt hideously out of place. Skip's room was similar – a wii U set against The Jungle Book and Alice in Wonderland. A poster of Spiderman next to a cross stitch of a forest scene.

Max and Ibe’s room still had a rotary phone in. Ash played with the dial in silence, smirking slightly when it dinged back into place.

“It’s all empty,” Eiji said. Ash turned to him – he had been opening the chest of drawers. “Everything is empty.”

“They must have cleared off.” Ash said.

“I hope it was long before all this happened.” Eiji said quietly. He drew lines in the dust on the top of the chest of drawers. It looked like Japanese – Ash assumed it was Japanese. “Do you think they went on their honeymoon?”

“What makes you say that?”

Eiji pointed to a framed photograph. A young couple were all smiles – both women holding their hands up so that the light sparkled off of matching engagement rings. A snapshot of unspeakable happiness that was now gathering dust.

“Maybe,” Ash said. “Maybe this place is only rented out to honeymoon couples. Maybe I should have carried you over the threshold.”

Eiji looked at him, tilting his head to one side. “Ash.”

“I’m serious – come here.” He was wrapping his arms around Eiji’s waists before he could protest, lifting him from the floor. Eiji didn’t yelp – he gasped, his hands going to Ash’s as if to disentangle himself. Ash stumbled – laughing, but surprised. “Shit, I didn’t realise you were so heavy.”

“That’s not very polite.” Eiji landed on the floor with a thump. He turned to Ash with a pout on his face and shit – shit, he was close. But he didn’t seem to notice that he was almost pressed flush against him – no, he was smiling up at Ash with a mischievous look on his face. “It’s very rude to comment on someone’s weight.”

“So?” Ash tried to stay calm – to look as unfazed and teasing as he always did.

Eiji’s arms were around him in the next moment – strong, stronger than Ash thought he could be – and then Ash was light as a feather. He was looking down at Eiji, his hands on the Japanese boy’s shoulders to steady himself. Eiji was grinning at him – triumphant.

He felt helpless, in the air. He couldn’t figure out if he liked that feeling, because it was Eiji and Eiji wouldn’t hurt him – Eiji would never hurt him. And yet he felt completely helpless and it made his stomach squirm and writhe. But, he still had to be Ash Lynx. So he huffed, blowing hair away from his face and looking away from Eiji as though he couldn’t care less.

“Very clever of you.”

“Sorry.” Eiji was helping him back to the ground. And they were still close. Still very close and it didn’t seem to matter to Eiji that Ash stunk of sweat and mud.

“You’re strong.”

“I did high jump back home.”

“Did?”

Eiji looked down then, a small smile on his face. Ash knew that smile – it was a deflecting smile. So he went to take Eiji’s hand again. He couldn’t quite do it this time – not when he was thinking about it – he brushed his knuckles against Eiji’s instead.

“Let’s keep looking.”

All of the rooms were the same mix of modern and rustic. They couldn’t see any signs of life from the stables or barn and decided not to investigate in too much detail. The longer they looked the more Ash was aware that he was carrying around an empty gun. He wasn’t sure what he would do if they came across a zombie now.

There was a shed around the back. Although the wood was new, it wasn’t hard to break the lock on the door. Eiji’s eyes had sparkled with such excitement at the possibility of breaking in that Ash had counted them down and they had ran at it with their shoulders.

At first, the wood juddered from the frame but did not come away. They tried again. It buckled.

The shed seemed even darker than the house had been. There was nothing especially exciting in there – forks, shovels, empty buckets. Dead bluebottles and cans upon cans of paint. But there was a rather large chainsaw. With several spare blades.

Eiji ran his finger along the edge of one.

That was when Ash heard it. A thud. His first thought was that it was Max being the general lummox that he was, so he stuck his head out of the shed.

“Lobo?” he called. “We’re round the back.”

There was another thud and he heard a groan. He frowned stepping out of the shed and heading around the house. Were they hurt? It sounded as though someone had fallen. As he came around the side of the wooden building, he saw a figure on the porch step.

“Lobo?” he tried again. “Max?”

The figure twitched its head towards him, looking weary. Scared. It must have been someone like them. A survivor. The sun was blinding him and even when he shielded his eyes with his hand, he couldn’t make out any details.

“It’s okay. We’ve got supplies and we can help you.” He walked as he spoke and knocked a stone in the grass with his foot. The head followed the movement. That was when he first noticed how fluid the movement was, like the head was loose on the neck.

There was the groan again and as the figure pushed itself into an unsteady standing position Ash realised his mistake. He had let his guard down. His mind had been filled with emerald green grass and blue skies and expresso coloured skin. He had been away in Oz.

This was reality.

It wasn’t one of the women in the photo – but he had seen this man – this boy – in the photos in the house. He was tall, taller than Ash but even thinner. Broken glasses sat skewed on a face that was once pale and shy. Now there was a deep, ragged gash running from temple to chin, oozing dark blood that was crusting in a pool over him. Skin hung limply, as did his left forearm, from the elbow down. Ash could see bone poking through the flesh.

He wondered how the smell hadn’t hit him before. The smell of decay – an overpowering, vomit-inducing smell. Maybe he had gotten used to it.

No, as he stumbled back, he realised why. The barn was open. It had been punched at and the wood torn away until a hole was in the bottom of the door. That had let the smell out. A rat hung, dead, over the opening.

The boy had heard him, yellow eyes had focused on him like a sniper targeting it’s prey and he stumbled forward. Stumbled faster, picking up speed as Ash did, darkened lips curling over yellowing teeth in some resemblance of a smile.

Ash wasn’t looking where he was going. He was just walking backwards – running backwards – as quickly as he could. This was helpless. He didn’t have a gun that would work. He didn’t have any defence. He had been careless and he would pay the price.

Eiji would pay the price for his carelessness. He heard his voice, like he was underwater and it was coming from above the surface, “Ash!”

The boy’s head rolled to Eiji’s voice and Ash clapped. He didn’t know what he was doing – keeping it away from Eiji, he supposed. He was clapping and walking backwards and he didn’t have a plan. Ash Lynx didn’t have a plan. Ash was meant to have a plan. Ash always had a plan.

His back hit wood. It was such a shock that his legs gave way beneath him. Dead end. The boy was over him – close to him now – close enough that Ash could see maggots in the gash on his face, feeding hungrily at still moving flesh. Flies buzzed around yellow eyes – Ash could see every vein.

Not dead end.

Just another building.

Fucking move, Ash Lynx.

Don’t be helpless.

Never be helpless again.

His hands found the dirt, went to start dragging himself away from this monster as far as he could before his strength gave out completely.

A new sound appeared.

It sounded like a roar. A dinosaur roar.

Then his eyes adjusted. It was too mechanical to be a dinosaur roar. It was the whirr of a machine.

He stared up at the boy in confusion – just in time to see silver above his head. Then everything was red.

Red splattered out from the boy, the device still whirring away as it cast the world with crimson paint. The drops caught the sunlight as they flew. Red poppies. He covered an arm with his face to avoid the warm, wet feeling of the blood touching his skin.

When the whirring finally stopped, when he peeled his arm back to see the boy’s split body falling to one side – guts and organs spilling out like the insides of a cracker – he found a silhouette above him. He shielded his eyes with his hands and this time he saw clearly enough.

It was Eiji. Standing with a chainsaw hanging heavily from his arms, panting as he stared down at Ash. Eiji, covered in scarlet from head to toe. Eiji, who had just saved his life with a chainsaw of all things.

Ash stood – stumbled – using the wood behind him to support himself.

Eiji had just saved his life.

He was alive.

Eiji had –

He was stepping – bounding – over the body – moving without thinking.

Eiji had saved his life.

His hands were on Eiji’s cheeks, not taking a moment to look at him before he was slamming his mouth onto Eiji’s. He tasted of copper and sweat and nothing in the world had ever tasted better. He was alive. He was alive because of Eiji.

Fuck.

He was kissing Eiji.

He pulled away, stumbling back over legs that looked like they belonged to a broken puppet.

“Well,” he said. He didn’t want to acknowledge that. He wanted to keep moving. “That was-“ the word came to him – where he had seen a chainsaw before. “’Groovay.’”

Eiji shook his head – scattering poppy petals of blood onto the Emerald City of grass. “I had to help.”

“Thank you.” Ash said. He swallowed, got the courage to touch him again and put his hands on Eiji’s shoulders. “Thank you, Eiji.”

“You said that already.” Eiji said. At Ash’s confused frown, he pressed a hand to his own mouth. Smudged with blood still.

“Sorry – I’m – sorry, about that,” Ash said. “I didn’t believe I was alive.”

“You don’t have to apologize for everything, you know.” A ghost smile sat on Eiji’s lips.

There might have been a laugh, if there wasn’t a dead boy between them. Ash looked down at the body, flies still buzzing around it, readying themselves for a feast.

“We can’t stay here,” he said. “It’s not safe.”

“Max and Ibe-”

“We don’t know when they’ll be back. I don’t care about waiting for bullets – we can’t wait, Eiji.”

“They won’t be long, they said-”

“Eiji, no.” Ash’s voice was a snap. He forced himself to swallow, though his throat was too dry to manage it. All he could taste was blood. This was it, he told himself, he had to come out with some small truth. He had to let Eiji in on this one. “We have to go to New York. My brother’s been bitten.”

#banana fish #asheiji #banana fish fanfiction #banana fish au #ash lynx #eiji okumura #the one with the zombies #turnupswrites

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