#wish was okay but i wanted more angst and a tighter scale

[sunrise-of-wonder]

My hot take about Wish that no one asked for is that Asha should've been the king's super devoted apprentice from the start, and he should have spent the whole movie trying to convince her to come back. A whole messed up fallen mentor thing, where the loss of her support is what causes him to unravel. Think of the angst! The drama! The betrayal 👌🏽

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Off Limits

Summary: Colter Shaw x Fe!Reader -> Four times Colter told people (mainly his brother) you were off limits, and the one time he proved why.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff, a little hint of angst towards the end but happy ending. Not Proof Read.

It was safe to say yourself and Colter Shaw had known each other for a long time. 

You had both met on a fishing trip. Well, he had been on a fishing trip. You had been looking for your idiot brother who had decided to just disappear. 

Colter helped you across the rocks to the creek and watched as you tried to find…something. That day he helped you and the rest was history. 

You kept in contact over the years, which meant it wouldn’t be totally uncommon if you ended up speaking to some of his other friends. Even maybe meeting some of them. 

However, it was a few years before you met his family. 

And it started with his brother, Russell. 

You were helping Colter on a case in South Dakota. 

A friend of a friend that you went to college with had gone missing. And, you knew just the man for the job. That man also happened to be lugging around another one of him who was just a little more…rough around the edges. 

“Do you just happen to be friends with all of the beautiful women, Colt?”

Colter got a little awkward. “Meet my brother, Russell.”

“Nice to finally meet you. Colter’s mentioned you a couple of times. Nice to put a face to the name.”

“I’d say the same but…Colter didn’t mention anything about you.”

As the day went on, you could feel Russell’s gaze drop to you often before he’d throw out a flirty line and a dashing smile. 

And Colter caught the whole lot of it. 

“Okay, so what about you and her?” Russell finally got to ask his brother when they were sat down eating and you had headed off to the bathroom. 

“What about me and her?” 

“Are you…is there something? Or do I have a shot?”

Colter sighed with a small smile. “No, we’re just friends.”

“Great.”

Russell went to stand but Colter grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back down. “But she’s off limits.”

“Okay, okay. Mind letting go?”

“Sorry.”

Colter let go quickly and moved back into his seat. “We’ve been friends for years. I’m doing her a service.”

“Colt, I’m your brother. Shouldn’t you be doing me the service?”

Colter just dead-eyed him. “I’m doing her a service.” And then he took a bite of his pie. 

Russell accepted it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy rustling his brother’s feathers every now and then by turning the flirting scale up a tad every now and again. 

The second time Colter said you were off limits was at a charity auction. 

You had been invited per a family friend’s invitation and needed a date. And when you lightly threatened to call his brother instead, Colter agreed. He was already in the area, but at least it stopped him from leaving town so quickly. 

Whilst there, Colter was questioned three times by three different men; all asking if you were with Colter, or with Colter. To which, he answered truthfully, but also made sure that they knew you were off limits when it came to him and that night. 

“Tomorrow, you can ask her what you want, and she will give you an answer, but for tonight gentlemen, I am her date. Excuse me.”

Colter couldn’t help but hold you just a little tighter when on the dance floor, after the constant questions. 

The third time Colter told someone you were off limits was to his brother, again. 

It had been a birthday party for you, thrown together by one of your work colleagues and Reenie. Russell just so happened to be also looking for his brother. And he knew exactly where to find him. 

Like normal, Russell flirted with you. A little more so when Colter was within direct eye-line of you both. 

And you couldn’t help but smile. 

However, once the cake had been cut, Russell came back to his brother. They talked for a moment but when you came back into view, Russell put his cake down. 

“I think I’m gonna go and wish the birthday girl a happy birthday.”

However, Colter forced a small laugh and grabbed his brother by the back of his collar. 

“Okay, just because you’re as tall as me now, doesn’t mean I’m not stronger.”

“She’s off limits.”

“Still?”

“Russell.”

“Colter.”

“Boys.”

From behind them both, Reenie appeared. 

It was the first time in a long time they’d both had the feeling of being caught doing something they shouldn’t. 

The fourth time Colter told someone you were off limits was, once again, to his brother. 

Teddi and Velma were throwing a small dinner party, and had invited you, Colter, Reenie and Bobby to join them. And, since Russell was close by, he was invited to. 

“My god, as I live and breathe.” 

You turned around, balancing the cake you brought on the flat of your palm. 

“Russell,” you smiled, softly. 

“You know, I’m starting to think it’s fate. The birthday party, now this?”

You hummed. “Oh, I’m sure. I’m also sure one of the fates is inside the house plotting your death.”

“Still off limits?”

You nodded. “Colter’s a man of his word.”

“So…you…made yourself off limits?”

“Relax, I like you, Russell. You’re a good man. You’re just not…my man.”

“Ah,” Russell nodded. 

He had an idea about what you meant when you said ‘my man’, but until he saw proof, he couldn’t be certain. 

So he still flirted. Maybe a little less, but he was a big brother after all. Wasn’t it his job to annoy his little brother?

However, the final time Colter told someone (Russell) you were off limits…he didn’t have to say it. Because the fearsome look in his eyes said it for him.

It wasn’t often he managed to get back to the States to see his brother, but when he did, he always made sure to stay close until Colter had left the state he saw him in. 

Only, he didn’t seem to leave as quickly as he had come. 

So, when he went to visit him one morning, he was also there to witness a call that changed everything. 

Reenie had also come to visit and was going to grab lunch with you, except you got called away for a meeting and suddenly everything shut down. Including the backup generators. And then the fire alarm went off. 

There was a fire and Reenie couldn’t get a hold of you. 

So, in a fit of panic after asking thirty different staff members if they had seen you, she called Colter. 

Russell watched as his brother’s heart seemed to stop. Tears of panic and fear grew behind the front he tried to put on. 

“What’s going on?”

“Y/n’s missing and there’s a fire at the school. Reenie’s still trying to find out what’s going on. I need to find her.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Colter might have broken four different road laws, but he couldn’t care. You were worth it. You were worth everything to him. 

By the time he pulled up outside of the school, he was pushing through waves of students and teachers to find Reenie. 

“Colter!”

“Reenie, have you seen her?”

“No, not yet. But she’s still not answering her phone.”

“Why wasn’t she with you?”

“She got called away to a meeting. I was waiting for an hour or so in her office when everything shut down. They’re still trying to get the power back on, but…Colter, I don’t know where she is.”

“We’ll find her. She can’t have gone far, right? She knows these buildings like the back of her hand.”

Reenie nodded. “Only thing is, we don’t.”

“Call Bobby, maybe he can send us something. Anything.”

Russell nodded, pulling out his phone. “I’ll call him.”

“She’ll be okay, right? She’s okay.”

Reenie nodded. “She’s smart. And tough. Hopefully she’s just stuck on the other side of campus and can’t get reception.”

The longer time passed, the more worried Colter became. 

Bobby sent through the blueprints but without knowing where the meeting was, they had no idea where to start. 

“Did she mention what the meeting was about?”

Reenie shook her head. “No. Nothing.”

“What about her desk?” Russell asked. “A post-it, a diary, anything.”

“Reenie?”

“I-Maybe, I don’t know. Something about Kindred or Kinder or…something like that. I can’t really read her handwriting.”

“Kindrich.” Colter said out loud. 

“Maybe? Again, I don’t know.”

“If anyone pulled her in for an emergency meeting it would have been Kindrich. He runs the Life Sciences building. This way.”

Reenie and Russell hurried after Colter, almost losing him in the sea of students along the way. 

However, the closer they got to the life sciences building, the closer the smoke from the fire seemed to get. 

And when it came into clear sight, Colter started running. 

He was calling out your name.

“Reenie! Call her again!”

She was doing so just as Colter thought he heard someone call his name. 

He called out for you again. 

And then there you were. 

“Colter.”

“Y/n.” 

You ran towards him before crashing into him as you lifted your arms to hug him, and he did the same. 

“Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you? You’re warm. What- were you in the fire?”

“I’m okay. Everyone’s okay.”

Then he kissed you. 

Deeply. Passionately. Desperately. 

And then he hugged you again. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, breathing him in before you remembered;

“Reenie.”

“She’s okay. She’s with Russell.”

Looking around, you finally spotted her and ran towards her, too. 

“Are you okay?” you both asked as you hugged. 

“I was trying to call you but-”

“There’s no reception on this side of campus. And if there is, it’s spotty at best.”

“Next time I’m coming with you. What even happened? The power went down and then there were just fire alarms everywhere.”

“There was a fault with one of the machines in the building. Funnily enough, that was what the meeting was about. Finding something to replace the machines. And when the power went down, something in the labs went up in smoke.”

“But-but you’re okay? You’re not hurt?”

You shook your head. “The medics checked me over. I’m fine.”

“Medics?” Russell asked. 

You looked around nervously. “I might have ran back inside a couple of times to help get students out.”

“You’re not supposed to-”

“I know, I know, I know but they’re just kids. The important thing is no-one got hurt.”

“But you could have.”

“But I didn’t. Colter, look at me.” You took his face in your hands. “I’m okay. I promise.”

“Okay,” Colter finally accepted what you were saying, kissed you quickly before he hugged you again. 

Then Russell cleared his throat. “So, um, how long has this been going on?”

“Russ,”

“No, no. I’m your big brother. I’ve got to look out for you. Did mom ever give you the talk?”

“Okay,” Reenie said, trying to move on. “How about we get some lunch, and maybe some wine?”

You nodded, walking towards her, allowing her to link her arm with yours as you left Colter to fend for himself with his brother. 

“Russell, please don’t.”

“You see, when two people love each other very much…”

[infinitedivinity]

manon blackbeak x fem!reader

forbidden love, blueblood!reader, angst, relationship won't work out, she wants to protect you, break up?? idk I js like angst, I didn't reread it or edit it so it's raw

Manon didn't look at you once during lunch. She sat at her table with her Thirteen and she did not look at you. You tried not to feel hurt or betrayed by it, but her eyes lingering on Asterin as she spoke, and the way she bickered with a Yellowlegs from across her table, it made you feel invisible.

Yours and Manon's relationship had to be kept a secret, otherwise your punishment for your star-crossed romance could result in death.

You were an unimportant Blueblood witch. But Manon? Manon was the Wing Leader. She was a powerful, fearless witch with a reputation for slaughter and madness. Manon led her Thirteen into countless victories in battle, and you were as useful as a servant.

The lunch hour went by slowly, but you knew she'd meet you just below the mountain at nightfall, like she always did.

When the night came, you held your cloak tighter to your chest as your boots crunched in the dead leaves on the ground. Manon's long, silver hair shone bright under the moon. She was beautiful, just as she always was.

Abraxos seemed to notice you dirst, his jaw clicking in greeting. You smiled sadly as you reached a hand, in which he pressed his nose into, huffing warmly into your palm.

"Hello, Abraxos." You spoke softly.

Manon's golden gaze finally slid to you. She looked tense. There was a bit of distance between the two of you. You knew, you could feel, that something was wrong.

"You did not come last night." You said to her, "Or the night before." Manon's eyes seemed to dim as she looked at you, looked at your hand bunching your cloak to your chest.

"I had things to do. Duties to attend to." Was her only reply.

"You did not send a letter." Your voice rose with distane, with anger.

"I did not have time for it."

You scoffed and stepped backwards once, "Well, you used to." Manon blinked at you, a small sigh coming from her lips as she glanced away.

"You have nothing to say? You said we'd make this work." You argued, "You and I both knew the risks to this and all of a sudden you're flaking from the only time I get to see you properly?" You continued. Abraxos let out a soft whine at the sound of your arguing.

When Manon did not reply, your heart felt heavy in your chest, and your eyes began to water. "Manon. We agreed to this, and I hate it. I hate not being able to love you as loudly and as freely as I wish to. I hate not being able to touch you, to feel you, to look at you properly." You sounded like you were begging. You were pleading to her to tell you what was wrong.

You looked down at your boots and huffed. "Okay. If you don't want this anymore-"

"I want this." Manon interrupted. She seemed surprised with herself to talk about what she wanted with you. When you glanced up, her eyes were fixed on you.

"But our lives..." She closed her eyes, brow creasing, "Your life. Your life is in danger the longer we do this. Our families...our past...who we are..." When she opened her eyes again, they were filled with something like admiration, like undying devotion, like love.

"I want you safe. And the best way I can achieve that is by leaving." Manon finally said. You almost gasped, "That is unfair."

"Everything is unfair." Manon whispered harshly. "They will have your head. And I will never forgive myself for it. So, please." She sighed once more, putting a hand on the belt of Abraxos' saddle. "Go back to bed."

"You're being unfair." You repeated to her, watching as she climbed onto the back of her wyvern. "You're being unfair, Manon, you cannot do this to me." You said, gripping Abraxos' scaled leg as you watched her look forward. "You cannot just leave me here!" You yelled at her. "We will find a way, Manon. We have to."

Manon did not spare you a second glance as she kicked Abraxos' side, and with a whine, he moved forward, spread his wings, and they were airborne.

You felt the upcoming winter's cold closer than before as you watched them soar into the sky. She had come tonight to leave you. And alone you were for the rest of the night, walking back to your room with ice bitten cheeks and crystal tears rolling down your face.

[sirowsky]

The Flowers Always Know

Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group. (Slow burn)

Warnings: Language, little angst.

Link to Masterlist

Comment: A lot happens in this chapter, and we finally get some real sparks going. Also, Máma Moreno starts butting in.

Chapter 5

  Three months later, you were not only back on your feet, but running. You’d never really been a runner before, but now it seemed like such a freedom, you could barely get enough of it. You’d lost a lot of weight during your coma, and you were scrawny to begin with, so the nutritionist had not been happy when you’d started requesting more physical activity. But after making a solemn vow to eat as much as he asked, he’d finally agreed. And you had both been surprised to discover that you had gained weight even quicker as your body converted the fuel into muscles.   You were actually heavier now than you ever had been, and you were genuinely proud of that, because you knew it meant that you were not only strong again, but stronger than before. It felt like a visible testament to your victory over evil. Plus – you looked good. You’d even gotten the colour and natural volume back in your hair.

  You were still living at the Heroics HQ medical facility, and you were still being tested to the nines every single day, but you didn’t mind. Everyone here were nice to you, and it wasn’t like you were in a cage, you went outside every day. They just didn’t like you to wander off too far, since you hadn’t been discharged yet, which meant you were still their responsibility.   You’d been pleasantly surprised to find out that they had taken care of all your bills and payments while you were in a coma and the subsequent rehabilitation, so your house was still very much in order for whenever you’d be heading back there.

  Marcus had been instrumental in your recovery. As soon as they discovered that his electromagnetic currents helped you, the science-department had temporarily melded with the medical department to figure out why that was, and what was the optimal way of utilising this fortuitus abnormality.   Luckily for you, that had meant many long hours spent with Marcus by your side as he carefully experimented with stimulating your muscles into cooperating with you. It hadn’t been nearly as sexy as it sounded, but it did offer you plenty of time to talk to each other, and you knew a lot more about him now. Or, at least a lot more about Missy. The proud dad had quickly emerged once he got more comfortable with you.   Curiously, though, no one had been able to work out just how his current had such a positive influence on your body. They thought that it might have to do with some sort of harmonisation between the tiny electrical impulses in your nerves and the frequency of his current, but they couldn’t say for sure, because so far, all of their tests had been inconclusive.

  Today was going to be a special day for you, in terms of the testing, because they wanted to do a full-scale physical exam, complete with endurance- and strength-tests, something you’d actually been looking forward to. You were excited to find out if you were getting close to getting that clean-bill-of-health stamp any time soon.   The tests themselves were gruelling. They involved running pretty much as fast as you could, in short intervals, but in the break between each interval you had to do a strength exercise. Weight-lifting, or working with kettle-bells, or just regular push-ups, there were lots of different ones.   After that, you were given an hour to rest, before you were going to be put through an obstacle course to check your agility and reflexes, and it was at this point that Marcus joined the small crowd of maybe thirty people, that had gathered to find out how you’d do.   And you were slightly concerned to see him exchange a look with his mother, the almighty Anita Moreno, at the back of that crowd. What could she possibly want to see this for?   He was in his uniform again, and looked winded, as though he’d hurried to get there in time to see this. He met your eyes and gave you an encouraging nod.   You’d been told that this course was one that the Heroics regularly used for training, and that they’d scaled it down a bit for you, but that the aim was still to test your physique quite rigorously, so it wouldn’t be easy.   You took your place on the start-line, and waited for the whistle.   It really was a tough course. You had to use your whole body to get past practically every single obstacle, and by the end, you were so tired that you collapsed the moment you crossed the finish-line, to the enthusiastic applause of the little crowd.   The twins were by your side immediately, taking your vitals to make sure that you were only normally tired, not dangerous-tired. They’d been with you the whole day, and this was the final hurdle before you’d all get to rest. They’d both been sweating almost as much as you, just from worrying about you.

  “All good. She’s okay.”

  Amaire declared to the supervising physician. He, in turn, looked at his digital pad and tapped a few times, then a smile crept into his features.

  “Well, it’s not a course-record, but considering the fact that most humans don’t even finish this course on their first try, I think we can give you your stamp now.”

  You sat up and stared wide-eyed at him, while Amaire shoved a water-bottle into your hand and all but pushed it into your mouth.

  “I’m officially declaring you completely recovered, and no longer in need of our medical assistance. Congratulations, miss. You really are a miracle.”

  Joy bubbled up inside you as you took in his words. You’d made it. You’d actually made it. There was a light-hearted laughter in your throat as you worked on getting your pulse under control.

  “Don’t let Miracle Guy hear you say that, Doc, whatever you do.”

  “Hah, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Then Marcus was suddenly right in front of you, pulling you to your feet and into a tight hug in one fluid movement. He’d never hugged you before, and you wished that he hadn’t done it now when you were soaking his uniform in your sweat. But, holy crap, his arms felt good around you.

  “Felicidades, preciosa! I knew you’d be ready. How do you feel?”

  “Thank you, Marcus, I feel amazing. Like I wanna sleep for a week, but still amazing.”

  Reluctantly, you pulled back to look at him. As wonderful as it was to be encircled by those arms, you wanted him to see your eyes when you spoke again.

  “Really, thank you. I don’t know if I could have recovered this well without you, or if I would’ve even been able to wake my body up, ever again. I was trapped in the most impossible position imaginable, and you set me free. I’ve never thanked you for that. I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough.”

  He seemed slightly embarrassed by your gratitude, and his eyes seemed a bit glossier as he pulled you back into his arms and held you even tighter.

  “You have no idea what it means to me to see you like this. Strong and healthy and happy. I’ll never forget those eyes that stared up at me that day in the hospital, and I spent every day after that feeling helpless and useless every time I walked into your med-chamber. You don’t owe me a damned thing, hermosa. The fact that I get to see those eyes smile again, is more than I could ever ask for.”

  Someone clearing their throat very loudly and deliberately, made you automatically pull away from one another. And then you nearly choked on your own saliva when you realised that it was his mother.

  “Hey, mom. I was wondering what brought you here today.”

  “Aren’t you gonna introduce me, hijo? Didn’t I raise you to be polite?”

  “It’s polite not to sneak up on people, deliberately trying to make them uncomfortable, máma. She doesn’t need your dramatics today.”

  You couldn’t help but smile at the two of them. You were never close with your own family, so it always warmed your heart to see people who were. And he’d spoken about his mother during your long conversations in the med-chamber, so you knew that they were extremely close, which was why they could argue quite heatedly without ever getting truly angry with one another.

  “That’s okay. A little drama can be very entertaining.”

  You looked from Marcus to his mother, and then introduced yourself, with a respectful nod, rather than offering your still sweat-soaked hand. She gave her son a sideways glance.

  “Don’t you have some work to attend to, boy?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  “Do I look like I’m about to leave you alone with a woman that has no idea just how horrid you can be?”

  “When have I ever been horrid?!”

  “Oh, would you like me the count it out for you? Or would the word ‘ambassador’ suffice?”

  “That was just a misunderstanding, and that boy was beyond over-sensitive.”

  “He was a war-veteran and you deliberately pushed all of those buttons, until he crashed, just to make a fucking point.”

  “Hey, mind your language.”

  “Not even a little bit. Now, whatever you want with my friend, you can either start talking, or you can go away.”

  You didn’t miss the slightly possessive edge to the way he said ‘my friend’, and you were a tad concerned at just how much you liked it. His mother scoffed and then turned on her heels and walked away.

  “Sorry about that. She’s… tricky.”

  “I wouldn’t have minded speaking with her, you know.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t, but you don’t know her. She’s never once asked about you, even with all the time I’ve spent in the med-section. Never wanted to know how you were doing or even anything about you. So, the fact that she’s approaching you now, when you’ve just been cleared, means she’s up to something.”

  “Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t touched by your willingness to protect me from monster Máma.”

  He got a sheepish expression on his face and bowed his head to look at his own shoes.

  “I’d happily protect you from anyone.”

  “Thank you. I’ll remember that if I’m ever in trouble again.”

  He looked up at you, and for a moment his face was pained, before he quickly tried to adapt a more neutral expression. It didn’t quite work.

  “So… you’re leaving then?”

  “Well… I doubt they’ll just let me stay, rent free. Not to mention take up a med-chamber that someone else will undoubtedly need at some point. And I do miss my house, not to mention the cleaning I’m in for. God, I wonder if any of my plants made it? Is it weird that I’m looking forward to cleaning? And cooking, holy crap, do I miss cooking, and sun-bathing in the garden with my favourite music, and curling up on the sofa…”

  He smiled a kind of knowing smile, though, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Oh, I’m rambling now, aren’t I?”

  “A bit. But I get it. Home is… home. I’m glad you get to go back to yours.”

  “Me too. Um… so, I’m sure there’s a bunch of paper-work I’ll have to sign and I most definitely need a long shower and a lot of soap before I go anywhere. But I’d love to see you before I leave.”

  “Sure. I’ll most likely be in the control room, or my office. Just ask around.”

  “Okay.”

Authors’ Note: I love criticism, don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.

@blueeyesatnight​

[scarofthewind]

As the World Caves In || Dabi x Reader

Warnings: Angst Word count: 1,132 Song Preference: As the World Caves In by Matt Maltese

                    ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     You had woken up with a headache and the faint smell of destruction was in the air as you lifted your head from your pillow. The spot next to you was cold to the touch meaning that he had gotten up a while ago. Getting up from your bed, you wandered into the living area of your apartment and saw the balcony door wide open, the wind blowing your curtains softly against it’s breeze. Being on the top floor meant you had the best view of the city; at least that’s what it used to mean.

     Stepping outside, you looked up to the stairs that connected your railing to the roof and you climbed them. The sun was barely coming up and the wind nipped at your skin but you were hot with the dying knowledge of what happened. The sadness in your heart made you so angry you thought you’d die; you would. Everyone else had. 

     Placing your feet on the roof you spotted him standing there, staring at you with a cigarette hanging between his lips. His eyes moved past you to the city that had been destroyed a couple days prior. He let you stand beside him and look out onto the vast area and all that had come down within it. The final battle was brutal and no one would’ve guessed that the villains would actually win. However, it costed you everything. Toga, Shigaraki, half of the people in the city were all dead and the ones that were alive fled when they had the chance. The government had interfered and set off a large scale nuclear weapon that was slowly killing everything that stayed. You and Dabi wouldn’t leave; you owed it to the rest of the group to stay and live out the last days before everything collapsed. 

     Your eyes caught onto the small blast that went off in the distance and your mind reeled with the thoughts of your death. It wouldn’t be beautiful but it would be worth it. “What if we ran away?” You recall yourself asking the black haired male one night, your head resting on his chest. Your fingers traced small patterns along his scarred skin and he let out a chuckle.

     “We wouldn’t be able to make it out of the city in time. We should’ve gone when we had the chance.” His voice sounded bland but you knew he was scared. He had a right to be. You watched another cloud of smoke form a couple of buildings down and you sighed, sitting on the edge of the building and letting your feet hang off. 

     “I’m scared.” You admitted as he put out his cigarette and found a spot next to you. His eyes were focused on the scenery before him because he knew he would grow weaker and weaker the moment he looked at you. Dabi couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t scared, he was just happy that he got to see the villains win for a change. Shigaraki would be proud that won. “I wanted to have a family of my own one day.” Dabi tilted his head towards you as you spoke. “I wanted to raise my children right and to watch them grow up.” 

     “If this had ended differently you could have.” Dabi’s voice was soft and relaxed, his eyes tracing your face for a response. You simply nodded and watched the sun slowly peak over the horizon just as an explosion went off in the building next door. Instinctively, Dabi pressed you back and threw his body over yours as the building threw pieces onto the roof you were both on, some dirt and dust also floating your way. “(Y/N), you okay?” He asked and you nodded, letting him move off of you before you sat up and saw the fire the building had created. 

     That only meant that your building was next due to the heat. Your heart ached as you watched the fire flicker below you. “I don’t want to die.” Dabi heard your pain before he felt it. He grabbed your arms and pulled you close, sitting you down in his lap. “Dabi, I don’t want to die.” Your tears were warm as they trickled down your face. 

     His large hands moved to wipe them away as he pressed a kiss to your head. “I know, doll, I don’t want to either.” His eyes were dull with the pain he knew how to hide so well. He could feel your body tremble in his arms as you clung to him tighter than before. Dabi ran a hand up and down your back, trying to calm you the best he could. “I’ve got you. I’m not leaving you.” He felt your grip tighten and he watched the fire slowly leak from the next building to yours. 

     “I guess you could say that we were ‘endgame’, huh?” He tried to joke and you sniffled, looking up at him with a bittersweet smile. 

     “I guess so.” You tried to look over your shoulder to see how much time you’d have left but Dabi brought your face back to his. “I love you.” You said quietly, watching his eyes widen for a second. If it was going to be your last moments, you might as well get everything out. Dabi felt his heart ache and he pulled you in for a chaste kiss. No matter how much he loved you, he couldn’t tell you to your face but you knew that. He showed you through his actions, not his words. 

     Your mind reeled with all the memories of your life; the good and the bad. You thought about your time with your family of villains; outcasts just like yourself. You thought about meeting Dabi for the first time and how you accidentally spilt a drink all over his lap. You remembered the first night you two spent together, locked in each other’s embrace for hours on end. Yo knew he was your soulmate then and even now. 

     Dabi hugged you close and felt as the building rumbled beneath him. This was it. He wished he could’ve done more to protect you, to keep you alive and safe, but his selfishness was the reason you stayed behind with him. This wasn’t how everything was supposed to go; his friends should still be alive and he shouldn’t have to be saying goodbye to the one person he’s ever felt close enough to love. But here it is; your final moments with him. Dabi pressed his forehead against yours and stared into your eyes, hoping to find a way for your souls to reach one another. “We’ll meet again one day.” You cried at his words, letting him kiss you one last time before your worlds caved in.

[fandomsilhouette]

meet me halfway (i hope you'll stay) part iii

Tick tick tick tick, how the hourglass sand sticks to the walls of glass like desperate clinging hope no matter how the time will pass, en masse, to the ticking of the sand sinking so low like their hopes dashed down against the rocks, left wrecked by the ruins of the talks they haven’t had, aren’t they sad? Too bad. 

Happy @felinettenovember​, y’all! We made it to the angst, yayyy! Don’t worry though, there’s still one more worst to come and then we can start feeling better. I know you’re really looking forward to that sweet sweet pain, y’know. @musicfren​ was actually helpful today and ran tense checks and moral support pitstops and this would not have gotten done without him. 

Part 1 here. Part 2 here. Part 3 below. Part 4-6 coming.

Marinette passes by Felix in the halls like two ships passing in the dead of night, ghostly in the smog and the smoke and the foggy cloudy muggy wreckage of their relationship, disoriented without the north star of their steady affection to guide them home.

She keeps turning to show him a trinket or a toy, adrenaline pumping for the way his eyes light up at the thought of something special just for the two of them to share, and finds herself on the downswing of a bad day when he’s not there to share with.

He looks translucent, like if she put her hand to his chest she would push right through, and she wants to shove him backwards, make him feel as miserable as she does no matter the neutral smug grin on his face he maintains, and doesn’t because none of her words and none of her wishes would connect with a body with no soul left in it. Marinette has so many words swirling around in her head she can’t get herself to think, and none of them are hers: civilians and akumas and reporters screaming Ladybug’s name, half of them blurring into Alya’s intonation like a nightmare she can’t escape, her teachers and parents and friends and their heavy disappointment in her infinite, unending clumsiness, her chronic lateness, and always, always Felix’s.

When was it that his voice in her mind was a good thing? Marinette doesn’t remember.

Underneath it all runs a current split in half and looped back on itself tighter and tighter until it chokes on itself, stealing all her speech with it. How does she say she loves him, she misses him, she needs him, without telling him it’s okay to say what he did? How does she hold her ground without losing him in turn?

Just once, once she wants to make a decision and let the cost fall on someone else’s shoulders but she burdens the weight and balances her pros and her cons and lets the scales tip where they may. She’s Ladybug. She should be used to it.

She’s not.

Felix looks at her and misses her, desperate for her hand in his or her smile his way, or, when he’s honest with himself, her smile to anyone as long as it reaches her eyes again, how long has it been since it’s been seen? He looks at her and burns with rage and resentment, and wants to scream. Doesn’t she know how wrong she is? How can she defend a false hero swinging wildly from one extreme to another as the metronome ticks down to doomsday? Felix feels off balance, torn in so many directions he cannot find his way home in his own body. There’s not enough space in him to hold his own self and these emotions, and one of those cannot leave. The other, therefore, has to.

Winter break comes and goes and Felix swears up and down his father has kept him too busy to come out. Two weeks later back at school and looking at Marinette is like static, a blurry image and a carefully curated emptiness he tries very hard to remember how to fill.

There’s nothing left to fill it but with that unsteady blankness in between stubborn pride and overwhelming affection. Felix learns to operate around the constant gaping ache of a void where his best friend used to live, and functions when he cannot thrive. He refuses to admit the way it hurts, to have lost the person most important in his life: acute and sharp and insistent but diffuse across his body like it can’t decide where to hurt him worst.

(no, he knows, the worst is the way she doesn’t smile anymore, the way misery is etched across her every expression and the way he knows it isn’t on his own features, and the way he knows she’s terrified she never meant anything to him at all)

Marinette and Felix orbit each other, a careful dance around and across each other’s pass, ever so careful not to crash, collide back into each other because the gravity of affection is vast and dangerous, and lapping at their feet, cloyingly sweet. The scales of balance teeter, precarious, and any wrong move will make them slip.

They both hope it tips in their favor, and say nothing at all, terrified that a word will tip it away, avert their gazes in class and in the halls, and refuse to see the truth in each other’s eyes. They miss each other. There is something to talk about.

There are no words left to say.

[longitud-de-onda]

mistakes like this, pt. 2

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; you wake up the morning after, the haze of alcohol gone, and the reality sinks in.  rating; m warnings; talk about sex, light internalized slut-shaming, angst, a tad bit more alcohol  word count; 4.2k previous; part one

mistakes like this masterlist

Waking up hurt. The light filtering through the curtains was enough to send your head reeling in pain. Something heavy lay across your waist and it was warm. Very warm.

The details of the night before came rushing back into your head as you took in Javier, wrapped around your naked body. He was breathing through his nose, the warm air brushing over your bare chest. 

You stared down at the mess of brown hair and tanned skin, curving around you, glowing in the morning light. He was beautiful. If you could have one wish, it would be to lie in his embrace, tangled in the sheets for the rest of the weekend. But to do that, you’d have to admit your feelings, and you hadn’t fully accepted them yourself. 

To further complicate things, Javier didn’t do romance. As his closest friend and neighbor, you knew that better than anyone. He did quick fucks and even quicker goodbyes. You knew you only got to spend the night because you didn’t have keys to your own home.

Drinking messed with your decision making, and if it turned you into one of Javier’s fuck-buddies, you were resigned to never do it again. Lying with him in bed was a dream. But thinking about what led you there? That made your skin squirm. You knew he didn’t mean it.

You were both tipsy, maybe even a bit closer to drunk on the scale of things than you cared to admit. There can’t have been much intent to harm on his part. Just the need to seduce whatever woman was there. That’s how Javier was.

The breath on your chest changed pace then disappeared as Javier moved a bit, tilting his head up to look at you, eyes blinking open. 

“Mornin’,” he said, voice deep and sleep slurred. He grinned up at you before unwinding his arms and legs from you, rolling onto his back, and sitting up.

“Morning, Javi,” you said. It was cold without him, and you pulled the sheets tighter around you.

Javier had already stood up and was putting on his clothes.

You stared at his bare back, his shoulder muscles flexing as he pulled on one of his short-sleeved button-downs. You wanted to say something. To break the silence. But you didn’t want to feel the pain of rejection. You didn’t want a recognition of your actions, a recognition that would kill you.

He ran out of the room, and you hear a few bumps around the apartment before he returned, your shirt and bra in hand, which he threw unceremoniously on the bed, before slipping out again, this time closing the door as if to give you some privacy to change. Why he thought you needed any was beyond you. 

Of your few one-night stands in Colombia, anyone you didn’t sneak out from would hold you in their arms the next morning, cuddle, maybe even initiate some sweet morning sex. Javier hadn’t given you any time, he just disappeared.

You stood up, eyes catching on your jeans lying on the floor. The memory of you from just hours ago filled your head: you, blissed out of your mind, Javier’s mouth and hands all over you after he pulled off your pants and underwear. It was the best sex you’d had in a long time. No one ever cared so much about your pleasure too, no one took the time to care—caress you, hold you, make you cum—like Javier did, which made the knowledge that he didn’t care about you, just the sex, even worse.

You stumbled over to pick them up, along with your panties from the day before. 

“Shit,” you said to yourself.

You had soaked through your underwear the night before, and while they may have dried out, it was still disgusting. You would have to go commando until you got back into your apartment. You slipped into your bra and shirt and pulled on your pants. Wearing the same clothes from the day before never felt good, but it was worse when they were tinged with a memory you were beginning to want to scrub out.

You knew your thoughts were only stressing you out more than necessary, so you decided it would be best to rip off the metaphorical bandaid as fast as possible and walk right out of the bedroom. You needed him to drive you to the embassy, so civility was necessary for at least another hour. You had until the next morning to figure out work.

As soon as you opened the door, you were met with the sight of Javier, walking around the kitchen, the smell of eggs wafting through the air. You smiled, at least he was nice enough to make breakfast. 

You were still best friends, of course he would make breakfast. But after that thought, the fear settled in again. He might not want this, any of it. Your relationship. Your friendship. Not after fucking everything over.

"Hey," you said, walking over to the kitchen. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe he wanted to turn around and kiss you and take you to bed again. Maybe he wanted to forget the night, write it all off as drunkenness. Maybe you’d get to return to his couch and binge telenovelas together while drinking beer and eating deep-fried empanadas from down the street.

"Hey," Javier turned around but avoided eye contact. That hurt.

Your heart was pounding as you glanced at the spot on the counter where you sat the night before as he tore you apart with his lips.

You cursed the part of yourself that allowed Javier to take you last night. That part of your brain surely wanted to wreck as much havoc as possible, unleashing your deepest. silenced desires.

You cursed the part of yourself that still wanted him to do it again.

"I made eggs," Javier said. He didn't need to bother checking how you liked them. You had had breakfast together enough to know that much. With the spatula, he scraped the food onto two plates he had set out and handed you one. 

"Thanks," you said.

You pulled out a chair from the small breakfast table and sat down. It wasn't used much; Javi usually skipped breakfast on workdays, and when he ate at home it was at the coffee table in front of the TV or with work spread out around him. 

"I thought we'd go get your keys," Javier said between bites, "I'm meeting with Steve at noon."

It was only 11 am. The embassy was a ten-minute drive away. You knew what this meant. It was Javier pushing you out as fast as possible. Trying to remove you from his space. 

The little part of your brain that said there was still a chance that you were overthinking things was stamped out. Your relationship was over. Over because you knew he liked to have sex. Over because you dropped your pants for him. Over because he never wanted more. He wasn’t the sort of person who did more. You knew that and still let it happen.

"Sounds good," you said. The eggs, which had tasted marvelous, now had a sour flavor. You set down the plate, no longer hungry, blinking back unexpected tears.

"I just have to go grab the office keys," Javier gestured to the other part of the apartment after taking his last bite. 

"Okay," you nodded. He disappeared for a moment and you grabbed the two dishes and placed them in the sink. 

When he returned, you picked up your purse and followed him out of the apartment and down to his car, where you sat in the passenger seat. He started the car, pulled out of the lot, and set off onto the route to work. 

The lack of words between you two was weighing heavy on your heart. Over the years, your friendship had grown such that you always had something to discuss. There used to never be any awkward moments like this. You could listen to him ramble about anything and he would do the same. If one of you was passionate about something, so was the other.

You had so much you wanted to tell him. But to say that you had wanted what you did last night would also mean admitting to yourself that you wanted him. That your heart fluttered when you thought about late nights with takeout dinners or the inside jokes you shared at work that had you laughing hysterically while Steve looked on with disapproval. And now you knew that if you said it, he would throw you even further away.

You stared straight ahead, not wanting to risk making eye contact with Javier. If he caught your eye you knew he’d talk, try to say something to ease the pain of his rejection.  

You let go of your breath when you parked in the embassy and Javier tossed the office keys into your lap.

“I’ll wait here, we can go as soon as you find your keys,” he said.

You ran up the steps, punching in the code to enter the building before jogging through the halls. There were plenty of people who worked on Sundays, so the route was dotted with ‘hellos’ and ‘why are you in today?’s. The keys were right where you knew you had left them.

Work on Monday was going to be rough. This room was small, and with three of you in there, privacy didn’t exist. Steve was going to be caught in the middle of whatever was going on between you and Javier, and he didn’t deserve it. You put your hands down on the desk, as your headache worsened alongside a wave of nausea.

You didn’t want to get back into the car; not for another ten minutes of painful silence with Javier. But getting a ride from a coworker here wasn’t an easy task, plus you’d have to tell Javier you weren’t going with him. That was a conversation you wanted to avoid. Instead, you walked back to his car and planted yourself in the passenger seat.

“I’ve got them,” you said, handing him back his office keys.

“Good,” he started the car up to head back to your apartment complex.

You stared at your apartment keys in your lap. If it weren’t for them, you would be lying in your apartment, hungover but happy. You would have ignored the feelings that bubbled inside you when Javier helped you up the stairs, said goodnight in some stupid drunken demeanor, and collapsed on your couch.

But you had to have forgotten these keys. And Javier had to be so damn friendly and invite you in. He offered you food and painkillers, and you practically took off your shirt for him.

He had smiled at you throughout the night, the way he usually did. And when he was drunk and horny as usual, he had you, guards down and vulnerable in his own home, he pounced. And you let him. You knew his history better than anyone. You knew what would happen. He wasn’t one to settle down, so why did you let him do it anyway?

‘Y/N, I, uh,” Javier started. You had pulled into your apartment complex and were ready to get out of the car. You looked up to see a lot of emotions you couldn’t place crossing his face. It used to be that you could tell what he was thinking, just by looking. He was almost unfamiliar now, probably reserved these emotions for his hookers. And you had just joined the club.

“What?” you said.

“Um, never mind,” Javier looked back to the steering wheel.

You opened the door and slipped out. It had started drizzling, which was refreshing in the hot, tropical air. By the time you got to the front door, you’d be soaked.

You heard the car start up behind you, and you stopped in the rain, turning around as the large car pull out and drive away.

It was about two minutes later that you realized you hadn’t moved, lost in your thoughts about losing Javier. You used to be friends and now you weren’t sure what you were. If you even were anything anymore.

You looked down at yourself, now properly soaked through by the precipitation. You still wore the clothes from the night before, dirty from the long day at work, sweaty from your partying, and seeped in the memory of them being ripped off by warm hands. Not having underwear didn’t help.

It felt disgusting. You wanted to burn these clothes as soon as you removed them. You wanted to curl up in your pajamas and drink to forget.

Back in your apartment, you stripped off and jumped into the shower. You lingered, letting the hot water wash off the feeling of impurity. When you got out, you stood in front of the mirror and stared at the reflection of your bare skin.

Hickeys. The color of wine sucked into your skin. At least thirty. There was a line running straight down your stomach, and more covered your breasts. Some lay above, dotting your chest and climbing up towards your jaw.

You reached a hand up to your neck, your fingers brushing over the marks. In the moment, Javier’s mouth on your skin was the best thing you had ever felt. It had elicited a number of obscene noises. Javier knew how to work you into a writhing mess. And you had loved it. You closed your eyes and exhaled. Fuck.

Slipping on some new clothes, you set out to spend the rest of the day doing some errands and trying to distract yourself. You got one day off a week, so groceries were a priority. However, since you had arrived in Colombia you had fallen for the coffee and a stop at your favorite café was first on the list.

You took one last look in the mirror before you left. With the warm weather, there wasn’t much you could wear that would be comfortable and cover all the marks covering your body. You would just have to settle for a few exposed bruises on your neck.

No one commented. Which was good, but to be expected. No one would dare call out a stranger for visible marks. In all likelihood, they glanced at you and looked away, knowing the telltale signs of a prostitute. It didn’t help that you felt like one too.

The worst was when you got back to the apartment and Javier was a flight of stairs ahead of you. He was never good at opening his door in a timely manner and you reached your floor while he was still fumbling at the lock. When he heard your approach he looked up before turning back to his apartment, jiggling the keys until the door flung open and he slipped inside.

He didn’t even say hello.

You entered your apartment and locked the door behind you. The nasty feeling in your chest had been growing all day, and now it was worse than the hangover that morning. It seeped out of your heart, consuming your stomach and your core, spilling outwards into your limbs, and overtaking your head.

You needed to sit down. Your head was spinning.

The couch was closest, and there was a half-empty bottle of wine along the way there. You grabbed it. Collapsing on the sofa, you grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV. It was a rerun of a show from a couple years ago. Some Colombian romance about an ex-soldier. You and Javier had watched it together on late warm nights a few years back. You flicked off the bottle stopper and let it clatter onto the vinyl floor. You brought the bottle to your lips and took a large swig.

Leaning your head back, staring at the ceiling, you let out a loud groan. This was the worst possible outcome. Javier just ditched you this morning, threw your soiled clothes on the bed, then barely said anything, uprooting everything your relationship used to be. And now you felt like a whore.

You didn’t want to go to work the next day. You didn’t want to sit in the same damn office with Javier, closed off, regarding you with the dismissiveness he never used on you.

Another sip of the dark wine. It was good, the numbing effect. So good you felt your eyelids drawing heavier and heavier until you drifted off.

You woke up on Monday morning, reeking of alcohol with a sore neck from sleeping in the less-than-ideal position on the hard couch. The TV was still on, now playing the morning news, and a breeze wafted in from a window you left open. The pale yellow curtains floated around in the room. You blinked a few times, wincing at the bright light.

You pried yourself off of the sofa and into the shower. You were dressed before you checked the time and realized you were going to be a half-hour late for work.

“Fuck it,” you said to the empty apartment, sitting down to have a pastry you bought the day before.

It used to be that Javier would knock on your door if he was leaving and still saw your car in the parking lot. He would have made sure you had breakfast. He would have made you that plate of eggs.

He didn’t do any of that. You supposed it was to be expected. You had gone and fucked it all up. It kept repeating in your head: Javier was drunk, and you just let him fuck you.

Traffic was a bit lighter when you missed the morning rush, so you weren’t as late as you feared.

“Looks like someone had one hell of a weekend.” Steve joked as you walked into your shared office.

“What?” to say you were confused was an understatement. How would he know about what happened? Unless Javier had told him when they went out the day before. Shit.

“Have you, perhaps, found yourself a swarth of lovers like Javi’s ‘informants?’” he smirked.

So he didn’t know about you and Javier? But why was he—? And then it dawned on you.

The love bites, still dark red as ever, covering your exposed neck and the part of your chest that was exposed in the blouse you chose to wear.

You felt your face turn hot, your skin probably turning into a bright flush, but you knew Steve was only trying to get under your skin.

“And you haven’t? I saw you and Connie about to get it on right in the booth,” you quipped, but it didn’t have the same punch as usual. You weren’t even sure if it had even made sense because halfway through saying it, you caught sight of Javier.

He sat at his desk, sinking into his chair. He looked miserable. There were dark rings below his eyes, his eyelids were red and puffy, and his shoulders slumped. There was no energy keeping his body upright, much like a half-deflated balloon, hovering a few feet above the floor.

“You doin’ alright, Peña?” you asked.

You didn’t usually use his last name like the others at the embassy did, but it didn’t feel right to call him Javier when less than 48 hours ago you were moaning his first name like it was the only word you knew.

He looked up at you, and his face turned sort of queasy-looking. It’s like a punch in the gut. He can’t even look at you.

“Just fine, Y/L/N.” he muttered, and turned is attention back to whatever file he had been reading before you came in.

Steve just glanced between the two of you, confusion filling his face. He shot you a quizzical look. You shook your head back at him and shrugged. There was no way you could explain this.

It was possibly the quietest day you had ever experienced in the five years you had worked there. Every so often you would look over to Javier, usually staring at the same page of a file from 30 minutes before. Paperwork days, like this one, were always a drag, but the easy conversation between you three helped.

You felt bad for Steve. He might not have felt as shitty as you did or Javier looked, but he had to sit through the silence too. There was no reason why he should have to suffer, yet you saw no solution.

At exactly 12:30 you pushed your chair back and announced you were taking your lunch break. You needed to get out of the room. Fresh air and some fresh food were beginning to sound more like water in a desert than was likely healthy.

Lunch was a short affair, but it was nice to walk outside the embassy to the café a couple blocks over. You returned, hesitating before ascending the stairs to the main entry. 3 more hours, then you could go home. There wasn’t really a schedule keeping you there that long, but there was work to be done and a mutually agreed-upon commitment to keep the paperwork evenly spread.

You reached your office knowing you should feel refreshed. Instead, you were dreading any moment in which Javier might have to talk to you. You didn’t think you could handle another one of his foreign expressions or the look of unease upon seeing you this morning.

The door was open, and you could hear hushed voices inside.

“...ruined everything now,” that was Javier’s voice.

“What could have been so bad?” asked Steve.

“God, Murphy, I—Y/N, she was,” Javier took a breath, “she was drunk.”

They were definitely talking about you. Steve obviously knew now. Knew about you drunkenly throwing yourself at Javier. They hadn’t noticed you watching from the side of the doorway, and you stepped back a little further from sight, but not out of earshot, as to continue listening. It wasn’t the most moral of your decisions, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about that. Not after everything else that had happened.

“So were you, Javi,” Steve said, “I saw you when Connie and I left that place. You were on your fourth glass.”

“We stayed for another hour, I maybe had one more. By the time we were back at the apartments, I was almost completely sober.”

“And?”

“And Y/N can never find out! If she did, Murphy, she’d hate me. More than she probably already does.”

“Why would she? You two are best friends. I don’t think she could ever hate you.”

“She would. If she found out that I initiated it while sober? With her? While she was in a compromised state? She’d hate me for using her like that.”

You couldn’t believe it. Everything. All of your worries. Right there, laid out by the man who’d caused them. He had used you. Used you and left you like all the other girls he fucked.

The pain was bubbling up and you could feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes. How had you fucked up so much?

“Javi, she might be mad, sure,” Steve said, “but you need to fix things. She’s your coworker. And work isn’t happening because of this.”

“I just—I regret sleeping with her, Steve,” Javi said and you felt your entire body go numb. “I wish I hadn’t let her into my apartment, anything to keep what happened from happening.”

An ugly sound erupted from you before you could stop it, something halfway between a sob and a silent scream, and you flung your hands up to cover your mouth.

Steve and Javier turn at the noise. Javier tensed up and his eyes widened. It was like you were standing naked in front of them, all your insecurities bared raw to the world.

You felt like you were going to throw up.

You turned on your heels, needing to get out of there as fast as possible. The tears were now streaming down your face.

“Wait, Y/N!” Javier yelled, causing plenty of others in the building to turn their heads.

You kept walking, faster. You burst through the door and continued to where you parked your car. You were almost to the lot when you felt a hand on your wrist, gentle but firm.

You whipped around to see Javier, standing, out of breath, his lips half-parted and he looked like he had seen a ghost.

“Leave me alone, Javi,” you sighed, trying to pull yourself out of his grasp.

“Can I explain? Y/N? Please? I—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you said with finality, managing to yank yourself from him, and storm into your car.

The car started and you backed out of your spot. You drove away, Javier remained standing where you left him.

next part

tags; @pascalisthepunkest​ @raven974​

[kaetastic]

HISTORY UNFOLDS. 1/3

pairing: Finn Shelby x Reader, Luca Changretta x Reader, Deceased!John Shelby x Reader

summary: A favour that is pending to be fulfilled calls Y/N to Birmingham, from a very old friend. However, the youngest Shelby soon discovers her past with his deceased brother, John, and the one who had ordered the murdering, Luca Changretta.

word count: 14.6k (i did that)

warning: all sorts of angst, mentions of death, war, mentions of violence, mentions of firearm, mentions of blood, smut, profanities, age gap (read note) 

note: okay, so- i was kind of pissed that we barely have finn content. anyways, i wanted to clear a few things about this writing. it is set place in season 4, john died and luca changretta has arrived for his vendetta. finn is 18, the reader is 37. the reader’s last name is stein :D hope you don’t mind, enjoy and have a good day!

Part 2 | Part 3

Muffled thuds stomped against the ground. The heavy gait they trudged through the still air that had been spurted with blood was that of a crackling of thunder, ready to split the land into two. Weaving against one another like ruffled locks of hair, the piercing grass blades obeyed with every force that pressed onto them; the bed of green and yellow compressed into a hefty brick. Just like millions of menacing syringes pointing into the clear sky as if defending soldiers of the ground creatures walk upon, the patchy grass was ready to embed their toxins into bloodstreams. Despite the steel gun’s stomach filled with clanking bullets; men drowned in blood and bodies resting upon the ground as if it was up for display, the sky played with the merry rays of light. 

A staggering sigh fell off her lips as her thumb caressed the chilling metal of the syringe that cried for help in her suffocating grip. Pressing into her head was the bulging intricate lines of the artwork on the tree, the leaves danced with every kiss of the wind. Almost as if it was calling the men that brushed their fingers over the trigger, painting the walls of the camp with dying blood. Blood of those wounded; blood of those who’ve saved countless lives of bleeding soldiers. Fear was the bandage that sloppily wrapped around her chipping heart. War was more than terrifying. It had been for the soldiers prancing around the land of blood. It had been for the wives and children back at home. It had been for their dogs who would stare at the door, waiting. Especially when sizzling barrels that were loaded with merciless ammunition were hunting for the sole survivor who had managed to flee away from their execution. She was outnumbered, guns to a single, used syringe. 

Pressing her lips as tight as she had locked the door of her house that must’ve been drowning in layers of dust before she had hurled herself into the waging war, the battle that raged inside her sliced and butchered every thought of her making a minuscule noise. Even a slight push of both of the breathing organ could lead a body to stand as shooting practice. Y/N glanced down to the stainless steel syringe, neck-craning like an ancient spine of a parasol. Streaks of red stroke her arms as if her body was a the counter where the butcher’s knife met with the poor animal, the foul smell encroached her potency to breathe even though it was something she had already gotten used to. Well, she was forced to. However, she could not digest the fact that the liquid used to run through someone’s body, aiding them to breathe and live. The staining blood shook its leg, waiting to decompose on her freshly scrubbed apron.

If it wasn’t enough of the stark red glazing on her body, beads of the warm liquid coated her tongue as her teeth stabbed into it as if she was scooping up a plot of dirt to nurse another plant. Just like that back at home. Despite her menacing situation, she hoped deep down that the neighbours she placed her trust on, had taken care of her plants. Dread engulfed her body. A tremble waved through her quivering, overcooked noodle knees when the sound she despaired, trickled into her ears. Murmurings slithered behind her unstable feet like a starving serpent, brushing against her skin frequently with its uncomfortably slick scales, spiralling up her leg as it flickered its tongue, tasting the air for nourishment. Fear.

A string of rough mumbled words from a language she could not point out, poured into the silent air. Not long after, grumbles followed the statement before shuffling of feet rubbed against the compacted grass that once used to be a gorgeous, wide field. Now, it was no different than the streets of a run-down city, pressed as tough as the stone bricks that made up most of the homes. It holds the burden of carrying the names of murderers- killings in the name of their country.   

Seconds ticked as hours. The sand trickled down the sleek glass as if crumpled soil had poured out of a cracked pot, one by one. It was agonizing to watch the substance from one side of the tent dive down to plaster down the walls; painting it as if a circus. The faint blotches of clouds that painted the fresh sky seemed to take its time to allocate to another area. Even though it felt as if her heart had been tugged out of her chest cavity to sing a song extremely close to her ears, Y/N tried her best to compromise her chest heaving; forcing her lungs to reuse the same air once again. On the other hand, the only question that remained in her head, blaring persistently was, for how long?

Before she knew it, a whirling of metal echoed through the still, open field. With modicum movements, her head reluctantly turned to face the man who dangled her life over the thin thread-like a puppet. Her throat became parched. Every bubble of moisture that was once the reason she could talk, evaporated from her mouth as death sat in the waiting room, reading the latest paper while he waited for her with great patience. Just like he was with everyone else.

“Found ya.” In broken English, an aged man with a revolver in his grasp snickered. Like a vicious serpent, his tongue flickered to slap his lips as if he was a child, sloppily shoving food down his throat. The scars that trekked down his face reminded her of the newly purchased china dinnerware she had placed on the top of the highest shelf for display, which unfortunately had all met their sorrowful ends; till this day, she pondered how the day would’ve gone if she hadn’t had nimble fingers. All she could see behind his eyes were suppressed anger; an unnecessary need of vengeance. The uniform he wore similar to that of a burlap sack, a boring beige. Despite the prominent lines of age that created a path on his face, the grip he held onto the firearm did not waver- the mouth of the revolver yawned between her eyes.

Birds chirped in the air like an orchestra, their singing was innocent- a gentle melody and a tune that was in sync so perfectly even though their volume stood on the same height. It rained over the bloody land, almost as if it was meant to cleanse the mess humans have created. While the half elevating bunk of the planet cheered with another passing day of joy, the latter was dancing in a bath of terror. This was it, this was the end of her line. If she had only listened to the incessant amount of warnings by several different people and the endless nagging from her friend who she looked back now, spoke only of truth, she wouldn’t be at gunpoint by a man who seemed to be thrice her age. Not to forget his face that looked as if it had a ride under a meat butchering blade. Just as she was, stubborn and blinded by the need to be right, Y/N had decided to oppose. What did she achieve? Nothing, but she was confident that her pride was tucked safely.

Fisting her hand into a ball with immense pressure that pierced her fingernails into her palm like a bed of nails, blood oozed out, seeping onto the dirt as nourishment; the glass chamber of the syringe let out a woozy crack. The only supply the abused land will ever get during the heinous battle would either be from astringent sweat plunging from the soldiers, the haunting lake of blood or the fitful rainfall.

With her eyes squinted shut and toes curled, the prayers she chanted in her head tugged the circular rope around her neck tighter, decreasing the diameter of the hole. Plucks of fibre dug into her skin, the voice in her head amplified- her call for someone. Religion was something the volunteered nurse did not insert in her life as much as some targeted individuals, for she found it irrelevant and obstructive to things such as routine and the words one would utter. However, she stood in front of the enemy, knees trembling with fear, calling out for a God she didn’t believe in seconds ago.

It seemed the trickling of sand had halted, the glass had scattered across the red floor, embedding itself into the decrepit wall. The elongated time that was predicted by a gypsy woman was a lie. The words she had believed once it had fallen from the woman’s lips. She was nothing but a hoax. Y/N acted oblivious to the idea that she would see death prematurely might’ve been because she had scribbled her name on that card- calling upon her death wish with limited time.

During the nauseating ride over the bumpy ground towards the slashing air, Y/N held no doubt that what she would soon see would be an image she would not be able to wipe off her head. However, she had doubted the countless possibilities that could have dropped upon her. Never did she see an ancient man that might as well be her grandfather, aim his revolver towards her.

It was only humane of her to wish that she would walk out of the vile battle in one piece. Everyone did so. But, it seemed that the gardener had tended to pluck out the most ravishing flower that would bring a bag’s worth of money.

There. An agonizing slow-paced train sauntered past her. Even though Y/N was stationed far away from the fields before, she was recently moved to another tent where she was slightly closer towards the bloodbath. And the bangs and slicing of the air with an agile speed from firearms were still new sounds she was getting familiar to since previously, the most she had heard was that of an accidental gunshot. Followed by a spine-chilling bang, was a piercing crack. It had not waited for a second to fall into the uniform pace of the noise. Like a collision of fist towards a drenched plot of soil, the sound rang through her ears. Then, the noise of an agile collapsing hefty object was absorbed by the starving land. Her eyes shot wide open. Immediately, she checked her body for a pool of blood to make sure that even if there was no pain, her body would’ve surely rotted by blood loss. But no, it was not her that had a bullet had flown through.

A thud was muffled by the layers of blood covered by yellowed–stained grass. The sword-like object sunk into the ground as an indent that was to be created by the soldier. Once her eyes had landed onto the corpse that would scar a hole on his head until his body would be part of the land he used to breathe upon, tracks of emotions overflowed through her. Speckles of worn off skin circled the gushing orifice, the crimson blood bursts out to paint the ground. Finally adding colour to his sorrowful uniform. The stream of blood that trickled down his nose reminded her of the water pipe at her house that needed fixing.

Snapping her head to face the hero who had tugged the barrier away from the early end of her life, saving her, a twinkle of relief gushed over her. With a pistol in his hand that was down one bullet, he let out a staggering breathe of air. The smearing of dirt across his cheeks had made it seem as if he had rolled his head over a land of flaky dirt with a splash of water.

“Tommy.” The man was pulled away from the trance at what he had just done.

Letting out a slight smile, he lent out his arm for her to grab, “Come on, get up, the others are still here. Just don’t forget to pay that favour, Stein.” Y/N nodded before grasping his arm. How could she ever forget the man who had been the reason she still had a future?

Obnoxiously boisterous rings from the telephone bounced off the walls of the spacious, palatial hotel room. The vibration of the wooden table under the machine sounded like incessant drumming of crying droplets from the clouds against a pane of glass. Blaring from the vent was frigid wind, kissing the exhausted pair who rested under the thick covers that were meant to shield them from the cold. It seemed it had not done its job.

Warmth radiated from the body that rested an inch away from her, a broad back that had been splayed with taut muscles, occupied the other whole half of the bed. The scent of sandalwood lingered on her sheets. The gentle caress of the cotton blanket was getting warmer. Her leg shifted to find a chillier spot under the blanket, accidentally brushing a pair of legs. An exhausted sigh brushed over her lips when the phone would not rest, continuing to dance on the table.

Since it was a bright and clear morning, Y/N had to cover her bare body, because the window that expanded the whole wall offered a jaw-dropping view of the city. The surrounding buildings might’ve not defeated the towering height of the hotel she stayed in; however, it is never a bad idea to stay safe. Before dashing across the wide window, she had tugged the diaphanous silk robe that was thrown haphazardly over the lampshade above the side table. As if the ringing had been a test for her morning patience, she stomped towards the machine with a huff- trying her best to prevent herself from making too much sound as she liked the sleeping guest to proceed with his needed, peaceful slumber. The frozen air had coated the wooden floor during the night, with every step she took, it kissed her feet like bites from a kitten. It sent shivers up her spine since the only thing that covered her body was a thin layer of silk.

Snatching the phone, she mumbled underneath her breath, not allowing the frigid air to get to her, “Paris, 146.”

The sudden desperate need for a gulp of water coated her tongue, the crying from her head caused the woman to softly tug on the wire connection so she could reach the pitcher. While she poured herself plain, old boring water, she waited for the other side of the line. A stream of water trekked down her throat; she thought it was a wrong call.

“Is this Y/N Stein?” The voice was so familiar, hoarse and raspy. She could smell the cigarette.

“Who’s asking?” Whispering under her breath, Y/N’s feet brushed against one another as all she wanted to do was jump back into the warmth of the bed. Y/N shot a glance at the body that laid peacefully in the blanket while took a sip of the refreshing water. The late-night activity had left her parched.

“Thomas Shelby.”

“Tommy?”

A hum vibrated into her ears, “Remember that favour back then?” Y/N hummed, fingers caressing the wire, twirling it and curling it into loops as she replayed the memory. “I heard that you were in France.”

“Still am, though, words spread quickly.” A chuckle was emitted from the other side of the line.

“Come to Birmingham,” This was it, the only time Thomas Shelby had made contact with her, despite him being her life saviour. Even though it had been eight years since they had last seen each other, there was never an attempt from both sides to invite one another for a reunion. Although a part of her had missed the middle brother who was six years a junior to her, the sudden recall of the man that she had done the most to wipe him off her memory by drowning herself in oceans of the strongest liquor, which had unfortunately failed (she had thought of the intriguing idea of possible brain trauma but what had halted her was if she wanted to forget the joyful memories). “And oh, bring some souvenirs.”

Without refuting the order, Y/N placed the phone back to where it resided. She let out a low chuckle at his words, finally piecing it all together after the call had ended. The wires were being watched.

“What a sight to wake up to,” A husky voice stated in a thick French accent, slicing the empty air into two loaves. Averting her attention towards the bed, her eyes landed on the male who leaned against the headboard, his elbows pointing up in the air- sporting his flexing muscles on display. The chestnut-haired male wore an irritating yet charming smirk that ran across his face, his pearly teeth glittered under the sunlight. It was possibly one of the reasons why he was in her room.  “Come ‘ere.”

As she ambled- the prominent raising peak underneath the sheet was evidence that his eyes were running down her figure shamelessly as sinful thoughts ran in his head. She swayed her hips before halting beside the bed. Shrugging the translucent sheet off her shoulders, the robe pooled around her like mercury, exposing her at all her glory. It was not the first time he saw her naked. And it was only hope that it would certainly not be his last. The worry she had not too long ago of being seen by strangers from the opposing building had been thrown out of the window. Tugging the blanket off, his tongue ran across his bottom lip while he devoured on the sight, his eyes trained on hers as she indulged the throbbing shaft.

“Ah, fuck me.” A wanton moan fell off her lips at good-morning sight, already desperate for the bulging veins to caress and drag against her walls.

“So the lady says.” He groaned as the warm feeling of last night engulfed him. Strings of moans and groans like that of the night before rebounded from the walls.

Chatter and bickering hopped around the circular table. The chandelier that stood above them created wavering shadows with every muscle they moved. Warm and dim yellow rays coated the bodies. Even though sunlight shone inside the house, there was still a need for the electricity to be utilized. The men who did not have the privilege to sit on the chairs but have the opportunity to observe the constant feud watched the circle of people endlessly hurl words onto one another. Well, it was mostly between the pair of blue eyes and the distraught aunt.

The wallpaper was rich in green, a bland colour as a background to the contrasting blaring blue ceramic plates that sat above in the shelves. A faint knock rapped the wooden door. Since a battle was being undone in the room, the sound of the guest was engulfed by an unsatisfied individual on the table. The tension inside the room was palpable even though a door stood between Y/N and the conversers.

Running her eyes on the walls, she tried to spot something interesting along the hallway which she could get lost into. However, all she could think of was the souvenirs she had brought all the way from France; the long-awaited reunion of an old lover. She wouldn’t call it nervousness, she would never admit to such a label. So she went with the assumption that it was the jitters. The patiently waiting-woman couldn’t help but wonder if Thomas had told everyone about her or if she was going to be the surprise that leads to heart attacks. Just like at the pictures, a play of her memories with the middle brother pulsed with every beat of her heart.

After a few seconds had passed, her hands were quick to snatch at the pocket watch that was stuffed in her pocket. The door was yet to open. Turning back to look at the men she solely trusted, the English shrugged his shoulders- not comprehending to why they had not been in the room. Raising her hand in the air once again, she rapped the door. As if a sword had run through the thick air that was beginning to suffocate the arguing chests, silence barged through the doors. Enlightenment to the skulls that would’ve snapped into fragments.

“Finn, get it.” Bopping his head to his brother’s instructions without any bicker, the youngest dashed towards the door. Thomas took a puff of his cigarette, the swirl of smoke inhaled into his lungs, warming his chest.

An antagonizing slow creak blurted in the air, glueing all the eyes onto the unexpected guest. Questions sprinted in Polly’s head. Was it someone he had been expecting? He had looked calm and collected, though, that was just how the second oldest Shelby was, after the war. His face like a brick wall, only chips of cement could sputter out of his mouth while his face remained stoic. By the voices in the air, her doubt had been correct. It was hard to believe Thomas would do such a thing, inviting someone- most likely a stranger to a business meeting which should have only consisted of the closed Peaky Blinders, without informing others. It was something he rarely did if the other times were eradicated where he proceeded with his plan without informing the family. Oh, that was most of the time. There was no extra chair for the guest. The most understandable reason was Thomas wanted to introduce an ally that he has been hiding for God knows how long. Even that brought steam to puff out of Polly’s ears. Her eyes threw a glance at her nephew, whose back was facing the door, only taking frequent puffs of his cigarette. What game is he playing?

“Is Thomas Shelby here?” Finn did not help but notice the towering bodies behind her figure and the humongous bags they held- not even quiver, which should be a sign that it might’ve been an attack of sort. A slight tint of red stroked his face as his fingers brushed over the holster in his jacket. She was either a woman of power from the men behind her or she was nothing but a spoiled lady. Although he did deal with women with power from day-to-day bases, which was more of observing the women Tommy would tangle with, there was something that enchanted her ambience. A spell cast onto him.

Taking rapid glances at his appearance as he turned around to look at his brother for an answer, it was as if she could see his character like a display, seeing through him transparently. Not a bad suit, hair combed extremely cautiously and the face of a babe. She quirked an eyebrow, an interesting yet perplexing combination. Although he did look very familiar, Y/N didn’t bother to prod much into the idea as she sees faces every single day.

Finally facing her once again, he nods at her question. The slight opening of the door only allowed her to view the wallpaper and a head from the boy’s lanky shoulders, he shot his inquiry, catching her off-guard, “What’s your business with Tommy?”

Believing what he was doing was the right protocol, Finn proceeded with the short interrogation; even though it felt like it was being reverted to him every time he took a rapid glance at the men behind her, “Why? You his bodyguard?”

The recently changed boy to a man, wrinkled his nose, gaze focused on her as he tried his hardest to read her, much to his dismay, every item his eyes grazed over, it had only caused him to go in a loop. The array of golden rings decorating her fingers like a twinkling Christmas tree, caused him to assume that she might’ve been a lady flaunting with money. However, the endless list of questions Finn had thought of caused him to be nauseous as the acidic liquid elevated his throat. Where would she get her money from? “I’m not, I’m his brother. Will you answer the question or not?” Blaring across her mind were countless of possibilities that she could’ve said to respond to his question.

But, the bucket of water splashed across her blackboard, flooding it with a thick layer of glazed liquid, obstructing her ability to see all of the answers when his tongue had run across his bottom lip. Oh no. This was the youngest brother John had told her about during the rare days where they could sit back while others guarded. Her mouth gaped open to respond to his question; however, the deeper she swam in the mess, the harder it was for her to remain in search.

Finn raised his eyebrows, arms crossed to lean against the door frame- emitting a slight cocky aura which Y/N could not help but find slightly amusing and magnetic. Before he got back to his more respectful position when it felt like he was being judged by the accompanying man, Finn’s mouth gaped open to press the trigger again. Despite the voices in his head reminding that he was a Shelby.

“Just let her in.” Glances were thrown from the ladies, definitely not expecting the unexpected guest who would interrupt the meeting to be a female. What was she? The freshest whore Tommy had indulged in? If it wasn’t for Thomas’s interruption, she would’ve surely needed a seat for the torturing investigation. Somewhat not grasping the idea of how his brother knew of the guests’ gender, Finn followed the command without a word, opening the door wide open for the guests.

“Wait here.” Y/N’s voice of superiority caused soft trickling of fingers to brush up Finn’s spine. Since the door was blocked by Thomas’s body, no one could see who the individual was, unless they decided to take a risky side peek. However, the three men that stood next to the wall, obeying the command, with three massive bags in their grasp, had directly caused everyone to be pushed to the edge. What was Thomas planning? The corners of Tommy’s lips curled up once distant clicking of heels echoed closer towards his ears, but never a smile, never since Grace’s death. The door creaked back shut. Moving aside, Tommy revealed the woman that caused everyone to get riled up. The ones who stared at her with a slight recognition of her familiar face had finally pieced it all together once he had announced the guest. Finn took his newly given seat at a table, an honour, a prerogative. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the wooden chair to watch the scene unfold.

“Thomas Shelby, it’s been a long fucking time.” A satisfied line sported on Tommy’s lips.

“Everybody, this is Y/N Stein, all the way from America. Was in my unit before she decided to desert us all.” The youngest in the room eyes’ widened at the sudden collision of information which leads him to be dunked into a mass of an ocean, it was overwhelming.

An amused huff escaped her lips at his obvious lie he had just hurled out on new pairs of eyes, well, it was half-lie and half-truth. Although it was not entirely a lie, he had just scratched off the surface, which without deeper context, it would’ve been an easy misunderstanding, “Close your fucking mouth, Tom,” Noticing that the rest of the group did not get the note, Y/N finished to defend herself. “I had to leave for some issue.”

Thomas rolled his eyes at her horrible attempt to drift from the topic, he was amused at how she was trying to humble herself, “Saved John’s life and off she went to Germany to spy for the fucking British Secret Service.”

Slapping his arm, Y/N stood flabbergasted that he had spilt her past during the war. Lizzie watched the interaction with vigilant eyes, alcohol was thrown onto the fire behind her eyes- feeding the voracious element. It was not just her though.

“Y/N Stein. It’s been so long since I’ve heard the name.” Shooting up, Arthur pulled the lady into his arm. He held on for seconds, not a thought of his wife would be roaring with confusion and jealousy flew passed his head as he embraced the reunion. During the bloodshed, the Shelby brothers had enjoyed her company, especially after John had fallen into a terrible condition, making them closer than ever. Even though the middle child was nowhere near his station, she had decided to aid him because it was the bloody war and every soul was worth it. “Those American had been rubbin’ their accent on ya, haven’t they?” The former war-nurse smacked his arm with a laugh, her head thrown back at his observation. Despite her exhausting agile trip, she had always found herself to be enlightened by the eldest. An electrifying thunder was zapping between Lizzie and Linda as they side-eyed the intimate reaction.

“What can you do when you’re surrounded by New Yorkers, amirite Arthur? Jeremiah,” Noting that there was short of one particular person she had hoped to meet, she raised the question she thought she wouldn’t even have to ask. Even during such a bloody time, John’s presence was always prominent and he had radiated an ambience no one ever could. Well, no one she had ever met so far. He could be a nut-head at points but he was always there for her when she needed someone. A shoulder. It was too quiet without him being in the room. “Where’s John?” The room had ebbed to silence once again. Wearing long faces that met with the floor, everyone had suddenly found the ground to be engaging.

After a few seconds which passed like an ancient and a decrepit train, Arthur amplified his voice to answer since no one had dared to reply, “He, uhm, he’s gone.” He stuttered while he fiddled with the rough pads of his fingers, knowing well the history the pair had. Tears welled up on his eyes even though he had bawled a lake-full of water not too long ago. A familiar ringing sunk into her ears as if she had been plunged into the dark abyss of water. No light shone down, terrified of what the deep beyond holds. Every frantic snap she made with her body, she was faced with the same darkness, her accompany, her watcher. The water had muffled her potency to hear, taunting her with indistinct chatter. Words she could not even make out.

“Oh.”

The rubble of fallen cylindrical death piled up like an insubstantial building as if struck by artillery. Before putting an end to the flaking red ashes, Tommy took his last puff, stabbing his cigarette into the glass ashtray. Crying out for help, it wheezed to permanent sleep, “Anyways, Y/N is here to aid us during this… turmoil,” The abrupt and direct change to business from Tommy had piqued her interest even though the bandages wrapped around her heart were draping down so loosely. Polly let out a chuckle of disbelief, gaining a warning glance from Thomas.

There was a switch in the man that flipped. However, she didn’t prod much into the point she had noticed since he had served four bloody years on the battlefield. Four torturous years of seeing blood and as for him, the narrow tunnels he had dug out for hours with crumbling dirt and sludge. “She will be assisting in the area of her expertise, firearm.”

“I will?” Y/N inquired with furrowed eyebrows. The woman who possessed dark bags under her eyes, leaned back into her chair when something seemed off-putting; her eyes watching like a hawk, so vigilant and persistent to dig deeper into the resurfacing secret. Never had Thomas mention her before, well, never did he talk about what had happened during the bloody war either. When Thomas had called her which was the only contact they had made, he had not written a letter informing her of details. She had understood his reason for not directly telling her over the telephone line; however, a scribbling of a letter would’ve allowed her to prepare to what was coming. Then after two days of the contact, Y/N had left whatever business she had in France to men she had trusted; she cruised on a boat towards her desired destination with no idea on what she was about to face. “Oh, yes, I will.”

Shoulders suddenly tensed, not at all expecting for her to be someone they had thought. Even the eldest Shelby stared at her in shock. The woman who wore the navy blue dress, that was not thriving in England, with an exquisite fashion of gold that embellished her figure, was part of a gun trading business? Although the thought died down slightly when their eyes glanced at the three men in splendid suits that came in with her, it still had shaken them to the core.

Ada elevated her eyes to find any points she could note from the woman’s appearance, noticing the fading trail of a handful of tattoos painting her skin. It was a smear of ink on her neck, although, it had only peeked out when she would shrug her shoulders. Tilting her head at her inked hand, Ada’s eyes squinted at the drawing that resembled what had cost her brother’s life. Before she could take another good view to confirm her suspicion, Y/N’s hands were then stuffed in her pocket for warmth. The Shelby made accidental eye contact with the woman she had been staring at.

An amused smirk sported on Polly’s lips as she took a sip of the warm liquid. There were many, multiple times Tommy had managed to baffle her; however, this, this was crossing his imaginary line by a great distance, “We already have enough guns.”

Tommy mumbled, not bothered to look at his aunt, “Pistols. Y/N here, have something much more... predatory.”

“Although I haven’t brought the lot of them, I’m sure my boys can handle an urgent call,” The three men stomped their way towards the table with a gesture of her finger, their gait shaking the ground like an earthquake. The hats they wore tilted to the sides, somehow still resting upon them despite it being hanging off the edge. Bulging through the material of the bag could’ve been assumed as useless sticks; however, if the straps were to be tugged open by the wrong audience, it could’ve been the cause for someone to be thrown behind bars that they would have to call home. “Got me the good batch of Rifles, Machine guns and Shotgun.”

The legs of the table shook, quivering at the abrupt weight pressed at the top of its head. Tremors vibrated through the wooden table before Y/N’s men tugged the sealed straps with such ferocity and strength. The bottle of rum danced to the beat, the liquid slammed into the container walls of the glass cup like the highest tide of the day. Flabbergasted at how the atmosphere had altered from a choking tension to amusement with a simple addition of a person, Linda could not believe it. Especially by the fact that it was a woman who had run the whole syndicate.

“Why more firearm? ‘Tis a vendetta of what? 15?” Arthur inquired.

Thomas nodded, he paced towards the table, fingers brushing over the chilly metal, “Heard that he’s involving Sabini’s men too, not just for vehicles. All he wants is his bullets to end up in us, reserved royally by the avenger himself.” 

“These are my most trusted men,” Y/N uttered once Thomas threw a glance at her. Her head was held high as she watched them pluck the straps open to reveal the stack of firearms that had been stuffed in the bag. Pride torched in her body as she watched eyes glint. Nodding her head at each figure, she listed, “Gavin, Connor and Dante.”

“Italian name.” Polly blurted as her droopy eyes from the medication she had been consumed, peeked at the blare of reflection from the guns. Narrowing her eyes towards the man who backed away from the table to stand beside his boss, Polly quirked an eyebrow. The olive skin of the Italian had been painted with his raven untamed locks. The voice urged at her to keep a hairs’ breadth distance between her fingers and her gun that was tucked in the waist of her pants’. She barely knew the woman and she managed to drag an Italian into the Peaky Blinders’ meeting.

“Yes, he fell onto my plate when there were... mishaps,” Y/N declared. The man whose broad shoulders were squared intensely stared into Polly’s eyes, his head held up high as her glare did not quiver him. “He also teaches me some Italian from time to time. Although, I don’t have much time for that lately, do I?” The claimed Italian shook his head.

“You brought an Italian here,” Polly exclaimed prodding onto the point to why she was even speaking. Was Tommy calling for his death wish? “How do we know he isn’t part of that buffoon of a mafia?”

Before Y/N could even inquire her question, Tommy interjected, “Polly,” Having to see his friend being grilled alive by his aunty was not a pleasant sight that he would tolerate. Especially since this was also meant to be a business conversation; professional. Tommy sighed, “We can trust Y/N.”

“Clearly you do,” His aunt grumbled, flicking her cigarette case with a clash before lighting it up with haste as if the longer she thought about this ridiculous plan, the more ludicrous it will be. Although the time went passed by at an antagonizing pace, Polly would have rather have to go through with Tommy’s past, foolish acts, rather than watching him place all his trust onto a sole woman. “He could be passing information back to him.” 

“Polly, that’s enough,” Tommy instructed with slight superiority in his voice. Polly glared at her nephew before smoke eased her mind. “I’ve heard words flying about that they have made a deal with Sabini, we must stay alert. Finn, go show the men their lodge, the building I had pointed out today while passing and Y/N’s also. I’ll send someone to check the guns, tomorrow, midday.”

Finn’s eyes widened at the job he had been assigned to, glancing at Isaiah who shrugged his head with a faint smirk that he would always wear. This was his chance to prove to Tommy that he was worthy of becoming a Peaky Blinder; that he was ready as a soldier ready to be deployed. 

“Isaiah, you tag on.” 

“Tommy, it’s not a fucking field trip,” Before Tommy could justify to why sending Isiah was a good idea, she had cut him off. “No, I swear to God, if I see a Peaky behind me I’ll use him as a shooting target. Plus, put a little trust on your brother, won’t ya?” Noticing the peculiar glances thrown between Arthur and a blonde lady, Y/N spoke up as she lit a cig. “What? Oh, the God part. Yeah, would’ve believed in him if it wasn’t for the war.”

Linda clenched her jaw at the insolent woman who had used the name in vain. Tommy took a second of pondering, before nodding reluctantly. Was it a good idea? However, he believed with the presence of the three, clearly strong men she had brought, she was safe. A catastrophic debate was set off in his head, questioning if he should risk sending a car to follow them. He signalled his head towards the three exposed bags. Isaiah paced towards the bag, strapping it to a close, ready to be handed back to its owner, “Oh, keep it here, my storage is full at the moment.” 

Y/N stared at the bags as it was being strapped, a faint and faded voice whispered with an ever so lightly volume to take one for safety even though a pair of frigid metal were tucked safely in her coat. The voice had warned her of a premonition that reeked of imminent disaster where her two pistols were of no use, “Although, I’ll take this one.” Grabbing the straps on one of the bags containing the sole rifle, she slung it across her shoulder. Without a word, he bopped his head as a silent order towards the two men to proceed with the command.

Finn shot up with the idea that he would take the bag off of Y/N’s shoulder, to only tower over her figure with his lanky height. No words fell from his mouth when the task was simple: Be a gentleman. Finn’s lips wavered, opening and shutting as if he had something to say. Suddenly, his ability to construct a sentence had been hurled out of the window. The only female Shelby couldn’t hold back her amused chuckle at Finn’s lack of ability and practice on the opposite gender. Finn gazed into her eyes, Y/N’s eyebrows clashed into one another, furrowing in impeccable confusion to why he was acting so peculiar.

“We keep this at Charlie’s yard, yeah?” Since Johnny picked up the bag containing a whole load of shotguns, it had caused his shoulder to slump down from the hefty weight. Isaiah with his own set of weight quirked an eyebrow. Getting a simple nod from Tommy, the two men left the room. When the youngest had already dashed towards the door with pink cheeks from embarrassment, Tommy called, halting the boy’s huge strides, “Finn.”

With his great reflexes the flying car key that hovered from one side of the room to the other, fell into the palms of his hands. Finn stared at it with awe, a twinkle in his eyes of amazement and disbelief. It was not always every day when Tommy would hand his keys to the 18-year-old boy. The opportunity for him to drive a car felt exciting, especially when the key to it is in his hands, “You take care of the car or else you won’t be seeing the sun tomorrow.”

The sun yawed, exhausted at the tiring task it would do every day- repeatedly without a stop, unless, it was the end. The ball of flames crawled down; pleading help from his friend once more. Painted with streaks and lines of red, the sun had spread its largess across the warming yellow sky. A call to those who stood awake.

“So you sell guns?” It had been slightly intimidating with three men sitting at the back who if they were to protect the woman, they must’ve committed nasty work. Every so often, Finn would remember that they had snatched the straps with such strength that he began to ponder whose blood had been spilt on their hands, supported by the fact that they work with firearms. It was to the point Finn had to loosen his tie, sweat clamouring on his chest.

It was when Y/N had ordered for the direction to change to a new route, the youngest Shelby didn’t bother to prod. So he had done as he was told, however, it was only the three men that had gotten off the vehicle. Although it wasn’t his ill-intention, he had eavesdropped on the exchanged words between the boss and the daunting men. It was something along the lines of making calls and warehouses. Finally, Finn was left alone with the woman sitting by his side. Once the newly man had cleared his throat, he decided to pick up a conversation with the woman; not liking the present of a heavily-pregnant, awkward silence. No communication happened between the pair despite them sitting next to each other for nearly an hour as the sun had set. The only noise that made way to play a melody was the rough drumming of the engine, unnecessary bumps and screaming from the civilians who had not cared for their rest.

“I do, yeah,” Y/N let out a chuckle at his obvious question, Finn nodded. Tapping the steering wheel to an asynchronous rhythm, he tried his best to eliminate the idea of making a slight mistake. Not will it only cause an ending to his life by his older brother, it would cost Y/N’s also. With the sudden thought that popped in his head, his palms were drowning in sweat. Not a good idea. “You in the Peaky Blinders?”

Although it might’ve been a stupid question since he had worn the signature cap, Y/N had to flow with the questions thrown back and forth; not liking the silence between them. A hum was muffled by his throat, “I am,” A huff came from the engine as the vehicle entered a path where the roadwork was not so great and smooth. “So, were you a nurse when you were in the war? Not assuming that you could’ve been anything, of course, working in the war offices for example or a cooker. I just thought you were a nurse because that was pretty common.”

Darkness cast over the vehicle as a gigantic red-bricked house shielded the car from the blaring moonlight. A chuckle escaped Y/N’s lips when Finn had finished his rambling, turning her body towards the boy whose face was splashed with red paint; she found it adorable, “I was in fact, a nurse. You guessed correctly.”

“Medals?” If it wasn’t for Thomas’s words about wounding the car, Finn would’ve glanced at the woman, which was a horrible idea because his face was crimson from already displaying all his red pumping and running veins.

“Turned them to these.” Blaring into his eye were sparkles like that of a smear of twinkling stars, iridescent gold shimmers stirred in the gems, despite it being a golden ring, the gem still captured his eyes with its dark brown backdrop. 

An awkward silence filled the ambience once again.

The inquiry played against Finn’s ears, “What exactly is the issue you all are currently facing that made Tommy call me?” There were a hundred of ways he could answer her, maybe structure it so she would be satisfied. However, he was made clear by no other than Tommy that it be he who would do the elaboration over the plan with her.  

“Tommy said he’ll talk to you about it, didn’t want me to mess something up.” The lady who was twice his age chuckled, shaking her head at the older brother’s actions.

“Typical Tommy, always hogging the queen piece to himself.” She chuckled, shaking her head.

“You seem close to my brothers,” The chestnut-haired boy stated an obvious inspection. “When you heard that John died, you looked devastated.”

“A blunt observation said as a statement without holding back.” Y/N quirked her eyebrows, tilting her head in slight amusement. Trying her best to not chuckle at the blushing boy, “Have they taught you no manners, boy?” Y/N liked that her words had brought up such a reaction. Something she had never witnessed. Most likely because she had always been with men. Tinting his cheeks with a darker splash of red, she could see that we were trying not to take a peek at her.

“I’m not a boy,” Finn gritted his teeth, the clench in his jaw could’ve snapped his teeth into fragments of mints. “I’m a man. I’m a Shelby, I don’t need manners.”

Y/N’s eyes blinked at his response, “Even the serpents of politicians have some manners, what would that make you?”

Heavy breathing fell from his nostrils, his clench on the steering wheel tightened as he felt himself being belittled. Never had he been treated like this, if his now-deceased brother was excluded, especially from a female.

Noticing the air had gone still, Y/N mumbled, turning her attention to her window on her side, “You know, Tommy had saved my life during the war,” She stated, her eyes watched as the boats danced over the gentle crashing of waves on the canal before they had entered another route. “I’m practically in debt to him.” Even though she knew she was possibly going to be off the line, her mouth had not halted. “Tell me, Finn, you wear that hat like a tiara. Are your cuts and scars hidden?”

It seemed Y/N had hit a soft spot, “Are all your bags at the place?” Finn pursed his lips, teeth clawing back as he tried his best to not unleash what he wanted to hurl back at her.

Y/N hummed, “I did not only bring three of my men you know? With this line of work, I must be out of my mind to do such a thing.”

Before Finn could agree with her factual statement, an exhausted huff came from the back of the car. The speed that it once sprinted through declined, halting the vehicle to the side of the road, underneath the shadow of a building. Glowing down with faint rays of light, the moon’s spotlight had only glistened over the road. Flickers from the street lamp was a battle cry, an indication that war was striding over.

Finn scowled at the inconvenient breakdown. Already irritated, his hands rested over the heavy door, ready to grab a can of petrol to feed the starving car.

“Don’t!” Tugging his collar down to slam his back into the cushion of the seats with her hovering over him, a familiarized sound Y/N had gotten used to, had swept through the air before grazing the glass. Two cracks banged through the empty street. A chorus of shatters sprinkled the floor as a decoration. Shattering into a million prickling fragments, the flooring of the car was now like a bed of snow made up of pins. Finn laid under her with a gaped opened mouth, breathing heavily when his ability to breathe was restricted for a short second.

He gritted his teeth, the infant glass shards caressed his face. The claws dug into his skin before diving down, his face like a mountain as their blades provide a safe landing like an ice axe. Never was it a good idea to take a peek at your enemies who had been targeting you with a rifle; however, Y/N had only taken a glimpse before they decided to brush their finger against the trigger. The car that had suspiciously rested in the corner of the building with men in impeccable suits and a homburg hat was the only thing Y/N needed to know what was to follow.

“We’re being ambushed.” The woman declared, stating the obvious. Blood sprinted down her body, her heart strenuously pumping to supply. Her eyes widened as the adrenaline rushed through her body.

A string of thoughts ran through Y/N’s head. Then, it all clicked together like a flawless combination for a gun. Rummaging her fingers through her lanky coat, she pulled out what looked like a cigarette case. Finn gazed at her object before darting it towards her as if she had gone mental. She flicked it open with ease despite the dripping sweat that painted her hands, to reveal the reflecting mirror. Without a conscious thought, she shifted to find a better angle. There. Once her mirror had spotted the prominent shadow figures, their hats peaking in the air as if a shooting target, she let out a light chuckle. As light adjusted, the corners of her lips curled down when her eyes grazed over the machine gun they had dragged out, throwing it on the hood of the car. However, it seemed they had been watching through the scope the entire time as another sole bullet swished to fracture the now dead street lamp. The light dimmed down. Standing under the shadow provided by the blocky building, Thomas’s car was hidden away from the spotlight.

Finn’s shoulders tensed as the shatter of glass echoed through his ears once again. The terrible music would drive him to insanity. Even though he was in a tight situation, he couldn’t help but think about what Tommy would’ve thought about the minuscule yet probably visible scratches from the glass shards. Not to mention the vehicle that would need heavy repairing. He was dead meat. Not to forget that he was the one who decided to take a shortcut towards her lodge- the shorter route with horrible scenery. What a way to show an outsider Birmingham. 

“Listen to me, Finn, alright?” The younger boy gazed into her eyes, his mind deteriorated as Y/N hovered over his body upside-down, with an inch of distance between them. Strands of her swirly hair kissed his skin, tickling it with slight grazing. Her eyes were captivating, enchanting him into a place he had never been to; a place he wished to stay forever. Realizing he had not answered her question while he was lost in his thoughts, he nodded with a gulp. “Good, I need you to stay low,” With her superior voice, she commanded the young boy, shivers crawled up his spine as his mind travels to other words she could utter. “Don’t get out, stay here and raise the bag when I tell you to. You understand?”

Her breathing and voice breezed over his face, casting a spell on him just like the white powder he would sniff to ease his mind, “Yes, I mean yes.” Noticing that the pitch of his voice was a bit too high, he cleared his throat, lowering it deeper. Before he could process her words, he had given in to an order he didn’t like. What was he supposed to do? Actually, stand down? He’s a Shelby for fuck's sake. Although cheering in his head agreed with the idea, the cuts on his face played a taunting game. With ever slight contraction of his face’s muscle, his skin tore apart wider. But what was he thinking? He had never been in a situation like this. If he was, his brothers would be the one to step in front.

With minimal movements and sounds, Y/N reached the handle, cranking it down. Shutting her lips and eyes as she opened the door, a faint begging in her head hoped that a sound would not be produced. Much to her dismay, a creak resounded from the rubbing of metal. The silence was too good to be true, the promise it uttered was broken. A series of banging boomed even though they could barely see anything. Embellishing the black car, bullets whirled through the metal to pierce the back seat.

As cotton was thrust up into the air, Finn curled into a ball, hands against his ear. Indistinct chatter from the corner of the building was followed by fusses. Like running a wooden stick against an odd, wavy metal sheet, the loud noise they made as they had reloaded the machine gun for another round of massacre echoed through the still air.

If they had been slightly more precise or weighed with more luck at a random shot, they could’ve already put Y/N in a vulnerable state. A scowl sported on Y/N’s lips, men like them have been given a horrible plan. Sure it might be a good thing for her since she is currently being targeted, victory should never be celebrated until the deed is over. Even though they might get a good shot from the bottom of the vehicle, it seemed their scrawny little brains were only present for a lazy kill. To bring two heads on silver plates, served to the King which should be more challenging than this.

Tommy’s car was not too far away from the wall of a building with Y/N’s side of the car facing the wall. An advantage for her to sneak out of the vehicle. Also benefitting from the shadow that cast over the car, the rays of light shone upon the opposite side as if they stood under a spotlight, giving her a better chance at an angle she could work with.

Landing on the floor with gentle movements like a cat, she crouched down before opening the back door. Finn, who had already twirled to his stomach, watched as she successfully dragged the bag from the back seat, “Y/N,” He whispered, calling out her name as if a lost child to his mother. She snapped her head to face him. “I can’t just wait here while you out there.”

Nearly moved by his thoughtfulness, she stared at him blankly before realizing a fault, “Ah, right,” A twinkle sparked on Finn’s face when it seemed she had given him the chance to participate. However, it diminished when she had tugged her coat to reveal her silky shirtwaist, to only pull out a pistol from her shoulder holster. It then made home on his palm; before he could tug it out of her hand, she stared dead-centre in his eyes. “Remember, don’t even try to look at them. Tommy will hang me if anything was to happen to you.”

Even though he was disappointed he had been treated like a mere child who was being watched by his brother’s friend, he nodded in understanding. Shivers crawled up his spine once again as the tone of her voice brushed against his back with frigid touches.

Strapping the bags open, the scent of leather filled her lungs with a tinge of metal lingering on her tongue. The rifle was lodged on her lap. Thrusting the safety lock back into the bag, a clash banged onto the stone pavement. Thankfully, it was overlapped by an abrupt commotion at the end of the block.

“Finn, take this,” Handing the leather bag to the young man, she watched as he pulled it into the vehicle. “On my signal.”

Like a duck, Y/N waddled towards the back tire. Her golden compact mirror in her left hand while her rifle in the other, she positioned the mirror to see the two individuals under the moonlight. They stood behind the hood of the car with a machine rifle propped on a tripod, the dagger-like ends pierced into their vehicle.

“Now.” As soon as the order was given, Finn, who had rested on his back, raised the slightly flimsy bag into the air. The men who waited for any sign of movement or life caressed the trigger without any hesitation. A long chain of bullets commenced an open fire. If the bag was a creature, it would’ve been murdered with the third bullet which flew through its heart. Not caring to why the shadow had not yet slumped into the seat, their guns continued to ring through her ears. Y/N hovered her finger over her trigger as she angled the scope to her desired spot. Finn’s breathing became heavy as the bullets rammed through the material as if it wasn’t even there. He hadn’t heard a crack from hers yet. Before he had the chance to call out her name as if to wake her up from her dream. A clap echoed through the road.

Bouncing off her rifle, the bullet sprung into the still air like rice on a drum. Twirling like a prestigious ballerina, its toes peaked below, thrusting its heavy body ever so slightly. A heavy thud echoed through the dark alley. The motionless body rested onto the ground with a gushing volcano between his eyes.

Indistinct clutter bounced off the walls. The other man who had watched his accompany fall onto the frigid ground grasped the pistol grip. Y/N’s body snapped to lean against the tire, the rifle rests on her chest as the ballistic man intensely pulled on the trigger. In her head, she was on her knees as she could not risk shifting back into the car for safety. Even a millisecond without the protection of the tires, she was exposed to the gunfire. A wince fell off her lips as a clash of bullet met with the ground before reflecting to ting with the brick wall.

For Finn, it felt like hours; however, the boy had not experienced the bloody rain of war. Before she knew it, the raining of furious bullets had halted. A groan of irritation echoed from the corner of the building. The gun must’ve overheated. Peeking over her shoulder to take a rapid glance at the corner, the man had disappeared. Without a second thought, she grasped the ball grip before flicking it shut, reloading the ammo. Squinting her eyes, she hovered her scope over the tires. Another clap resounded off the walls. A cry burst from the tire that had begun to sink the balance of the car onto the ground. There was no angle she could shoot the man if she hadn’t moved from her position, hasty stomping faded away from the scene.

“Fuck.” Y/N uttered under her breath before she made a sprint towards the running body, her fingers wrapped around the other pistol in her holster. The rifle she had used was thrown to clash against the floor.

Noticing the haunting silence, Finn made a silent prayer before he sat on prickling seat. Through the smashed glass, the dagger-like ends met to a point for him to see the woman running away from the car, “Y/N!” Finn yelled at the top of his lungs, not caring that he might’ve had a bullet targeted on him.

“No! You stay there!” She ordered before running over the bridge that curved over the canal. Leaning against the wall of the building, she took a peek at the gun that sat on the hood of their Model T. When entering the firearm business, an eye that twinkled with gold could read the gun as if it was a person. And read the gun she did. It was a Benét-Mercié. A French design. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she took a glance at the man she had murdered.

His eyes stared into the moonlight, the art she had indented between his eyes was a masterpiece. She had been around and fraternize enough men to note that he was an Italian. She had hopped around with a fair few amount of Italians to reassure her assumption. Although the machine rifle they had used was the gun utilized in the war, it had left her perplexed. Even though the location of her business was in free land America and she had a twinge of experience with the machinery, she could not comprehend to how they had gotten a French gun. Overall, what was an Italian doing with a French gun?

A groan from the narrow alley trickled into her ears, remembering that there was another one to complete the pair. Y/N sauntered with light steps as if a predator had finally spotted its meal for the day. Hasting towards the man, Y/N heard a curse uttered under his breath. Tugging out his hair in frustration, his hairs swirled around his fingers like a whip. His neck nearly snapped as he looked at the peak of the wall, separating him from his ability to escape the madness he had entered.

Finally noting her presence, he turned around to face her. The dread overflowed his eyes as he glanced at the corpse of his accompany. She narrowed her eyes as he pushed himself into a damp corner, cowering away from her. It was as if he was shrinking, a prey to her. To a woman?

“Who sent you?”

For a few seconds, his staggering breathing was the snaring to the incredibly busy road. However, his hands moved swiftly to grab the pistol he had safely tucker in his holster. Y/N’s fingers moved faster. Another press to the trigger and a bullet made home in his arm. An agonizing yell roared through the alley, a pair of legs did not hesitate to start running towards the direction she had sprinted to. The hole in his sleeves made a garnish to his plain suit, the red staining like wine. Red, ancient wine. Kicking the pistol out of his grip, Y/N held her gun’s on his head. Sweat swam down his face as his body made place on the floor. He clutched his hand, squeezing the gushing wound. It was burning like a blister had been rubbed over.

Making her way towards the wounded man, she harshly tugged on his hair, “I said, who sent you?”

He quivered as the cold kiss of her gun pressed on his temple, a battle of whether he should answer her or not was thrown out of the window once he realized he was standing over a string between life and death. Except, he had never seen her ever before. A pathetic yet desperate thought made to his non-existent head. There was hope that this woman was of no power, just another whore to the Shelby’s. Even though he had just witnessed his accompany fall onto the floor with a hole between his eyes, he had tried his hardest to lie to himself that it was all that young Shelby’s doing. In no way was he about to give in, “Sabini! Darby Sabini!”

However, it seemed his tongue had slipped the wine glass onto the floor. A bullet submerged into his skull, snapping his bones into fragments as a burst of blood splashed onto her face, “Y/N.” A gentle voice called her from the entrance of the alley. The woman who had been in the business for several years had to the gentle tone in her life. Unfortunately, it was only resounded by people who had fork-like tongues. Serpents.

This time, it was like a caress against her arm with care as if she was fragile glass. Nothing she had heard of, “Finn.” The young boy stared at her with wide eyes, the gun he held in his hand was clearly of no use anymore. Like an unnecessary amount of jewellery worn on women’s whose husbands danced with the devil, the beads of blood dotted against her skin. Finn glanced at the slumped body. There was only white in his ajar opened eyes, the colour that usually adds an indication of identity had rolled up towards his brain.

Finn liked to believe it was an instinct because he had one older sister; although, a part of his heart opposed to agreeing with the belief. The boy dashed towards the woman, gripping her arms with a slight tug; not too much force to hurt her, “Are you alright?” Turning her left and right to check for any wounds, he was relieved when there was no hole to indicate a bullet had plunged into her.

“I’m quite alright, just a little parched.” Finn chuckled at her sudden appearance of amusement despite her being covered in blood. It must’ve been her careless head to forget the merciless weather Britain possessed, her frigid, shivering hand, made way to rest on his face. Like accidentally electrifying oneself, the boy jumped at the freezing contact.

She tugged her hand away once she had noted the slight tick from his muscle, it was probably uncomfortable on him. Grabbing the two frozen hands into his own, the size of his hands had practically covered hers in one go. Rubbing his gloved thumbs in circles on her exposed palm, he looked down at her to gaze into her eyes. His height towered over her, “You didn’t bring gloves.”

“I noticed,” She mumbled. There was an unexplained glance at his lips. He did too. Without a word, Finn removed one of his hands from hers, leaving the other to warm her up. He tugged out his handkerchief from his jacket’s pocket to wipe the crimson red from her face. Although he had tried his best to not get pulled into her eyes or lips, he had lost. In the midst of wiping the droplets that rested on the corners of her lips, he could not move a muscle.

There were roars in his gut that he couldn’t help but to notice their protest to crawl out of his stomach and to shove him onto her. Although he had pulled himself out from the incredibly enchanting place, she had walked away towards the slumping corpse before he had the chance to proceed. Disappointment engulfed him. The dancing handkerchief tangled with the chilly wind, the white cloth had been stained like a spill. It quivered in the air like a surrender flag, a reminder to him that it was her who walked away, leaving him alone with the fabric he had brushed her skin with. “You know these men?”

“Looks Italian to me.”

“Said Sabini sent them.” Y/N glanced to face his reaction.

“Well then, aren’t they fucked.”

Ringing resounded off the walls of Tommy’s room. Seconds ago, it was tranquil with the indistinct sleep-talking by the clock. Now, all he could see was red. The darkness that confined and comforted him during the night glistened with the light rays from the radiating moon. Glueing his eyes onto the white ceiling, he waited patiently for the noise to stop so he could claim the rare times he would be able to sleep. Even though the air was suited freezing to his content, his seething anger for the attention-calling object warmed the covers for him. The sheets were no longer comfortable. Running his clammy hand down his face, there was always something stopping him from achieving what his heart desired; although, he just wanted a snooze because he had started to notice that he had looked mental (comments by nearly everyone who had the courage to, seeped through his day). Irritation coated his tongue. Bitterness hopped around his mouth when he realized that there were some fortunate people out there who were fast asleep. Then, there was him. A groan left his lips as he had finally been pushed to the edge.

When the hope of silence had not been met, Thomas hurled the blanket off his body. A flood of haphazardly thrown pillows that covered with his comforter caused annoyance to tug onto his ears. His patience had slacked down with a blink of his eyes. Narrowing his eyes onto the obstructive machine, the corners of his eyes were blurry with fuming anger. Almost yanking the telephone with his immense strength, the machine palpitated on the wooden table, swaying left and right like a dancer. Who could blame him? Someone had just disrupted his sleep.

“What?” Tommy sneered with murder dripping from his mouth. His tense grip on the phone could snap the metal in half. Although he wouldn’t usually pick up the telephone with such anger since the line of his work is practically embedded into him, this night, his thoughts were chugging faster than he could swallow down a pint of beer. His head was restless.

The stress in his eyebrows evaporated once a familiar silvery voice echoed through his ears, “Tommy, we’ve been ambushed. Two men.” Even though his grasp onto the metal remained with a constant force, the heat he had concocted sprung into the air once he had realized he could’ve lost two people within a night. His immunity to the frigid floor deteriorated, the floor pierced kisses as if it were incessant stabbing into the numb soles of his feet. 

“Whose men was it?” The clock on the wall of his house groaned, its arms dancing in coordination as it watched the man’s ears fume with anger like a furious train once a familiar name fell off his little brother’s lips.

“Sabini.”

A breathy exhale sunk into the phone, Tommy’s fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to digest the situation. The rumours were true, yet, he sent his guests off without any protection on his side. How could he assume that her three men were enough? He should’ve let someone trail after them, despite her objections. There was already an overflowing amount of issues thrown onto his plate, “Where are you now?”

“Y/N’s lodge. Said that it’d be safer for me to stay at hers for the night.” Finn twirled the wire of the telephone, the door of the bathroom had been closed for a while. 

Tommy hummed in agreement. The late timing of the day restricted his ability to construct words, especially with the fact that another meat had been thrust onto his plate. An exhausted exhale muffled the other side of the line, “Well, she’s right. If those men do not crawl back to Sabini with your head, they will double everything up. I’m sorry to say this Finn, but you’ll have to spend the night there,”

An indistinct mumble escaped Finn’s lips. Before the boy could place the phone back to where it resided, his brother spoke up once again, “Where’d you sent them off to?”

Without any additional word to the vague question, Finn answered with the assumption that there was someone who dared to listen to their conversation, as always, “Y/N had her men come in, showed them the canal.”

“The car?”

“No opened garage, so they made one open up.” A creak from a door trickled onto Tommy’s ears from Finn’s line. 

“I should have sent Isaiah to drive her home.” Before Finn had the chance to react, his gaze flicked towards Y/N. Although it was inappropriate for him to let his gaze linger on her, he couldn’t help but stare at awe. The golden edges of the dress-robe enchanted the translucent material that draped over her shoulders. A faded feminine voice in the distant mumbled incoherently to Tommy’s ears. The man could only make up some words, stitching them in a sentence before the voice was slightly more pronounced. 

“Finn, go clean yourself up, I’ll clean those wounds in a second.” A minute of silence passed. Finn let out a hum once she quirked an eyebrow at him for his confirmation. It was a wonder to how easily she had him with a glance. His eyes followed the woman’s figure before she disappeared into the sliding door of her room.

“Wounds?”

“Nothing serious, just cuts.” Deep down, Finn knew it would not be a simple task to remove the tedious glass shards that penetrated his face. A part of him shook its head, not agreeing with the idea that it would be painless. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow morning.” The call then ended. A shiver tremored through Thomas as he finally realized how chilly his room was. His feet paced faster before he threw himself onto the bed. Within a tug, all the items that scattered over the floor sat back to where it resided. Although the comforter was as soft as he could remember by his late wife’s choice, soft would not be the one to comfort his restless head while two significant people of his life had just been ambushed. Not a wink of sleep decided to greet him.

Staring down at the bustling street even though the moon had made a clear appearance in the night, men had women around their arms as they stumbled down the road. A half tipsy smile was worn on their faces. Y/N watched the lively road, trails of cars and strings of people occupied the area. As she leaned against the window with her arms crossed, she pondered over the saddening news that had cracked over her head like a spoiled egg. There was regret in her chest that roared actively without rest for years- screeching at her to make the simple contact. Now, she could give herself in as she had not landed her ears onto the thought. Despite the day ageing old, the city never sleeps. Oh, how she wished she could see him for the last time. 

Coating her tongue was the ancient red of champagne. Swirling the cup after every dashing thought that sprinted across her head, her attention had reverted towards the day that didn’t seem to want to find an end. A creak of a door echoed through her ears. Pulling her eyes away from the mesmerizing street, she was met with a freshly showered Finn.

Since he had been forced to stay down and not participate in the killing, there was no spill of blood on his suit. It was ideal because the woman did not want to pressurize another shop to open for her to only end up doing a shopping spree. However, it was not the same case for Y/N as her outfit had been splattered with red. So, she wore the other silky shirtwaist she had brought from her recent trip to France

“Hope you don’t mind me using that soap.” The boy mumbled. Thrown over his arm to dangle like a swing was his patterned, green tie, resting above layers of his other clothing that he had decided was not of use to wear. Left in his white shirt and his olive green suit-pants, he scratched the crook of his neck as he wore a sheepish smile at the poor decision he had made. What could he have done? It was the only available option. 

“Absurdly not,” Y/N uttered. As her eyes lingered longer than it should’ve been, she gestured towards the abundant of couches for him to rest on. “Come on, take a seat, I’ll get the stuff.”

Finn rested the clothing on the head of the couch, eyebrows furrowed in confusion when she had hastily placed the cup onto the coffee table before dashing away into her room. He plopped down onto the couch that was richer than the liquid resting in Y/N’s cup. His hands sat on his thighs as he watched her disappear into her bedroom. 

“So, uh, Ms Stein,” Like those pesky squirrels that would dominate the trees in New York with an acorn attached to their hands, the woman rummaged through her bedroom as if she was to find a treasure. Her fingers dug deep in the bag, hands grabbing onto objects that might have possessed the shape of the items she had visualized in her head. As her hand had brushed against a paper-like box, she was quick to yank it out of the bag. “You married?” 

The absence of response had caused the peaks of Finn’s ears to tint red at his pathetic question. Who was he to question her? They were barely even friends. Heck, he had just met her. But she did save him, does that mean something? Peeking her head out from the bedroom with the item in her hand, she narrowed her eyes.

“You see this?” Holding her hand up in the air, she twirled her hand around to show the boy her empty fingers, all her rings had been removed. She thrust the flimsy item onto the glass coffee table, a faint noise resounded by the minuscule object. Entering her room once again, her arms plunged in the massive leather bag to find the next item in her imaginary list. “I would’ve probably been at Rome maybe if that dirtbag had not cheated. Happily married,” Y/N let out an amused chuckle at the absurd thought. ”What a joke.”

“Oh.” Finn mumbled under his breath after realizing he had thrown himself into a hole he could not climb out off. If she had been in the war with Tommy, of course, she had at least been married once. What was he thinking? The air was heavily poured with furious yelling from the road and Y/N’s struggle to get the desired items out. 

“Also, call me Y/N, we’re friends now right?” Finn hummed in agreement as he gawked at the abundant amount of medical items bundled up in her arm. Shock overflowed in him when he realized she had brought all of this in her bag.

“Had you brought all of this? Is it a nurse instinct?” A chuckle echoed from the room, causing a smile to plaster on Finn’s face when he had achieved what he had in mind. A sparkle blared into his eyes when the shiny metal reflected the light rays to him. Beaming his eyes at the off-putting objects, Finn had suddenly become nervous, “Why did you tell me to head to bath first? Wouldn’t it be better if you had removed these first?” His fingers hovered over the glass that embedded his face, decorating his skin like jewels on a mistress’s extravagant dress.

Noticing that his feet could not rest on the ground as his legs bounced incessantly, Y/N held back a laugh, “Needed a clean surface,” She kneeled next to the coffee table and widened her arms, the items clashing with the tables- letting out a horribly written tune. “We wouldn’t want to risk with infections now, do we?”

It was that tone again, he had hated it deeply but all he could do was swallow it before it would climb out of his throat to only be splattered across her face. Finn nodded, oh boy, was he in for a ride. 

Finn sat on the couch with his fingers digging deep in his knees as the frigid tweezers plucked out the daunting pieces of glass. He sat on the couch with his white shirt on, his suit hung up on the coat rack. The blaring air conditioner caused shivers to crawl up his spine; however, thanks to the glass being plucked out of his skin, his body had created enough warmth to heat him up like a fireplace. Iron coated his tongue as his teeth sunk deep into the muscle. Although he had expected about only half a dozen worth of glass shards, it seemed it had beat his expectations to ruin.

“Ow!” He let out the familiar wince. Gritting his teeth so harshly, it was enough for it to wear off like brittle bricks. Despite his luck on trying to concoct a more painful site on his legs by pinching it, his mind always redirected to the obnoxiously close distance between his scarred face and her hands. It was chilly like the night’s wind not too long ago when they were in the ominous alleyway. However, in the comfort of her hotel, it was warm and cosy. Every so often, the metal of the equipment would kiss him, tugging out the embedded fragments. Due to the close proximity, Finn could not help but sniff out the silky scent of lavender. He wasn’t too sure if it was from him but it had comforted him through the excruciating pain.

Y/N huffed at his incessant amount of wincing. She could not believe he had not yet tolerated the pain despite having to pull out a couple already, “Stay still, won’t you?”

The tweezers that rested in her fingers rested over his shoulder. Every time she had gone anywhere close to his face with the equipment, he would flinch away- a repeated task she would have to repeat by shifting closer to him. She rolled her eyes once he had moved a couple of inches away from her. 

“How can I? It bloody hurts.” Finn scoffed, his hands pinched his leg as he tried his best not to touch his face that was still home to a couple of glass shards.

“I swear if you move again.” Y/N declared, her hands ready to remove another fragment from his face.

With another yank of her tweezer, he let out the wince before shifting away. If he had repeated this at least three more times, he would meet the ground as it was the edge of the seat. Frustrated at his actions, her hand landed on his thigh, a bit too close to his liking as her leg was thrown over his so she could ground him on one place. Now practically shoulder to shoulder, Y/N gently rested her hand on his chin. His eyes that gawked at her actions were forcefully beaming at the other side of the room as she restricted his movements, “I told you. If you move, I’ll make a scar on your face and it will not be a good mark for that future girl.”

Before he knew it, she was once again, pulling out another shard. This time, it was different. Her hand made place on the side of his unwounded jaw, making sure he had not flinched. It was like a breezy kiss of a windy day in Birmingham, the scent of the lavender flower swirled through his nostrils. A distraction at the incredibly close interaction. However, before she could pluck out another piece, he pursed his lip. A slip of a giggle rung into the air.

“What’re you laughing at? You big dork, stay still.” Finn mumbled an apology. Trying his best to transform into a serious man, Finn’s back shot straight up. Y/N pulled away, an irritated reaction wore on her face as he had just made her multiply her effort due to his height. It was better when he had his shoulder hunched forward, giving her an easier access to his unfortunate face. He noticed this and pressed his lips shut, attempting to not allow a laugh seep through the cracks of his lips. If it wasn’t for Y/N’s agile pull, she would’ve costed real damage.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m laughing.” Finn gave up, a few beads of tears fell down the side of his face as he began to go insane.

“You’ve gone mental,” The pair chuckle as Y/N clamped onto a rather large piece. Pondering if it was because he had laughed at nothing, which might’ve worn her patience off, the extraction of the massive glass compared to the rest was slightly more painful. When he had let out the annoying wince, she had let out a huff. “Don’t be such a baby, it’s just a pinch.”

His flickering eyes snapped towards her, “I am not a baby.”

“And I’m not a woman.”

“Plus, I think your nurse hands are getting rusty after those years.” With his eyes shut tight, he waited for her to inflict damage from his insult. The tweezers stood a hair’s breadth away from his skin. In an agonizing pace, he opened his eyes to look at her reaction. She stared at him with mouth gaped wide open in disbelief. She could not believe he had just insulted her fine work.

“Hey!” She smacked his arm, Finn let out a laugh to cover the pain. His fingers worked deep to massage the area of tremoring pain. “Fine, you do this by yourself, then.”

Hurling the tweezers onto his palm, she shot up from the couch to walk away. A part of her wanted him to try to clean himself up as she would wander around the room aimlessly. She wanted to hear him whine like the little boy he is. With his length fingers, it curled around her wrist in one go. The warm contact sparked the fire before she was tugged to land on his lap. With a huff, she stared at him with eyes of an owl. Once she realized how incredibly close the distance between them was, she resisted. Trying to tug away from his intense grip, keyword- trying, his grasp held a strong force to keep her in place but not too immense to kiss bruises on her skin. The racing of her heart pumping sang a song in her ears. The sudden close proximity had left in her in a state of shock. How does she respond?

“I won’t be able to do it,” Finn mumbled, his arms resting on her lap before it slithered around her waist. “You do it.” His fingers bloomed open, the kissing of the chilly metal was heated with the warm air. In an antagonizing slow pace, Finn took his time to curl open her fingers so he could squeeze in the tweezer in her grip. Leaning back into the couch, he clenched his jaw before readying himself to go through the torture once again. 

Part 2 | Part 3

[magioftheseas]

Good Friends

Summary: A good friend is one who listens. A good girl is one who keeps her mouth shut. She wants to be good, so she’ll listen. She’ll be quiet. She won’t press, won’t pry. She will wait. Things are easier that way.

Rating: G

Warning: None, really. It is angsty tho.

Notes: So I’m gonna try and post some short Hanako-kun fics today for, uh, reasons. This is the first one. Some good ol’ Aoi-chan angsting. Gayngsting. Something like that. I feel like she could be a really interesting character but unfortunately I don’t have the highest faith it’ll shake out that way in the manga. But I’m pretty alright with this!

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

A good friend is one who listens. A good girl is one who keeps her mouth shut. She wants to be good, so she’ll listen. She’ll be quiet. She won’t press, won’t pry. Things are easier that way.

Just the slightest utter can rile up Akane. Even when she wants to say that he’s fine the way he is, he’ll confess, she’ll refuse, and the ugly cycle begins anew. At some point, she just stopped. When he truly opens up to her, she’ll listen. When he decides the kind of person he wants to be, she’ll be there to support him.

A good person is one others aspire to be, but they shouldn’t rile others up to the point where they destroy themselves in hopes of emulating them. Goodness is difficult. Friendship is difficult.

There are times where Aoi thinks she shouldn’t even bother. She’s tired, frankly, of admiring looks and of people crumbling while she sits atop her pedestal. Sometimes, she thinks about swimming the ocean between the near shore and the far shore. Wouldn’t that be easier?

But if she did that, she thought, who would be there to hold Nene when she cries?

Girls are difficult. Being a good girl is an agonizing process. Even when she behaves, she’s the subject of resentment. Nene, too, she thinks, must resent her.

“He said I had ugly daikon legs, Aoi!” Nene wailed. “Even though I—I tried so hard to be a feminine girl! It wouldn’t have worked because of my legs!”

“He didn’t deserve you,” Aoi murmurs, running her fingers through her friend’s hair. “Nene, you worked really hard. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“I just wish I could do something about my legs,” she mourned, burying her face further into Aoi’s lap. “I wish they could be more like yours.”

“Nene-chan.” She knows she should only listen. Should keep quiet. That trying to say anything often imploded. But Nene is another girl. Nene is not Akane. Nene must resent her a little. At the very least, there’s no way Nene can love her. “I love you the way you are. I think you’re wonderful.”

Nene sniffles, clinging to her tighter and trembling.

“I-I love you too, Aoi.”

But, of course it’s not the same kind of love. Not that Aoi would correct her. Never.

She knows how painful the burden of being the object of unwanted affection is. It’s better, easier, that they’re friends. To both be girls is a blessing and a curse.

She can hold Nene close and shamefully indulge herself considerably. Nene will accept her—to an extent. She can be happy with that.

It’s still easier than everything else, she thinks.

It’s easier than being an object, be it of affection, admiration, or resentment. Nene sees her as a friend and treats her appropriately—isn’t that such a wonderful thing? She hasn’t really had a normal friendship in such a long time.

She adores their friendship. She adores Nene. She adores, adores, adores her.

But let’s not burden her with that. Stay quiet. Good friends listen.

She listens as Nene continues to sniffle until she’s worn out, limp against Aoi and resting passively as Aoi pets her hair and dotes upon her. This affection—is okay. Girls need validation, after all, even from other girls. Nene wants to be loved, and even if Aoi’s love isn’t an option, she’s all too happy to accept the affections of a best friend.

This works.

Friendship works.

Even as her traitorous heart may yearn for more, this is more than fine, Aoi thinks.

It’s fine—until it’s not so fine anymore.

--

A good friend listens.

She knew about Hanako-san of the bathroom fairly early on. She told Nene about it, after all. Nene had been in awe, eyes wide and mouth agape like the cutest little koi fish.

“But be careful,” Aoi would then say, wiggling her fingers. “Hanako-san demands payment for granting wishes! And they can be as steep as—your very sooooul!”

And Nene would squeal with delight as Aoi tickled her. She would laugh and laugh as Aoi held her close, humming happily and contently.

“I still think it’d be nice,” Nene would murmur. “Having a wish granted.”

“It’s just a rumor,” Aoi had said. “I don’t think I know anyone who actually succeeded in summoning Hanako-san.”

Nene made a thoughtful noise. Aoi squeezed her tighter.

A good friend listens—you mustn’t press her. Wait until she’s ready. Wait, wait, wait.

“Do you think—Hanako-san really can grant any wish?”

Aoi wants to scream. Instead, she shrugs.

A good friend listens.

“I would assume so—that’d be pretty cool if it could happen, huh? But, it’s just a rumor.”

A good friend listens.

“Just a rumor,” Nene murmurs, too soft to be certain.

Wait until she’s ready.

She hadn’t worried. Nene would open up to her eventually. They were friends. Best friends. Nene had her, and she’d never need anything else. Aoi was fine with that. She was fine.

But how—how could she have imagined that Nene would succeed in summoning Hanako-san?

Why?

Why, why, why?!

--

The truth is that she, Aoi Akane, object of affection, admiration, and resentment—is also a coward.

“Hanako-san.”

She knocks.

“Hanako-san, Hanako-san, Hanako-san.”

She keeps her gaze on the ground, even when her ears perk at the sound.

“You summoned me?”

Hanako-san—was a boy. A boy who was shorter than Nene, had big eyes and a largely unremarkable appearance, and apparently was good at fighting.

“Just kidding,” Hanako then said as Aoi stood there, unmoving and not reacting to his voice. “Of course you wouldn’t be able to see me.”

She doesn’t look at him, keeping her gaze forlornly locked on her feet. She’s good at acting. She’s good at being quiet. At listening. She’s a good girl. A good friend. She’s just not a good person.

“Yoshimura Mika.”

The name slips out, and she hears Hanako-san make a sound of curiosity.

“Tanaka Reika. Samara Ai. Kuroki Sawako. Nakamura Yuko. Yoshimura Mika.” Aoi blinks. “They all tried and failed to summon Hanako-san. Just in the past two years. Obviously, Hanako-san isn’t real.”

“Hurtful,” Hanako had said. “It’s not my fault they couldn’t see me.”

“Hanako-san’s not real,” Aoi insisted to the floor. “Granting wishes is impossible, anyway. What am I doing?”

“What are you doing, Akane Aoi-san?”

She’s good at acting. So she doesn’t react to that, either.

“Nene-chan wouldn’t be able to summon her either,” she went on, gripping her hair. “Obviously not. Obviously not.”

“Are you here for Yashiro?” Hanako-san asks her. She refuses to answer. A good girl stays quiet. A good girl doesn’t prod, pry—and she especially doesn’t expose herself for a dubious gaze. “Are you worried about her?”

Aoi sighed. She bows before the door.

“Sorry for bothering you, Hanako-san. If you’re really there. Goodbye.”

“Bye-bye!”

She doesn’t quicken her pace as she leaves—but she feels his stair boring into her back even after she shuts the door behind her.

--

A good friend listens.

Nene obviously will never tell her about Hanako-san. Nene will squirm and fluster and wring her fingers over him, and she will never confide in Aoi.

Wait until she’s ready.

Lately, Nene’s been sensitive about water. She seems to hate getting wet. She almost seems afraid of the sprinklers.

Wait, wait, wait.

“Oh no, no, no, is it going to rain?” Nene mourns at the gray sky. She looks ready to cry frustrated tears.

“You didn’t forget your umbrella, did you, Nene-chan?” Aoi asks her cheerfully. “If you want, you can have mine.”

“A-Aoi!” Nene wails. “But what will you use?!”

“Akane-kun’s, I guess?” Aoi laughs, even when the smile falls from Nene’s face. “Just worry about keeping yourself dry, Nene-chan.”

She takes Nene’s hands and squeezes.

She does notice—there’s the slightest hint of a damp scale on Nene’s thumb where she had been anxiously picking at and biting her nail. There’s specks of blood. The slight sheen of saliva. Her Nene could be so scatter-brained.

“Thank you, Aoi,” Nene murmurs. “I—really appreciate it.”

This is fine. It’s fine.

Thunder rumbles in the distance. There’s a flash of lightning. Nene yelps, yanks herself away, and runs inside. Aoi, giggling, follows after her. There are a few drops of rain that land on her head, and Nene is still fretting.

“I-I didn’t even notice I started bleeding!”

“Please be more careful, Nene-chan,” Aoi says, and Nene—Nene jumps. Nene looks afraid. Nene flees. Her sweet best friend—would rather run away than tell her anything. Aoi doesn’t let her smile falter at this fact.

It hurts. It hurts.

The thunder is booming. The lightning is crackling. It’s quite the storm. She hopes that their garden is okay. She’ll have to convince Akane and Yamabuki, maybe, to go put a tarp on. She wouldn’t mind doing it herself—but Akane would throw a fit if he saw. He’ll be much happier if he’s asked.

Just like Nene will be much happier if she doesn’t ask.

It hurts so much.

“Oh,” Aoi murmurs, because her face feels damp. “Oh no.”

Just like Nene, she needs to escape.

[loverofmalec]

Heart to Heart (FAIRGAME)

Another fun smutty FAIR GAME with a little bit of angst thrown in for good measure! This one is for the beautiful @atlasguard, thank you so much love this was yet another fun prompt to write!! If anyone has requests for this ship please do not hesitate to ask!! I would be more than happy to write them for you!

PROMPT: Them on a trip to give Amity a check-up or a supply run only to be stuck there due to a blizzard. No outside communication either. Gets chilly so they hunker down in a resting room that Amity arena has for some reason lol. (Yea, you know where this is going)They keep each other warm. After some heart to heart convo about the whole remnant situation and about them. Then it leads to smutty things. Surprise me with the level of smut 1-10 on the smut scale. Thank you.

“Any signal?” Clover asked for the last time.

Qrow sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Nada, we’re stuck here until this blizzard eases up.”

Both men looked around the dark Amity arena, the cold settled in a lot quicker than they had thought.

“Let’s check out the infirmary and see if they have blankets.” Clover turned around and began to walk back into the halls of the arena. He heard Qrow’s footsteps falling close behind. 

They reached the infirmary to find the room covered in dust and cobwebs. 

Clover turned around and smiled at Crow. “Hope you’re not allergic to dust,” 

The older man rolled his eyes, “Just to over-optimism,” he didn’t try to hide his smile.

Qrow moved around Clover and started to strip the beds of their covers. 

“Help me with shaking them out,” He asked Clover. 

Soon enough they both carried bundles of covers and blankets to take with them. They walked through the hallways of the Amity arena until they found the private announcers booth. 

“Looks like this will have to do,” Clover said. He walked further in and with his feet pushed the chairs to the other side of the room. “I have my cards if you want to play.” He started to lay out a sheet on the ground. The rest were placed on the table where they covered one of the microphones. 

Qrow followed his example and used another sheet to stuff underneath the door. The entire arena was slowly getting colder. The blizzard had finally hit them full force. 

“I think I’m done losing for the night,” He said as he walked to Clover’s side. He watched as his breath made small clouds and went to sit down on the floor. Qrow threw a sheet over his shoulder and as he got comfortable he opened his arms in invitation. “Alright, get over here Luck Charms. I’m not planning on dying from the cold.”

Clover ignored the flip his heart made and prayed that it was too dark for Qrow to see the blush on his cheeks. “I’m pretty sure it’s going to take a lot more to kill you,” His laugh came out weak, his voice pitched low from the nerves that lit his body. He made it to Qrow’s side and was wrapped in strong arms. Clover gasped when those same arms moved to press him against Qrow’s chest even tighter. 

“Is this okay?” Qrow asked in a small voice, his breath tickling Clover’s ear.

“Yeah, this is uh… good. Totally okay,” Clover stumbled over his words for a second before he was able to regain some control over his racing heart. “This is nice,” He dared to admit.

Qrow smiled into Clover’s hair, “Good, cause I wouldn’t want this to be one-sided.”

Those words set a fire in Clover’s belly, the weight behind them almost too much. The hope that he could hear in Qrow’s voice was beautiful because it wasn’t one-side. Clover wanted Qrow just as much as Qrow wanted him. They were both grown men, they knew what they were doing and the tension between them had been bound to snap. Clover had just wished it happened a little differently. 

“We’re idiots for doing this,” Qrow whispered. 

Clover knew exactly what he meant and he was right, “We might be idiots, but won’t stop me from trying to protect you.”

That made Qrow huff out a breath in annoyance. He reached out and took Clover’s chin between his fingers and forced the man to look at him. They were so close that their noses brushed against each other. 

“No, you’re not. You’re going to make sure that you keep an eye on your own back,” He snapped.

“I’m not going to lose you,” Clover argued, his brows pinched together and he shifted to get a better look at Qrow. “People need you, if something happened to you we wouldn’t be able to come back from it.”

Qrow shook his head and moved his hand to cup Clover’s cheek. “I can handle myself well enough, and if I go out during this war I’m going to be doing it for the people I love.”

When Qrow had said ‘love’ his tone was pointed and expression honest. “This is war Clover, we can’t be picking favorites. As soon as Salem finds any connection between us or anyone else she’ll do anything in her power to destroy it.” Qrow sounded desperate at this point, “I can’t be the reason you get hurt.”

Clover tried to find holes in Qrow’s logic. Desperate to try and convince the man of his importance to not only Clover but to so many others. “But-”

Qrow with the pad of his thumb pressed against Clover’s lips stopping him midsentence. “We’re soldiers Clover and we have a duty to the people of Remnant.” He sounded like he didn’t quite believe himself and Clover took that as his chance. 

“Then what about my duty as your partner? You would really do this to me. Make me chose between you and the world.” Clover pulled Qrow’s hand away from his face and held it over his pin. “Then you’re going to be disappointed to find out that I’ll choose you every time.”

Seconds passed where Qrow only stared at Clover, his sapphire eyes shining in the dark light. “Sometimes I forget what it’s like to have a partner again, then I’m with you and it hits all of sudden.” He whispered between them.

Clover looked down at their joined hands, “We’re a team now. You’ll just have to get used to it,” He tried to smile but he couldn’t make it reach his eyes. “Just promise me that you won’t actively get yourself in danger.”

“The last time I made that promise was before Rose left on her last mission,” The words made Qrow’s eyes burn and his chest ache. He broke that promise a long time ago, but now he wanted to keep it with every fiber in his being. “Clover when this is all over…” Qrow’s voice died at the end. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what he wanted either. He didn’t want to force Clover into something he didn’t want. 

“I want us to try…” Clover finished the sentence for him.

Silence fell over them and the tension between them was impossible to ignore. Qrow was lost in Clover’s eyes, a beautiful emerald green that he had never seen before. He turned the hand that Clover was holding over and tangled their fingers together. His throat worked around the words that he couldn’t say, confessions to great to utter just yet. So the only thing Qrow could do was close the distance between them and feel the little puff of air on his lips from the gasp Clover made.

He slotted their lips perfectly together. His eyes fell shut and he felt fingers coming to clutch at his shirt. 

They kissed softly, gently and with as much emotion as they dared to share. Their lips moved against one another and caused warmth to spread from the tops of their heads to the bottoms of their feet. 

Qrow shyly licked at the seams of Clover’s mouth and was rewards with a soft moan of welcome. He licked into Clover’s mouth and was drunk on his taste alone. 

Clover moved to straddle Qrow’s legs and brought his hands to rest on top strong shoulders. He left little space between them and relished in the heat of Qrow’s body against him. His heart soared to new heights. His entire being singing with joy at finally being able to be with Qrow. Something hard pressed against his inner thigh and he was quickly overwhelmed with the possibilities. Without knowing he was rocking back down on Qrow’s erection. The pressure sending Clover into a state of lustful bliss. 

Qrow gripped Clover’s hips and felt Clover rock against him over and over again. The noises he was making getting Qrow even harder. Images of Clover doing the same thing but with far less clothing had Qrow break away from their heated kiss and moan into the man’s neck. His teeth scraped the sensitive skin of Clover’s jaw and was rewarded with a hard grind on his aching cock.  

“Fuck, beautiful if you keep doing that this won’t last long,” Qrow growled against Clover’s panting mouth.

Clover blinked a few times to try and clear the lust from his eyes, “Did you just call me beautiful?” He muttered, his voice low with want.

Qrow puffed out a laughed, “I did, gorgeous. Should I stop?”

The endearments sent a sock of pure desire through Clover’s system and he couldn’t stop himself from searching for Qrow’s lips again. “Don’t ever stop,” He said before diving back into kissing him. 

Their second kiss was filled with desire. Clover kept a steady rhythm with his hips and greedily took every little sound Qrow made. His entire body was on fire, the cold no longer an issue between them. 

Qrow’s hands moved down the center of Clover’s chest until they reached the top of his pants. 

“Can I?” He asked between kisses.

Clover couldn’t find the power to speak so he just nodded in enthusiastic consent.

In a matter of second Qrow had his hand down Clover’s pants and wrapping his long fingers against his throbbing cock.

“God, Clover if you’re like this now I can’t wait until I have you ridding me,” Qrow pulled away and whisper directly into his ear. “Just look at you desperate and so fucking pretty. Just wait until we get back because I am going to have you every way I can think of.”

Clover cried out at the feel of Qrow’s hand. A whimper was ripped out of him when he had those words spoken with such filthy promise into his ear. Qrow pulled his cock free and began to stroke Clover in earnest 

“Oh god, fuck. Qrow don’t stop. Yes, just like that,” Clover was a babbling mess of lust and tension. With every stroke, he found himself closer and closer to the edge of pure bliss. 

Qrow licked and kissed at his neck. Then he sunk his teeth into Clover’s pulse point and he was gone. He came with Qrow’s name on his lips and his hands tangling in Qrow’s hair. 

RING RING RING

It was Qrow’s scroll.

“What the hell, I thought we didn’t have signal,” Qrow quickly wiped them clean with the corner of the nearest sheet. When he was done he fished his scroll from his pocket.

INCOMING CALL FROM WINTER

Clover was still in a post-orgasm haze and made to get up only to have Qrow tighten his hold on him to keep him in place.

“What’s up Ice Queen?” Qrow answered, his voice rough. 

They’ll be an extraction team for you and Clover in the next hour. The worst of the blizzard has passed. She didn’t wait for a response before she hung up. 

Both men stayed still until Qrow’s scroll went black. 

“Qrow?” Clover began to ask, his body still a bit weak. 

“Oh no, I’m not done with you yet Lucky Charms. You heard her, we still have an hour.” Qrow threw his scroll to the side and went back to kissing Clover.

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (2)

A/N: i thought i wasn’t sure how to continue, but then i sat down last night and cranked out a few thousand words s  O this is being continued :’D this is going from “touch-starved roman” to “general roman angst someone get this boy a HUG”.   also, hoping to get to the Actual Plot in the next chapter :’) 

WARNINGS: Sympathetic Deceit, more cursing, violence, strangulation (Virgil's knee-jerk reaction upon seeing Deceit is to strangle him), general panicked feelings, arguing, heights? let me know if i missed anything!

Words: 2930

Pairings: none yet — DLAMP endgame

Part 1 (chivalry is dead) — Part 2 (i’m wishing) — Part 3 (the bells of notre dame) — Part 4 (honor to us all)

AO3 link!

@starlightvirgil​ @forrestwyrm​

let me know what you think and i hope y’all enjoy!

How the hell was Deceit supposed to explain what he’d just seen?

He’d been pondering for hours, pacing around his room. It probably wasn’t good that he’d waited hours since the incident but this was a situation that had to be approached cautiously. Virgil didn’t trust him nor like him, and Patton and Logan were inclined to take Virgil’s side. Something had happened to Roman, though, and it seemed dangerous. Possibly even something that Deceit had warned them about prior.

A part of him wanted them to find out themselves. To throw Roman’s door open and see only the dark pit that’d swallowed their heroic prince. That’d teach them to ignore him. But what kind of effect would that have on Thomas? Deceit didn’t want to risk Thomas having the worst creative block of his life because of his own inaction, that was for certain.

Plus, the bottomless pit and lack of Roman’s room would be solid evidence that something had happened, and that might be enough to convince them to help him. Or, if they didn’t want Deceit involved, for them to take action themselves.

Who was he kidding. Those idiots needed him.

So what. He could impersonate Roman, he could conjure a replica of his outfit, slide into the Mind Palace’s common area without an issue. Out of the four accepted Sides, Deceit was most confident in his ability to portray Roman, especially after the courtroom debacle. But, and he stopped his pacing, where would that leave him? Roman hadn’t left his room in nearly a week. The others would no doubt be worried, would probably interrogate him, and Deceit couldn’t spend time on the witness stand as Roman without cracking. And then they would all think he had something to do with it.

This was more concerning, more personal. A matter of pure self-preservation, so to speak. Deceit didn’t know where Thomas’ Creativity had gone. It looked as though the ground had swallowed him whole. Deceit needed — and he winced at the thought of it — to lay his cards out for the other Sides. Tell them honestly that he’d witnessed Roman’s fall. Show them the pit itself. Hope they understand.

….He hated showing his hand like such, but he wasn’t willing to perjure himself in this situation.

Deceit sighed. Now that he knew what he had to do, time was of the essence. Might as well approach the others immediately. He cracked his neck, picked his coat and hat up from the coat rack, and fixed his outfit in the mirror behind his door. He had to be straight-forward. No tricks, no disguises.

Motherfucker, he already didn’t like this.

Slowly, he rose up, appearing just at the top of the stairs. Hopefully he’d be able to walk down the stairs, not be seen by Virgil, approach….heck, Patton? Whichever he saw first, Patton or Logan, and plead for an open ear. Patton would probably be more willing, thus making him the best case scenario.

“What’re you doing here.”

Deceit stifled a groan. Alright, worst case scenario time.

“I’m here to ask for help.”

Shuffling behind him. Deceit stepped to the side, facing Virgil head on. While Deceit was dressed to be seen, Virgil certainly wasn’t, sporting an oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants. His hood was up but Deceit could see his glare perfectly well in the dark.

“What kind of help would you need, snake face?” Virgil hissed at him, “Get out before I make you.”

“I’m not the one who needs help,” Deceit whispered back, “I….”

No tricks. No lies.

“....Something’s happened to Roman. And—”

Virgil’s hand was around Deceit’s neck almost as soon as he mentioned Roman. “What’d you do to him?” his voice rose, panic threatening to spill over, “If you hurt him, so help me, I’ll rip your scales off.”

Deceit gasped for breath. This was definitely not ideal, he thought, one hand trying to pry Virgil’s fingers from his throat. Really, how was he supposed to explain himself if Virgil was gonna do this?

“Imagination—Roman—Virgil—” there wasn’t any time for this, Deceit wanted to scream at him, who knew where Roman had gone? But he could barely breathe. Hopefully Virgil could feel how panicked Deceit was.

If he did, he didn’t show it. Virgil just glared harder at him, pressing Deceit against the wall. “Full sentences,” he growled, and Deceit wanted to groan, are you kidding me?

Soft footsteps approached up the stairs, and Virgil dropped Deceit, who leaned back against the wall and lifted a hand to massage his throat.

“Virgil!” ah, Patton, his savior, “What’s going on here?”

Deceit would have explained that he’d dropped in to warn them about the absentee prince but was accosted not too gently the moment he arrived. He even opened his mouth, ready to snap back with a retort. But instead of words, he could only manage to cough, doubling over into himself as his throat burned.

“Deceit showed up, said something about Roman. I was in the middle of kicking him out.”

“Something about Roman? Does Deceit know why he’s been in his room for so long, maybe?”

“Beats me. You know we can’t trust anything he says, Pat, just let me take him out.”

“Did you choke him?” Deceit straightened his back, coughing behind a hand, trying to not let too much of his guard down around these hooligans.

Patton was standing between him and Virgil, who was leaning against the opposite hallway wall, starring away from them both with a glare. Deceit made a face at him before turning to Patton and nodding. He cleared his throat, then winced. Why’d he do that. He knew it’d hurt.

Patton grimaced and waved Deceit closer. “C’mon, lets go downstairs. Then you can tell us what you wanted to, m’kay?”

That got Virgil’s attention. He turned back towards them and pushed himself off the wall. “What?! Patton, you can’t be serious, he’s—that’s Deceit, you know he’s bad news, we gotta get him out—”

“If he knows something about Roman, then we should hear him out. Attacking someone for just being isn’t nice,” Deceit raised an eyebrow at Patton, surprised at how easily he came to his defense.

Virgil scowled but had the self-respect to look remorseful. He bowed his head, stalking off down the stairs, mumbling a quiet “sorry” as he left.

Patton and Deceit both watched him go and, once he disappeared into the kitchen, looked at each other with mirroring reproachful expressions.

“Thank you,” Deceit coughed out, rubbing his throat again as he heard how actually hoarse his voice was.

“....Now, I can’t say I don’t agree with Virgil in some ways,” Patton waved his hand and nudged Deceit towards the stairs, “But I don’t think violence is the answer. You wouldn’t have come here it if weren’t something important.”

Deceit didn’t have an answer that didn’t include sarcasm and perhaps a few choice swear words, so he decided to not say anything. He just stepped carefully down each stair, Patton’s hand resting on his shoulder and steering him into the kitchen.

Logan and Virgil were already there, sitting opposite each other at the table. Virgil had his hood pulled up, strings tightened such that Deceit couldn’t see his face. He knew, however, that Virgil was definitely glaring at the table. Logan was a little more open, holding a tablet with one hand and a coffee mug with the other. He raised an eyebrow at Patton but said nothing of the moral side sitting Deceit down at the table, right beside himself.

There must have been something very wrong for very long, because even Deceit knew that the kitchen was loud whenever there were two Sides in here. Instead of the noise, however, there was just silence. And tension. God, how did he let it get this bad. 

“Drinks, anyone?” Patton asked, “Deceit, I’m gonna make you some tea.”

“Thanks,” he croaked out again, hissing at the sound of his own voice. 

If Logan’s eyebrow could go up more, it would have. He lowered the tablet, watching Deceit quietly, inspecting him. Like some sort of animalistic specimen, Deceit thought as he leaned on a hand.

Logan had a question in mind, though. “Your voice hasn’t always sounded like that, correct?”

Deceit rolled his eyes. “No,” he glanced at Virgil, who pulled the strings of his hood tighter around his own face.

Ashamed, most likely. Probably mortified.

“....Had a bad coughing bought. Ran out of my own tea. Scared Virgil in the hall,” Deceit wasn’t here to cause Virgil any more anxiety. He was sure that, whether they knew anything about the Roman situation or not, Virgil was already catching the excess fear and negativity.

Not disclosing Virgil’s violent reaction seemed to be a shock, because he tilted his hooded head up to squint at Deceit.

No tricks. Deceit shrugged at him, face hardset.

“You….”

Deceit raised a single eyebrow at him. Did Virgil really want to disclose that? Patton looked around at them, and he seemed to share a look with Virgil over Deceit’s back. He didn���t mind. It was up to Virgil.

“....Mentioned. Something, about Roman,” there we go.

Patton set a mug of chamomile tea down in front of Deceit, who murmured “thank you” as well as he could. He immediately took a sip, hoping that the tea made his voice work just well enough to explain what he’d seen.

“Alright,” Deceit coughed, and took another sip. No tricks. No lies. “Okay. He was lying pretty blatantly to himself, which is a worrying start. So much so that it summoned me right into his room….”

Deceit described what he saw. Roman throwing a pencil at the wall so hard it snapped into two.

Being caressed by a storming cloud that wetted his princely garb and shot lightning around the room.

The walls and furniture fading away like mist.

How he fell into the black nothingness below. Falling, and falling, until the little white dot was gone as well.

They all listened, enraptured, and Deceit took sips of the tea and pauses to cough throughout his story. Patton sat on the counter, reacting in sound effects and facial expressions. Logan simply watched Deceit, brow furrowed in confusion. Perhaps worry. Virgil was squinting at Deceit, lips set in a hard line, maybe even considering the truth to his words.

Once Deceit finished, Virgil spoke first, voice soft with an implacable tension behind it. “You’re scared for him.”

Deceit leaned back in the chair, taking a large sip of his tea and finishing off the mug. It was promising that they actually listened, maybe they’d take him at face value. “I know what I saw. The Imagination just swallowed him up.”

“But, see, I don’t get–I don’t really–I don’t understand that,” Patton was leaning on the counter behind Deceit, fingers drumming gently against the cabinet, “Roman controls the Imagination. It wouldn’t just do that without his permission, right?”

Gosh darnit, Patton. “So it got his permission, then! I don’t know how the Imagination worked and, honestly, I was hoping you all’d have a better idea of what happened,” They had to act, now. Deceit was growing impatient.

“Why would we need to know? That’s Roman’s area of expertise,” Logan could also sense his own ignorance and apparently chose to ignore it. “I don’t understand why you think we dabbled in creative endeavours when Roman was there embodying it.”

Deceit shot him a glare. “Because, Logan, teamwork. I thought you all practiced teamwork here, since you all make it seem so important that you’re each other’s friends and whatever,” he gestured forward, pointing at Virgil, “You think you’re doing a great job of protecting him and leveling with him, but really, you’re all just leaving Roman to sit alone in the dark!”

Virgil bristled. “Watch your mouth—”

“We ARE friends, but that’s why we don’t get involved!” Patton held up a hand, voice desperate for attention and for the tension to ease. “I–We don’t want Roman to think we’re stepping on his toes. Yeah, we make stuff, sure, but the big creating is always for him.”

They didn’t get it. Deceit slumped back into his chair, scowling directly at Virgil. Virgil wasn’t even distorting what he was saying. Well, he was, but probably not intentionally. They just didn’t believe him. How could he show them, how could he make them see that he was being honest—

Aha. The pit.

Deceit stood up. “Why don’t we check his room,” he snapped.

Virgil stood up as well, hands flat on the table. “We don’t go into each others’ room without permission, that’s not a thing we do. It’s privacy.”

“Oh, yeah? Not even to protect each other? Not to comfort or check up on one another?” Deceit’s nose scrunched up as he walked around the table, towards the stairs, “You’re so worried about not intruding on each other’s space that you’re willing to put those meaningless rules ahead of your friends’ safety?”

“Roman’s NOT IN DANGER, because I WOULD KNOW,” Virgil snapped, following close behind Deceit, “I can TELL.”

“Then why don’t you tell them!” Deceit threw his arms into the air, grasping at nothing as he tried to understand Virgil’s nonsensical desire to counter everything he said. He was ready to throw ‘No tricks’ out the goddamn window. “Tell them, tell them about how Roman’s been feeling anxious all week, how you just didn’t say anything, how you’ve been lying to yourself about his worries, as though you could just tell yourself that Roman wasn’t feeling upset.”

“I—” Virgil faltered now, “You don’t–I had to make a decision. Roman wasn’t–he needed—”

“Who’re you to decide what he needs? He’s Thomas’ desires, he knows what he needs and what he wants and all that!” Deceit could see the doors now, all the Sides’ bedrooms with labels and decorations.

He figured they’d decorated them themselves. While he hadn’t had the chance to look around and did want to accustom himself to the Mind Palace, he didn’t have the time nor patience to adequately memorize the doors. He just looked for the one labeled “ROMAN’S ROOM” and started towards it.

“Hang on, Deceit. We’ve definitely all comforted each other before. Some more than others. Well, me more than others, since Dad over here’s most likely to be eating a pint of ice cream—”

“Patton,” if only Deceit could echo Logan’s exasperation, but tenfold.

“Sorry! What I’m trying to say is that we might have….I don’t think any of us fully knew how upset Roman was. If he’s as upset as you’re saying he is,” he was, but Deceit didn’t want to interrupt, “But when Roman holes himself up in his room like this, usually he doesn’t–he tells us to not go in.”

Deceit….didn’t know how to respond. Of course that prideful idiot would say to not go in. He didn’t want anyone seeing him like this, of course. Did Patton not get that? Or were they all just so bent on following these rules that they weren’t willing to step out of line for the safety of one of their own?

“Maybe Deceit wants us to piss Roman off,” Virgil grumbled tiredly, after Patton’s outburst gained no response. Deceit knew that Virgil knew that that was a lie. They both knew.

“Or he could simply be lying. But for what reason,” Logan stepped up the final stair and continued after them, still trying to understand the irrational tension.

“I don’t HAVE a reason to lie about this!” Deceit nearly shouted, rounding back on the trio in anger, “I know what I saw.”

He was met with three fairly hostile and skeptical expressions,  and he didn’t know what he expected. Support? Understanding? Pah.

God, how had Deceit ignored his duties like this? To let the other Sides just steamroll each other with pleasantries that ultimately left them all isolated….well, following that line of thinking would lead to an ouroboros of hypocrisy.

“Roman’s in danger, and who knows how far he’s fallen by now,” Deceit rested on the door’s handle, “And it’s truly illuminating to see how little you all care about him! Letting him stay holed up in his room for a week without checking on him? Some friends!”

Patton’s hands balled into fists as he shoved them straight down at his sides. He approached Deceit as well, following just after Virgil. “Hey! Watch your tone there, mister, we’re very much his friends! And friends know when to give each other some space.”

“And know when to not break into someone’s room,” Virgil’s voice slipped into his deeper, more demanding powers as he hissed angrily.

Deceit was reeling. He hissed back at Virgil and rounded on the other two. “None of you are LISTENING—”

“As much as your aspect weighs into the possibility of you telling the truth, I find it unlikely that the Imagination would betray Roman in an autonomous way. And I don’t think it’s likely that the Mind Palace would stay as sturdy as it currently is, were Roman in any real danger,” Logan approached Deceit, putting himself between him, and Virgil and Patton, voice still maintaining a guise of calm rationality.

Deceit wasn’t having this anymore, though. He had physical proof.

“Look, you don’t have to believe me. But you cannot deny that this—” Deceit yanked open the door, eliciting a loud shout from both Patton and Virgil about Roman’s privacy. He was about to yell something else, but the words died in his throat when he saw the room.

[writer-and-artist27]

Scars and Pledges

When you’re studying for finals, feeling particularly stressed (not helped by numbers on a weight scale), writing comes out. 

I hope Arturia comes to my Chaldea one day because I do not have a SINGLE Saberface and I want her to be the first. For now, I’ll just keep writing.

Healing Over Time Chapter 5 Preview. Takes place immediately after Chapter 4. So far inspired by the official Garden of Avalon drama CD. @withanina has been the only person who has seen this so far, so here you go. Something new to share since I’ve been quiet. 

(@chiefladylightyay, I’m looking at you.) 

This is for everyone else wondering wtf is going on with me. ANGST-FLUFF. Because finals prep can do that.

Trigger warning also applies for implied past violence and flashback mentioned. 

------------------------------------------

“Tomoko. My Lady.” Saber started the conversation at an empty kitchen table, having sunk to one knee while keeping eye contact. She wasn’t even sitting on a chair, leaving me to look down at her. “You know that we are in a contract as Master and Servant.”

“Mm,” was the little noise that left my throat. My stomach was churning in that not-so-happy way and my face must’ve reflected it because Saber’s green eyes seemed sad somehow when looking up at me. “I… I wish it wasn’t such a formal thing, though.” I wanted to reach out to Saber, to hug her, to hold her hand and comfort her because this looming talk didn’t seem to be one either of us wanted. It was a reminder of how, as much as I wanted to be equals with her, this entire position made it feel like it was not that. “Because, Saber…”

My throat closed up on the words. I love you and you deserve better. 

Saber’s eyes softened. Did she hear my thoughts? “I know, Milady,” she said dutifully, taking one of my hands in hers. “And I am forever grateful for that. Still, I must apologize for not addressing this sooner. Your kindness has been something that I have been taking for granted, and in hindsight, I should not have done so.” She squeezed my hand tightly while bowing her head. “I should have informed you of the nuances that come with our being Contracted so that this morning would not have happened.”

Oh. “The dreams?” I said softly.

“The dreams,” Saber confirmed, her thumb rubbing my knuckles. “From my knowledge of magecraft and of past Holy Grail Wars, dreams are something Master and Servant share. The contents can be faded, at times erratic, but it always pertains to moments we have experienced in the past. From my own recollections, my previous Masters could see my memories as King, but…” her grip on my hand loosened. “This is the first time I could see memories of my Master.”

A sharp pang of “ow” rang through my abdomen. This morning, she had a hand on my stomach. She had looked at me like she had seen me die before. It all confirmed it. She saw my fall. She knew about October Tenth now. All I could do was open my mouth, trying to hide my quivering lip. “I-I’m sorry.”

Saber raised her head to look at me incredulously, green eyes wide. “Milady, why — why are you apologizing?”

I ducked away and broke the eye contact, feeling far too ashamed to look at her in the eye. “I saw things that were really personal to you and unintentionally exposed you to things from my past that I’m still trying to grasp myself. I’m really sorry. For not knowing, for showing you all that.” My cheek wasn’t bleeding, but I could faintly taste the aftertaste of iron. Memories or phantom pain, I didn’t know anymore. I just messed up, and for once, it felt like there was no fixing this. Like there was no going back. Like I was going to lose Saber, and that was terrifying. “I-I’m sorry, Art-san.”

“Milady,” Saber said softly and a hand was tilting my chin up. My vision was blurring a little, but there was no mistaking the emotion in her emerald green eyes. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I should be the one apologizing, simply because I did not tell you before it happened.” Her hand slowly traveled upwards to cup my cheek, her thumb wiping at the edges of my eyes. “There’s no need to cry.”

I bit my lip while trying to look into those emerald green eyes. I didn’t deserve her. I didn’t. “I still looked into something personal to you, Art-san. I violated your privacy.” 

I saw someone you haven’t talked to in what looks like a long time — I stepped into a memory that should’ve been yours alone. 

“But I did the same, Milady, and I did not warn you.” Her smile seemed mournful, regretful somehow as her shoulders slackened in her long-sleeved sweatshirt. “The fault is all mine.”

There is nothing to blame yourself for, echoed in my mind’s ear and a shiver traveled up my spine. Do not take this all on yourself, Master. 

How could I respond to all that? How could I?

“A-Are,” I shakily raised one of my hands to rest over hers still on my cheek, grasping it. “Are you okay then, Saber?”

Saber blinked slowly at me. “In a moment,” she acquiesced finally after a small pause, her thumb still pressing against the edges of my eyes. “When you have calmed down.”

This Knight. This selfless, ridiculous Knight. The first tear was already trailing down my cheek once I fell from my chair and into Saber’s arms. She gasped against the side of my head, her hand on my cheek having long gone away to support both of our weights against the carpet. The first sniffles had started leaving my nose and I did my best to hide in her shirt, inhaling as much oxygen as I could. “S-Saber… Saber, Saber, Saber…” 

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should be better, but it all hurts, my stomach hurts, just, just—  

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m scared of hurting you and I don’t know what to do.

“Oh,” she said breathily in realization, fingers already threading through my hair. I didn’t even realize I was broadcasting my thoughts until she tucked me into her arms, straightening her posture to properly accommodate for a hug. “Milady, Milady, it is alright. It is alright. You did not hurt me.” A soft kiss pressed against my head as the hug became tighter. Warmer. Safer. “It is alright. I am alright. You did not hurt me, Milady.”

I clung to her, the tears falling like rain against her shirt. If she minded, Saber didn’t seem to be up to voicing it, instead brushing through my long hair and humming gently. “Tomoko. It is alright. Calm your fears. You do not have to cry.”

B-But, but— 

“Y-You don’t mind?” I whimpered, feeling my tongue dry from the sobs beginning to echo in my throat. “I-I’m ruining your shirt, Art-san. I-I—” I’m being a burden. I should be better than this, I’m not being the best for you—

Two hands were gently pushing at my shoulders to break the hug and a sniff left my nose as soon as Art-san’s eyes were boring into mine. I shut my eyes almost immediately. She shouldn’t have been looking at me like that. She shouldn’t need to. “Tomoko.” Her forehead bumped mine. “It is alright. Please look at me.” 

“…”

Two firm hands were covering mine, preventing me from wiping at my face. “Please, Milady.”

I did my best to gulp down another sob before opening my eyes. My vision was still blurry, but there was no mistaking the pure relief in those emerald eyes as Saber smiled. “My lady,” she breathed in relief and I tried not to flinch once she leaned over to press a kiss to my forehead. “You are alright. And I am still here, unhurt and by your side. I am not leaving.”

Those were words I had heard time and time again. From Kei, from Obi, from Ricchan, Kashi, Papa, Mama — everyone. And yet again, darkness curled in my veins. It was such a sweet saying, why was I— 

“Are…” my voice became quiet, shy as I did my best to not look at her. “Are you sure?” I had no clue where I was going with this. But life was never fair. Bad things just happened and sometimes, there was no way to fix them. “I’m… I’m not as great of a Master as your previous ones may have been, Art-san. I’m not perfect.” 

I don’t know if I’m good enough for you. I don’t know if I ever will be. 

I had no clue if I was anywhere close to fixing myself, even after October Tenth was over. Even after Kei and the others came back from Kannabi alive. 

I was still scarred. I was still broken.

Even after Hisako had disappeared years ago, a part of me was still that scared little girl, missing her Nobody and wondering whether everyone would leave if she messed up again.

And no matter what I did, no matter how much Kei fought, there would always be someone who would light the fuse to war because they wanted something more from the world. 

How could I—

------------------------------------------

In all of her days as King and Heroic Spirit, Arturia Pendragon was familiar with the concept of tears. Slowly becoming human again during her time with Shirou and Rin in Fuyuki was proof of that, because seeing them flee after Caster had taken control pained her beyond anything else.

Saber thought that she was familiar with pain.

But the world was proving her wrong yet again with her new Master currently sobbing in-between her arms. Even after a tight hug and muttered reassurances into that rosemary-scented hair, Tomoko still looked so small when not meeting her gaze, the occasional jolt of her shoulders through her crumpled white nightgown the only proof Saber had that she was listening. Her cheeks were pink for the completely wrong reasons, not helped with the glistening tear trails on her face. 

Even with all her experiences, Saber had no idea of how to proceed. After all, she had failed in informing her lady of the concept of shared dreams and even if she was shocked at seeing Tomoko fall in the past, the simple fact that Tomoko knew she saw the event and was then reduced to this state — it all accounted for a situation that Saber wished she could have avoided sooner. 

A Servant should have known better.

A Knight should have fought harder so that these kinds of moments would not have occurred. 

Arturia once took up the Sword of Selection in the hopes of bringing Britain prosperity. She had done her best as King, in spite of the Battle at Camlann, but now, as a mere Servant and ally of this civilian girl, being unable to stop her tears, where did that leave her?

“A-Are…” Tomoko was finally speaking and Arturia leaned in desperately to hear. “Are you sure? I’m… I’m not as great of a Master as your previous ones may have been, Art-san. I’m not perfect.” 

Her heart could have broken from those words alone, but what made something truly snap was the single thought echoing in Arturia’s head.

I don’t know if I’m good enough for you. I don’t know if I ever will be. 

This girl. This selfless, foolish girl. There was no need for such worries. And yet she worried anyways.

Was this how the King of Conquerors felt when looking at Arturia years ago?

Tomoko could have resembled Shirou in how hopeless she sounded. 

Saber inhaled slowly before channeling her mana. The familiar feeling of her armor overtaking her clothes was comforting and the winds that came with it were enough to jolt her lady out of whatever dark stupor had taken her. Those blue eyes were wide in her direction, still filled with tears and red-rimmed, but they were focused on Saber and Saber alone, so she could not afford to lose this chance. 

“Master. No, Tomoko.” Saber gently pulled Tomoko to her feet before sinking to one knee in front of her. Tomoko was yelping in what sounded like surprised embarrassment, but quieted once Excalibur had shown itself in Saber’s right hand. Arturia merely rested her Gift from the Lady of the Lake in front of her Master too. 

Nothing could truly match the person in front of her. Nothing, and no one.

“A-Arturia-san?” 

It was a quiet voice, but it was still the voice of a lady that could have been greater than Guinevere. Kinder than Irisviel. 

How many people out there truly cared for others like Tomoko did? 

How many people in the world truly doubted themselves over simply “not being enough” for a Servant? 

How many people treated a Servant like they were human again?

Arturia simply kneeled. 

Tomoko was wrong in how she didn’t deserve Arturia. 

Arturia felt that she did not deserve Tomoko. 

“Please, Milady, believe this. On my honor as the King of Knights, the leader of the Round Table, the former King Arthur, I, Arturia Pendragon,” she took a breath, “I vow to be your sword. I pledge to stay by your side, to use this Holy Sword of Excalibur to protect you.” She raised her head while taking one of her Lady’s shaking hands in hers, gripping it tightly through her armor. 

Tomoko’s kindness could not be taken for granted, but that did not mean leaving it to fade into darkness.

Arturia had seen far too much darkness, far too much corruption in her past lives to let such virtue disappear again. Especially after Lancelot.

Kiritsugu may have had a point with his ideals, but he would have forgotten a girl like the one standing in front of Arturia right now. It was strange to think about him, but knowing he had sacrificed Irisviel for a hopeless wish made Arturia all the more determined when looking upwards into those blue eyes. 

As a lone Knight, she had someone to protect again. 

Arturia had someone to remind her she was human again.

“S-Saber…” Tomoko’s blue eyes merely filled with more of those thick, pearly tears. If Arturia did not know any better, she could have resembled Guinevere in her final moments. Thankfully, this was different. “You… Y-You can’t just say—” a sound that was caught between a sob and a laugh left her throat. “Art-san…”

Arturia slowly shook her head, silencing whatever protest that was on her lady’s lips. 

Perhaps this was too soon. Perhaps this was a hasty, a foolish decision. It could turn out to be a mistake paralleling her time in the Fourth Holy Grail War. But it felt just. It felt correct. It was a decision Arturia Pendragon could call her own and not one decided by fate or Merlin’s old foretellings. 

It felt like the right decision. 

Perhaps Irisviel would have loved to see this moment. 

Perhaps this was how Lancelot felt when first making love to Guinevere in secrecy. It was not the same kind of love, but there was no mistaking the warmth in Arturia’s chest reverberating from this girl’s mere presence. 

Like Shirou in some ways, other angles, not so much. Like Sakura, maybe, but more outspoken. Like Rin in their shared forwardness, but different.

Tomoko was her own person and there was no mistaking those blue eyes still trained on her.

Arturia was not sure of her exact feelings, but the words alone were genuine enough.

“I can say this and I will, Tomoko.” There was no going back. Arturia did not want to lose here. “It is because of your unrelenting kindness that I vow to care for you. I vow to love you, now and forevermore. For as long as you will have me, I will be by your side. I promise you.” Saber smiled before leaning in and pressing a kiss to the soft shaking fingers in her grip. “My clumsy, insecure, lovely Lady.” 

It was the least she could do to keep that light shining. Mistakes and cracks and all. 

Kei was right. Tomoko was sensitive, insecure. Perhaps fragile too, if not for that dream last night. But it was all imperfections that made her so human, and to see such pure emotional honesty was something Arturia unknowingly longed for after so many years. 

Perhaps, if Tomoko was in Camelot so long ago, maybe—  

Could Mordred have not rebelled in the face of such purity? 

There were so many what-ifs. 

Suddenly, there was a large sniffle and finally, finally, Arturia could see a smile on her Lady’s face. Tomoko was laughing — still shaking, but laughing, finally returning the grip Arturia had on her hand. It was so human to see her like that and in spite of how sudden the gesture was, Arturia could not help but feel relieved. “Y-You, you, you silly Knight,” she chuckled, falling to her knees to reach Arturia’s height before throwing her arms around her neck. Arturia blinked but did not hesitate to hug back, gently resting her armored gauntlets against that tangled long mane of black hair. “You shouldn’t have to dedicate your life to me—! Y-You should spend your life for yourself… Not for meeeeee…”

Oh.

Arturia chuckled too, resting her nose against her lady’s neck. Rosemary again. “It was my decision to say all that, Milady. And it is my decision to embrace you like this, to stay. If it means I am foolish and naive, so be it. A King can be selfish as well. Please remember that.” 

Something wet was starting to build up against Arturia’s shoulder, soaking her dress past the armor. The chest pressing against her breastplate was warm and real, and Tomoko was nodding jerkily. “D-Dork,” she cried, sniffling. “I-I just can’t win against you…”

What was there to win? Arturia Pendragon could not lose. 

“Tis was my intent, Milady,” Arturia smiled while tightening the embrace. “I suppose I should take your response as an affirmative?”

There’s no way I’m okay with you leaving after saying all that! 

Ah.

Instead of voicing the thought that just rang through Arturia’s mind, there was another, weaker, chuckle. “Aye… aye… D-Dork.” That phrase again. Said through a shaky voice, all the more hesitant and weak. Yet Tomoko pulled back and the sheer relief and love in her gaze pointed at Arturia alone was enough. “I-I’ll have to make you a large feast for breakfast now, Art-san. Knights need to eat too. A-And, let’s just talk about the dreams and the contract after that, okay? A-And no offense intended, but no more vows like that. I appreciate it a lot, but I don’t want to keep c-crying on you forever. Mama and Papa will wake up soon and I don’t want to be a baby forever.” 

This girl. Arturia merely chuckled and leaned in to press another kiss to Tomoko’s forehead. She spluttered loudly in surprised protest, but it was the desired reaction. Teasing was not beyond either of them. So, it was an improvement. 

Praise could not be brushed off so lightly, so Arturia whispered the words against her lady’s hair.

“You have never been a ‘baby’ in my eyes, Tomoko. You are already a proper Lady no one can ignore.”

[pluto-parker]

Shatter *Delsin Rowe x Reader*

Summary: The one where you’re rescued by a fiery smoke conduit looking to acquire your deadly power.

Warnings: Violence and a teeeeeny bit of angst and a butt ton of flirty fluff!

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist

(A/N: I know I’m like SUUUPER late (Like three-four years late??) to writing this fanfic but I finally got and finished Infamous: Second Son and fell in love with Delsin. This’ll probably be the only imagine I write for him, unless someone out there wants a part two)

It was hard being a conduit.

At every turn, danger awaited you as you roamed the streets of Seattle.

An outcast, a threat, a target; that’s what you were in the eyes of the D.U.P..

They always shot first. 

The blood on your hands wasn’t your fault. If you had the choice you would never kill again, but they forced you to become the monster they thought you were with their guns and concrete bombs. And there was no way in hell you were going to go back to Curdun Cay. You were done being one of Augustine’s little lab rats. Done being poked and prodded for the powers you possessed. 

When Hank wrecked the D.U.P truck a couple weeks back, you ran like hell with Fetch and Eugene. You fought your way to freedom before tailing it away from them, too. The three of you may have fought together to survive, but none of their actions were done with any concern for anyone else but themselves. You couldn’t trust them.

And now, you stood alone in the middle of the street, surrounded by a swarm of D.U.P brain-dead soldiers as you took your last stand. You weren’t going back to Curdun Cay, you’d either survive, or die fighting.

Power coursed through your veins as you stared down the D.U.P.. 

They took the first shot. 

Then all hell broke loose.

Focusing your power into your hands, you sent a wave of sharp glass straight at a cluster of soldiers, tearing them to shreds. A bullet tore through the back of your shoulder and you turned toward the source, blasting a shard bomb straight at the man. His remains cascaded with the explosion. You tore up flesh, blew up cars, scaled buildings, and threw down men, but they kept on coming and coming and coming.

Eventually, you ran low on fuel, cornered by a swarm of soldiers in an alleyway with no way to escape. In a last ditch effort to survive, you pulled out your last trick. The exertion to pull it off could kill you, but it was all you had left: The Crystal Hellfire. Mustering every drop of energy in your battered and bruised body, you launched yourself into the air, floating like an angel as all of the windows on buildings and cars in a half-mile radius shattered instantaneously, the small fragments flying toward you, building on one another until large shards of glass circled around your glowing form. With a piercing cry, your arms spread open like wings as you spiraled violently in the air, reigning the spears down on the men, piercing straight through them from head to toe, and staking them to the ground with a sickening crunch.

Collapsing onto your knees, you gasped in haggard breaths as you stared at your surroundings. It was horrible, disastrous carnage. All of it.

It sickened you to your stomach as you glared at your handiwork, but the quiet that settled over the scene helped ease your upset heart.

“I see the target!”

Your blood ran cold. There were more.

Another wave of D.U.P. circled around you like hungry sharks.

Exhausted, completely drained, and stricken with grief, you closed your eyes and accepted death, waiting for the onslaught of bullets that would soon rip through your aching body.

But the shots never came.

Your eyes flashed open in confusion as the terrified yells of the soldiers reached your ears.

“It’s him, the smoke conduit!”

Your gaze scanned your surroundings, searching for Hank, but finding a mysterious man floating in ash as he took down the D.U.P.s with lethal blow after lethal blow instead.

The conduit took only minutes to take out the rest of the soldiers, and you could feel yourself slip in and out of consciousness as you watched his performance. Moments later, he landed a few feet in front of you, out of breath but unscathed with hands held up in resignation as he approached with slow and careful steps.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, his irises filled with sincerity as he gazed into your eyes.

Exhausted, you struggled to get to your feet, only managing a few staggering steps before collapsing to the ground.

Instead of hitting hard concrete, your body landed in the gentle arms of your rescuer, and you just barely registered his quiet murmured assurances before blacking out.

~~~

You woke up on a mattress, groggy and head pounding, with a jean jacket splayed over your body. You kept your eyes closed as the events before you blacked out flashed through your mind.

The D.U.P.. The Crystal Hellfire. The carnage.

The smoke conduit.

Your eyes flashed open and you sat up stick straight, immediately regretting your fast movements as a wave of nausea churned your stomach and spun your head. Sucking in a few deep breaths to ground yourself, you scanned your surroundings. You were on a rooftop next to a small fire that had no visible source but was burning and warm all the same.

“Glad to see that you’re awake.”

The deep voice cut through the calm silence save the crackle of the fire and you sprung to your feet, ignoring your nausea and exhaustion as you focused your power into your hands and stared down the man standing in the shadows.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s calm down, angel. I’m not going to hurt you,” the man said before stepping into the light with his hands up.

It was the smoke conduit that saved you.

You immediately relaxed against your better judgement. He did rescue you after all.

His eyes widened in shock at you standing down, “Oh, wow. You’re the first conduit I’ve met that I haven’t had to fight before we talk.”

You let out a soft chuckle at his words, sitting back on the mattress, finally letting your exhaustion shine through. You could just imagine Fetch and Eugene’s reactions when they met the guy. Not pretty.

“Yeah, well my heads screwed on a bit tighter than Eugene and Fetch’s.” You gazed at him curiously, admiring the way his eyes glistened with humor in the firelight. “Why did you save me?”

He seemed surprised by your words, “We’re conduits. We have to look out for each other.”

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief, skeptical, “Bullshit. Everybody wants something in this world.”

He scratched the back of his neck, contemplating his next words before finally speaking, “Okay. You caught me. But, that still is part of the reason you know.”

“Uh huh, sure... so tell me what you---

“What’s your name?” he interrupted.

You were surprised once more, but decided to tell him without giving him a hard time. “(Y/N).”

He smiled, “I’m Delsin... Delsin Rowe.”

Another pause, then you spoke, “So, Delsin Rowe,” he smirked as you said his full name, making your cheeks go slightly pink. You had to admit, the guy was handsome. “What do you want?”

“If we weren’t wanted ‘criminals’? To take you out on a date, but seeing how difficult that would be with all the D.U.P.s around, we’ll have to wait until after you help me take down Augustine.”

Your face was bright red now, and you struggled to keep your composure as he began to walk closer to you, “And what makes you think I can help you take down Augustine?”

He sat next to you on the mattress, his knee brushing yours ever so slightly, sending waves of electricity through your body, “I saw your finishing move. It was crazy badass, angel. With that move, we could beat her for sure.”

There was that pet name again.

“Angel?” you gulped.

His eyes were piercing as he held your gaze, and you ran a hand nervously through your hair as you averted your eyes, embarrassed.

“Seeing you flying in the air like that? I thought you were one, kind of still do,” he quipped confidently.

You grew even more flustered, struggling to think of what to say when the image of the agents you killed earlier flashed through your mind.

You met his gaze once more, your eyes going dark, “Trust me. I’m no angel.”

“Hard to believe,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes before changing the subject, “What do you call your finisher?”

You hesitated for just moment,“The Crystal Hellfire.”

He let out a whistle that started high and ended low, “God damn. Now that’s a fucking name.”

Suddenly, he turned toward you, his hands inches from your own as he stared deep into your eyes, “(Y/N), my conduit ability isn’t smoke. I can... I can learn other conduits’ powers. I have neon and digital, too, from Fetch and Eugene. I won’t take away your power; you’ll still have glass, but I need you to let me have yours, too, to take down Augustine. So, I know it’s a lot to ask but, will you let me have your power?”

You stared down at your hands. The feeling of your power coursing through your veins was constant, and you knew that glass was one of the most, if not the most, deadly conduit power in the world. Did you really trust this man you just met enough with that sort of ability?

Sucking in deep a breath, you murmured just loud enough for him to hear, “Are you going to kill her? ...Are you going to kill Augustine?”

He didn’t even hesitate, “No. The things she has done are horrible but she doesn’t deserve to die. She needs to be tried for her crimes and locked up; she needs to experience the pain that she inflicted on so many innocent people.”

You smiled at his answer, satisfied, and the genuine look in his irises was all you needed to say yes.

“You can have my power, Delsin... on one condition.”

He waited for you to continue, curiosity in his features.

You grinned humorously, “No seafood.”

His eyebrows knit together in confusion, “What?”

“Our date. I don’t like seafood.”

“Oh,” he said stupidly before collecting himself, his signature smirk reappearing on his lips, “As you wish, angel.”

And then, in a flash, his hands were under yours, pulling them toward his lips to place a swift kiss on your knuckles, sending another shock wave through your body just before your past flashed before your eyes and white crystals of glass began to flow between your fingertips, glowing bright around the both of you before you succumbed to the darkness once more.