#anna's fics
Text
It’s always been you
Summary: after years by his side, Tommy sees your friendship shattered when he decides to marry Grace and then later, hurts your boyfriend. Will you ever be reunited?
A/N: phew! this was...well it’s officially the longest one shot I've ever written and it’s in honor of my darling @runnning-outof-time bingo! I’ve worked very hard on this and I'm literally writing this on December 31st at half past two in the morning but it’s worth it! Also, big big thank you to my darling @choreosmania (you’re such a sexy little swine ily <3) Happy New Year everyone, I hope you enjoy this first fic of 2023!! 💗💗
Prompts: A holiday party—hurt/comfort—must include: a secret—enemies-to-lovers
Warnings: angst, mentions of death, swearwords, peaky related stuff and fluff (obviously)
Word count: 8,037 words
Tommy sat in the quiet office, waiting to hear the distinctive clicking on the hardwood floor. He had news to tell you. Something very important that got you rushing to the Shelby Company Ltd. Building. But for once, the news were good.
“What happened?” you almost screamed, erupting through the glass doors. You knew Tommy well enough to be concerned when he called you to his office for “important matters”. And the blood on his temple didn’t soothe your worry.
“I’m getting married, Y/N.”
He pronounced the words calmly. As if it wasn’t supposed to be exciting or thrilling or the best news you had heard all year. He had been through a lot and all you had wished for him was someone good. A nice girl to dust off the remains of the tunnels. Because even if he had changed, Tommy still deserved good things. He deserved to be loved, he deserved to be happy. Even if he didn’t believe it most of the time.
“This is amazing!” you exclaimed, rushing to embrace him. Tommy welcomed your hug, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. You were the first one to know. He wanted you to know before the rest of the family. Ever since he came back from France, you had been a constant. He was aware he was a different man— far from the young boy he was when he left but you accepted it. You didn’t try to make the young boy come back, you didn’t expect Tommy to act like someone he wasn’t anymore. And for that, he wanted to share the good news with you first, and you only.
“So who is the unfortunate creature?” your playful tone made Tommy shake his head. You smiled at him, wondering who had managed to bring back the grin on his face. He hadn’t mentioned anybody special and you hadn’t seen him with anybody either.
“It’s Grace,” Tommy finally said, his smile widening. But you weren’t smiling anymore.
You let him go, a cold pit in your stomach. No. No, you refused to believe it. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not after everything that happened. No, it was probably someone else. Another girl. You heard it wrong because he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t marry her.
Tommy noticed the sudden switch. Your joyful expression erased by a troubled frown, you backed away in disbelief. “Y/N…,” but you shook your head, a hollow chuckle escaping your trembling lips.
“No, no, you can’t marry her. Fuck, Tommy! You can’t be that naive, you– did you forget what she did?” The man lowered his head, sighing. You were reacting out of shock but it would pass, he just needed to let you have a moment. “You almost got killed because of her! She called the fucking cops on your own fucking sister and y-you want to marry her? No, no, please tell me this is supposed to be a joke because you can’t be serious right now…you can’t…”
“But I am, Y/N,” he began calmly, grabbing your hand. “She’s pregnant a-and she said she loved me.”
You snatched your hand away, angry tears rolling down your cheeks. “Are you fucking kidding me, Tommy? She said she loved you? So fucking what? She said she was a barmaid too, didn’t she? And how do you know the baby’s yours, hm? Isn’t she married?”
Tommy sighed, he was feeling less and less patient. Maybe he didn’t expect you to jump out of happiness, especially after knowing he would marry Grace. But he thought you would be happy for him because it was important. Because after all these years in the dark, trying to dig himself out of the tunnels, he had found light.
“She’s going to leave him, she doesn’t love him.”
“Oh right…because she loves you,” you spat out bitterly. “Is that why you asked me to come here? Did you expect me to give you my blessing to go marry a traitor?”
“Don’t call her that, alright?” The mere mention of the past was enough to make Tommy’s blood boil. He knew what Grace had done but he forgave her. You should understand that. You should understand that if he could forgive her, then you should too. Because there would be no one else for him, Grace was the one.
“Call her what? A traitor?” you taunted him even if your anger only masked the deep hurt you felt. She had harmed your family, she had harmed him and now he was opening the door for her. He was allowing her back in. What would she do this time? What would happen if this was another trap but he was too blinded to see? “That’s what she is, Tom! She betrayed you and you’re just giving her another chance! This will never end well, you hear me? And if you go through with this, it’s over. Forget about me.” you uttered the words with all the fierceness burning in your heart. If he wanted to marry a traitor, then he was no better than her. And you didn’t want to be friends with someone who would betray their own flesh and blood.
Tommy observed you for a moment, gauging how serious you were. But he didn’t find an ounce of hesitation in your gaze. You were ready to throw away your entire friendship just for that? You would give up on him because he finally found happiness?
“Then leave, Y/N,” his blue eyes were cold, enough to freeze you on the spot. You watched him as he nonchalantly grabbed a cigarette out of his pocket. The Tommy you loved wasn’t there anymore. You didn’t recognize this man standing tall and proud before you. You shook your head, walking out of the office but before reaching the door you stopped. “When this all goes to shit—and it will— don’t expect me to be there for you. Goodbye, Thomas.” You slammed the glassdoor on your way out, leaving Tommy alone in the gigantic office.
“You’re inviting Y/N?” Polly asked, surprised as her nephew handed her two invitations. She had been the first one to know about the terrible argument between him and Y/N. Polly was many things to the children: a mother, an aunt, a friend at times. But there had always been a strong bond between her and Y/N. Polly had grown up with her mother and when she passed, the Shelby matriarch didn’t hesitate to take the little girl in. She was already spending most of the time with the rest of the Shelbys anyway. They had all accepted her whole-heartedly as part of their clan, especially Tommy. They were inseparable. If Y/N was somewhere, Tommy wasn’t far behind. They disagreed sometimes but their fights never lasted long.
That’s what Polly thought would happen the last time. Nothing more than a petty argument, a few days sulking and then it would go back to normal. Y/N would get over her hatred towards Grace and Tommy would understand that marrying her didn’t erase her wrongs. But neither seemed to budge, they were too stubborn, too set in their own positions.
Family meetings turned to awkward blanks and a tense atmosphere as everyone observed the broken pair. Y/N didn’t address Tommy unless it was necessary. Tommy treated Y/N like she was nothing more than an employee. But the rest of the family couldn’t help notice the glances one would throw when the other wasn’t paying attention.
“Well, she’s part of the family, isn’t she?” Tommy answered simply, passing a tired hand over his face. He had told the same thing to Grace a week before when she was making the invitations— to which she replied: “I’m your family too, now, Tommy.” But he insisted regardless of Grace’s reticence. His soon-to-be wife didn’t seem to understand why he would invite the girl who had decided to cut all relations with him. But Tommy, for some reason, couldn’t imagine his wedding without Y/N being there. And even if there was a very strong chance she declined the invitation, Tommy thought he could try. Maybe extend an olive branch her way and put an end to the ridiculous quarrel between them.
“Just give her the invitation, will ya, Pol?” his aunt observed him, he seemed exhausted. But not the exhaustion of a father who had a teething baby at home. Not the exhaustion of a businessman spending too much time at the office. No, something was bothering him.
“What’s going on, Tommy?”
He looked up, eyes reddened by the incessant rubbing, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he took out a file from a drawer and threw it on top of his desk. Polly opened it, finding letters and different annotations. “Mr. Changretta met a girl in the Italian restaurant on Fleet Street and took her back to a suite at the Midland Hotel,” she read out loud.
Fuck.
You had been seeing Angel for a few months. You had told Polly about him, how nice he was to you.
“Don’t tell her anything, alright? I’m going to deal with it?” Polly looked up from the file, a frown on her face. Tommy’s tone didn’t need clarifying. Anyone who hurt a Shelby would pay the consequences. These were the rules. But the Changrettas were a powerful family.
“Thomas, don’t start with the Italians, you hear me? I’ll tell Y/N what you found and she will handle it alone-”
“No, Polly. You won’t tell her. Just let me handle it.”
She handed him the file back, sighing. Tommy wouldn’t do something stupid, she told herself. Not when he had a baby, not right before his wedding. No, her nephew was a smart man. He would handle things properly.
You opened the glassdoors with such strength they hit the wall behind. But it didn’t matter, you didn’t care. Thomas got up from his desk as you ran towards him, rage deforming your features.
“Fuck you, Thomas! Fuck you!” you pushed him, tears blurring your vision. “How could you, hm? How could you do that? What…just because I refused to come to your fucking wedding you had to get revenge? Are you that fucking petty?” you screamed. You probably seemed mad, maybe you were. It didn’t matter. Not when he stood so calmly, even after what he did.
“Y/N…” he grabbed your wrists, holding them close to his chest. You easily got out of his grip, withdrawing as if his hands had burnt you.
“Why did you do that, hm? Just out of spite?” but Tommy stood there, observing you. “Answer me!” you demanded vehemently.
The office doors opened again. This time, Polly rushed inside, alerted by the screams.
“What’s going on?”
You turned to her, eyes swollen and red. “Maybe you should ask your nephew, hm?” your finger pointed accusingly towards Tommy, you explained “He went to Angel and took his fucking eyes out.”
“What?” Polly observed Tommy in disbelief. Not because she was surprised by his action. But because two weeks ago, she warned him. She told him if he decided to deal with Changretta, he had to be diplomatic. This was far from diplomacy. This meant war with the Italians.
“And you wanna know why he did it, huh?” you continued, hands gesturing in anger “Because the great Thomas Shelby can’t stand that I hate his darling wife so he wants to make me pay. And for that, he’s just planning on hurting anybody I get close to, isn’t he?” a hollow laugh left your trembling lips, Tommy kept quiet.
From the corner of her eye, Polly noticed his clenched jaw. Her nephew stood there, unable to defend himself because he refused to let you know the reason.
Tommy had to speak with Polly. Keep her from explaining why Angel Changretta lost his sight. But he couldn’t do that with you in the room.
Polly seemed to understand her nephew’s lack of answer and called Lizzie.
“Y/N, sweetheart, let me talk to Tommy. Go with Lizzie, alright?”
You sighed, your chest heaving. The flaming rush that led you to the office was slowly dissolving, leaving you a pounding headache and exhaustion. You listened to Polly, deflated and followed Lizzie outside.
The Shelby matriarch waited to hear the click of the door and turned back to Tommy. He slumped in his chair, sighing. “Oh, you can sigh all you want but I’m not leaving.”
“Yeah, I know you won’t, Pol.” he lit up a cigarette, watching the cloud of smoke escaping from his lips.
“You have to apologize, Thomas. We can’t afford a war with the Italians. Not when you already have that business with the Russians.”
Tommy scoffed, shaking his head. “Oh yeah and how should I apologize, eh? In English or in Italian?”
Polly shook her head. Her nephew was too proud to realize the consequences of his actions.
“Or maybe we should ask them which fucking language they prefer?”
“Why, Thomas? Why?”
“Because anyone who hurts a Shelby pays the price, remember, Pol?” he said matter-of-factly, his voice low.
She observed him. This was more than just pride, this was more than just a show of power.
“Why didn’t you tell Y/N, then? Why let her believe you did it out of pure spite?”
Tommy took a minute to reply, smoking his cigarette as he stared at the family portrait on the desk. “She hates me already. No need to get her heart broken on top of it.”
Polly sighed. She sat next to him, grabbing a cigarette as well. He knew the consequences of his actions but it didn’t matter, he would blind the king himself if he dared disrespecting you. Even if your friendship had shattered to pieces, it didn’t make him care less about you. It didn’t change the years spent by your side. Tommy knew you like no one did. And even if you were a strong woman, he wouldn’t handle seeing you in pain. Much less for a scumbag like Angel Changretta.
“Don’t tell her, Polly, yeah?” his aunt stared at him, containing the smirk forming on her lips.
“I won’t but that’s not what you should be worried about, Tommy. The Changrettas will come after you.”
“Then let ‘em come, Pol. Let ‘em come.”
A cup of tea, a book in hand and a fire softly crackling in the hearth. All the elements for a perfect evening. And it would be perfect if Polly wasn’t standing over you, arms folded across her chest. “Come on, Y/N, just come! You can’t spend New year’s Eve alone!”
You rolled your eyes, finally giving up on your book. “I can, Polly. And I will. Now, you got the pearls you were looking for, go or you’ll be late.” Wrapping your robe closer around your chest, you opened the door. “And you know how your dear nephew loathes late people.”
Polly sighed. The only reason you refused to come was because said New Year’s party was at Arrow House. It was a stupid reason. And even though Polly had tried to be patient, she was tired of you and Tommy sulking like children, refusing to be near each other under any circumstance. “Y/N…”
“Polly…” you mimicked her. The woman sighed, closing the door and grabbing your hand.
“Alright, I won’t take another minute of you behaving like a kid. Sit,” her order was firm. It left no room for negotiation. And quite frankly, no matter how grown you were, you couldn’t ignore Polly’s scolding.
“You’re going to that party.” you opened your mouth, ready to retaliate “You are going. And you’ll talk to Tommy.” She fished a dress out of your wardrobe, throwing it on your bed. “ Go on, we don’t have all day. I need to do your hair.”
“Polly, please.”
It was hard for the family, you were aware of that. Tommy and you had always been close and the sudden distance between you had completely wrecked the usual balance. But you couldn’t just forgive and forget. It was better to ignore him than go to his house and sulk all night while the others were put in the middle.
“Y/N, this has to stop,” she spoke more softly, her hands rubbing your arms up and down. “Look, he doesn’t want you to know but…”, Polly hesitated. She promised she wouldn’t say anything but she couldn’t bear watching you and Tommy apart anymore. “Angel was cheating on you.”
“What?”
Polly sighed. “He was cheating with some other girl and that’s why Tommy gave the order. He asked me to keep it a secret and…”
“And you lied. You let me believe that Tommy did it because he was bitter,” you scoffed, shaking your head.
“Tommy didn’t want you to be heartbroken. He…he cares even if he has strange ways of showing it.”
You observed Polly, suddenly feeling stupid. You thought your anger towards Tommy was justified, that he deserved it because someone had to stop him. Someone had to make him understand he didn’t have all the rights to do whatever he pleased. But now…now you realized your outburst was unfair. He was trying to protect you, even if he could have let you deal with your troubles alone. He shielded you from the pain, took the blame for everything. Gosh you hated him.
“Just come, alright?”
Your initial reticence had seemingly disappeared and you nodded.
Polly helped you get ready and called her driver an hour later. You would arrive late, probably right in time for dinner but it didn’t matter. All you needed was a talk with Tommy. You needed to apologize and put an end to the conflict between—which seemed completely ridiculous now. Apprehension grew in the pit of your stomach as you got closer and closer to Arrow House. You didn’t know how he would react: would he listen to you? Would he try to avoid the conversation?
“We’re there, Y/N,” Polly’s firm hand squeezed yours, the great manor standing tall behind the window.
You took a deep breath, exiting the car. Each step brought you closer to him and it frightened you. You brought your coat closer to you, trying to stop your hands from shaking. Polly, noticing your anxiety, kept her hand tightly wrapped around yours and offered you a smile as you passed the threshold.
“Well, Polly, you’re…” Tommy appeared, his pocket watch in hand. He was probably going to comment on his aunt’s late arrival but he stopped himself mid sentence. Polly didn’t come alone tonight. No, you were here too.
Tommy had invited you, the same way he invited his brothers and their wife but unlike John, Esme or Arthur, he didn’t expect you to show up.
Even a year later, you didn’t forgive what happened to Angel Changretta. Tommy had paid the price already but losing Grace made him realize how alone he felt. After her death, he didn’t have anyone to turn to. Of course, there were Ada and Polly and Arthur’s clumsy attempts. But none were enough. Not compared to you.
Tommy remembered the days after his mother’s death, you had been the only one he could somehow confide in.
Sometimes, his grief grew so heavy he couldn’t speak anymore. His family didn’t understand that. They didn’t see his silence as the biggest proof of his sorrow, they saw it as a lack of emotion. But you had always been attentive enough to understand that words didn’t work, not when he felt like his heart was nothing but broken pieces scattered on the floor.
Your absence had never been as striking as it had been during the past year. But you were here now, on his doorstep with a soft smile brightening your features. Tommy moved towards you, he wanted to hug you, tell you just how much he had missed you.
“Y/N,” he mumbled instead, a polite nod to greet you.
Polly watched the scene, suppressing a grin. It wasn’t much but it was progress, she thought.
“Alright, Tom, are we spending the rest of the evening on the doorstep or can we get in? It’s freezing here!” The Shelby matriarch almost pushed her nephew out of the way and ran to greet the rest of the family. John’s kids screamed as they saw Polly, scaring to death Billy—Arthur’s baby.
The party was booming, jazz echoing through the halls and children running around. Although you didn’t come here often, you knew your way to the parlor where most of the family was. You hugged everyone, giggling at Arthur’s tight embrace and drunken comments. Quickly, you found yourself holding Esme’s little girl in your arms, chatting with her and Linda.
Tommy sat in the corner of the room, a glass of whiskey in hand and a cigarette in the other. He didn’t enjoy parties—too much noise, too much mess— but Arrow House had been so quiet. A deadly silence, gloomily settling in the manor until Tommy couldn’t handle it anymore. Inviting the family over brought back some of the liveliness: the chandeliers had been lit, music played on the phonograph and Charlie could run around with his cousins.
“Tom?” he blinked, startled as you stood before him. It had been a while since he heard you say his name. “Could I talk to you, please?” Tommy kept quiet for a moment, surprised by your proposal but he nodded, guiding you to his office.
There was a beat of silence as you stood in the middle of the room, twisting your fingers. You didn’t know how to start.
“Is everything okay?” Tommy finally asked, observing your nervous gestures.
“No…I mean, yes, I just…Polly told me about what you did and…and I guess I wanted to apologize.”
Tommy sighed, your words clear enough he didn’t need to ask what you were talking about. Polly promised she wouldn’t say anything but of course, his aunt never listened to him.
“You don’t have to apologize, I’m the one who blinded the man you loved, didn’t I?”
“You did it because he deserved it,” you reasoned simply. “And I didn’t love him, he was just a nice man…well, I thought so. I…why did you do it, Tom?”
Polly gave you a reason earlier today but you wanted to hear it from him. Why would he do something so reckless just over a love affair between you and some Italian man?
“I didn’t want you to get your heart broken over him. You didn’t deserve that,” he admitted, hands in his pocket.
“So you thought taking the blame would be better? You didn’t deserve getting yelled at.”
Tommy stared at you. He didn’t know what to answer. Letting you believe he was a terrible person somehow felt easier than watching you in pain. It was hard to explain but at the time, he didn’t need to explain anything. It was natural. Your friendship was already dead anyway, why break your heart to save something that wasn’t there anymore?
Before he could figure out an answer, Tommy felt your arms wrapped around his neck. You embraced him so tight it knocked the air out of his lungs. “Thank you,” a soft whisper, mumbled close to his ear.
It had been so long, he didn’t even realize how much he had missed it. You always hugged him like your life depended on it, like at any point he would disappear and you needed to make the most of whatever time you had left. Not much had changed, not even the perfume you wore. Tommy finally wrapped his own arms around your figure, his head resting on your shoulder. He closed his eyes for a moment. He dreaded the moment you would pull away, afraid it was the last time and he didn’t enjoy it enough.
But you didn’t want to let go either. You had missed him terribly. Often people wondered what you found in him, why a girl like you would care so deeply about the devil of Small Heath. And you understood the concern: Tommy was from being a saint. But there was so much to him, so much you were never able to express. He had unique ways of showing his love but you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. If you had to learn a lesson from all these years apart, it was that. You needed him just like you knew he needed you.
“Mr. Shelby?” a soft knock on the office door and Tommy loosened his hold, allowing Frances to come inside. “The fireworks are ready, sir.”
“Fireworks, huh?” you asked in a playful tone.
“Wanted to start the year on the right foot.”
Tommy’s hand rested safely on the small of your back, guiding you outside. Polly instantly noticed the gesture as you arrived in the garden. She didn’t comment—there would be more appropriate times for that— but she couldn’t help flashing a sly smirk your way.
It was a minute to midnight, everyone was ready. The kids sat expectedly, waiting for the magic to start while the adults checked their watch. At last, Tommy signed for the fireworks to be lit.
Midnight sharp. A first bang, followed by another. The entire family marveled at the colors and festive motifs as they all hugged each other. A bright smile on your face, you turned to Tommy and kissed his cheek. “Happy New Year, Tom.”
But before he could answer, the noise was covered by cars screeching in the driveway and explosions—different from the fireworks. You merely had time to register the screams, Arthur yelling to get inside with the kids and bullets flying left and right. You couldn’t see who was shooting, your mind numbing the noise as you stood there, completely frozen. Fireworks were still shooting in the sky and in hues of red and blue, you saw John and the bullets passing through his chest, you saw Michael right behind him fall to the ground and you felt something running down your arm. A wave of hot liquid soaking your coat as arms pushed you away from the bullet. Gravel scratched your cheek—a sting long forgotten as you bled out on the ground. Tommy lay on top of you, he pushed the hair out of your face and spoke to you but all you could hear was the ringing in your head.
“...Okay? Y/N?”
You blinked, mumbling about your arm—at least you thought you did, you weren’t sure your lips could still move. Tommy seemed to understand and he took off his scarf, wrapping it around the wound.
“It hurts, Tom.”
“I know, I know, love,” he held you, leaning against the wall. You felt the wool of his coat around you and the fast thumps of his heart against your cheek. He shouted instructions, his loud voice rumbling in his chest. Someone was crying, you couldn’t see who it was. Your arm was getting numb, you couldn’t feel the tip of your fingers anymore. The pain was so raw you thought you would pass out. Somewhere in the distance, the cries were covered by sirens. You were so tired, so cold.
“Hey, hey, Y/N, stay awake, love,” Tommy’s hands cooled down your flushed cheeks.
“’m so tired.”
“Yeah, yeah but you have to stay awake, alright? You have to stay awake, the ambulance is coming,” Even in your half-conscious state, you picked up on the worry in his voice. Tommy couldn’t lose you. He had lost enough already, he wouldn’t handle losing you as well. The dark attire, the funeral, everyone crying and him just standing there, only crumbling in the middle of the night, guilt gnawing at his insides. No, he couldn’t do it all again. “Please, Y/N…”
“Hey,” you quietly joined Tommy in front of the fireplace, sitting on the carpet. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he sipped his whiskey.
“How is your arm doing?” his gaze darted towards the fresh bandages wrapped around the bullet wound.
You had spent the few hours following the attack at the hospital. Thankfully, no bone was touched. Your injury was taken care of quickly, you didn’t even realize it was over—which probably had to do with the heavy dose of anesthetic they gave you. Tommy proposed to take you back home and stay with you, leaving Polly with Michael and John…
Oh John…
You didn’t see him, didn’t have time to say goodbye. But a part of you was glad you didn’t go to the morgue. That way, the last memory you would keep of him would be his booming laugh and the jokes he’d share at dinner. Not the gruesome view of his wan skin covered by blood and lifeless eyes. No, that way, you cherished that last evening with him, his smile and his hugs and everything that made him him.
“It’s okay. I don’t feel much with all the painkillers.”
Tommy nodded, his eyes stopping on your cheek. His fingers instinctively reached for the scratch, his thumb gently trailing over the redded marks. “It’s from the gravel, don’t worry,” you assured him, your hand closing over his fingers.
He frowned, his jaw clenching. “‘m sorry, I didn’t realize…”
“Are you joking? Tom, hey,” you tilted his chin, making him look at you. “You saved my life. If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve gotten that bullet…”
Right to the heart.
“I know,” he interrupted you.
Tommy had watched the scene unfold before him. You and that bullet rushing at you. It had left a strange impression of déjà-vu. A familiar sequence. Memories of one fateful evening under glistening chandeliers, guests screaming, the noise covered by his own buzzing fear. His stomach churned at the idea—the sparkle of your dress fading under warm red, holding your lifeless body as he begged for you to stay. So he did what he didn’t have the chance to do a year before: he pushed you to the ground, deviating the trajectory. The bullet didn’t miss, it went to your arm but you were okay. You were okay.
“But I didn’t save John,” Tommy let the words sting his tongue, not even realizing how broken his voice sounded or how easily the truth came out. He felt his eyes burn with the tears he couldn’t shed, his jaw aching under the tight pressure.
But your hand found a place on his shoulder, a simple gesture alleviating Tommy’s sorrow.
“I’m sorry, Tom,” you whispered but he shook his head. “It’s not your fault, don’t do this to yourself.”
He scoffed bitterly, bolting the remnants of whiskey. It was his fault. Maybe you were too kind to admit it or even to see it but Tommy knew it was. His hand may not have been the one blinding Angel Changretta but his mouth gave the orders.
“Hey,” your hands gently framed his face, your forehead resting against his. “You can’t control everything, you can’t predict the future. Maybe this was avoidable or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was going to happen no matter what. And there is nothing you can do to change that. Blaming yourself won’t make any of this better.”
Tommy observed you, your words sinking in. A part of him wanted to believe you. A part of him knew you were right. But he couldn’t help the guilt gnawing at his insides.
“All I can think about is what you said. That day when I told you about Grace. You said it would go wrong. I didn’t want to believe you then but you were right. It all went wrong,” he confessed. Your words had haunted him ever since that first night alone in Arrow House. He desperately wanted to go back. Listen to you and let Grace sail away. Maybe then, all of this wouldn't have happened. Maybe he wouldn’t feel the constant grief laying heavily on his chest.
“I said that out of anger, Tom. I never meant…” you sighed, realizing the impact of your wrath. You had been so blinded by your rage you didn’t even consider the consequences of your words.
A pinch of guilt in your chest, you bit your lip. “All these years not talking to you, d’you know what I regretted the most?”
Your thumb trailed across his cheek as he kept quiet. “How safe you made me feel,” you uttered. Those words were true, you meant every single one of them, in every way they could be interpreted. He was the arms you ran into after each heartbreak, each torment. An unsuspected haven hiding under intimidating layers of arrogance and rigidity.
“And after tonight, I can only say the feeling has increased. I know you want to blame yourself for everything that went wrong but I don’t think it’s fair. You do so much good, Tom. You protect us, as best as you can. I know that, Polly knows that. And John knew that too.”
A single tear rolled down Tommy’s freckled cheek. You leaned in, kissing his pain away as his hands tightened around your waist. He embraced you, head resting on your shoulder and even though the wound was still raw, Tommy chose to believe you.
Laughs and chatters echoing through Charlie’s yard, the smell of roasted meat and the entire family gathered around a lavish meal: the perfect way to celebrate John. No matter the pain, no matter the grief, the Shelby clan knew that he would have wanted them to remember the good moments only. The memory of his buoyant energy soothed their sorrow as they chose to say goodbye reminiscing the pranks and jokes John was a master of.
Tommy sat at the end of the table, playing with the flask of whiskey in his hand. He had tuned out the chatter around, turning the loud voices and exclamations into a mere buzzing in the background. Although he seemed miles away from the actual scene, his eyes were fixed on the other side of the table.
You sat next to Ada, chatting about something or another, still wearing your mourning attire. Since the night before, Tommy hadn’t been able to get you out of his mind. For some reason, your presence seemed to haunt his thoughts even more so than usual.
Even after you had gone to bed, Tommy stayed wide awake, incapable of forgetting the solace you had offered him. Your gentleness, your words, your hands. Everything about you made him crave more. He longed for your arms around him, for your voice to whisper in his ear and quiet the demons in his mind. Tommy couldn’t shake that feeling—a wave of peace and tranquility washing over him amidst a tempestuous ocean.
“I heard you and Y/N finally buried the hatchet,” Polly sat down next to him, a sly smirk illuminating her tired face.
Tommy sipped on his whiskey, shrugging. “Yeah, guess I have to thank you for that.”
His gaze was still fixed on the other end of the table. Although his aunt promised she would keep his secret, for once he was glad that she did the complete opposite of what he wanted. If it wasn’t for Polly’s meddling, Tommy would still be living with that cold, empty pit: the knowledge that no matter how close he was sitting, you would only get further and further away.
“I wanted to keep your secret,” she began, her gaze briefly following his. Polly turned to her nephew, observing his tired features. She often worried about him. The more time passed, the more he looked like his mother. And although nothing could be done for Martha, Polly didn’t want the history to repeat itself. Regardless of yours and Tommy’s bond, you were good to him. The Shelby matriarch handled the matters of the heart in the family for a reason, she wasn’t going to let the only good thing in Tommy’s life slip through his fingers. “But then I remembered the time you came home from school and told me you had met your wife.”
Tommy’s head shot up at Polly’s words. It had been so long, somehow buried under the decades of war and pain and loss. A memory lost, somewhere before France, somewhere before his mum’s death and his father’s leaving. Somewhere Tommy was still a boy who wasted the week’s money on top hats and coconuts and you were still a little girl with braids and a toothy smile.
It had been another dusty afternoon, running home after school. Tommy was with his brothers, kicking a ball and laughing the soot away. But even in the middle of a very important game, the little boy didn’t miss the cruel snickering echoing through the streets. He remembered abandoning the ball, his brothers’ exclamations ignored as he followed a lone, shriek cry for help.
Behind an alley, tall boys circling a smaller figure. Tommy knew them, some scumbags from school who spent their days attacking those who couldn’t defend themselves. And their new target was you, only 8 but already tougher than those boys. They were mocking you, making fun of your father—or lack thereof. You didn’t care, your mum explained it all to you but those idiots didn’t seem to understand.
Tommy stepped up, easily reminding them their own lives weren’t perfect—they lived in dingy Small Heath just like that little girl after all, they weren’t any better. You had watched the scene, scared for your daring savior—those boys could easily take him—but he got a pocket knife out and in the blink of an eye, the boys scurried off the alley.
“Thank you, Tommy,” you had shyly muttered, the first words you ever said to him. Tommy had seen you, sometimes you came over with your mum but you always stayed hidden in her skirts.
Tommy remembered how your light voice made him smile. And with the full weight of his 11 years old, he realized that the chirpy melody was too beautiful to be tainted by sorrow or even anger. He couldn’t understand it then but the radiant grin you offered him on that first, real meeting, made his heart flutter and his cheek redden.
Kindly, Tommy took you back to your house and made sure you arrived safely but before leaving, you granted him another smile. “Thank you,” you had repeated and Tommy waved the gesture off as if it was nothing. It was to him.
He remembered how you looked around, searching for something until your gaze dropped on a small dandelion. It had somehow grown on your doorstep, finding a crack through the pavement and shamelessly growing, unafraid of the industrial monster around. You handed him the flower, tiptoeing to kiss his cheek. The first kiss Tommy didn’t get from his mum or his aunt. The first kiss he got from an actual girl. He took the flower, staring at you dumbfounded.
On the way back to his house, Tommy couldn’t help but touch his freshly kissed cheek, observing the dandelion. He had passed the threshold, arriving in the living room, still as starstruck as he had been ever since your lips touched his skin. Polly observed her nephew, wondering what in the world could have turned the usually loud boy so quiet.
“I–I think I met my wife, Pol,” he mumbled, showing the bright yellow dandelion.
Tommy stared at the dried flower between his fingers. It had been there all along, at the bottom of a drawer in his childhood bedroom. After the lunch in Charlie’s yard, Tommy had spent another sleepless night. It wasn’t nightmares or ruminations this time, no. It was that old, shrunken up dandelion. He had been unable to shake the growing feeling in his chest, the memories of an entire life spent by your side.
“Hey, you said you wanted to see me?” Tommy blinked his thoughts away, quickly hiding the flower in his pocket.
He cleared his throat, leaving his chair and grabbing his coat. “Yeah, I…I wanted to take you somewhere.”
Instinctively, Tommy extended his arm towards you and you linked your fingers with his. He almost stopped in his tracks, surprised by the striking contrast. Your soft finger rubbing the rough and calloused skin of his hand.
You quickly recognized the path you took countless times before. It brought you right to the Canal, a secret spot Tommy showed you when you were merely 16. There was not enough space, not enough quiet on Watery Lane so he found somewhere else. A place known by you and him only. A place you would escape to when you wanted to chat or just get away from thin walls and wandering ears.
“It’s been so long since I came here,” you uttered, nostalgia rushing through your veins. All these years and yet, it stayed the same. Nothing had changed since the last time you met there. As if the Canal knew. As if it waited for you to come back, freezing dear memories in time.
Tommy walked to the water, watching a bird on the other side of the bank. He stayed quiet, deep in his thoughts. Something in him told him to bring you here but now…now he didn't know what to do. He considered admitting the strange feelings. Maybe admitting it outloud would make it easier? Or at least make him realize how stupid those thoughts were.
“The trip down memory lane sounds fun, Tom, honestly but, uh, why d’you bring me here? It’s fucking freezing,” you muttered after a good 15 minutes spent in silence.
Tommy walked back to you, leaving his incessant thoughts behind. He handed you a cigarette, observing your features as you exhaled the smoke.
“I had a crush on you,” he finally blurted out. The words lingered in the air for a moment. Tommy didn’t even realize what he said until he noticed the frown on your face.
“What?”
“Yeah, before France, had a crush on you.”
“Really? I–I always thought you were in love with Greta Jurossi,” you chuckled, the image of a younger Tommy appearing somewhere in your mind.
“Nah, she was just helping me. I never told anyone but she knew and she said she would play cupid.” Tommy shook his head at the memory, he had spent hours with Greta, listening to her talk about women loved and how to be romantic.
“D’you remember that time we ended up in the linen closet?”
You hummed.
“Yeah well, that was her idea. She read it in some book, said that by the end the characters kissed and then got married,” Tommy chuckled. It did sound ridiculous now that he said it. “But you grew tired of waiting for her to come back with help so you knocked the damn door down.”
You giggled, remembering that one particular afternoon. You had found yourself locked up in the linen closet and for some unknown reason—well, it was at the time—Tommy just sat there and tried to convince you to wait. Greta promised she would get some help to get you out but time passed and you were still stuck in that closet. Tired of waiting, you did what any other sensible person would do and forced the door open. You never understood why the two kept behaving so strangely but now it all made sense.
“Oh, my poor Tommy, I ruined your plans, didn’t I?” you pouted, a tender expression gracing your features.
“Yeah…” he observed you, hands brushing the hair framing your face.
You had changed so much. Long gone were the two kids from Small Heath who only had each other. But in your gaze, Tommy found a sparkle, the same gleam the little girl with her braids and toothy smile carried proudly. The dandelion weighed in his pocket. It was the reminder that beautiful things grew everywhere—even in the dusty hell of Small Heath. A reminder that, once, Tommy was just a boy and you were just the girl who kissed him. He had given up on being a simple man. Someone who craved to be loved just as much as he craved to love. But the boy he had buried under the mud was still there, still craving the tender smiles and soft kisses.
Tommy felt himself lean in, closer and closer until his lips gently touched yours. His hands caressed your cheeks, slowly trailing down your neck as you responded to the kiss. Your arm wrapped his waist, you brought him closer. It should have been strange, kissing him. It should have felt weird and probably even repulsing. But you still melted against him, fingers getting lost in his raven hair.
Reluctantly, Tommy’s lips left yours cold and hungry for more. He rested his forehead against yours, sighing. “I think I love you, Y/N.”
You shouldn’t have been feeling that peculiar flutter in your stomach at his words. You shouldn’t be craving more, more of his lips, more of his touch, more of the sparkle he lit. But it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel like a mistake, something that should never happen again. No, it was the missing piece of the puzzle. What should have happened all these years ago but never really did.
You felt a yearning. It had been hidden, retained, buried for so long. Too long. And now, you both realized it was everything you wanted, everything you needed. The source of your happiness, your peace, safely resting in each other’s hands.
“No, I don’t think…I know,” Tommy mumbled, his lips brushing yours before kissing you once again.
The sun shone, its gleam covering the guests in golden hues. Arrow House was dressed in its best attire, tents had been installed in the gardens and enthusiasm flowed through the sweet summer air.
Tommy stood at the end of the alley, facing the few guests. Arthur was beside him, talking his ear off as they waited patiently for you. You had decided to get married in your garden with Jeremiah to officiate and only your close family and friends attending. It was unusual, unconventional even. But the Shelby clan wasn’t known for respecting conventions.
At last, the bride’s melody covered the excited chatter as everyone got up. You sauntered through the alley, walking by each of the guests, a bright smile hidden by your veil. You instantly fixed your gaze on Tommy. He looked dashing in his navy blue suit, you thought.
Polly walked next to you, proudly giving you away. The tradition was for the father of the bride to bring her down the aisle but you never had a father. What you had was your aunt who raised you and loved you enough to replace whatever masculine presence people valued so much.
“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” she whispered to you, tears glistening in her honey-like eyes. She embraced you tightly, finally leaving you with Tommy.
Your soon-to-be husband beamed at the sight of you: an angel sent to him for a reason he still couldn’t understand. Gently, he lifted the veil covering your face and his smile only brightened. Even after all these years, he couldn’t help but still be starstruck by your beauty.
“You look beautiful, love,” he mumbled, his gaze overflowing with adoration.
“You don’t look so bad yourself.”
Tommy chuckled at your playful tone, his hand reaching for yours. You observed him, a radiant grin engraved on your face. He was beautiful and the best part, he was yours. A part of you wanted to leave everyone there, let them enjoy the champagne and the food while you ran away. Let them dance, let them sing and hide with Tommy, have him all to yourself again.
You made a note to yourself to thank Polly. She made Tommy pick the gorgeous shade—that way, he could be your something blue. But it’s not the suit that piqued your curiosity.
Among the immaculate flowers Tommy wore in his breast pocket, there was a smaller, rusty one.
“Y-You kept it?” you asked, pointing to the old dandelion. The first thing you ever offered him.
Tommy smiled, squeezing your hand. He leaned in and whispered:
“I needed my lucky charm.”
#anna's fics#thomas shelby x reader#tommy shelby x reader#ma ptite bombasse 🥰#tommy <3#thomas shelby#tommy shelby#peaky blinders#k's 2.5k holiday bingo challenge
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Hushabye | Elvis Presley X Reader
Warnings: None, Fluff
Word Count: 1.4K
A/N: Okay I need to write more short and sweet fics because this hit me right in the feels!! This pic was requested by @arianatheangel-girl. I hope I did your ideas justice! If you need me I will be bathing in a pool of heart emojis.
Summary: Being a new mother is hard enough, but waking up almost every night within the wee hours of the morning to coo a crying baby back to sleep? Exhausting. Thankfully you have Elvis by your side to ease some of that stress...
You thought you were dreaming, feeling your consciousness looping in and out in a semi-lucid state. Your eyes were closed, but you felt yourself drifting closer and closer to the surface of reality with each passing moment. Suddenly, you were aware of the sticky sheets beneath you, damp with restless sleep. Your mouth was dry and your muscles ached in several places. You opened your eyes slowly, blinking out the sleep from them as you rolled over to wrap yourself around Elvis. You expected to fold yourself into him, resting your head on his chest, but when you turned, his side was vacant, the covers peeled down the bed. You smoothed your hand over the mattress, finding that it wasn’t very warm. He had been gone for some time–and that’s when you heard it. Crying and squealing. You couldn’t help the exasperated groan that fell from your lips. It was common for Elvis to slip out of bed in the middle of the night–especially if he couldn’t sleep. He was probably in the bathroom or within his study, lost within the pages of some theological or philosophical novel. You rose from the bed, bending to turn on the lamp on your side table. You squinted from the burst of light, reaching for your robe that was wrapped around the chair at your vanity. You stood up and pulled it around your body before slipping your feet into a pair of house slippers. You heard more sobbing coming from the nursery down the hallway.
“I know, baby. Mommy’s coming,” you cooed softly. You were exhausted. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the vanity mirror. Your face was sleepy, your skin looking extra puffy. Your complexion lacked its usual brilliance, and your eyes carried dark circles around them. Your hair was frizzled around your face in a helpless, unintentional beehive. You let another self-effacing groan leave your body and forced yourself to look away from the mirror and face the issue at hand. You heard the choked sobs continue, feeling your heart break with each repetition. “Shh, Mallory. Baby,” You said softly as you padded out of the bedroom toward the nursery. You were certain that she couldn’t hear you from where you stood, but something about it made you feel better. You rolled your shoulders back and forth as you trudged down the hall, releasing the tension in your upper body. You pulled your hands to your face, rubbing out the exhaustion as best you could, spending the few seconds you had to meditate before calming your weary child.
“Shhhhhhhhh.”
Your heart leapt from your chest, almost causing you to run back into your bedroom. You stalled in the middle of the hallway for a moment, spooked by the other adult voice. “Mallory, sweetheart. You’ll wake Mama. No need for all that cryin’ when Daddy’s got ya.”
You stepped forward, continuing to the nursery while listening to the voice. The nursery door was open; a thin sliver of light leaked into the hallway, spraying low light along the wall of the hallway. You stopped just short of the doorway, turning your body so that you could see into the room without being detected. Stepping up as closely to the door as you could, you peeked into the room to find Elvis turned away from you, his body bouncing up and down with Mallory in tow.
“Ya know, Daddy’s got a bad hip,” he said, chuckling to himself. “Used them too much in the early days,” he continued. His voice was low, the baritone timbre of his voice pulled sweet like Tupelo honey. He was quiet for a long moment, slowing his bouncing to a minimum, moving to swing the baby slowly in his arms, rocking her back and forth against his chest. He had turned his body in a way that you could see her little face in the low light, her eyes turned upward to her father. You took notice of the innocent sparkle in her gaze, staring up at Elvis with curiosity and vulnerability. Her entire world belonged to you and Elvis, embodying the very best of him and yourself. You couldn’t help but feel your lips pulling into a loving smile, your cheeks pinching from grinning so wide. A single tear slipped from your eye and you pulled up a hand to swipe it away, overcome by the beautiful moment. Elvis was destined to be an incredible father. The way that he held the little child, his strong arm supporting her body against his chest, protecting her from the world; it was an image that filled you with love and admiration for the man that you had chosen to devote your entire life to. You could hear Mallory cooing softly, her sobs becoming less and less frequent.
“Now with the wigglin,” he spoke again, his fingers lifting her tiny legs and feet in the air. “We need to talk about that. That got daddy in a whole lotta trouble.” You could see his cheeky grin from where you stood, his eyes obscured by his thick lashes as he looked down at his daughter. “That’s it, baby girl. Go right to sleep.” He said in a sing-song tone, backing himself toward the rocking chair in the corner of the room, taking his time to slowly lower himself into the seat, pulling Mallory against his chest again. You stood there for quite some time, grinning when you watched Elvis manage to perch a book in his hands while he held the baby.
“You certainly are an expert,” You said, finally opening the door and stepping into the room.
His eyes flicked up from the book, turning to look at you. “Hey!” He said too loudly. Mallory’s eyes shot open. “Shhhh,” he cooed again. “Daddy’s sorry.” He looked back up at you. “Baby, I got her back down all by myself,” he announced proudly, looking down at his snoozing child before looking at you again.
You nodded, impressed. “You did a great job, Daddy,” You said, bending to kiss Mallory on the softness of her forehead before turning your head to kiss Elvis on the lips.
“Sorry if she woke you up. Little thing was screaming and carrying on worse than my fans.”
You grinned, grabbing her tiny little hand in between your fingers, squeezing lightly before putting it back down against her sleeping body. “She looks so peaceful,” you said softly. “Like a little angel.”
“That’s because she is one,” he said, leaning forward to stand up from the chair. “Here. Let’s give you to Mommy,” Elvis said, handing the sleeping baby over to you. You reached your hands out to take her, pulling her to your bosom, wrapping your hands softly around her, careful to support her head, neck and back.
“You did a great job, sweetie. Thank you for letting me sleep, even if she ended up waking me up anyway.”
“I was trying for that not to happen,” he said, running his hand through his hair.
“Well, it’s hard being a mom and hearing a baby cry. It’s instinct to spring awake.” You responded, stepping forward to the crib, reaching over it to place the slumbering child within the comfort of her bed. You pulled the tiny blanket over Mallory before turning on the mobile above her head.
“Goodnight sweetheart, Mommy and Daddy love you very much,” You whispered to your daughter, who was already dozing softly, oblivious to your farewell. “Well, isn’t that a blessing?” You asked, turning your head to Elvis, who leaned down to kiss you softly on the lips.
“I don’t want her to grow up,” He said softly, taking your hand in his. “She’s too precious.”
“Well, she can’t stay a baby forever, Darling. Unless you want endless sleepless nights of shhhhshing and begging her to sleep.” He stepped forward, guiding you together out of the nursery, stopping to turn off the lights and close the door, leaving a small crack in the jamb in case she were to wake up again. “You’ve got eighteen years to look forward to…and that’s just a start.” You looked up at Elvis as you walked, watching his eyes widen.
“Eighteen whole years?” He said, his lips pulling into a wide grin. “Whew, lord. She’s gonna be flirting with boys and stealing my thunder before we know it, huh?”
You turned to him, pulling him into your bedroom by his hands. “Well, she is your daughter after all. Come here, Daddy,” you said, biting your bottom lip flirtaciously as you invited him into the bedroom, shutting the door behind you. “Let me show you how grateful I am for you.”
taglist: @mamaspresley @anestesia-mxm @misspygmypie @austin-butlers-gf @cozacorner @she-is-juniper @shimmeringlights44 @mariposa-mila @austinelvisimagines @sagesolsticewrites @guns-n-queen @anangelwhodidntfall @avengen @suitrry @eurusthewanderer @domaniquessidehoe @kittenlittle24 @softmullet @cb97slut @hunterthecharmer @mirandastuckinthe80s @stargiirl27 @maddieks-blog @kyddosebastian @girlnairb @its-funny-til-its-not @im-just-star-dust @bobbykennedyfan @venus-haze @groovydeputyfestivalkid @hockeyfootballhoe @21bruhs @thebeatlesbitch @dangerdolll @captured-memory @kingelviscreole @adoreyouusugar @slutforblueeyes @theinvisiblecapricorn @ghxst-heart @yagirlalexx @sapph1re @madzandflowerz31 @kaycinema @theloveoftoms @annamarie16 @omgellenlouise @re3kin @feverdawg @cutie-ghost @shynovelist @therealmak @citzeria @fxntxsix @goldobsessionsworld @rheathesimp @madzandflowerz31 @writeroutoftime @bamitzzsam @meladollsims @mslizziesblog
#Elvis Presley#Elvis#Elvis X Reader#Elvis x reader#elvis x reader#Elvis one shot#elvis biopic#austin butler#Elvis Presley imagine#Elvis Presley fanfic#Elvis Presley fanfiction#elvis imagine#elvis presley x reader#elvis presley#elvis 2022#elvis movie#anna's fics#Anna's requests#elvis presley imagine
517 notes
·
View notes
Text
Jullet/Johawk fic snippet (NSFW) 😈
“You look incredible,” You admitted as he stepped in between your legs. The new haircut framed his face beautifully, exposing the curves of his ears and the tiny golden hoops that usually stayed hidden behind his wisps of curls. The hairdresser had cut some length from the hair that hung above his eyes, which brought out the expressiveness in his features. His eyebrows were manicured, his mustache trimmed neat.
“It’s all for you. Only for you.” He answered. You felt him slide the tip of his cock through your slick folds. The feeling of him against you was different than his fingertips, in what way you couldn’t describe. Maybe it was because you both knew that you were at the edge of a freefall, which would commence the moment he finally pushed into you.
#josh kiszka#josh gvf#greta van fleet#julletgate2022#johawkgate2022#Anna's fics#Josh Kiszka smut#Josh Kiszka fic
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
based on this post, because at this point i think it's safe to say @unclewaynemunson is actually my muse or something (hi anna i hope this is okay even though it’s, like, way angsty and way too long huh)
🤍 also on ao3
Two days after Starcourt, concussed and beaten, Steve has a seizure.
His ears are still ringing when the doctor gives him a stern glance over the rim of his glasses and pronounces him unfit to drive. No, in fact, he claims Steve poses a real danger to himself and others if he sat behind a wheel again.
Immediately, Dustin and Robin jump to promising that they won't let him do that, and in another life Steve is sure he would be grateful, or at least reasonable about it, but in this one he has a horrible second where the floor falls out from under him and he wishes, for just one second, that his head had been shaken a bit more, just enough to–
It makes him nauseous even thinking that. Everything does, lately. He closes his eyes against the offensive brightness of the hospital room and lets the sound of Dustin's and Robin's voices wash over him as he takes a moment to really take in what the doctor's orders entail.
He can't drive anymore. No more late night drives to watch the street lights pass and lull him into a safer state of mind than his bedroom walls could. No more driving the kids to their DnD sessions, no more taking Robin anywhere at the drop of a hat, no more bickering, no more reign over the music, no more stern glances through the rearview mirror, no more "Shut up, Wheeler, or you're leaving the car."
No more "Thanks, Steve!", no more "I'll bring some of mom's cookies if you drive us to the arcade", no more "You're the best" or "You're a lifesaver" or "I owe you one".
No more place for him in the group, no more use for him, no more...
No more. Nothing. Now he's just Steve, would-be lifesaver, 'has-been babysitter', 'could-have-been somebody until he lost his license to drive because he wasn't quick enough, wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough'. Just Steve.
He doesn't know how to be that. Who is Steve Harrington without his car, without the one thing he was good for anymore?
The pit in his chest is deep enough, dark enough to pull him in, and for a moment the very thing he is good for is misery.
He waits until a nurse makes everyone leave for the night, and then he cries. It makes his head hurt, pressure building behind his eyes, but he's used to being in more pain than any teenager should be in, so he curls in on himself and hides underneath the blanket.
Here's to hoping the others won't notice just how useless he is now. Not too soon, anyway. He wants another month. A painless month filled with laughter and hugs, and then they're free to leave, to pull back slowly. Calls unanswered, radio channels changed so he won't reach them, sheepish apologies and rain checks, because now Nancy will drive them. Or Jonathan. Hell, maybe Max will take the risk just to avoid him.
---
He gets a week of daily visits in the hospital, the doctors and nurses insisting on keeping him here, a watchful eye on his vitals, scanning his head three times during his stay, insisting he has head trauma of a severely worrying degree.
Nancy picks him up from the hospital and it's awkward, tense, too much left unsaid between them but there's no one else to do it. Steve's hands are shaking, gripping the seatbelt the whole way home – and then his heart falls when he sees his Beemer in the driveway. The glorious, trusty, wonderful, best fucking car anyone could wish for. His baby. His.
He throw up into the brushes when he realises that he won't get to take it on one last ride. Maybe he shouldn't be so attached to a car. Maybe he's being pathetic about it. At least he can explain away the fat tears in his eyes now, and Nancy doesn't press.
The first thing he does when Nancy is gone is calling Robin, and she's excited when she says, "I'll come right over!" and Steve wants to ask, how, but he keeps his mouth shut, biting his lip. It's stupid, but the thought of someone else driving Robin over makes his skin crawl.
"Alright," he says instead, his voice raspy, and he hangs up before she can detect something in his voice.
After that, he goes outside again and runs his hand along his Beemer. It's shining in the sun; he had it cleaned the other week, the full program, every step in the book to celebrate four years since he got her.
"Four years, huh," Steve says, his nail catching on a minor scratch that isn't even visible but might be more familiar to him than even his home. "Damn good four years."
He's talking to his car. God, it's so stupid, it's so stupid, it's so stupid–
Steve's knees give out and he gives in to the desire that's burning under his skin sometimes, the desire to just sit down and ignore the world. Because everything is less real when you're sitting down somewhere you're not meant to be, and the ground is warm, and Steve just wants the world to go. His head is leaning back against the warm metal of the driver's door, and he closes his eyes for a while, his head still spinning, his ears still ringing, everything still awful.
After a while, there’s a shadow followed by a weight settling down between him, a head landing on his shoulder, a hand taking his.
"I'm so sorry, Stevie," Robin says. The lack of dingus makes it more real, somehow. More tragic. More pathetic.
"I'll live." And it feels a bit like a lie.
---
He gets his month. A month filled with barbecues in his backyard, the kids coming by after school to check on him, and Robin has practically moved in. Joyce picks him up on Friday nights for dinner at their house for a change of scenery.
It’s a good month, though Steve feels trapped. Caged. A bird without his wings, a boy without his car. Steve without his one purpose, the one thing he was good for. He has to be picked up because they don’t trust him walking, or they have to come to his place. And soon the worried glances that are thrown his way are too much, caging him further, reminding him of what this is. A pity party — quite literally. No one trusts him anymore, there’s always someone jumping to help him, not caring or listening to his protests.
And he can’t leave, because “What if you have a seizure in your room?”
It makes him want to scream.
Maybe it shows, or maybe everyone’s just fed up with him now that he can’t provide his taxi services anymore, but after summer the Byers dinners stop and the kids pull away.
“Told you that’s all I’m good for,” Steve says with a mean, pained huff as he hangs up the phone. Claudia said Dustin isn’t home, but he could hear the kids in the background. It hurts more than it should.
“What is?” Robin asks from her place on the floor with her back against the wall.
“Nothing.”
She frowns. “Come on, dingus, you can’t start and then—“
“No, I mean it. Nothing. That’s what I’m good for now that I can’t drive them anymore.”
“Bullshit!” she says, and it comes out so harsh that it makes Steve flinch. He swallows. Right. Robin isn’t hear to listen to him whine about how he feels like he has no place in this town, in this group, in this life anymore now that his head is so fucked up he can’t even be trusted to live alone.
That’s why Robin is here, right?
The babysitter becomes the babysitted… or something.
She doesn’t care, not really. She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t ask.
“Steve, they’re kids.”
“Yeah, well. So am I.”
He turns away from her and ignores the tears threatening to fall. The door to his room falls shut and he would love to lock it just to make a point to the world at large, a point that it can’t shut him out if he shuts himself in, but he knows it’s too risky. If he has a seizure, Robin needs to get in.
He can’t even stay in his room alone without supervision anymore. What kind of a fuck-up is he becoming, where does it end? He’s already managed to chase away the kids, even Dustin only checks on him sporadically anymore, and it hurts. He wants to know why, wants to know what he did, how to take it back, how to get them back.
But then he remembers how it all started. Dustin needed a ride and someone to take a beating. Both of which he can’t do anymore without risking life and death of himself and others. He’s a safety hazard. He’s useless. He’s Steve fucking Harrington, which doesn’t mean anything anymore.
---
And then it’s spring, and Chrissy Cunningham is found dead in Eddie Munson’s trailer. The group is back together again, the Party assembled once more. And Steve, for a just one second, hopes that he can get it right this time, that he can do this again. One last time. Because Vecna slash Henry slash One surely is it.
But then they turn on him — even Eddie looks confused, which is a rather adorable look on him — the moment Steve tries to get a word in.
“You’re not coming with us, Steve.” That’s Dustin, and Steve just rolls his eyes, but then Robin joins in.
“Yeah, no, I’m with the gremlin on this, dingus.”
“Hey!”
“Oh shut it, Henderson.” She turns to him, her eyes softer but no less burning another hole inside Steve. “We can’t risk it, Steve.”
“Risk what?” It’s a challenge. His shoulders squared, his jaw clenched, he’s challenging her, and it’s cruel.
She holds his eyes, her expression icy, like he’s stupid. “We can’t risk you dying. We can’t risk you getting a seizure mid-fight or just by being in the Upside Down.”
“Hey, woah,” Eddie tries to get a word in, but Steve won’t hear him as the desperation, the loneliness, the feeling of being caged like a bird and still the only human left on a desolate planet, all that breaks free.
“We all know that dying in a fight is the only thing I’m good for anyway.”
The silence among their war council, as Max dubbed it, is deafening.
“What?” Lucas sounds small when he asks that, and Steve closes his eyes. He hadn’t meant for him to hear that. Any of them, actually. They weren’t supposed to know.
“Steve, that’s not true.” Dustin’s words are filled with disbelief and worry, and Steve hates the worry, it makes his skin crawl, it makes his heart race, it makes his fists clenched and it makes him want to scream again.
“What else then, huh?” he asks weakly. “What else is there? None of you even talk to me anymore since Starcourt. Since summer.”
“Because you were pulling away,” Nancy explains, though her words are weak and her mouth clicks shut when Steve looks at her.
“Because we’re scared.” Max this time, and Steve doesn’t want to look at her, doesn’t want to tell a child that she’s not allowed to be scared for him— not more than he is, anyway. It doesn’t make sense for him to be hurt. They don’t want him to die. That’s a good thing, right? They didn’t want to see him hurt, so they looked away. It makes sense.
But it also hurts.
Steve shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose before all but running from the trailer. He doesn’t make it far (“Stay close so we won’t have to worry”), just needs some fresh air and to sit down somewhere the world will become a bit less real again.
The stairs it is. He tries to breathe through the lump in his throat, clenching and unclenching his hands to get rid of the anger and the hurt and all that excess energy.
He doesn’t want to die, is the thing. The very thought makes him nauseous and panicky. He wants his life back. His car. The freedom to just jump in there and get away. He doesn’t want the cage or the worry or the hovering or the loneliness when he isolates himself from all that.
Face buried in his hands, Steve almost misses it when someone comes to sit beside him. The thick smell of leather and cigarettes tells him who it is without looking up.
Eddie doesn’t speak for a while, just sits with him as Steve calms down.
And then, after a while, he lights a cigarette and asks, “You get seizures, Harrington?”
Steve nods. “Sometimes.”
Eddie hums. “That sucks.”
He nods again, and then that’s that. But even though it was a rhetorical question and Eddie didn’t even need an answer, it feels pathetically good to be asked about something. About himself. It only makes the pit inside his chest deeper, cutting into his soul with a sharp edge, this tiny little moment of normalcy. He wants to cling to it. He wants to talk to Eddie. God, he hasn’t really talked to anyone in so long.
“Before Starcourt — remember, the mall? The fire? Yeah that was, uhm. More monster shit. And Russians who thought I was a spy and then… yeah. Anyway. Uh. We used to be friends, I think. The kids and I. They used to care — or I like to think that they did. And then I got one too many head injuries, and the seizures started, and then they… It became too much. For them, for me. And the caring stopped. And, like, it’s fine or whatever, but I still care, and I can’t let them do all that alone. I know that all I was good for was taking them somewhere with my car, but I can’t drive anymore, so now I’m just… I’m just Steve. No titles attached, no use or function or point.”
Eddie just stares at him, puzzled and intrigued and even a little sad, and Steve wants to laugh it off when the silence stretches.
“Sorry, that’s kind of a sob story, you—“
“Wait here,” Eddie says, stubbing out his cigarette before disappearing back into the trailer. Steve watches him with a confused frown but stays put. A minute later, the door flies open and a scandalised looking Max appears, followed by the rest of the crew.
“You what?!”
“Uh,” Steve blinks. “I what?”
“Eddie told us you think you’re useless and that we don’t like you and that all you were ever good for is driving us from A to B with, like, no personal value whatsoever,” Dustin fills in, sounding no less bewildered. “Is that true, Steve?”
And God, the kid is so good at making all his questions sound like dares that Steve instinctively wants to swallow and negate it, tell them that Eddie misheard, that he’s fine, that everything fine.
But then Robin’s whispered little, “Steve” stops him from doing that. In fact, the sadness and confusion on their faces makes the dams break once more, confronted with months of spiralling and no one to drag him out, no one to listen.
Tears spring to his eyes and he gets up from the stairs to properly face them. He shrugs. It’s as much of a confirmation as anything.
And then Dustin sprints forward and tackle-hugs him, burying his face in Steve’s chest with no intention to let go anytime soon.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into Steve’s shirt and Steve runs a hand through his hair immediately.
“It’s okay, Dustin.”
“No! It’s fucking not okay, Steve, stop saying that. You’re my big brother, you’re my best friend, you’re my hero! You’re the coolest guy I know and nothing’s gonna change that, okay?”
“Then why’d you leave?” His voice is so small, but Dustin only hugs him tighter.
“Because you were hurting and I was… I feel like all of that is my fault.”
“Why would it be your fault, Dustin?”
He shrugs, and it breaks Steve’s heart. Dustin thinks everything is his fault just like Steve thinks it’s his.
“It’s me who got you into the thing with the Russians. I insisted. And you were tortured for it, Steve! You… You told us to go, and we did, and then we came back and you were— you-“
“Hey,” Steve whispers, curling himself around and over Dustin. “Hey, no, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. None of that.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry I pulled away, Steve,” Dustin sniffles and looks up at him. “I swear it’s not because I think you’re useless. It’s just… I’m so scared.”
And it makes sense, somehow. The anger leaves Steve when he whispers, “Me too. And I don’t like it when you’re all scared and worried. I hate it.”
“I know. Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Shut up.”
And then they’re both laughing with tears in their eyes. Lucas and Max join them with their own promises that Steve isn’t worthless to them.
“Did you read my letter? You know, the one if…”
“No,” Steve says. “You told me not to.”
“Right. Anyway, read it. Whatever happens, I want you to read it. Because you’re my brother and you mean too much for me to, like, never let you know. But, uh. Billy died. And I hated him, but it fucked me up. And then you almost died, and then you almost died again; and then you just… collapsed. And I thought, I cant do this again, not with someone I actually like. Not with you. And I didn’t wanna watch. I watched Billy. I… I can’t watch you die, Steve.”
She’s crying by the end of it, and Steve pulls her against his chest. Shit, he hadn’t meant to make anyone cry like that.
“It’s okay, Max, I get it.”
“Not okay,” she shakes her head again. “I know it’s not. But—“
“I know.” He’s stroking through her hair. “I know.”
“Uh, guys? I hate to break up the heartfelt confession time,” Eddie chimes in. “But I think our window is closing.”
Right. The end of the world.
With one last squeeze to Max’s shoulders, he lets her go and they gather their things. Discussions about Steve’s joining their mission have been put on hold while their window is still open. They can continue this later.
Nancy drives while Max holds Steve’s hand in the back. They don’t talk and she has her headphones on, letting Kate Bush work her magic, but it’s fine. It feels a bit like healing.
He catches Eddie’s eyes on the other side and holds them for a while. Eddie smiles before looking away, and Steve does the same.
---
In the end, Steve doesn't climb the rope with them. He stays behind in Eddie's trailer even though every fibre of his being screams at him to join. But Nancy has a point when she explains to him that she and Robin got this. It's the first time he stays behind, and he hopes it will be the last.
They hug him before leaving, all of them. Promises are made to talk about this later, after, and he nods.
"Go save the world for me," he tells Robin, holding her tight, unwilling to let go.
"Only for you," she promises, and kisses his cheek before pulling away. "You better be right here when we come back."
He shrugs and gives her an encouraging smile. "I've got nowhere else to be, Buckley. Now go." The last words are whispered and it feels like goodbye. Steve should join them, he should be there! But his head is pulsing and he knows that one wrong move could leave him half blind with a migraine, and they don't need one more handicap.
The one thing he can do, though, is helping them climb the rope, and it makes him feel ridiculously proud, seeing them land safely on the other side, smiling up (or down?) at him. Robin and Nancy wave one last time before heading off.
That leaves him alone with Eddie and Dustin. The latter is already climbing the rope, itching to finally do something, preparing the trailer for their plan.
Only Eddie is left, and Steve looks over at him.
"Will you be okay, Steve?"
"Sure."
Eddie sighs and looks up at the gate, disbelief and resignation and even a hint of fascination in his eyes.
"It should be you," he says, and Steve frowns, confused. "You're the hero here."
"No," Steve huffs, smiling at the metalhead. "No, I'm no hero. The real heroes are already up there, and in California. The real hero died after Starcourt. I'm just the driver who lost his license, the boy with the bat. The protector who needs to be protected."
Eddie looks at him again, that kind of intense stare, the one that shows Steve that Eddie sees something in him. He wonders what it is, but isn't sure he wants to know.
"I think you're wrong, Steve." He says it with such gentle conviction that it takes Steve's breath away for a second, and something passes between them as they hold each other's eyes.
Eddie opens his mouth to say something, but then–
"Eddie!" Dustin is calling for him from the other side, and the boys snap out of their daze.
Steve steps into Eddie's personal space and pulls him to his chest. "Make him pay," he says. "But stay safe. Come back, okay? First sign of danger, you abort mission. Come back, Eddie. I'll be right here."
"Yeah," Eddie rasps, and he squeezes Steve once more. "Catch me when I fall through that gate in two hours?"
Steve laughs, a sad little thing, and he pushes Eddie away from him, hands steady on his shoulders. "Sure, big boy."
"Hey, that's my part."
"Say it when you come back, then."
This thing passes between them again, and then Eddie goes to climb the rope. Steve's hands find their way to his hips, steadying him, but Eddie is strong enough to pull himself up without problem. Huh.
"In the meantime, wrap your head around the fact that you're the one I'm coming back for, pretty boy."
And then Eddie is gone. Steve watches as he falls through the gate, landing on the mattress with more elegance this time, and then he, too, grins down (or up?) at Steve.
He gives a little wave, and then he is alone.
Plenty of room to think when your friends have gone on a suicide mission and you're the one who has to stay behind. The one who will have to do the explaining when things go south. The one who will have to watch and listen, helpless.
It makes him regret the past few months, the self isolation, all the times he pulled back, all the times he didn't push for an explanation or a conversation, all the times he hadn't asked the kids if they're alright because he was too caught up in all the ways that he wasn't.
God, he wants them to be okay. He wants to talk about this, wants them to tell him he's more than the driver without a license, more than the protector who needs protecting. He wants Eddie to come back and explain what he meant, say what he wanted to say. He wants...
He wants his old life back. But more than that, he wants them in his new life just as much. He wants to be brave enough for this new life and find a new purpose. Create one if he can't find it.
But he can't do it alone. He refuses to do it alone even one day more.
"Come back to me," he whispers, looking up at the gate from where he's sitting on the floor, back against the wall. "Come on guys, you've got this. Please work. Please, make the plan work."
And then, miraculously, it does. Eddie falls into his arms with an undignified squeal and the rest of the Party soon follow. They're unscathed, miraculously, and Steve cries as he holds them, all of them, in a group hug that makes the trailer smell like relief and grief and a new life ahead of them. Slowly, with an unnatural sound, the gate above them closes, and then silence reigns.
They cling to him now. Refuse to let go. Good thing he has nowhere to go as Lucas gasps and sobs into his chest, explaining what happened, that Jason almost destroyed the walkman, that Max could have died. And Steve runs shaky hands through his hair, pulling in Max, too, so the three of them can just hold each other for a second.
Dustin and Eddie are hugging beside them, and Nancy and Robin hold hands, a different kind of horror in their eyes, but they smile wetly at Steve as their eyes meet.
It's over. It's done.
They did it. They really did it.
Steve closes his eyes and holds Lucas and Max tighter. They don't complain.
---
Three days later, Steve's house is brimming with life again like it hasn't in months. Turns out, Hopper survived, and he hugged Steve for a whole five minutes, telling him he did good, he did great, he's a hero. Again with that shit that Steve doesn't believe, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Hop, so he just buries deeper into their embrace.
"It's good you're alive," he tells him, and the Chief sobs out a laugh.
"You too, kid. This town would be lost without you."
"Yeah, right," Steve laughs back, and then that is that.
Except, it isn't, because when he returns to the living room with Hop, Joyce and El in tow, everyone's standing, looking at him with timid expressions. Robin and Eddie are holding hands this time, and so are all the kids. They all look like they have something to say, and the only thing missing is a large banner that says INTERVENTION.
"Uh, what's going on?"
Dustin is the first to clear his throat, but only after Erica kicks him. "We wanted to apologise. For leaving you when you needed us the most."
Oh. Steve's shaking his head, placating words already on the tip of his tongue, ready to explain to them how that's not their fault, how that was all him, he could have said something, he could have asked, he could have–
"Steve," Nancy says, effectively cutting off any protest he could have voiced. "Just listen, okay? Don't say anything."
He looks at Joyce, who nods, and Hopper who looks about as lost as he feels.
Dustin continues then. "You deserved better, Steve, you really, really did. We all did, I think, but you... You put yourself in harm's way from the get-go."
"Yeah, you came to protect me when you didn't even like me." Jonathan this time. "No thoughts, just protection. I owe my life to you. Every single one in this room does, y'know."
"And what you got for it is severe head trauma and... us abandoning you." Nancy.
"You're not just the driver, Steve. You never were just a driver to us." Hell, even Mike is in on this? "You're annoying, you suck, and you don't even try not to act like you're everyone's big brother."
"You're family, Steve." Oh, baby Byers. That's what gets his eyes stinging and his lip trembling, so he bites down on it so they won't have to see. It's futile with the way they're smiling.
"Yeah. You're so much more than our babysitter," Lucas explains. "You're the best basketball coach."
"You actually listen to my music and read comics with me," Max continues with a smile. "You suck just a little less than everyone else in this town."
"Hey!"
"No, she has a point."
Steve's not keeping up with the who's who anymore, he's trying too hard to keep it together.
"You teach me new words," El says, smiling. "You give me your clothes, you take me shopping, you teach me how to deal with meanies."
And the list goes on. Everyone has something to say to him, something beyond the ways he can be useful. Something that he is to them, something meaningful, something that sounds a lot like purpose and family.
"And we were so scared, because you were hurt. Because of us. You were protecting us, and look where it got you. You're a hero, Steve. As real as they get, you are one."
"More than Wonder Woman," Max agrees. "More than Superman. You're Steve! And that's... He’s our hero."
"He’s our brother," Dustin says.
"He’s my son," Joyce adds, taking his hand.
"He’s our friend," Erica, Mike and El say in unison.
“He’s the one we stay for.” Robin’s eyes shine as she smiles.
“And the one we come back for.” Eddie’s smile is gentle, confident, and captivating. Steve can’t look away, even through his own tears.
---
In the following months, Robin gets her license and Eddie develops a sixth sense for whenever Steve needs to just sit in a car and ride around town, watching the street lamps pass and letting them lull him to sleep. There’s an upside to being a passenger, he finds, because he falls asleep like this a few times, always waking when Eddie kills the engine. He drives for hours sometimes, admitting with a blush high on his cheeks that he didn’t want to wake Steve.
Somewhere on the highway to Indianapolis, between three and four in the morning, Steve looks at Eddie in the soft glow of the night, and finds that he’s fallen in love.
And in the weeks and months and years that follow, he realises that that’s something new he’s good at.
#stranger things#steve & the party#steddie#steddie fic#but also not really. steddie is just something that happens along the way#this was meant to be short but uh. uh. whoops?#hi anna i am sorry feel free to ignore this i could have made this easier in everyone but they’re teenagers with trauma dammit#dio words#actually i just wanted an excuse to make steve sad. if you know me you know
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
A relatively common trope of fma fanfiction is the modern Amestris au, which is basically your standard modern au for all your slice of life needs except stuff like alchemy and automail still exist, so the author doesn’t have come up with real world equivalents when that’s not really the point of their fic.
This is all fine and dandy, but one thing that’s always bugged me is that most of the time in these fics Al is just like. a normal, not disembodied, fully abled child. There are several issues with this, mainly that this alteration significantly changes the character dynamic between Ed and Al in ways the author often doesn’t account for at all.
This is also a common issue is regular modern aus, but I bring it up in the context of modern Amestris aus because an idea just occurred to me that I don’t think I’ve seen before: since alchemy still exists, why not have Al just straight up still be in the armor? Put that boy in public school and give him the strangest IEP known to man!
Touchscreens don’t recognize his leather fingers so he has a blackberry (which his hands are way too big for so it takes him twice as long to send most messages because he doesn’t like to leave in typos).
He was both pressured into joining and permanently banned from his middle school’s basketball team within the span of a week.
His condition isn’t secret or anything, it was kind of a big deal at the time and it made the news after it happened but after awhile the buzz mostly died down.
They were contacted by one of those medical mysteries documentary shows (a la extraordinary people), and Pinako told them that if they thought she would let an entire camera crew into her house they were fucking insane.
The initial publicity is the only reason the Amestrian government hasn’t kidnapped him or anything, but they do stalk him and the brothers and the Rockbells have definitely noticed.
If Izumi is Ed and Al’s legal guardian they are much more discreet about it because whenever she spots them hiding in the bushes or whatever she starts reciting castle doctrine law “to no one in particular.”
Because the modern world is a bureaucratic panopticon from hell and also CPS exists instead of just going out into the world to find the philosophers stone the Elrics just have to study real hard and try to eventually get into Alchemy MIT I guess.
Al is physically unable to use any kind of headphones because he has no ears.
He and Mei Chang are playing Minecraft right now as we speak.
#I want to see that boy in situations#sort of related to my crossover fic post#anna talking about stuff#fma#fmab#alphonse elric#fanfic meta#fandom meta#fma au#brainstorming#fullmetal alchemist#fullmetal alchimist brotherhood#fmab au
657 notes
·
View notes
Text
you're no good for me.
a min ho oneshot !
summary : five times you thought he didn't care and the one time he showed you he did.
( or five times you were oblivious to how much he truly cared and the one time he made it obvious. )
genre : angst ( a bit? ) fluff, comedy ( attempts )
pairing : minho x gn!reader, e2l, frenemies to lovers! idiots to lovers!
warnings : cussing, descriptions of blood,injuries and bruises, reader is pretty oblivious, mentions of underage drinking, kissing, kinda messy :/// ( lmk if i missed anything pls. )
author's note : i don't even know what to say tbh ? this is so much longer than I thought to the point where I think I may have rushed the ending lmfaoooooooo welp I hope u enjoy this still haha <3 sorry for the wait 🤕🤕🤕 ( my own lovers to enemies arc with this fic bcoz I overthought as usual ) let me know what you think !!! also anon pls the angst was less but like it was a v lighthearted fic from the beginning asdfgh- i still hope u like it 😔<3 also also i kinda have a little drabble as a continuation for this but I'll see if i wanna post it based on your feedback hehe so let me know! ( barely proofread <3 )
word count : 11.6K ( longest oneshot i've ever written omll )
based on this request !
THE FIRST TIME.
"Fuck why do I feel like someone just pounded my head with a hammer?!"
You groaned as you woke up from your sleep or rather lack of sleep. You'd only been able to get barely 2 hours of sleep when you'd gotten back from the party last night
A party that you didn't even want to go to but were emotionally blackmailed to and even worse it was fucking Minho's party.
Technically, it's his fault you're in this state of crankiness.
You were sitting up on your bed, hair in all directions as you nursed the headache you'd gotten. Lack of sleep really gave you the worst of headaches and it didn't help you'd drunk a little, not more than a few sips, but the after-effect was definitely there.
You hissed as your bare feet touched the cold floor before you finally found your fuzzy bunny slippers you'd gotten as a gift from Kitty.
You dragged yourself out of your room, now being able to make out people talking on the other side.
"Well look who we have here looking like an absolute angel."
"Shut it Minho."
The retort came out like second nature as Minho smirked at your state despite the tiny concern that flashed across his face when he saw you holding your head as you sat on the floor between Kitty and Q who only shared a look when they definitely didn't miss that flash of concern.
You looked at Q, questioning "So why are we having a family meeting here?"
"We were just having a discussion about weird dreams." Kitty answered you and you looked at her, humming and suddenly a light bulb lit up from your only two alive braincells.
"You had a sex dream." Both Q and you said at the same time, him sitting up while a smirk just formed on your face.
"Was it about Dae?" Q asked holding his coffee in his hand. Kitty's eyes widened and shook her head immediately.
"So it wasn't about Dae, huh." You said as you wondered, your slightly swollen eyes blinking in thought.
"No! No I didn't say I had a sex dream." Kitty tried defending herself.
You lightly snorted, yawning a bit, "You didn't have to though."
"Exactly now spill." Q continued and you noticed movement from behind and saw Minho coming, with three mugs in his hand, handing one to Kitty and one to you.
He was oddly quiet and stiff, now wondering what made him like that because he'd definitely would have said something snarky by now.
"-dreams don't mean anything!" Kitty's voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you sipped your coffee skeptically hoping it's not poisoined, but you hummed in satisfaction at the sweetness that contrasted the bitterness.
It was exactly how you liked it. Not too bitter like how people would usually drink it, you preferred it sweet because you had a huge sweet tooth.
Minho's gaze shifted towards you, recalling something as he swallowed nervously when he saw the small grin on your face.
"She's right! They don't mean anything." He suddenly looked towards Q who was already looking at him with his eyebrows raised, sipping his own cup.
Your eyes opened and you lazily looked at Minho, whose body language seemed even more stiff now.
"You could have a sex dream about someone you've repulsed your whole life." You looked in confusion at his words, one eyebrow raised.
Kitty agreed "Yes, yes exactly thank you Minho."
"He could have a sex dream about someone like…Y/N!"
You almost choked on your coffee before you spat out what was in your mouth, as Minho had a similar reaction.
"So you had a sex dream about Y/N." Q said as if it was the most obvious thing and you looked at him in horror.
"Hello?? Why are you talking about me as if I'm literally not here?" You were ignored as Minho quickly defended himself,
"No I didn't." He said, avoiding looking at you as you continued to stare at him with your eyes widened.
"And if I did have a sex dream about Y/N, it'd be a sex nightmare." You scoffed at his words while Kitty whispered Oh my God.
"Please, you'd be lucky to even have me in your dreams let alone real life." You spoke before you could think about it.
"So you still had sex?" Q piped up and Minho quickly blurted,
"Dreams don't mean anything! Besides I hate Y/N!" He said sparing a glance at you who just seemed confused at where this conversation had led up to.
"Wait a minute-"
"We're getting late! I still uh need to get ready!" Minho said turning around before you could even question anything, not being able to see how red his face had gotten as he ran to his room and slammed the door shut.
Blinking once and twice, you looked at Kitty and Q,
"So can someone just tell me what happened?"
They indeed didn't tell you anything, or rather didn't get a chance to before the door was knocked on and in came in your advisor, telling you about how you all had gotten Saturday detention and hoped last night was worth it.
You groaned as he left, holding the cup of coffee mumbling curse words. The same cup of coffee, that was exactly how you liked it, that was made by Minho. Something you didn't even realize how he knew your perfect order.
THE SECOND TIME.
You'd rather be watching paint dry than be in this boring detention.
Saturday flew in and in no time, were you already sitting in the library for your eight hour detention.
You groaned as you leaned forward, wanting to drop your head on the table before a hand placed itself between it and the hard surface of the table, making you hit it softly and for a second you thought about how warm it felt.
"You'll damage the tiny amount of brain cells you have in there." Minho's voice mocked you, as you looked up, your chin laying on his hand.
Glaring, you didn't even realise how he gulped at how you'd still maintain physical contact by not lifting your head up.
"Screw you." You scoffed, sitting straight up,
"Why am I even sitting with you?" You questioned crossing your arms and the scowl didn't leave your face.
"Maybe you finally realized how obsessed you are with me and felt like you had to be closer to me." He said with that annoying smirk plastered on his face.
You snorted, "Please it's only because it was the only seat available!"
The smirk didn't leave his face, only growing wider as he leaned in to whisper in your ear,
"All I'm hearing is excuses." His voice rang in your ears, noticing the rasp and how deep it sounded, swallowing nervously, you didn't know why you felt like your heart would jump out of your chest.
You leaned away from him, rolling your eyes, brushing away what you felt as irritation from being around Minho too much.
You shivered due to the temperature in the library being too low for your liking, the air conditioning being colder than you would have kept it.
You internally cussed at yourself for wearing a crop top instead of bringing an extra sweater with you,forgetting it's usually chilly in there.
Minho noticed the shiver, rolling his eyes, he suddenly began taking off his own bomber jacket. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion but they relaxed when you felt a sudden warmth engulf you.
"You'll catch a cold and it'll end up infecting everyone." He scolded you before you could even say anything, words dying down before you could even question his actions, too stunned.
You just blinked at him, mumbling a small thanks to which he just sent you a curt nod, his attention back to the doodling he'd been doing in his book.
"Did he just-"
"Yes. Yeah he did."
Kitty questioned to which Yuri answered both stunned at what they'd just seen.
"Don't they, I don't know, hate each other?" Yuri asks, confused looking back at Kitty.
"Guess hate and love are two sides of the same coin, afterall huh?" Kitty spoke up.
They both paused and looked at each other, bursting out in giggles.
THE THIRD TIME.
You stared at the clock, your eyes fixated on the minute hand that moved agonizingly slow, your head resting on the palm of your chin that was using your right arm as a stand.
You sighed mumbling to yourself about how time seemed to be against you.
“Instead of boring your eyes into the clock, maybe if you paid attention to what was being taught, your tiny brain could finally excel in this.”
You rolled your eyes and turned your head towards the boy who sat beside you.
Pausing a bit when you realised how the sunlight from the window literally made it seem like he glowed, his cheekbones highlighted by it and his lips seemingly more plump and pinker as he spoke.
Minho’s attentions wasn’t on you though, at least it would seem like that because he was staring ahead, his focus on his notes as he wrote what was being taught, his hands splayed across his notebooks.
Even when he sat, you noticed he still seemed taller than you. Sometimes you even wonder how you always end up next to him.
“I’d say take a photo and it would last longer but I’m pretty sure you already have enough of those with you, stalker.” He said, taking a peak at you from the corner of his eyes, a smirk forming on his face when he saw you scoffing.
“As if, besides since when did you care about me paying attention or not.” Minho stopped for a second at your words, hand freezing mid way from his note taking and it was now his turn to roll his eyes at you.
“Because you’re a distraction.” He spoke lowly, making sure you were the only one who heard, and only now you noticed you’d both been murmuring amongst each other as if you were friends just gossiping.
Not wanting to argue more, you just sighed and looked ahead,
“Ugh, whatever.”
You looked down at your own notebook, narrowing your eyes when you saw you’d only written half a page and stealing a glance at Minho’s, your eyes now widening when you counted that he was already on what seemed like his third page.
Damn I really must have zoned out.
Now you just thought of your options, either you skip some pages and just write what was being taught at the moment, finishing what you missed afterwards.
Clicking your tongue, you just closed your notebook, slightly pushing it away. Knowing being at the way back in a crowded classroom was helpful at times like this but having Alex as your professor being another advantage, you folded your arms on the table and plopped your head onto it sideways.
You sighed, relieved at the position, even though it may seem uncomfortable, but at the time, it felt just right.
You shut your eyes, the last thing you saw being Mingo from the way you had positioned your head, with you facing towards him and let yourself be surrounded by the temporary darkness.
“So you’re just going to sleep during the lecture?”
“Yep.” You said still with your eyes closed.
“I barely got any, considering the Vampire Diaries marathon Kitty and I had last night.”
You mumbled, feeling yourself give in to your dreamland.
“You both are terrible roommates because who even has a series marathon in the middle of a school week?” Minho asked you scoffing, turning his head to his left so he could look down at you.
You opened one eye and put your tongue out childishly to mock him,
“Only the fun kind of roommates, now shut up and do your work, let me sleep.”
“You seriously need to be more responsible, I mean come on, you have dark circles right now.” He whisper yelled as he scanned your face.
“Okay mum. I’ll make sure of it.” You murmured to him, the last of your words being softer as you finally gave in to your dreams.
Minho sighed when he heard you exhale softly, seeing the way the sun reflected on your face.
He wondered how you could just fall asleep but then again he knew you’d probably stayed awake just to give company because he knew you didn’t even like The Vampire Diaries.
You’d once told how lame you found it that the only relevant plot was two brothers fighting for a girl, and how it was ridiculously stupid.
He moved his body a bit forward, so that the sunlight could not fall on your face, and upon that the scrunch in your brows relieved unconsciously. He reached his hand forward to tuck away the hair piece that seemed to bother you. His fingertips lingering on your cheek and you leaned into the touch unknowingly.
Pulling his hand away, he gently smiled at you, shaking his head fondly as he brought back his attention to what was being taught.
[ a few moments later ]
“Wake up sleeping beauty, it’s time.” You heard as you felt someone flick your forehead.
Groaning you swatted away the hand, as you slowly rose up, rubbing your eyes, and blinking a few times as you tried recalling who you were and where you were.
“Seems like someone’s nap time was well.” Minho smirked at you, packing his books away to which you turned to him and glared.
“Hope you dreamt of me well!” He said a grin on his face now as your lips pulled into a thin line.
“Yeah it’d be more of a nightmare if you showed up in my dreams.” You said rolling your eyes, and gathering your own notebook, realising it was pretty pointless to have even removed it today as you basically barely wrote anything.
You pulled your bag up to the desk and tucked away your book.
Minho slid a book towards you, making you pause your movements as you glanced at him in question.
“Here, today’s class work and homework as well, if you don’t get something, considering you probably won’t, come to the library after school is over.” He said standing up, to which you still looked between him and the book in question, skeptical of his sudden act of…kindness?
“Stop staring idiot, you’ll get late.” He said as he slowly walked away, you thought about it and grabbed his notebook, putting it in between your own and standing up, sliding one strap on your shoulder.
“Thank…you?” You said turning around noticing he was already gone.
Huh, weird. Well that was nice of him…for once.
You shook your head, walking out as well, realizing you indeed learn something new about him every time.
THE FOURTH TIME.
It was another outing of the nature club you'd join in support of Kitty's new venture of wanting to do new things.
Although initially, you'd reluctantly agreed but you'd learn to enjoy it once you spent more times with nature.
Though sometimes you wish you could just jump off the cliff because lo and behold, Minho had also spontaneously joined it as well.
Over time, you'd just learnt to ignore his shit, just paying attention to your surroundings and focusing all your energy on that.
You didn't even notice how he'd always be trailing beside you though, since the beginning of it actually.
But of course those around you did.
Q and Dae looked at their best friend, both wondering the same thing.
"Do you think he notices?" Dae asked as they hiked up, Q looked at him in question and followed his gaze, perceiving what he meant.
“He is still in denial as to why he even joined this club in the first place, remember how much I tried convincing him to join but he always refused with bullshit excuses but suddenly when Y/N joins, he’s apparently thought about it well and understood it was good to be one with nature, hence why he would be joining.”
Dae shook his head, chuckling as he recalled the denial on his face from when they confronted him about it.
“I don’t even think he realizes that Q, let alone how he always seems to be beside them when he gets the chance.” Dae said, staring at the pair of you, you seemed more than happy to be there as Minho skeptically walked beside you.
Suddenly an arm was placed in front of you, making you suddenly freeze in your place and your gaze followed it to the owner, confusion flooding your mind as you looked at Minho in question.
He moved in front of you and knelt down on one knee, to which your eyes widened and you looked around to see if anyone else was seeing this.
Hissing at him, more so in confusion, "What the hell are you doing?"
He scoffed and pointed down at your shoes, more so your shoe laces.
"You'll literally trip on them and fall on your face resulting in you getting hurt and you'll end up causing problems."
Once again, your mouth gaped at him as he went back to his task which was tying your shoelaces.
At times, he truly did confuse the ever living fuck out of you. Because for one he'd be doing the nicest things but then the gesture would be contradicting with what he would have to say afterwards.
You noticed how strands of his hair moved out of place as a result of him looking down to focus on tying your laces.
You bit your lip to control the smile from spreading on your face and he got up, dusting his hands.
"You know you should be grateful that I decided to be with you right now otherwise your clumsy ass would have probably broken a foot by now."
There it was. The contradicting words to his gestures.
Not wanting to start an argument, you just sighed and shook your head, mumbling a thanks as you walked ahead, having been left behind by a few paces.
Minho glared at you, taking a few steps to catch up with you,
"That was mean of you." He said and you took a side glance at him to see a frown on his face and you sighed once again,
"Thank you so much Minho, whatever would I have done if it weren't for your presence."
You grinned widely, blinking your eyes forcefully as you fluttered your eyelashes.
Before he could speak again, you turned forward and rolled your eyes, continuing your hike.
When you reached the top view, you could see the entire city of Seoul and just how mesmerizing it looked.
As a whole it looked breathtaking, the tall buildings and the miniature figures doing about their own things, the sky's colours contrasting the shades, the sun setting slowly as the last warmth of it bled on your face.
You didn't even notice Minho was right beside you, admiring the city view as well. Though his eyes naturally drifted towards you, even if he never wanted them to but it seemed like second nature to him now, his eyes finding you anytime you were around.
Your own sparked as you took in the little details of the view, unknowingly a smile forming on your face making the tiny depths form on your cheeks. Your hair slightly moving from the soft breeze and you'd laugh at the timing but you didn't notice that as you were too in your own world.
Blinking, he felt his own heart flutter as he whispered so tenderly, you probably wouldn't have heard him if he weren't next to you,
"Beautiful, you really are beautiful."
Looking beside you, you were once again left speechless when you saw who it was, and pretended you didn't hear, asking
"Sorry what was that?"
That seemed to snap him out of his gaze as he looked in front, coughing into his hand, sounding more fake than real,
"Uh, I meant that the view is really beautiful! Yeah the view…" He looked to the other side to make sure you wouldn't see the redness forming on his face.
You just nodded at him, turning your attention back in front of you,
"It is, isn't it? It was definitely worth the hike!"
You beamed as you put your hands on your hips, happy with the end result of the exhausting hike.
"Anyways we should be heading down now, if we were to reach before nightfall."
You paused looking around and found Q and Dae already looking at you both, you waved them over.
"Q! Dae! Why didn't I see both during the hike up?"
"Maybe cause someone wouldn't leave you and your attention was on him mostly." Q murmured to which, luckily you didn't seem to catch what he said as you raised an eyebrow.
Dae nudged Q with his elbow on his stomach, to which Q hissed in a little pain.
"That was so unnecessary!" Dae still kept his smile,
"What he meant was, you seem preoccupied but really we were trailing behind too." He told, his eyes shifting to Minho's for one second when he said preoccupied and you noticed this.
"Well let's all go together for the hike down?"
Minho wanted to protest but he realised it'd probably seem suspicious and knowing how his best friends were, they'd figure it and look into this more than he would like them too.
Plus he wasn't entirely sure why he detested the idea of not being able to be with you only for the hike down.
He hated your guts didn't he? He only just…taught you were too clumsy and stupid, as well as unserious.
At least that was what he kept convincing himself, yet it was far more obvious to everyone around you except yourselves that there was definitely more than just animosity.
And as you began going down the steps, you almost tripped as your leg got caught in a root but lucky for you, there was Minho by your other side, who'd pulled your arm to make sure you didn't fall right on your face.
"Seriously if it weren't for me, you'd probably end up dead by now."
His hand still on your arm, the contact making you feel warmer than you should and for a second your eyes drifted towards his lips as you thought about just how close you were to him.
You pulled away your arm and gulped, nodding at his words nonchalantly as you couldn't get the image of his lips out of your mind, as much as you hated it.
Q and Dae again, shared a look as if silently communicating,
Yep, there's more to this than just animosity.
THE FIFTH TIME.
Frowning at the big red F on your Korean Literature test, you felt like bursting into tears.
Really it wasn't your fault you were bad at adjusting to the language, after all it'd only been a few months since you were taught about it afresh.
Kitty sighed at your frowny face, texting your shared group chat about canceling today's movie night for the time being, your phone on silent since you'd gotten the test.
kitty loml 💗 : guys no movie night today, y/n's not feeling too well :((((
You didn't even notice it but Minho immediately texted in the group chat when he read the message.
minhoe 👹 : what happened????
dae my bae 🥳 : wow look who spawned in this "lame gc" 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔
👑 : ohhh he's right tho but srsly what happened? are they alright???
kitty loml 💗 : Korean Lit happened 😶
👑 : Ohhhh yikes.
Kitty set aside her phone and looked back at you before you spoke,
"What am I doing wrong? I'm trying my best and it just seems pointless now." You feel tears of frustration forming as you yanked the paper away because it just seemed like the red mark was taunting you.
"Y/N, you know it's not your fault, Korean is really hard to learn afresh and see your Korean is way better than mine already!"
She tried cheering you up and you just shook your head.
"No Kitty, I've been learning this longer than you have and it's not even helping me at all if this is the end result!" You wiped harshly at the tears that poured out, your voice snapping at the end.
You sighed as you saw Kitty flinch, not in fear but more so in surprise because she didn't expect you to snap, yet she knew everyone had their own days.
Exhaling softy, you spoke "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap, I'll just…I'm going to take a shower to cool down."
Before she could reply, you turned away, walking to your room, before you slammed your door shut harsher than you wished.
👑 : how's the situation?
kitty loml 💗 : wellll they've gone to take a shower now, but they are pretty upset.
👑 : oh that's not great.
minhoe 👹 : wait guys, what flavour of Pocky was their favourite again? Cookies and cream or chocolate?
kitty loml 💗 : y r u asking this out of nowhere and I'm pretty sure it's just plain chocolate.
dae my bae 🥳 : oh wait didn't you read the previous messages? anyways it was a pretty long thing but in short Minho went to the grocery store to get some snacks for Y/N cause he's "sure" they haven't eaten yet because of how 'forgetful" they are
👑 : code for comfort snacks for an upset y/n to make them feel better because i care but won't admit it.
minhoe 👹 : gosh you all are do fuckinf annoying
kitty loml 💗 : and you are so fucking whipped
👑 : oop pretty sure i can see him blushing all the way from here
dae my bae 🥳 : he just cussed out loud and now we're getting glared at by some grandma, good going minHOE 👹
slayest of the slayers 🙏 : lol
👑 : OMGFJZJZ HIII HELLO R U OKAYY???
kitty loml 💗 : i thought the giggles were me going insane but it was you okay.
slayest of the slayers 🙏 : one way to say i live in ur mind 😈😈 and yes Q, i am fine for now at least, I'll figure out how to conqure this stupid subject somehow.
minhoe 👹 : plzzz it'd be like having a demon in ur head
👑 : YOU shouldn't say that when y/n is probably in ur mind all day and also feel free to message any of us for help when u need it!
You turned off your phone, laughing as you heard the notifications in your group chat blow up.
You'd gotten out of the shower, feeling way better than you had but still just choosing to lay in your bed when you noticed your notifications were piling up.
You giggled when you read through the chats, intervening and feeling your heart at ease when you thought about your friends worrying over you and checking up on you.
You were grateful to have found them, especially considering you were so new and awkward when you joined KISS, thinking you'd never make friends but now you could proudly say you loved them with all you had.
Though as you laid, gazing up at the celing lit up with lights from outside, you thought of one particular person whose actions nowadays made you more confused than anything.
It was Minho, of course.
Lately it seemed he'd taken a place in your mind, ironically having flashbacks to your conversation in the group chat about you occupying his mind but it was more of the opposite on your side.
At least that was what you thought.
You thought over every gesture of his, everytime he seemed to show he cared but then you recalled his harsh words those times and stepped back a bit from your fantasies.
He was too different anyways, a star out of your reach, a boundary you feared to cross, a line that was the more blatant.
So why did your heart feel heavier at the idea of him being out of league?
You gulped when you mentally weighed your options, closing your eyes and thinking of his annoying smirk but even more his annoyingly pretty smile that was rare but when you did see it, it did something to you that made you feel all fuzzy. His annoying hair that always had strands misplaced which you always itched the urged to tuck them back gently, his soft lips, his eyes-
A knock on your door woke you up and you got up putting your hand on your chest.
The pattering in it making it feel like you just ran a whole marathon.
You rose up and quietly walked to your door.
You think you almost puked your guts out of nervousness when you saw who was on the other end.
"You need to check on your messaging skills." You stayed frozen as Minho pushed you aside and entered your room as though he owned the place. It was like something he had that once he entered a room, it naturally became his place.
You noticed he had a bag of something in his hands and you remembered the texts in the group chats.
"Oh wait, did you really?" You asked pointing towards the bag,as he plopped down on your bed, looking at you while rolling his eyes.
"Of course, I know you'd probably starve yourself if you could, that's why I bought something for you." He said and you made your way towards him, a little skeptical and your nerves didn't seem to have calmed.
You sat down beside him, a bit of distance between you two yet you still felt a bit dizzy considering this was probably the first time he'd been in your room.
He pushed the bag towards you, looking at you expectantly.
"Here, it's mostly what you like, as far as I know." You looked through the assortment and indeed, it was like all of your favourites in one.
Your mind couldn't wrap around the fact that it was Minho out of everyone that remembered all your favorite snacks. A little detail but you found it fluttering when someone would remember the smallest things about you. Only this time it felt like your heart would jump out of your chest as you thought about this.
"Well, are you feeling better now?" You snapped your head towards him, nodding absentmindedly.
"Look. Since I am feeling nice, I'll help you out. I can tutor you between 5-7 every Wednesday and Friday at the library. I checked your schedule and saw you were also free those days-"
"Wait what? Where did you even get my schedule???" You genuinely asked confused trying to comprehend his words.
"Out of all that, that's what you want to know?" Rolling his eyes, he crossed his arms "I saw it during the start of the year, to see which classes I'd have to tolerate you in and mentally prepare myself for."
"..." You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously.
"Oh…Kay?" You said more so questionably, wondering if you'd ever invest your time in someone like that, especially if it were someone you don't like.
He got up to leave, not wanting to embarrass himself more than he thought he did.
"Well uh…I am gonna go now, don't be late! Or I swear I'm never doing anything nice for your dumbass ever again!Don't forget to eat those, seriously I spent money and my precious time in those." He rushed to your door, turning back one last time to you.
"...Just…just next time, ask for help when you need it alright? And it's okay to not do well at times even if you do your best, sometimes it's not your fault." He looked at you expectantly to which you just nodded, still flabbergasted by his actions since he arrived.
He gave one last nod and turned around, slamming the door closed.
What the fuck just happened ?
You asked more so to yourself as you looked the bag in your hands, Minho's words ringing in your head, him offering to tutor you, actually telling you he'd be tutoring you.
Just him. Him and his…kind gestures?
You groaned, setting the bag down beside your bed and falling flat on your bed.
You stared at the ceiling looking for answers for questions you didn't even know about.
And suddenly a sentence rang through your mind.
Gasping loudly as you sat up, wide eyed as an epiphany hit you,
Fuck.
I think I like him.
I like Minho.
THAT ONE TIME.
As a normal person would when they come to be able to identify the confusion and chaos their mind was in and why they were in that state, you did one thing.
Avoid it and the cause of it.
In other words, as a way to deal with the realization of your liking, you decided to just avoid Minho at all costs, at least until it would come to bite you eventually.
You knew your friends noticed your behavior, how you'd basically changed routes and even certain classes, pouring excuses like you couldn't study during that time and it was better to change.
The new revelation caused a lot of changes in the way you saw of his actions. It definitely didn't help when you would recall at the times he'd done them late in the night and it would leave you with a hope that was only growing higher.
Only to come crashing down when you would think about how he might not even see you in the same way, maybe it was just as a friend.
Frenemies.
A term you learnt and as much as you felt like it certainly fit your dynamic, it still left a bitter afterthought that you hated because you knew you wanted more.
Much more.
As you sat down in a cafeteria in Seoul to study, yes you'd gone that far as to avoid studying at the campus just to avoid bumping into Minho.
And to your misfortune,Minho did notice though, how you didn't show up to the library for your planned study session that you'd confirmed but cancelled last minute, how you didn't even reply to messages in the group chat, excuses like you were busy with work and assignments.
He'd scoff when you pulled that excuse, as if you weren't in the same grade and didn't have the same workload. When he would ask Kitty or Q or anyone actually, they'd also have similar answers, not knowing where you were or you were locked in your room most of the time when Kitty would come to ask you for anything.
You felt guilty for avoiding your friends like that, even Minho didn't deserve that especially considering he'd even offered to help you.
With a sigh, you opened your books and tried to study at least until it was near time to go back to your dorms.
[ a few hours later ]
After a somewhat successful study session of you attempting to finish your Korea Lit assignment that'd been eating your brains quite literally as you felt a headache forming when you realized you didn't understand anything, you decided you had enough.
Groaning exhaustedly, you winded up your books and packed them, deciding it was time to just head back, frankly there'd been so much on your mind you were pretty sure that was probably one of the major reasons you didn't understand anything academic related.
Or you were just terrible at Korean Literature and really should have just stepped in your ego and crushed it when Minho offered to help you and gone to his tutoring lessons.
But noo you just had to have an epiphany that you really liked him, in a romantic way that same day he offered.
Deciding you deserved some kind of reward for tolerating and trying at least, you took a little detour to the grocery store that was along the way.
Purchasing a lychee moju moju along with some small snacks to eat, you quickly rushed to head back to campus before Kitty came back to your dorms from the library.
Memorizing her schedule so as to know when to avoid her became a part of your routine, a benefit was it was quite similar to the rest of them so you could also avoid them all at once. At least until you were ready.
Lost in your thoughts, you didn't even notice something in front of you until it was too late.
And when you took a step and a loud hiss followed that scared you so bad,you literally tripped on your own feet and fell straight to the hard concrete, face first.
Luckily you'd been able to divert your face sideways so to make sure there'd be less of an impact on your precious nose.
Now it was your turn to hiss as you groaned, rising on your hands to get up slowly.
The right side of your face was the one that had contact with the ground so it hurt like a fucking bitch when you tried to move.
As you rose up to your feet, you caressed the side of your injured face and winced when you felt something warm and wet.
Sighing exhaustedly when you indeed saw it was blood.
You're such a clumsy ass.
Words unknowingly flashed in your mind, words that a certain someone once told you and back then you were annoyed but now you felt that they really were right.
As much as it hurts your ego to admit that.
Suddenly you saw something small moving in the corner of your eye, the street being lit up only by street lights placed around five meters apart.
As you moved closer, you hoped this wasn't a grave mistake and you were not walking to your own death.
As you removed your phone from your left pocket to flash your flashlight because it had been in an area where the streetlight did not cover the range hence it was sort of dark.
You braced yourself for the worse,
Okay calm down, you can run for it and you'll save your—
Wait.
What?
You deadpanned once you saw what was hidden in the dark.
It was a cat.
A brown and black one and it was caressing its tail, hissing at you once you flashed your phone at it.
You connected the dots and sighed in relief, knowing it wasn't a murderer and it wasn't a trap; rather you had likely stepped on its tail when you didn't notice it in front of you due to its color being less visible in the dark spot.
A sense of guilt crept up on you when you thought about how you must have hurt it, even if it was unintentionally.
Deciding you'd help it, at least by giving it something to eat, you grabbed your grocery bag that sadly laid out splayed out.
Knowing you didn't have anything cat friendly to feed, you pointed at it as if talking to it.
"I'll be back! Stay here."
Turning around and making a second round trip to the grocery store, not even realizing it was nearing dangerously close to your curfew.
You didn't even notice the look of pure concern on the cashier's face, having forgotten your injuries both as a result of adrenaline basically numbing the pain and also you being in a hurry when you noted the time.
Surprisingly the cat was still in its spot, eyes closed and sitting with its head tilted who you knelt down to it.
You opened the can of tuna and your nose scrunched in disgust at the smell, but someone else was delighted as it leaned forward immediately.
Chuckling at the cat's eagerness, you placed it on the ground and it dived right in, devouring the tuna.
"You probably haven't eaten in a while huh?"
Gazing at the cat with sympathy and speaking as if the cat would understand you, you sighed sadly.
As one would when seeing a cat, you moved your hand to pet its head, but just as you were about to touch it, it decided you were the enemy.
Hissing at you, you didn't even get to avoid it when it swiped it's paw at your hand.
It wasn't too deep, but it definitely left a mark and oh it also definitely hurt, burned as well.
You pulled your hand, seeing the scratch mark deep enough to draw blood and once again groaned in pain.
The swipe was right on your fingers, moving across from your index to your pinky.
And it was beginning to bleed fast.
"Wow so you definitely aren't fond of physical affection." Wincing in pain as now it began to burn even more, you moved behind, pushing the can with your uninjured hand.
"Fine fine I'll leave you be." You told it gently, noticing it had retreated behind.
You got up while pressing your palm to the scratched fingers, making sure it wouldn't just began bleeding badly out of nowhere.
Shit I probably don't even have a first aid kit.
Today could not get any worse.
And you probably jinxed that as you looked the wristwatch in your left hand for the time.
8:45 pm
A whole twenty minutes passed curfew.
Fuck, you were so screwed now.
You facepalmed yourself only to almost scream in pain as you accidentally hit the right side of your injured forehead.
Great I probably look like I got beat up.
You began walking as fast as you could, your bag seeming heavier as you'd stuff everything including your grocery into it.
Please please please let the advisor not be there right now for checking.
As you reached the gates, you sighed in relief seeing they were still open but slowed down to see if there were any guards around.
It felt like you were suddenly thrown into a secret mission, one to avoid getting caught and possibly getting a suspension for being out so late.
Your wound had stopped bleeding profusely when you'd pulled the sleeve of your sweater over it, engulfing your hand completely.
It pained you to ruin that sweater but you could just buy a new one, hopefully.
Hiding behind a streetlight that was a few meters away from the gatez you scanned your surroundings ahead.
You could almost hear the James Bond theme music playing in your head.
You didn't spot any guards around and the gate was open, so you did the one thing only a true spy could possibly dare to do.
Make a run for it.
Ducking your head down and using the sleeve of your sweater to cover your face, you ran as fast as you could inside, trying to make as minimal noise as you could.
That was not the case when the grovel beneath crunched as you made a run for it and you cussed at yourself internally, praying no one was around.
Lucky for you, your dorm was nearer to the entrance and you felt like bursting out in tears of joy when you neared the building.
Running up the steps, you paid no mind to anyone around you.
"Wait, is anyone still out?! It's almost nine come on guys!"
Eyes widening when you realized you made a grave mistake assuming no one was in the hallways, you turned the opposite direction of your room as footsteps began nearing.
Shit, I need to hide.
Being in this crisis was possibly the worst rotten cherry on top of your nightmarish sundae.
Suddenly, you registered this wasn't your hallway, heck you'd entered the wrong building in a moment of stupidity.
This was the boys dorm building when you noticed the familiar numbers.
Wait a minute.
Your eyes scanned for a number you'd seen countless times by now as you slowly but quickly moved ahead. The footsteps had gotten slow and you knew Alex was in the other hallway, probably looking for who was around.
Grinning when the familiar number was on the door, you didn't think much and just knocked harshly.
"Q! It's Y/N, I'll explain everything but please I'll get caught if you don't open right now!"
Whispering harshly into the door in a panicky tone, you knocked rapidly making sure it wasn't too loud.
You were sure your heart almost dropped out of your chest when you heard the footsteps approaching your direction again.
Your hand dropped to your side as you looked in the direction of Alex heading and you didn't even realize the door had already opened.
You almost yelped so loudly when you felt a tug on your arm pulling you inside. The grip on your arm was strong enough to just drag you inside and you closed your eyes out of fear.
You were pinned behind the door, your back pressing into it as a large hand covered your hand to prevent the yelp out of your mouth. The person's other hand was on your waist to prevent you from falling straight to the ground.
You listened closely to the footsteps and sighed in temporary relief when they passed the dorm.
Only now did you grimace in pain,the hand on your mouth unknowingly hurting the injuries on your face,you reached your hand to tug it out of your face.
The person immediately backed away the moment you grimaced, it was so quick as if they'd been burnt by you. You almost fell over as you'd lean your entire weight on them.
"What the actual fuck happened to you?"
A familiar voice asked in both astonishment and even a hint of anger.
Your eyes were still shut, collecting yourself before you opened them as you relaxed briefly.
You had to blink twice when you noticed who was in front of you.
"Oh…it's you." You murmured, looking anywhere else but at Minho the moment you perceived it was him the whole time.
He scanned your entire face, obviously noticing the blood as well as the bruise, as his eyes lowered, he also saw the blood on your sweater sleeve, your hand now free and the visible marks bleeding once again from being exposed to sudden movement.
When he first heard you, he'd been laying on the couch scrolling on his phone, bored because Q had chosen to spend the night at Florian's, having the place to himself for tonight.
He swore he felt his heart drop when he heard you panicking tone on the other side and didn't even care if it was the first time he'd seen in two weeks of nothing, he pulled you in and when he heard you almost yell, he just placed his palm to shut you up as he heard the footsteps pass by.
He didn't mean to scare you but at the moment, all he could really think about was who even or what even happened to you.
"Who did this to you?" His tone seemed aggressive as he questioned in a deeper voice than usual. Well usual was also deep but it was something you got used to.
You'd become frozen the moment he spoke, not knowing what to say, a little embarrassed at how you ended up in this situation. He stepped forward, straightening up instinctively in alarm.
His eyebrows furrowed in question as he pushed his tongue to the side, lowering his head to your level, now near eye level with you, your eyes following his every movement.
You tried not to flinch too harshly when he grazed his fingertips on your cheek and lip, where you'd gotten hurt as well as the place near you eye and eyebrow.
"Uh, so like you see, it looks worse than what actually happened so really it isn't too big of a deal—"
Stepping back a bit, he looked at you ridiculously
"Not too big of a deal ?!" He questioned as if daring you to say it again,
"You must be kidding me right now." He laughed humorlessly as he ran his hand through his hair and you tried not to stare like an idiot.
And as cliche as it could be getting, you felt light headed as you tried to keep your balance. Blinking harshly to keep your eyes open, you almost fell forward when you took a step but this time Minho was able to catch you in time.
"Hey, hey, don't faint on me right now okay? Let's just get you seated first."
You leaned your weight on him as he held you with one arm, he'd move beside you to make you comfortable as he slowly walked you to the couch. Before he laid you down, he removed your bag from your shoulders and put it aside, to make sure you'd be able to lay more properly.
You sighed in both relief and exhaustion when you finally sat down.
"Wait I'll be back."
He recalled the first aid kit he had in his drawer and went to get it as soon as he could.
You shut your eyes, tiredness overwhelming you, not only from the adrenaline high getting over but also from the mental exhaustion that'd you'd been having since the whole mess.
You opened your eyes when you felt a weight beside you, Minho sitting down with a first aid kit in his hand.
He opened it to remove a bottle of hydrogen peroxide that made you scrunch your nose a little in disgust at the color and some cotton pads, band-aids, and a roll of bandage.
You noticed they were hello kitty ones, the same ones you used and that thought made you smile even for a brief moment.
"You really got this ones too?" You asked softly and Minho turned to look at you, looking at the band aids in awe and snorted at your expression.
"You are here, almost on the verge of passing out but you are questioning whether I have the same hello kitty band aids you have? And to answer your question, yes."
"Gotta keep those priorities in check."
He rolled his eyes as he soaked the cotton pad with the hydrogen peroxide, the familiar deep brown color showing.
He gently took your hand and began to clean the wound.
Hissing loudly, you sat more straight about to pull away but he still kept the grip on your arm.
"It's okay, it'll hurt a bit, just hold on for a sec." Minho gently said to you as he focused on cleaning it, laying your hand on your lap and taking another cotton pad when the current one got used enough.
As much as you wanted to cuss out loud, you decided to put your focus elsewhere, choosing his face was the perfect place for that.
His eyes were as soft as his touch, you didn't think he'd be this gentle with you but here you were, him tending to your wounds, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his jaw was unknowingly clenched in the same focus.
"Sorry." You blurted out of nowhere, the guilt from everything piling up one by one, from the fact that you'd been ignoring him for two weeks only to show up after and him having to tend to your injuries when he could have just kicked you out.
He briefly made eye contact with you, wiping the now cleaner cuts with a dry cotton pad, and opening the kit again to remove a tube of antibiotic ointment.
The coolness of the ointment made you almost breath out of relief but you were still tense because Minho hadn't said anything yet.
"I get that you must be…angry with me. It's reasonable but I have my own reasons, I think they are pretty valid if you want to hear them out?"
You finished, your throat closing up afterwards and you felt like you'd pass out from how fast your heart began beating.
"How did you get injured like this? First, tell me that." He finally spoke, wrapping a sterile white bandage around your fingers after the ointment.
He carefully finished wrapping and tied a knot, making sure it wasn't too tight as he looked at you questionably, to which you shook your head.
"It's stupid. Really."
"I know you're stupid but—"
"I fell." You let the cat out of the bag and diverted your gaze, his movements pausing to process your words as if he heard wrong.
"Don't lie to me. Did someone bully you and beat you up—"
"I was coming to the dorms from my "study" session at the cafe that's like twenty minutes away from here, when I went to the grocery store for…stuff. And after I got what I needed, I was heading here and I was uh…preoccupied with something that I didn't see what was infront of me, so I stepped on it and then I tripped on my own feet and next thing I know my face was kissing the ground, then when—"
"You're telling me this was all because of your clu—"
"LET ME FINISH!"
Minho shut up after that and pressed his lips into a thin line while you continued,
"As I was saying, I couldn't see what it was and it already hid in the dark when I flashed my phone's light, I saw it was a cat and then I felt bad for stepping on its tail, I went back and got some tuna for it at the store, I gave it to her but I think she was still upset so when I went to pet her, she scratched my fingers, which is why my hand is also injured."
"And oh, I ended up here by accident because I entered your dorm building while I was making a run for it and realized it too late, I didn't want to get caught so I thought of just asking whether I could hide in your dorm until the advisors stopped their rounds."
You breathed out heavily, your chest hurting from the lack of oxygen for saying all that in one go but you didn't want to embarrass yourself by thinking too much about it and just wanted to let it all out in go.
You moved your gaze back to Minho's when you noticed how quiet he'd gotten afterwards, having been looking somewhere else when telling how you got in this situation.
Narrowing your eyes at him suspiciously, he averted his gaze elsewhere while you scanned his expression.
"You can laugh if you want to." Sighing you finally said and that seemed to work as Minho laughed at you.
You deadpanned him as he spoke in between his laughing "You are really the biggest klutz I have known, I mean all this all because of a cat?!"
Rolling your eyes, you lightly frowned and Minho noticing this, began calming down,
"Okay, Okay I won't laugh, I'm sorry." He breathed out as he cleared his throat and looked at you, biting his bottom lip to stop the giggles as he saw your expressions.
"Are we done here? I have to go back to my room too—"
"I haven't even treated your face yet!"
Now it was your turn to shut up and you slightly pouted at his scolding tone,
"As hilarious as your little story is…you need to be more careful. Like this is kinda crazy to get hurt like this by just falling."
"Okay, mum got it." You mocked him and he glared at you, pressing the soaked cotton pad onto your cheek out of nowhere.
"YOU BITCH! WARN SOMEONE NEXT TIME—"
"You should have already known—"
"You KNOW WHAT FUCK YO—"
He ignored you as he continued to clean up your wound, your words being replaced with quite literally having to bite your tongue to control the hisses of pain.
"Now, now please shut up and stay still."
You wanted to cuss at him again, claiming this was abuse but the look on his face challenged you to dare to pipe up again.
Instead, you just sighed in exhaustion, letting him finish his unnecessary kind act that was again questionable if it were out of his supposed kindness or convenience.
"Now there, all done." He placed the final hello kitty band-aid on your lip corner gently and you wished you could smile but that felt like a terrible idea as you remembered that even lifting up the corner of your right side made a sharp pain shoot up your lip.
"Thank you…I guess." You murmured softly to which a smug smile formed on his face,
"I didn't hear you, could you please repeat that for me?" He pretended to be in thought of what you said when he clearly heard you due to your proximity.
You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms and swallowing down the bitter taste on your tongue, having to put your ego down a little at this point.
"I said."
"Thank you for this. Thank you for…helping me. Even when you didn't need to."
Even if you couldn't see it because you'd been looking elsewhere but him, he had a tiny smile on his face as he watched you.
"Anytime clumsy idiot, if it weren't me to handle your clumsy ass, then who?"
It was probably meant as a joke, maybe a taunt even but your heart took it in a different way as you felt the familiar butterflies flutter.
"Minho seriously stop it, you shouldn't just say things like that."
He'd begun winding up the first aid kit and the extra stuff that was there, when he heard you say that under your breath, which made him stop his task.
"Things like what?" He faced you now, his body in your direction as you froze up.
"Oh you know what I mean…stuff that can be taken into….a different context by…people." You awkwardly said, trying to dodge your way out of what you actually meant.
"Do enlightenment me, you know about the context of this." He leaned in closer to you, a smirk forming on his face and you frowned, gulping thinking of what to say next.
"Uhm…well." Biting your lip in thought, the floor seemed like a better place to focus at.
Minho's eyes softened at that, deciding he'd rather not tease you more.
"You know, I still don't get why you have been ignoring me for two weeks. Actually, everyone for two weeks." He blurted out what he really wanted to ask since he'd been able to talk to you properly after this long.
"At first, I thought that maybe you were busy but after the first 4-5 days, I figured you'd been purposefully avoiding me." He said as he looked down and you could feel the guilt creeping up all over again.
"Look. What is something I did?" He asked you with a tone of regret looking at you to see if your expression would reveal anything and as you held eye contact, what made you snap was the sincerity in them.
"No! No, it's not you…well, it is about you but not because of you? It's me though! I am the problem here." Staring at him got too much so you just decided to stand up and avoid looking at him when you spoke. The proximity was also getting to your head and the musky yet expensive smell he wore was suddenly so strong it made you dizzy.
You began racing back and forth in that small space, as you thought of how to explain and you didn't even grasp you'd been rambling the whole time, your hands moving in gestures as actions to your words.
"I sort of just noticed something about me and it got a lot since I never really felt like that way and it's crazy because it is also unexpected—"
Minho stood up and stood in front of you, holding you by your shoulders, genuine concern on his face when he scanned your distressed look.
"Okay calm down, if you don't feel comfortable explaining anything right now, you can just rest and you can tell when you do feel like it."
"No."
He raised an eyebrow at your answer and you continued,
"I think… I want to say it."
He dropped his hands from your shoulders, letting them rest by his sides as you looked into his eyes.
For that moment, you just now perceived how close you were to him, taking in how handsome he truly was, you never admitted it but it was very obvious.
Your eyes momentarily paused on his lips, maybe looking at them for longer than one should and before you could trail your gaze lower to the dip of his throat in his hoodie, you paused at his Adam's apple that bobbed up and down as he swallowed.
Even though he'd been the one who got close to you like this, Minho still felt a little nervous when you looked up at him like the way you were right now.
"Turn around." You ordered before you could even think about it and confusion flooded his face.
"I won't be able to say it while looking at you so please."
Pausing for a brief second, he turned on his heel now facing the greenish bluish wall.
"You know if you want to confess to a murder, you don't need to be afraid, I'll help you hide—"
"I think I'm in love with you." You exclaimed, ignoring his words as you stared at the back of his head.
He was not that taller than you, just by a few inches or so but it was just the right height.
Immediately, you noticed him shut up and tense up as his shoulders straightened.
"I personally never thought it'd be you out of all people but fuck, it's not like your heart lets you decide who you should fall in love with." You tugged at the uninjured hand's sleeve while you used your other to brush your hair behind your ear.
"As cheesy as that sounds. I don't know when it happened or how it happened but I do know when I knew. It was when you bought food for me when I was upset and it was everything I liked. Or maybe it was when despite being cold yourself, you'd offered me your sweater and gosh you just know how to pull at one's strings don't you?"
"I'll admit though, I was annoyed by you and your…attitude and I still will be but it's just that, crazily enough I think that's just one of the reasons I fell for you."
"You're many things Minho, stupid, annoying as fuck, bitchy at times as well, but you're also sweet and caring when you want to be. And now I am just rambling at this point so I'll just shut up."
You pressed your lips into a thin line, the ground a great place to put your attention, your cheeks warming up and you swore you felt like you'd faint then and there.
It was like the atmosphere took a change after your confession and momentary rant. A lingering silence that felt loud and you really didn't know what to think.
Can I die at this moment right now? Dropping dead sounds so tempting.
"..."
"...can I uh…turn around now? To you know…talk?" He asked, scratching the back of his neck nervously your eyes snapped to him, widening when you recalled that he was still facing the wall.
Groaning at the fact that you forgot he was not facing you, you coughed out awkwardly,
"Yeah! Of course…you can."
You held your breath as you waited for him to turn around, and when he did, you couldn’t even look at him.
Minho honestly didn’t know what to think, say or do.
Because what can you say after the person you’ve been pining over since the past few months suddenly confessed their apparently reciprocated love to you?
He thought he’d been doing a decent job hiding his feelings so he doesn’t need to face the brutal rejection fear we all get when we have a crush on our supposed ‘enemy’. But it got harder for him as time went by, and soon enough he found himself completely head over heels for you.
Taking his obvious silence as your answer, your heart grew heavier at the lack of response and you spoke up, breaking the blanket of quietness.
“I suppose you don’t feel the same way so I should probably just go anyways it’s getting late, just…forget I said anything-”
You began to slowly take a few steps back, making sure you wouldn’t fall and injure yourself again,
Minho’s head sharply turned towards you as his eyes widened in alarm, “Wait! You didn’t even let me say anything!”
Pausing in your steps before you could swiftly turn for the door and exit as quick as you could, now a sheepish look on your face as you saw his slightly annoyed and alarmed look.
“Well, I just assumed your silence was an answer?”
He crossed his arms now a few feet away from you as he was already making his way towards you.
“There you go again with you and your assumptions! You really should let someone speak at least.” He sighed rubbing the gap between his brows with his index finger.
He moved closer to you, now only an arm's length away from you, “Look at me, please?”
You had to raise your head a little to look him in the eyes and you felt like you could get lost in them, one hand was on your side, clenched in a fist out of nervousness.
“Who said I didn’t feel the same?” He asked so casually as if asking for your name and you could only gape at him at the implications.
“Because I definitely know that,” He gulped as he looked down at you, feeling like his heart might just jump out of his chest at what he was about to say.
“I am in love with you, maybe a little or by a whole lot. A whole lot I swear I can feel my heart jump just at your presence. I didn’t say anything because honestly, I thought this was another dream I was having, I had to pinch myself to make sure. But I do feel the same, possibly more than you ever will.”
Your jaw might as well have been on the floor at his unexpected confession, frankly, yours was also something you didn’t think you were going to say, but you said it because you couldn’t keep it in you anymore.
“Hold on, what do you mean by another dream?” You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously, deciding to mess around with him but in reality, you were soaring and your heart probably long leaped out of you in pure euphoria.
“Out of all that, you picked up on only that?!? Did you just- just completely dismiss the fact that I am in love with you as well?!”
Giggling at his expression, you couldn’t contain your happiness as he fell for your joke and once he realised that he glared at you half-heartedly,
“You think you’re so funny huh? Do you even know how hard it was for me to say that? I almost fainted for fucks sake!”
You laughed even more at that, having to hold your stomach with one hand as you leaned forward and at the sound of your laughter, his own smile he’d been trying to control showed as he rolled his eyes at you, shaking his head.
“You seriously know how to make a guy have a heart attack.”
At this, you looked up at him stepping even closer as you bopped his nose,
“But you literally just confessed to being in love with me and you can’t take back what you said now.”
A comical squeak arose from you as he wrapped his arms around your waist out of nowhere pulling you closer, gently moving your injured hand on his shoulder to make sure you didn’t get hurt and you moved your other one around his neck.
It wasn’t like he’d never touched you, but still, the spark of electricity shooting through your entire body didn’t change one bit and it felt the same for him as the warmth radiating from you seemed to engulf him as well.
Staring at him, your eyes trailed to his lips and you moved closer, wanting to just,
Before you could even close the distance, you felt a finger on your lips and heard him whisper to you,
“No, no, you can’t kiss me right now, as much as I want to, you first need to let this heal.” He tenderly poked the right corner of your lip where you’d forgotten you were hurt at the moment.
Pouting slightly at that, Minho chuckled and before you could whine, he swiftly leaned forward and pecked your lips, lingering for a second before pulling back,
“That’s all you get, for now.” Sighing you just nodded, knowing it was for the best.
“You know you still have to make up to me for ignoring me for two weeks, I mean not only me but I’m sure Kitty’s ready to kick your ass as well, I heard she was planning to threaten to burn your giraffe socks if you didn’t talk to her.”
Suddenly a realisation hit you when you remembered something,
“IS THAT WHY I CAN’T FIND THEM SINCE THE PAST TWO DAYS?!?”
“...I suppose she’s already executed her plan.”
all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.
writingmeraki Ⓒ 2023
links : main navigation !
#[ pri works ]#xo kitty#xo kitty min ho#min ho x reader#xo kitty minho#min ho fluff#min ho angst#min ho fic#sang heon lee#lee sang heon#x female reader#x fem!reader#xo kitty fanfic#x gn reader#x male reader#xo kitty dae#xo kitty q#xo kitty yuri#anna cathcart#gia kim#anthony keyvan#choi minyoung#netflix xo kitty#netflix x reader#netflix#kitty song covey#yuri han#lord this is soo long
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
My Sunshine
Count Alexei Vronsky x wife!reader
Summary: When Alexei brought you a kitten, he didn't think you would spend your entire time with her.
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: mild jealousy
i hope you like it <3 @vanessavampiaives
Count Alexei Vronsky doesn't usually have any reason to be jealous.
He's devilishly handsome and incredibly wealthy, and more importantly, he has you.
His lovely wife, whom he loves dearly and who he knows loves him just as much. Since you met him, he'd fallen for you hard and you remain the sun he revolves around.
So, when he comes back home one evening with a small basket and calls your name, he's expecting you to greet him like you usually would: with a hug.
Instead, just as you prepare to rush up and wrap your arms around his shoulders, you make a small squeal and cover your mouth as you see the basket. "Alexei, what is this?" you whisper as he chuckles and holds out the basket for you.
You peer inside and when you pull up the blankets and see a small soft bundle of white fur, your heart almost explodes. You look up at your husband, a wide smile curling your lips. "Oh! Is that for me?"
Alexei smiles. He kneels down to put the basket on the floor. You mimic him and watch happily as he gently picks up the kitten in his hands and lifts her out of the cushions in the basket. The kitten yawns, scrunching her little pink nose, and looks up, blinking with her blue eyes as she looks at you.
"He's adorable," you say, moving your dress so you can fully sit on the floor.
"She is all yours, my love," Alexei passes the kitten to you, joining you on the floor as he crosses his legs. "Do you like her?" he asks expectantly, leaning in and smoothing his knuckle under the kitten's chin. The small kitten meows, and you don't know if it is a sound of disapproval or enjoyment.
You caress her carefully. She's so tiny in your arms. "I love her," you whisper, looking into your husband's eyes and sending him a sweet smile.
"What did I do to receive such a sweet present?"
Alexei chuckles and stands up. He dusts his uniform and leans down, resting his hand under your chin to pull your head up to him. He kisses your forehead gently. "Do I need a reason to spoil my darling?" he teases, smirking a little before he adds, "I listen to you, you know. I know you've been wanting a cat for a while and I couldn't resist when I saw this precious little thing."
You cradle the kitten in your arms, eyes lighting up as you feel the small animal start to purr against your hands. "She's lovely, thank you," you say sincerely and Alexei's heart swells seeing the pretty smile that gracious your lips. He tucks some hair behind your ear and hums warmly.
His happiness is short-lived considering all you talk about for the next week is Princess. He's convinced you've spent more of your time petting that cat than talking with him.
It's a Sunday morning and you're sitting on the couch with Princess curled up in your lap as you scratch behind her ears. You're humming softly, whispering praises as she purrs.
Alexei walks in, adjusting the cuffs of his suit and his eyes narrow when he sees you. He sighs and leans against the wall, crossing his arms. "You know you don't have to be with her all the time," he states, his voice a little strained.
Your expression twists into concern and you look up at your husband. "What do you mean?" you ask quietly, continuing to caress Princess's fur.
Alexei sighs again, this time walking over and sitting next to you. "I mean you're always with her. Always. She sleeps in between us in our bed goddamnit!" he runs a hand through his blond curls, seeming exhausted and his curse earns him a frown. "And it would all be okay, but it's been days. And I miss you."
You catch on to his tone and smirk. "Honey, please tell me you aren't jealous of a kitten, are you?"
Alexei's cheeks turn crimson and he coughs. "Of course, I'm not, that would be ridiculous."
"Seems like you are," you giggle, scratching Princess's ear one last time before picking her up and placing her down at your feet. Completely unbothered by the change, Princess starts to lick and clean her leg.
You turn to Alexei, gently ruffling his hair. "All you had to say was that you wanted some pets too and I would have happily given you some," you joke with a smile.
He pushes your hand away, still embarrassed. However, his chest feels full as he enjoys your attention. He's like a starved man and he'll take whatever he can have. "Don't laugh at me, love."
You look up at him, running your finger across his jaw. "You're cute when you're jealous."
Alexei rolls his eyes and leans down to capture your lips in his. He kisses you deeply and then mumbles against your lips, "I love you. I absolutely adore you. I worship you, my dear."
You feel your cheeks becoming warm at this and you kiss him back. "I love you too, you silly man," you say after a moment, pulling away. Your words are interrupted by Princess jumping onto Alexei's lap. He looks down at the small animal, unsure what to do as she curls up into a small ball. Your smile widens. "She likes you," the happiness in your voice fills Alexei with warmth.
He brings his large hand over Princess's head and starts to pet her. "I will admit, she's very cute," he whispers and then looks at you from the corner of his eye, smirking, "Although, not cute enough to warrant ignoring your husband."
You swat his arm, frowning, "Oh shush," you stare up at him fondly, "You must know I love you more than a cat, right?”
Alexei leans over, careful not to disturb Princess, and kisses your lips. "Mmm, if you say so, my lovely," he says, smiling against your lips.
You pull away, that adorable frown Alexei guiltily loves appearing in between your eyebrows. "I mean it," your voice is like velvet and Alexei's hand finds your cheek. His thumb caresses your skin and you subconsciously move into his touch.
"I know you do love," he murmurs, "I'm just teasing you."
You smile at him, your eyes shining. Just like the sun, he thinks, and for a moment he feels blinded by your beauty and then kisses you again.
#alexei vronsky x reader#alexei vronsky#count alexei vronsky x reader#count alexei vronsky#anna karenina 2012#anna karenina#aaron taylor johnson#atj#alexei vronsky fluff#alexei vronsky x you#aaron taylor johnson fic#count vronsky x reader#count vronsky
613 notes
·
View notes
Text
the jirgin chronicals — aka tumblr user sommerregenjuniluft’s take on how it all started
for @veryinnovative & @messymoony
cw: making out, dirty talk, erections (1296 words)
Their lips part with a wet noise when they’re startled by the banging on the door, Evan’s voice droning through the wood, “Seven minutes are up, lovebirds.”
Regulus tuts, sneering over his shoulder at the interrupting, lips kiss bitten and face flushed and it makes James go even weaker in the knees paired with that annoyed look on his face.
The whimper winds itself out of his throat on its own volition and James feels Regulus smile into the next kiss. A mere five minutes ago he’d started praising James about making such pretty noises and James has been hard in his jeans ever since.
More knocking and James eases Regulus back by the jaw gently, chuckling breathlessly, “I think they want us to rejoin the party.”
Regulus clenches his fingers in James’ hair, displeased, and James’ knees attempt to buckle, “Wanna get rid of me so soon, Potter? What, am I not up to your standards?”
“No,” James’ voice cracks in his rush to reply. “No no, been wanting this forever,” he murmurs heatedly before reeling Regulus back in.
But Regulus only indulges him for a moment, tongues tangling, but apparently not done with his arguments yet, “Wouldn’t want to deprive the crowd of their star then, huh?”
And he’s pouting now, face twisted into a frown, never missing an opportunity to remind James that he’s after all their uni’s popular star athlete, that there’s miles of differences between the two of them.
Now it’s James’ turn to tut. “Regulus,” his tone stern, “I meant what I said. I really want this and you make me nervous, ok? I don’t want to rush things because it’s important to me. You are important to me.”
The younger man blinks up at James with eyes wide as saucers, expression slack, before he blinks violently, “Shut up.” He’s back on James before he’s even done speaking, gasping into his open mouth and groaning happily when their midriffs press together more tightly as James belts his arm around Regulus’ back.
After a while Regulus pulls back, smirking and wiping at the spit caught in the corner of James’ mouth. Christ.
“Is that why you acted like a fool last weekend when I came to that bonfire with Barty?”
“He cheated at that arm wrestling competition, right in front of you! And also—”
“Okay, James,” Regulus interrupts him, immediately shutting him up by the use of his first name. The look he blinks up at James through his lashes is equal parts careful curiosity and unbridled desire and James’ heart beats faster on the receiving end of it. Regulus clears his throat, “Ready to go?”
James quickly scans his own body, shuffling his feet to righten himself in his briefs.
“Oh?,” Regulus makes and James does decidedly not appreciate the drop of his voice when he’d just gotten his predicament back under control, “That how nervous I make you, hm?”
“Reg, love,” James admonishes, voice strained, letting his head loll back. “I thought you wanted to head back?”
Regulus hums, “It’s just so easy to rile you up—it’s kind of doing things to me.”
James immediately swells in his briefs again. Someone bangs at the door again. He groans, “You know I can’t go like this.”
“Guess you’ll have to conceal your lap with something,” Regulus purrs, turning the lock.
Before he can make it far, James snatches him around the hips with a little growl, pressing Regulus’ ass in front of his crotch to cover the visible bulge as they walk awkwardly over the threshold. James doesn’t have to see Regulus’ face to know he’s preening.
They plop down on James’ previous seat on the couch, Regulus dutifully propping his long legs into James’ lap. There’s a bit of heckling and needling at them staying in the closet for longer than necessary but it dies down quickly when the game continues.
Shots get handed out, Barty has to perform a card trick on Emmeline—which he fumbles, much to James’ delight—Dorcas gets her ass grabbed by three different people blindly which she then has to associate to their respective culprits, Lily performs a heated lap dance to some girl James thinks is named Amelia and then they’re back at Regulus.
“Careful, Meadowes,” he warns.
Dorcas hums innocently, giggling tipsily into Evan’s shoulder, and then, “I dare you to talk dirty to James for the remainder of the round. And convincingly! I know you have it in you, Regs.”
Regulus rolls his eyes, sighing like it’s the greatest inconvenience in the world but James notices the barely there uptick in the corner of his mouth. The younger man scoots closer, stuffs a pillow under his bottom so that he can comfortably wrap one arm around James’ neck and pull him close.
“Hi there again,” he says, grinning warmly up at Regulus. His head thumps pleasantly into the back of the couch and James thinks there’s some kind of witchcraft in the way that Regulus looks impossibly handsome from that angle too, smiling down at James.
“Hi, James,” he purrs quietly and uh-oh.
Uh-oh, because Regulus hasn’t even started yet and James is already squirming.
James winces, “You won’t go too hard on me, will you?”
Regulus’ grin turns razor edge sharp, “No, but you might.”
Oh god.
The next minutes are absolute torture for James. Regulus is murmuring about how easy he is, taunting him about the erection in his jeans right under Regulus’ thigh, telling him how thick and warm he feels, admitting how Regulus catches himself wondering about how it’ll feel elsewhere. You’re big, James, aren’t you? I can feel it—makes me want to have you all the way on the back of my tongue.
James nearly leaps out of his seat at the last comment, gripping at Regulus’ leg over his knee tightly, fingers clenching and unclenching, a strained smile on his face.
“Oh, baby,” Regulus coos and James has to swallow a whimper, “So responsive for me. You’d bend right over if I asked you to, wouldn’t you?”
Deep breath in, hold one…two…three…four, deep breath out. James’ sole focus is the spot on the wallpaper across from him.
Regulus hums calculatingly and then he starts carding nimble fingers through the mess of James’ dark hair, making him shudder through a shiver. “Look at me.”
Deep breath in—
Something wet, hot touching the lobe of his ear, suckling gently and James wheezes sharply.
“C’mon, James, don’t be difficult,” Regulus whispers heatedly.
With a gulp, James turns his head. He’s sweating, he realizes. Palm clammy where he’s absently kneading Regulus’ thigh as well as fisting the cushions.
Regulus is staring back at him from under lidded eyes and James manages a wobbly smile.
“Are you going to tap out?” Regulus rasps. His other hand is now fiddling with the thin golden chain around his neck. Paired with the slight recurring tug at the roots of his hair, it’s horribly distracting.
“What?” James blurts. His mind is nothing but soft static. Nothing matters but the warm weight of Regulus on top of him.
Regulus coos again and, much to James embarrassment, it goes right to his cock once more, “Poor, pitiful, pathetic man.”
James has to trap a strangled noise behind his teeth, “Reg, I’m– my head’s getting dizzy.”
A thumb at James’ bottom lip, “Overwhelmed, are we?”
He grunts in response, managing to nod once.
“What are you gonna do about it?” Regulus asks, putting more pressure behind the digit, letting the tip slip right in.
“Wanna kiss you,” James mumbles deliriously around his thumb.
“Not here,” Regulus reprimands softly.
Regulus makes up some bullshit excuse to see James’ room and James blinks dumbly and concentrates on not letting his knees buckle when they start making their way upstairs.
#virgin!james#the jirgin adventures#this is also for anna and lane and CASS ofc!!#jegulus#jegulus microfic#lune’s tiny fic#jegulus fic#james potter#regulus black#starchaser#sunseeker
247 notes
·
View notes
Text
quote from “for everything we are (everything we’ve been)” fic // written by @lover-of-mine
#everyone go read this fic it HITS HARD ok!!!!!#if the show ever lets these men face their traumas together THIS is how i want it to be done#and this part stayed with me and i could see clearly how to make an edit for it so <3 i did <3#anna i hope you like this <3 thank you for writing and sharing this fic with us!!!!!! hope you accept my humble gift to you#buddie#buddie fic#buddieedit#911#911 abc#911edit#m*edits
777 notes
·
View notes
Text
belated happy birthday, @unclewaynemunson. this is so late already, but i had finals, so sorry for that. i am so very lucky to be able to call you my friend and even more lucky to be able to know you. i love you and that rat in your kitchen. 💜
-
Steve’s shaking. His hands won’t stop trembling and his knees are close to bucking in.
Which is— ridiculous. It’s just dinner with Uncle Wayne. Uncle Wayne.
The same man who also took him in when his parents finally kicked him out for being a “sinner” and for sleeping with one of “the devil’s soldiers.” The same man who took him to the hospital when his migraine got so bad, he begged for death. The same man who accepted his and Eddie’s relationship wholeheartedly and made them breakfast with raised eyebrows.
It’s just Wayne.
Steve doesn’t really know why he’s trembling with anxiousness when his knuckles finally make contact with the apartment door— the one Eddie and Steve got for him (after a very long time of pursuing and pushing because no matter how famous and rich Eddie gets, Wayne still thinks they should keep everything for emergencies). He deserves it after everything.
“Steve.” The door swings open, Wayne’s smile greeting him.
He’s older now. More wrinkles, more white hairs. He’s got a creak in his knees that Eddie keeps teasing him on. He’s still dressed in one of his hundreds of flannels, a sweater underneath it to shield him from the colder weather.
“Hi, Wayne.”
They hug for a while, say their hellos, ask how the other is doing (not like Steve doesn’t know, they just talked through the phone yesterday, just like every other day). Steve helps him set the table, just for the two of them. Steve doesn’t say anything when Wayne takes out the mac and cheese with crumbled bacon from the oven, Steve’s favorite Wayne delicacy, he only smiles and starts digging in to eat his nerves away.
“So…” Wayne starts, after a sliver of silence, a second after they talk about the latest basketball game and how Sinclair’s play was impressive on the latest game.
“Hmm?” Steve hums, chewing through the food like it’s his last meal on earth.
“Listen, I love having dinner with you, son. But I can’t help but notice that Eddie was not invited.” Wayne raises an eyebrow at him, and it takes him back to the morning when Eddie and Steve finally tell him that they’re dating.
“Oh. Uhm.” Steve straightens up. He can do this. He rehearsed his speech in front of the mirror and then in front of Nancy who changed a few things and then in front of Robin who gave him the green light.
“So as you know, Eddie and… I… well, we’ve been together for over ten years now. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time now, and I know it’s not legal. I don’t know if it’s ever going to be, but I can’t wait any longer. Every day I don't get to call him my husband makes me— breathless. So, yes, I want to marry Eddie.” Steve announces firmly, before sputtering to follow it up, “With your permission and approval!”
Well… throw the whole speech out of the window then, damn.
Wayne blinks at him, hands crossing on his chest, as he watches Steve. It makes him nervous, activating his ramblings, “Eddie… Eddie is the best thing that has ever happened to me and I want to continue making him happy for the rest of my life. I know— I know I am not perfect, but I try my best every day. I will do everything and anything for that man, and I would never do anything to hurt him. He makes me a better person by just existing and he— Eddie— is the love of my life. But none of that matters without your approval, I can never marry him without your approval.”
They sit in silence for a second before Wayne stands up and disappears to his room. Steve sits still. That’s— that’s rejection, right? Should Steve just leave? Maybe he should clean the dishes before leaving?
Before Steve can even stand and start cleaning the plates, Wayne comes marching out of the room again.
He sits in front of Steve again, a soft smile on his face, “Listen, Steve. Eddie’s his own man. He always has been. But I appreciate you asking me for my permission, and I give it to you wholeheartedly.”
Wayne pushes a small box on the table, pushing it towards Steve.
“What’s this?” Steve whispers, astonished by the approval.
“Open it.” Wayne urges, as Steve lifts the box, popping the lid open.
A small gasp spills from Steve’s mouth. Inside the box is a beautiful silver engagement ring. There’s a garnet stone in the middle, surrounded and hugged by silver to accentuate the gem. Steve looks up at him, eyes wide.
“This is our gamma’s engagement ring. I am sure it’s older than that. But I got it back from my sister when she—“ Wayne pauses, grief still fresh even if it’s been almost 30 years, “— passed on. With Eddie’s preferences, I didn’t think it would be possible, so I kept it for safekeeping.”
Steve shuts the box as he starts shaking his head immediately, pushing the box back, “Wayne— I can’t— I don’t deserve—“
Wayne shakes his head, wrapping Steve’s hand on the box, “Steve, none of that nonsense. I’ve always seen you as a son, this just makes things official. It belongs to Eddie and I know he would love it, and I would love for you to use it.”
Steve stares at him as Wayne finally stands up, arms opening wide, “Well, come on. Give your father-in-law a hug.” Steve laughs, tears filling his eyes as he stands up to hug Wayne. How could he ever think this man would tell him no? Not when Wayne’s seen him as a son long before Steve even saw him as another dad.
Wayne tightens his arms around him, gently whispering, “You’ve always been part of this family, but still, welcome to the family, Steve.”
(And in a few weeks, when Steve finally goes on one knee, his heart in one hand and the ring on the other, Eddie will say yes. And Wayne will proudly watch his sons cry and laugh with happiness, give them two thumbs up, and a proud smile.)
#when i say uncle wayne you say supremacy#uncle wayne!#supremacy!#uncle wayne supremacy#also uncle wayne core??? no more like anna core!#happy birthday!#i love eddie and wayne’s relationship#but i needed this for ME#daeheadcanons#dae writes#steve harrington x eddie munson#steddie#steddie headcanon#steddie ficlet#steddie fic
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Hold me, love me, touch me
(Be the first who ever did)
MASTERLIST
Request: "it’s breaking my heart to see you like this" - maybe for Tommy? — @thesoldiersminute
Summary: If you hold me without hurting me / You’ll be the first who ever did
or: after running away from Grace’s funeral, Tommy finds some comfort in your arms
A/N: this is veryyyy different to what I usually post but i’ve had this idea for so long!! It’s inspired by a few scenes from the show as well as a few LDR songs. I would just like to add this quote from California because it fits the story well:
You don't ever have to be stronger than you really are
When you're lying in my arms, baby
You don't ever have to go faster than your fastest pace
Or faster than my fastest cars
Also big big big thank you to my pal @hauntedheathcliff and my bg @huntingingoodwill for helping me out, i don’t think i would have finished and posted it if they weren’t here!! this is the first very long one shot i post, I hope you all enjoy because i’ve been working really hard on this and i think i got too attached to it oops…anyway have fun!! <3
Warnings: mentions of death, war and just angst overall; a bit of fluff (old habits die hard)
Word count: 6,464 words
Thunder rumbled. Its echo reverberating on the tall trees.
Tommy could almost hear it.
The grieving sky screaming. The leaves whispering. Murmuring the same haunting chant over and over.
She’s dead. He killed her. She’s dead. He killed her.
His vision blurred. For an instant, he thought he was finally crying until he noticed the rain. It was raining.
A drop. Then another. And another. And another.
The tears rolling down Tommy’s peaked cap turned into weeping. The sky wailed its pain, crying the tears the widowed man didn’t have.
He couldn’t bring himself to.
Was he so broken even the death of his wife wouldn’t affect him?
The man brought the half-empty bottle of whiskey to his lips. The golden liquid cast a gentle warmth on his entire being. Tommy welcomed it, only wincing as the taste burnt his lips.
At least he could still feel that.
The reason he couldn’t cry for his late wife, he knew it.
That very reason made him cower with shame. Run away from her mourning family. Hide from his own son who, only aged two, reminded him so much of her.
But how could he cry for a woman he had never been in love with?
He swallowed another sip.
No matter how many times he had foolishly tried to convince himself, he was never in love.
He cared for her. He was loyal. He was devoted.
But never in love.
No, his heart belonged to another.
He chugged at the bottle, drinking until he couldn’t breathe and his head felt dizzy.
He closed his eyes, the heavy rain making him shiver.
Her image, engraved on his eyelids, shook his heart. She had always been aware of it. There was a distance, a wall between them. He didn’t look at her the way she wanted him to— no spark, no tenderness in his gaze. They shared a house and a family but that’s all they would ever have.
If Tommy married Grace, despite her betrayal, it was only to do right by her.
And he never regretted it.
Thomas Shelby wasn’t a man of many regrets.
He was a man of guilt.
Marrying a woman he didn’t love to preserve her reputation— to protect her— just to get her killed instead.
That was all him.
He stared blankly at his hands, an empty chuckle leaving his lips.
Those hands. Dripping with innocent blood.
So much blood.
Blood on her porcelain skin. Blood on her powder pink dress. Blood on his pristine white shirt. Blood. Everywhere.
And it was all his fault.
Gulp.
If there was one thing worse than being responsible for Grace's death, it was the shame he felt.
Even dead, he couldn’t give her what she desired. He couldn’t mourn for her the way everyone expected him to. His heart couldn’t break for her the way it should because it never belonged to her in the first place.
Gulp.
His son was going to grow up without his mother. Tommy knew how that felt. It was the last thing he wished for Charlie. To grow up the way he did.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
The last drop of ember liquid slid down his throat and Tommy stared at the clear glass. There was no consolation. No rest for him. Not here. And certainly not at the bottom of that bottle.
He got up suddenly, stumbling through the large field into his car. Glancing at his pallid face in the rearview mirror, he sighed.
There was only one place Tommy could hope to find comfort tonight.
A soft knock on the door tore you from your thoughts. A swift glance at the clock pointed to the late hour as you slipped your robe on. You crossed your apartment warily, wondering who could visit in the middle of the night. Who could be brave— or stupid enough to defy the pouring rain outside?
You opened the door slowly, your heart pounding in apprehension.
“Tommy?” You opened the door slowly, heart pounding in apprehension. “Gosh, Tom, you must be freezing! A-are you okay?” you quickly ushered him inside.
Grabbing his coat and cap, you handed him a dry towel.
You hadn’t seen him since the morning, at the funeral. He left after his speech, handing Charlie to Polly and taking his car.
His brothers spent hours searching for him but it was useless. If Thomas Shelby decided he didn’t want to be found, then nobody would.
You hesitated for a moment. Maybe you should warn Polly or Ada, tell them he was with you.
Instead, you brought a comforting hand to his soaked arm. “Would you like me to make you some tea?”
“No, it’s alright. I…I don’t even know why I came here,” he slurred, his eyes darting around— always avoiding you.
Guiding him towards the sofa, you managed to get a better look at him.
To say he seemed tired was a euphemism. His eyes lacked their usual spark and his skin had a sick, grayish tone. He had aged twenty years in about a week.
Your heart clenched in your chest as the memory of the young man he used to be appeared. His clear laugh rang out somewhere in your mind and you thought about the long nights spent with the other. Up there, on the roof of some abandoned factory, dreaming of a gilded future.
“Do you think you can get up? My brother left some clothes here, you could change into something dry.”
Tommy took a cigarette out from the pocket of his black jacket. You observed him, watching the same ritual you’ve witnessed countless times. The cigarette between his lips, he muttered “It’s fine,” before inhaling the smoke. “I should go anyway. Shouldn’t have bothered you so late at night. ‘M sorry.”
Your hand reached for his. “No. You’re not going anywhere, Tom.”
He observed you as he felt your thumb running against his skin. Such a simple gesture yet it took Tommy a moment to recognize the small display of affection.
Your touch sent shivers down his spine, different from the ones he felt because of the cold— enjoyable. He decided to focus on the warmth emanating from your hand, sitting back down.
He wondered when was the last time someone had been so tender with him. The last time touch didn’t rhyme with broken bones and bruises. The last time he seemed important enough to be handled with care and gentleness.
“Hey,” you announced softly, taking a seat next to Tommy. “How’s your arm doing?”
He took a swig straight out of the bottle of champagne. You instantly recognized the “gift” offered by Grace as he handed it to you. “Feels like it's been shot,” he shrugged, his gaze fixed on his passed-out brothers.
Sighing, you swallowed some of the bubbly liquid again. Even though a part of you was thrilled to see the blonde barmaid gone— you had been wishing for that ever since she stepped into town— seeing Tommy so heartbroken snatched the joy away.
To your dismay, her arrival in Small Heath brought back parts of him you thought were lost in some deserted french field. It shattered your heart to see his smile, the somehow sparkling eyes, the lightness in his demeanor every time—and only when she was around.
And yet, if it meant him being happy again, then you could deal with the disappointment and the jealousy and the yearning. You could handle watching his joy from afar. Even if you weren’t the reason behind his smile, even if you weren’t part of it. You just wanted him to be happy.
But it was all a lie.
Who would have thought it was merely a scheme?
Probably the oldest one in the book— to get close to the man in charge and trick him into handing the information on a silver platter. No one suspected her. Not even Polly.
She had managed to fool all of you, the same way you’d fool a child into drinking some nasty medicine.
“And you?” you finally ask, turning your head to observe Tommy. “How are you?”
You noticed the clench in his jaw, the pause—a fraction of a second too long before answering “Good.”
"Really good or ‘just leave me alone’ good?”
He grabbed the bottle from your hands, staying quiet and you took this as a sign to ask again. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”
One of the things Tommy cherished the most in your relationship was his ability to be honest with you. You seemed to understand, or at least accept what others qualified as flaws. He knew he could ask you to go away if he wanted to without upsetting you. It comforted him in some way.
But then, the thought of you leaving made his heart clench painfully in his chest. The swirl of emotions was too much. Too much for him to deal with alone.
His hand searched for yours, squeezing it gently. The words didn’t need to be uttered. You sat closer to him and for some reason Tommy couldn’t understand, his head rested on your shoulder.
It wasn’t calculated. He didn’t even think of it.
One minute he was carrying his heavy heart alone. The next, you stood by him and lifted some of the burden away.
Your fingers made their way to the shaved part of his head and Tommy closed his eyes. He could forget about everything. Forget about the throbbing pain in his arm. Forget about Danny Whizzbang. Forget about her.
He could just lean on you for a little bit. Focus on the feeling of your nails grazing his skin. Let the faint scent of aldehydes wrapped in roses suffocate the demons in his mind.
“I don’t want you to blame yourself, Tom,” you whispered after a moment of silence.
He scoffed and you brought your hands to his face, lifting his head from your shoulder. “I’m serious,” the fierce look in your eyes confirmed your words. “It could have happened to any of us. And you’ve been through so much. You wanted to believe you could finally allow yourself some peace,” your thumbs ran across his cheekbones. “It was with the wrong person but you still deserve it. You deserve good things.”
Tommy stared at you, almost bewildered. How could you say those words to him— and believe them when you knew what he was? He wondered if your friendship affected your judgment. Made you less able to separate the man he was from the memories you had with him.
As if you had been reading through his mind, you interrupted his ruminations. “I know you’ve convinced yourself you were all bad and evil but you’re wrong. The voices in your head are wrong. There is still good in you, Tom. I know there is, I can see it,” your hand slid from his cheek, dropping to his heart. “Right here.”
Tommy could only observe you. The determination in your voice, the earnestness in your eyes, you were convinced with your own speech. So much that a part of him began to trust you.
You smiled softly at him and he swore he felt his heart miss a beat. “You’re going to meet a nice girl. And she’ll be funny and sweet. And she’ll probably have the patience of a saint to deal with your stubborn arse.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at your remark. “But she’ll love you more than anything else and she’ll be lucky because you’ll love her just the same.”
And while Tommy listened intently, the only thing he could think about was you.
Everything you described. Everything you said.
You. You. You.
It was you.
Tommy pressed his palms against his eyes until light dots appeared in his vision. He was beyond exhausted. His head, his arms, his legs ached. His entire body was begging him to surrender. Wave the white flag and give up.
He didn’t know how many battles he could still fight. How many blows he could still stomach. How many times his heart could still be torn apart and keep going.
If all of this was extra, why did it hurt so much?
“I called Polly,” you cut Tommy’s train of thoughts, entering the living room. “Charlie’s alright, he’s asleep now. She is staying at Arrow House with Ada.”
Tommy sighed, his gaze fixed on his trembling fingers. You observed him quietly, noticing the habit he had when something bothered him. He kept clenching his jaw anxiously. To the point you worried he might dislocate it.
Trying to catch his attention, you cleared your throat. Once. Twice.
And realizing he was far too gone into his own mind, you lightly touched his shoulder.
“You should get some rest. You’re tired.”
“I’m alright,” the response was short. Cold.
Anyone else would have backed down. Apologized, even. But you sat next to him, your concern only growing and decided to ask, “When was the last time you slept, hm?”
The dead silence that followed said it all.
You shook your head, a desperate sigh filling the quiet room with your worry.
“I wish there was something I could do,” your fingers brushed against his damp hair. “It’s breaking my heart to see you like this, Tom”
He stared at you, feeling your breath tickling his cheeks— the soft summer breeze embracing him after a hot, straining day.
And something in the air shifted.
Maybe it was the comfort Tommy found in your eyes. Maybe it was the way his heartbeat seemed to chant your name. Maybe he just wanted to.
But he leaned in.
His lips caressed yours, almost timidly before he moved closer. He was kissing you. The dwindling ember ablaze at the sweet taste of your lips mixed with whiskey and tobacco. A precious nectar Tommy knew he could never live without now that he had tasted it.
It seemed to be the only way to bring air into his lungs. Yet somehow, he felt breathless at the same time.
The feeling of his lips— so strangely soft made you dizzy. Your brain didn’t seem to work properly as you kissed him back. Tommy. Kissing you.
You almost giggled, a warm rush spreading in your chest and your head and everywhere in your body.
The only thing keeping you from bursting in flames was the cold. From his hands. His shirt. His hair twirling around your fingers.
You relished it. Cherished his calloused skin against yours. The dazzled lightness in the air.
At that moment, you were no more than a simple woman. And he was a simple man. Kissing you so passionately in the faint twilight.
Your hand touched his, grazing the golden band on his finger and you felt the bubble around you explode.
You weren’t a simple woman. He was far from a simple man.
You pushed him away, regretfully. Your body was almost leaning in again, craving more of the electricity skipping through your veins.
You wanted to be his. And him to be yours.
But not like this.
You knew Tommy like you knew your way back home. He couldn’t address his grief properly. He had never really learned, even after years of practice. The only thing he was used to was taking the pain away, no matter how. No matter the consequences he’d have to face.
And you were well aware of that.
Tommy wasn’t kissing you out of love or even out of desire. He was kissing you to feel better. You couldn’t let that happen. Not to him. Certainly not to you.
But the look he gave you as he realized what you had done made you want to throw it all away.
To hell with morals and honorable principles!
Who needed that when you could kiss him over and over again? When all you had to care about was his heart pounding against your palm, raindrops cooling down your flushed cheeks.
“Tom…” you resigned yourself.
No, you couldn’t just throw it all away. He was mourning his dead wife and he was in pain. You couldn’t take advantage of that.
His hand left your waist as if it had burnt him and guilt soon replaced the gentle warmth in your chest. But it was for the best.
At least, you tried to convince yourself it was.
The terrible humiliation was nothing compared to the regret he’d feel as the sunlight cleared his mind. He couldn’t realize it now. Too intoxicated, protected by the moon’s sheltering shimmer.
You had to keep your composure. Don’t let yourself be fooled by the comforting embrace. It was all an illusion. Giving in meant feeding the sliver of desire you tried so hard to contain.
You couldn’t live off some false hope.
You couldn’t risk your own sanity just so he could choose her.
Not again.
Running through the empty halls of the company, heart pounding in your chest with worry, you prayed.
Please let him be there. Please make sure he’s safe. Please. Please. Please.
Your heels hit the hardwood floor, each step resonating through the halls of the empty building. Out of breath, you almost fell to the ground when the engraved glass doors appeared in front of you— at last, liberation.
You pushed them open, not paying attention to the sound of the slamming doors. A relieved sigh left your lips, your gaze falling on him.
In his armchair, almost asleep, Tommy didn’t budge at the noise. He lazily opened one eye, observing your disheveled hair, how breathless you were. Sitting up, questions bubbling in his chest, he opened his mouth but you interrupted him before he could say a word.
“Where the fuck have you been, eh?” you yelled, walking into the office. Tommy left his chair, carefully joining you in the middle of the room. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”
He only stared at you, waiting for the anger to settle down. He realized how worried you must have been, how terrified it was to not find him after he left so suddenly. But he could only feel relief.
Two hours ago, he was kneeling in front of a grave, waiting to be shot. And now, he was with you, getting a well-deserved earful for disappearing.
Tommy had probably never been this happy to get yelled at.
“…And nobody knew where the fuck you were! And then there were shots and we were all running around, even got my new shoes ruined!” you rambled, your hands waving around. “Arthur told me it was over but I couldn’t find you! I searched everywhere, even asked that posh girl who looked after your horse! And I swear to God, someday I will put a leash on you! Disappearing like that! I-“ You stopped abruptly, your expression changing as you noticed the bright red staining Tommy’s temple “You’re bleeding. Why are you bleeding? What…”
“I’m okay,” he replied softly, feeling a change in the air. You closed the distance between you, your hands reaching for the injury.
“What happened to you?” You whispered, your voice higher than before.
Thomas’s hand wrapped yours and he smiled, trying to reassure you. “I survived, Y/N. I’m alive.”
Your lips wobbled, eyes watering and your anger wafted away, replaced by a gut-wrenching worry.
The words he uttered to you at the races before he left took on their full meaning. You couldn’t realize it at the time but the way he looked at you, the way he kissed your temple and promised to come back.
It had felt a little too familiar but you couldn’t remember why.
He was saying goodbye, that’s why. He promised something he wasn’t sure he would keep just to assure your peace of mind.
Suddenly, you were back on the train platform, watching him walk away to a most certain death, completely powerless.
You almost lost him today. Again.
He was gone but then he came back.
Maybe there was a reason. Maybe you were granted a second chance after letting the first one go. Who knew if you would get another?
You couldn’t waste it.
You couldn’t let your last chance slip through your fingers.
You couldn’t risk losing him.
Not without him knowing about your feelings.
“Tommy, I…”
His arms wrapped around your waist stopped the words on the tip of your tongue. He held you close, so close his heart beat right over your ear. One gentle kiss on your temple. His fingers threading through your hair, you closed your eyes.
“I’ll buy you new shoes. I’ll buy you all the shoes you wish for. Even hire a cobbler just for you,” he whispered, tightening his embrace.
“Forget about the shoes…” you started, trying to find the right words.
But what could you say?
Nothing seemed enough. All so insignificant compared to the love you carried like a cherished picture in a locket— always close to your heart.
“I have to tell you something,” he interrupted, a soft smile brightening his expression. “I’m going to be a father.”
“What?” you asked, leaning back.
“Grace’s pregnant with my baby. I’m going to marry her and we’ll raise him together.”
And the world seemed to crumble around you.
Who knew a sentence as simple as this could have the same effect as a thousand cuts?
You could only stare at him, your mind playing the words over and over again— a broken record you were doomed to endure for the rest of your days.
Your eyes burnt with bitter tears attempting to escape their prison. A million questions rushed through your brains, striking each other until nothing made sense.
Not her. Not her. Anyone but her.
You would find another way. Raise the child yourself if you had to. But not her.
He couldn’t fall for her again. You had to talk him out of it. Reason with him.
You couldn’t lose him like this.
“Y/N?”
You focused your attention back on Tommy, noticing the frown forming between his brows.
He expected your answer. Hell, his decision probably depended on your next words. But the idea of a baby…
He had given up on that.
The dreams of a happy, somewhat normal life had been buried in the tunnels. Covered in mud. Lying next to the decaying bodies of his comrades.
And now, it was so close to him. He could reach through the mud and get this life back. He could try to leave the war behind. Let a new life forgive all the lost ones.
Let the flowers grow over the old tunnels.
You bit the inside of your cheek. No, you couldn’t ruin that for him. He went through enough. He deserved some rest.
No matter how selfish you wanted to be, he would always be above all foolish sentiments.
A forced, poorly attempted smile made its way on your face— locking the tears away.
“I’m just…I’m so happy for you,” your voice broke as relief washed over his tired features. He hugged you again, chuckling. “You’re going to be a wonderful father,” there was no hesitation. Only the truth.
“And you’ll be an even more wonderful aunt,” he kissed your cheek, rubbing your back. “Don’t tell Ada I said this.”
You clutched his jacket in your hands, biting your lips hard enough a faint metallic taste covered the bile in your mouth.
The familiar feeling was here again. An impression of déjà-vu. Back on the train platform. Watching him leave.
But this time, he wasn’t coming back.
“I’m sorry, Tommy, we can’t…” but he wasn’t listening. He couldn’t listen to whatever excuse you had.
The only thing worse than being rejected by you would probably be hearing you say the words.
I don’t love you, Tommy.
No. It would be the fatal blow. He wasn’t ready for that.
He got up, the alcohol in his blood seemingly gone— deserting, leaving him powerless.
“Tommy, please”
You kept saying his name like it mattered. Like it would change anything.
Shaking his head, he pulled his arm away.
Nothing could mend the raw rip, tearing his heart in half.
It made no sense to him. He was convinced there had been something.
You.
You who stood by him through everything.
You were the only constant.
Your relationship, his only haven— the solid deck on vicious waters.
Never breaking. Never busting.
What would he do if the deck shattered?
Tommy didn’t have the answer to that question. He didn’t want to know.
The cold pit in his stomach as you leaned back was enough to make him leave. He couldn’t bear looking you in the eyes, terrified of what he’d find there.
He had to go.
You followed him through your apartment, calling his name. He wasn’t going anywhere, you wouldn’t allow it. Passing the door meant giving up on your friendship.
It couldn’t end this way.
“Tom, listen to me,” you pleaded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” struggling to find your words, you felt the lump in your throat growing until you were suffocating. “Please, don’t go. You can’t go now, you can’t.”
He grabbed his jacket. The sound of your voice withering almost made him stay. Force a smile on. Tell you it was alright.
No matter how hardened he grew with the years, he never could stand you crying. Ever since the day he met you.
You had scratched your knee on the dingy pavement and he carried you on his back. He even stole a chocolate bar to console you— the little girl with braids and the sweetest laugh his ears were blessed to hear.
He swore he’d do anything to bring the smile back on your face. Engrave the lightness it carried in his heart.
You would know no woe. No grief.
Not as long as you had him.
You clenched your jaw, desperate tears starting to roll down your cheeks. Deep down, you knew your choice was the best but the sight of him leaving—even worse, hating you, made you sick.
“Tommy,” your voice broke, “Please, you can’t leave now. Please…,” one last wretched attempt to get him to stay.
Time began to flow so slowly you could swear it stopped.
The clock didn’t tick. The fire in the hearth didn’t crack. The wind didn’t blow.
The world around you held its breath. Waiting. Carefully listening to your beating heart. Pounding against your ribcage. Each thump edging you to the forlorn void of despair.
But if there was one promise Tommy wouldn’t break, it was the one he made to the little girl with her braids and her scratched knee.
His greatest weakness.
You.
Fingers freezing on the doorknob, Tommy listened to your quiet sniffles. He bit his tongue, feeling the guilty grip around his heart.
The moment of hesitation— only a few seconds but it was enough time to put your hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” your forehead rested against his as you whispered, your breath brushing against his lips. “But we can’t do this,” Tommy clenched his jaw, his shoulders slouching in apprehension. “You’re only doing this to feel better and I wish I could help you, I do. But I won’t let you wreck everything just to regret it tomorrow and probably the days after…because you love her.”
A trembling breath left your lips. “You're in love with Grace and you’re mourning and…”
“What?”
Tommy pushed you away, deep creases forming on his forehead. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Tom…”
“What are you talking about? Why would you say that, eh?” confusion in his voice turning into venom, the lack of sleep grinding his nerves.
“Y-You love her. You love Grace, she was your wife and I’m sorry if…”
“Is that what you think?” he spat out as your hands reached for him again.
The fatal blow.
Unexpected. Sharp. Lethal.
“What do you mean?” you stared at him, puzzled at his brusque reaction. “Grace was…”
“Stop saying her fucking name!” he snapped, eyes maddened by his own anguish.
The mere sound of her name was enough to stir the guilt overtaking his body— stabbing the same bleeding wound over and over.
You stood before him, not knowing how to act.
Tommy rarely lost his cool. He always had the upper hand over his own emotions. You were used to that. You had learnt to deal with his seemingly unshakable façade.
This was different.
“Is that what you think, hm?” he repeated, cutting the stunned silence reigning “You think I was in love with her?”
You had no idea what to reply. You couldn’t grasp the reason behind his outburst. His anger and his hurt were part of a puzzle missing its central piece.
Twisting his words in your mind, you tried to find a clue— anything to help you understand. The accumulation of distressing events was the most obvious answer but it still didn’t explain everything.
“Tom, I don’t understand, I…” you finally admitted, powerless faced with his own torment.
Your confession made him scoff. Tommy’s chest heaved and he clenched his jaw, biting back the words burning his tongue.
The turmoil of emotion began to overwhelm him and he knew that as soon as he opened his mouth, words would flow uncontrollably. The wise decision was to walk away.
Walk away and blame the concerning amount of whiskey in his blood the next day.
Just walk away.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
Of course.
The heavy lump in Tommy’s throat seemed to explode, spreading its vehement poison across his body.
“I was never in love with Grace.” he spun around, facing your defeated expression “I was never in love with her because I’ve always loved you. You.”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t say anything. But Tommy didn’t expect you to. “She was the mother of my son and I cared about her but the way I love you… You are the only woman that ever mattered and without you…” his voice broke, eyes watering.
The wave of emotion washed over him with such intensity, air barely reached his lungs.
Drowning.
He felt like he was drowning. Condemned in a tormented sea. Desperately gasping for air yet only allowing more water in.
Tommy considered the idea of forsaking— let the water burn his throat, churn at his insides as long as he could rest. As long as his soul didn’t ache.
But at the very last second, he felt hands pulling him out.
You embraced him, arms tightly knit around his neck, his head resting against your shoulder. Tommy closed his eyes, treasuring the small moment of peace granted to him.
Feeling the strength in his body failing, you guided your bodies to the carpeted floor. His arms tightened around you and you sighed.
His confession had been everything you ever wanted to hear and you desperately wanted to believe him. Craved to whisper those same words back.
But could you trust the words of a man so inebriated he would probably not remember by the morning?
“It was all an illusion”, you reminded yourself.
Tommy, your friend, may have been the man you loved but he was also a widower. Maybe it made no sense to act this way and maybe you should believe him because why else would he say this?
But it was unfair to expect him to “make sense” after what happened to him.
He needed comfort. He needed to stop being the man in charge, the “always standing” one. He needed you to be his friend.
Only that.
Your hands rubbed his back soothingly and you kissed the side of his head, chasing the voice in your head begging you to give in.
For now, you’d have to content yourself with that.
A gentle embrace, mending the scattered pieces of his heart in the dark hall. Tommy couldn’t let go. Your arms provided the solace he longed for—the lifebelt keeping him afloat.
And as you held him, he could only think about the time. The time he lost. The time he could have had.
If only he had said something…
The train platform turned into a sea of teary goodbyes, children escaping their mother’s grasp and boys, men— soldiers, leaving for France.
Clutching Tommy’s army jacket in your hand, you felt his fingers brushing the tears on your cheeks.
“Come on, sweetheart, you know I hate seeing you cry,” he attempted a soft smile.
“Then don’t leave us.”
And he knew he would. He would do anything if it dried your tears and erased the sad pout on your face.
“Please, just one smile. I want to see you smile.”
In case it was the last time.
Tommy searched through his pockets, waving a bright blue box in front of you. “Now you can’t cry anymore,” he muttered with a sly smirk.
You stared at the chocolate bar and couldn’t help the grin making its way through your tears. You swung your arms around his neck, cutting his breath short as you hugged him.
Tommy returned the embrace, closing his eyes.
He could never open them again and stay with you. He wouldn’t have to go anywhere. Just stay. Thread his fingers through your hair and kiss you and love you. He could just stay.
Neither of you wanted to let go. You were pretty sure neither of you could.
As long as you had him. As long as he had you. Nothing could reach you. Nothing could hurt you. If only you held onto each other tighter.
But a loud, piercing whistle resonated through the station, breaking the tender embrace. Tommy took a moment to admire you. Gentle features and radiant smile. That’s how he wanted to remember you. His thumbs reached under your eyes. No tears.
Not today. Not ever.
He wasn’t sure he could keep standing there as you cried and not cry himself. Blinking away, his jaw clenched, he let his fingers trail down your cheek.
His touch was so soft, so light—like feathers tickling your skin— it almost made you forget why he was leaving.
You tried to smile, even as a few rebellious tears tried to escape.
Oh, my darling Y/N...
And he thought he might finally admit it. Confess right here on the noisy train platform. Whisper the words into your ear and make you promise you’ll wait for him.
He was already walking towards death, he might as well free himself of the secret he kept for so long— the same way a condemned man would.
“Tommy?”
He focused his attention on you, the delicately embroidered handkerchief close to your nose. Your eyes reddened with tears, cheeks still damp.
Yes, he could say it.
But what if he didn’t come back?
What if he told you he loved you and died in some french field? What if the only thing you got back from him was a box of his belongings and nothing else?
“I…I just…” You wouldn't handle it. You were already terrified of what would happen, he couldn’t add to that some foolish confession just to feel better.
He couldn’t risk it.
“I’ll miss you. Take care, yeah?” he leaned in, kissing your temple.
“Come on, Tom! We’re gonna be late,” Arthur’s deep voice urged him.
“I’ll write to you all the time,” you promised, your hand reaching for his.
Tommy didn’t let go, holding your fingers until he was too far. He stepped onto the train, his eyes always set on yours.
One last glance. One last smile.
And he was gone.
Arthur and John found a compartment where they set their bags, greeting other soldiers. But Tommy wasn’t paying attention.
He had a chance. He could have said it.
No. No, it would have been too selfish to blurt it out and leave. He wanted to tell you he loved you but not under Death’s malignant threat.
He would admit he loved you only if he could live to fulfill that promise. When he could take you dancing. When he could be sure to fall asleep kissing you and wake up just the same.
What was the point of saying it if he never had the chance to show it?
But could he really risk dying without ever telling you?
If he died and you never knew he loved you, he would regret it.
One last whistle resonated through the train station. The train wobbled, slowly moving.
No. No. No.
Tommy left the compartment, running to the corridors.
“Tom, what the fuck are you doing?”
The last thing he wanted was to break your heart if he didn’t come back. But he couldn’t leave without you knowing just how much he loved you.
He just had to make his way back to you.
And he could. He could fight and floor his opponent if it meant coming home to you.
He just had to say it. He had to.
He would never forgive himself if he didn’t.
Pushing away soldiers, ignoring their exclamations and complaints, Tommy finally reached the last car.
It was full but it didn’t matter. He burst in, running towards the window. Quick. Before it’s too late.
I love you.
Soldiers were staring at him as if he was mad.
Maybe he was.
I love you.
He leaned out, almost tipping over and falling. He didn’t care.
I love you.
Tommy spotted you amongst the crowd.
I love you. I love you. I...
But the train had already left the platform.
It was too far. It was too late.
“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, defeated.
No one noticed the tears in his eyes. The train rushed under the dim tunnel as regret filled his body with immense darkness.
Too late.
You woke up with a groan, shy rays of sunshine tiptoeing through your quiet apartment. But you couldn’t enjoy the warm weather. Not when every limb, every muscle, every fiber of your body ached.
On the floor. You had fallen asleep on the floor.
You groaned again, stretching your sore legs. As you tried to get up, the night before came back to your mind.
At least you had an explanation for your aching neck.
You called for Tommy, expecting to find him in the living room but the room was completely empty.
The exhaustion in your body was enough to not question it too much as you made your way to the kitchen. You needed a cup of tea. And maybe some sleep in your bed.
But as you moved towards the table to prepare your breakfast, you noticed a small piece of paper.
Recognizing Tommy’s clear writing, you felt a warm rush through your body and a smile creeping on your tired features.
#ma ptite bombasse 🥰#tommy <3#thomas shelby x reader#tommy shelby x reader#thomas shelby angst#thomas shelby fluff#peaky blinders#anna's fics#500 followers celebration#anna's grand ball#peaky blinders
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Night Terrors | Austin Butler X Reader
Warning: angst, bad dreams, vague allusions to body insecurity, fluff.
Word Count: 1.6K
A/N: This was requested a few days ago and I liked the idea! So, I created this little one shot. Hope you guys enjoy.
Summary: He said the worst things imaginable to you. It felt so real--your life was falling apart. Everything was a lie. And then you woke up.
“What do you mean, ‘I don’t love you anymore’?” You asked tearfully. You sat with Austin on the front stoop of your shared New York City brownstone. He appeared quite intoxicated, leaning against the stair railing, his expression unbothered.
“I don’t love you,” he repeated, looking you in the eye. He watched your heart shatter and didn’t move an inch to console you. He only blinked, clearing his throat.
“You don’t love me? All of this was a lie?” You choked through the tears. “We live together!”
“I used you, Y/n.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved his juul, taking several drags from it, looping white clouds into the night sky. Anger overtook your body. How could he be so nonchalant? You snatched the device from his lips and tossed it as far as you could into the street.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Your voice rose.
“You know what? How could anyone love you?” It was as if he had ripped your heart from your body and tossed it on the sidewalk, stubbing it out like a discarded cigarette. “You don’t take care of yourself. You complain about the way you look all the time, yet you do nothing about it. I’m sick of it! You can be miserable, but I fucking refuse.” He cut you into pieces. He knew it. He didn’t care. He wanted you to hurt so badly that you’d go away forever.
“How dare you speak to me like that? I’ve never done anything but love you.” You reached out to touch him. Though he was breaking your heart, you still loved him. It was natural for you to want him–to want to be with him. Instead, he recoiled and moved further away from you.
“No. Just stop. I’m done, Y/n. I’ve been done for quite a while.” He looked at you briefly before pulling his knees to his chest, resting his elbows on them.
“What does that even mean? Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” You asked, wiping the tears from your cheeks with your palm. You sniffled, yet your face was still a dripping mess.
“Can I be honest with you?” He asked, turning to you. He rubbed at his mouth and chin like he was mulling over a thought. You nodded, your throat contracting and releasing in a choked sob, causing you to whimper. “I cheated–and it’s not the first time. I’ve cheated many, many times. And honestly, I regret nothing.” He shrugged coldly, raking his fingers through his blond coif. “It was how I got by.”
“So you treated me like a live-in fuck-toy? To fuck whenever you wanted? To wash and fold your clothes, make you dinner, make love to you? Just so you could betray me with any tight pussy you could find?” You shot the words out at him, your voice rising with anger.
“Guess so.”
“You know what? Fuck you! Get your shit and get the fuck out of my house.”
“The house is just as much mine as it is yours.”
“I’ll call the police to escort your ass out.”
“What will they do, Y/n? They’ll ‘diffuse’ it and leave. So I’m not going anywhere. Figure it out and get a hold of yourself. You’re acting crazy.” You looked away from you. In that moment, you couldn’t control the rage that exploded from your body. You reeled back and slapped him as hard as you possibly could, feeling the sting of contact against your palm.
“I hope whatever sorry son of a bitch that meets you next finds out how fucking pitiful you really are. You had it good, Austin. You had me–someone who would die for you. I would have done anything for you!” You shouted, pointing your finger in his face.
“You’re pathetic, Y/n.” He laughed. Chuckled, even.
Deep within your throat, you felt the pain. The muscles contracted tightly as if they would tear at any moment from shear tension. The roar of your scream ripped away from deep within your chest. You squeezed your fists as tightly as you could, feeling your fingernails digging into the flesh of your palms. You shrieked as loudly as you could at him, releasing all of the hurt, the pain, the fury and betrayal, and the grief that shattered you completely.
“Hey, hey. HEY,” Austin said, his hands wrapped around you, waking you up from the nightmare. “Shhh, calm down. I think you had a nightmare.”
“Wh-what?” You asked, pulling out of your stupor. You jolted awake, pushing him away in your half-sleep state, desperate to get away from him. “Get away from me!” You barked.
“Huh?” Austin asked. You retreated into your body, making yourself as small as you could under the covers. You were conscious, but not enough to differentiate what was real and what wasn’t. “Okay, okay,” he said, moving to the edge of the bed. He sat with his legs crossed, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Tears began to pour down your cheeks as you remembered the hurtful things that he had said to you in your dream.
“You didn’t love me,” you sobbed. You pulled your hands to your eyes, swiping away the brutal tears as they fell. “You said I was pathetic and that no one loved me.” Austin took the cue to move closer to you, pulling you against him. That was when the real tears came. Your body shook from misery, your body racked with sobs. You vaguely felt him rubbing your back, squeezing you as close to him as he could, letting you cry–even if it didn’t exactly make sense why you were crying. He kissed the tops of your shoulders as he waited patiently. It took you a while to calm down in order to stifle the tears, but when they did slow, you leaned back and sat opposite him with your legs crossed.
“May I hold your hands?” He asked gently, asking permission. You nodded. He took your hands in his, running his thumbs lovingly over your knuckles. “Do you feel comfortable telling me what happened?” You nodded again, sniffling loudly. You lifted your hand to wipe the tears from your face and push the stray hairs behind your ears before returning your hand to his.
“I had a bad dream–and you were so mean to me. You acted like I didn’t matter. You told me that you cheated on me over and over and that you didn’t regret it.” You couldn’t help the tears from flowing again. Austin disconnected his hands from yours, raising them to your cheeks to swipe the tears away as they fell. “You said you didn’t love me.”
“I never said that, baby.” Austin said softly. “Even if it was a nightmare. That wasn’t me. I would never, ever treat you like that.” He returned his hands to yours. You nodded, but didn’t look at him. He wasn’t convinced that you understood. He took your face in his hands, urging you to look at him. “I adore you. I am in love with you, Y/n. I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and I tell you that every single day.”
“I know you do,” you said softly, your lips trembling. “But it felt so real.”
“That’s why nightmares can be so scary.” Austin began. “But they also come from stress. Is something going on?” He asked carefully. “I’m here for you, honey.”
“I don’t feel like myself right now. I feel ugly and I feel like I am undeserving of love. I haven’t told you, but I’ve felt like this for a while. I’ve just tried to push it away because I didn’t want to feel this way.”
“Sweetheart,” He said, softly, taking your face in his hands once more, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “You are deserving of the love that you are given. Why? Because you are a wonderful person inside and out. You don’t see it right now, and that’s okay. I am here to remind you every day of your worth. It’s okay to have bad days. I know it doesn’t just go away, but I want to be here for the good days, the bad days…everyday. I don’t just love you when it’s sunny.” He paused for a moment. “I won’t go into lame daily devotionals, but…”
You chuckled through the tears, causing him to grin. “But I truly love you. I’ll love you for the rest of my life. That won’t ever change. Let me in. Let me know about the hard things. I don’t just want to be your boyfriend. I want to be your partner–your life partner.” You nodded.
“I trust you,” you said softly, looking him in the eye. “That just hurt a lot,” you continued, referring to the dream.
“Yeah, well sometimes our dreams betray us by exploiting the things we hold most dear.” He said, leaning in to kiss you on the forehead.
“Lay back down with me, Austin.”
“C’mere first,” he said, leaning forward, taking your face by your cheek as he placed his lips on yours, offering a feather-light kiss. You reciprocated, bringing your hands to the back of his neck, your fingers tugging at his blond waves. He pulled you against him, laying down once again. You stared into his eyes for quite some time. The moment wasn’t awkward, and there was no push to end it. You lay next to him, taking his hand in yours, silently stroking the softness of his skin.
“I love you,” you finally said, breaking the silence.
“I love you too, Y/n. You’ll never truly understand how much. But I’ll show you every single day.”
You turned your body so that he could spoon you. You felt safe within his embrace, his arm pulled protectively around your body as you cocooned yourself within the covers. You fell asleep listening to the give and take of his breath, mixed with the soft chirps of crickets from outside your bedroom window.
taglist: @mamaspresley @anestesia-mxm @misspygmypie @austin-butlers-gf @cozacorner @she-is-juniper @shimmeringlights44 @mariposa-mila @austinelvisimagines @sagesolsticewrites @guns-n-queen @anangelwhodidntfall @avengen @suitrry @eurusthewanderer @domaniquessidehoe @kittenlittle24 @softmullet @mirandastuckinthe80s @stargiirl27 @maddieks-blog @kyddosebastian @girlnairb @its-funny-til-its-not @im-just-star-dust @bobbykennedyfan @venus-haze @groovydeputyfestivalkid @hockeyfootballhoe @21bruhs @thebeatlesbitch @dangerdolll @captured-memory @kingelviscreole @adoreyouusugar @slutforblueeyes @theinvisiblecapricorn @ghxst-heart @yagirlalexx @sapph1re @madzandflowerz31 @kaycinema @theloveoftoms @annamarie16 @omgellenlouise @re3kin @feverdawg @cutie-ghost @shynovelist @fxntxsix @rheathesimp @madzandflowerz31 @writeroutoftime @bamitzzsam @meladollsims @mslizziesblog @headfullofpresley@shandis-world @in-my-body-bag @ash-omalley @stitchattacks @foreverdolly @fullmetal-falcon
#Austin Butler#austin butler#Austin Butler one shot#Austin butler x reader#Austin Butler x reader#Austin Butler fanfic#austin butler fanfiction#austin butler imagine#austin butler x reader#austin butler fanfic#austin butler one shot#austin elvis imagine#Austin Butler angst#anna's fics#Night Terrors
348 notes
·
View notes
Text
✧*̥˚ PAIRING: *̥˚✧ Yandere!Count Vronsky x F!Reader!Wife
✧*̥˚ UNIVERSE: *̥˚✧ Anna Karenina
✧*̥˚ WORD COUNT: *̥˚✧ 3.6k
✧*̥˚ PROMPT: *̥˚✧ This was given to me by the lovely @bettytaylorversion || Okay, okay I'm lately obsessed with yandere Count Vronsky, so how about yan Vronsky suspecting that his wife is seeing someone or like in love with someone and it doesn't help when his mother keeps feeding his suspicions so he ends up locking the wife/reader up in their house in countryside/ another country house where no one can reach them and where he makes sure his beloved wife knows exactly how much he loves her.
✧*̥˚ TRIGGER WARNINGS: *̥˚✧ Dead Dove Do Not Eat | Yandere Count | Possessive Count | Aggressive Count | Stalker Count | Demanding Count | Accusations of Cheating | Toxic Mother | False ideas | False Suspicions from mother | Toxic Marriage? | Isolation of Reader | Slapping | Pushing or Shoving | Yelling | Slamming doors | Gripping readers throat | Passionate making out | Throwing reader on bed | Stripping reader | Unprotected PiV | Aggressive sex | Reader fights a bit but stops fighting | Dub-Con? | insinuated Cream Pie | Crying Reader | Fluff | Reader questions if she loves him at the end | Relationship conflictions | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this…
✧*̥˚ NOTES: *̥˚✧ I've been wanting to write for him for a long while! Thank you love for this request! I hope this is along the lines of what you were hoping for... Sorry if it doesn't hit exactly what you're looking for but I tried!!! Anywho.... I hope this brings you some joy.
✧*̥˚ DIVIDER CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @nyxvuxoa
✧*̥˚ TIME PASSER DIVIDER CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @voxmortuus
✧*̥˚ IMAGE CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @peachyspaceslvt
✧*̥˚ ATJ TAGLIST: *̥˚✧ @earth-elemental18 @nyxvuxoa-writes
✧*̥˚ My Master Masterlist | Aaron Taylor-Johnson Masterlist *̥˚✧
It was this gnawing feeling, this feeling of dread, sorrow, a pain in his gut he couldn't shake. Watching you go as he leaned against the window frame, he knew where you were going. He knew, he just had this gut feeling that he couldn't quite shake. It ate at his heart, it ate at his brain, it was like these cogs and wheels working, but not in a way of rationality. His thoughts were completely irrational. Looking out that window as your carriage vanished into the thick fog of the dawn, he felt so lost, so angry. He wasn't happy, and not happy may be quite an understatement.
Placing a hand-rolled cigarette between his lips he grabbed a match from the fireplace and lit it. The smoke bellowed above, tossing the match into the fire he turned to see his mother sitting at the table.
"She does not have love for you anymore, Alexei." She stated. Her tone appeared caring, honest, maybe even having pity, but it was just because she didn't like you.
"She must love me. That is my wife, she must." He stated he didn't seem demanding about it, he seemed sad, heartbroken even.
"But she does not. She will never love you as she loves him. What married woman is happy with her husband? She has grown bored of you. Had she not she would not go to him as she does." She points out.
His heart, if it was a glass a cat had pushed off the counter it would have shattered. He only hoped that you were as enraptured by him as he was about you. He looked up at the wall, the painting of you seemed to be watching. He closed his stormy blue eyes and looked back at his mother.
"She does love me. I know it to be true. You speak lies, like a snake in the garden." He snapped and walked to the table and had taken a sip from the slightly sweetened tea he had poured only moments before your leaving. Sitting there he tapped his smoke against a small crystal ashtray and his mind became overrun, thinking of everything his mother had stated. Thinking of those possibilities. What were you doing? Were you spreading your legs for him? Was he satisfying you? Were you unhappy with him? Did you not love him? Did you grow bored of him? He rubbed his lip a moment as he took another drag before looking at his mother.
"When she comes home, I will settle this." He stated. Taking the cup and his almost-gone smoke and had vanished to the bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed after putting the cup on the bedside table and looks over your side of the bed. It was too much, these feelings he had, it was like they were just bubbling up, ready to overflow and put out the fire that kept the pot lit. Feeling the stinging in his nose from the slight anger he ran his hand through his curly blonde locks and his jaw clenched as he put his smoke out in the ashtray and grabbed his clothes for getting dressed before he slammed the bedroom door.
His mother had heard the slam and had made her way to the room. Letting herself in she looked over him and sighed. "I just want what is best for you."
"I said I would take care of it. I do not need your help. She is my wife, not yours." He sort of snapped.
"You are right, she is your wife. And your wife is off with another man, spreading her legs and enjoying her time away from you. So how are you going to handle that Alexei?" She asked.
"I will take her away from here. I will take her far away from everyone. Including you." He snapped. "Now if you do not mind, I am getting dressed. Go find something else to bother." He snarled slightly as he escorted her out of the doorway and closed and locked the bedroom door.
Looking out the bedroom window and looking over the garden, he watched the flowers bob from the heaviness of the heads that were filled with the morning dew. It was something so simple, and yet even looking at their beauty, he saw you, he saw your smile, your smooth skin, your curves, he saw how your hair fell, that glow in your eyes when you were happy. You had to love him, why was he questioning it? Why was he standing there, looking out on those flowers questioning if you loved him?! With a clenched jaw and a knitted brow, he threw open the closet door and grabbed his attire for the day.
After fastening the last button on his coat, he makes his way back to the kitchen- it's like he doesn't want to acknowledge the other parts of the home without you here. Feeling lost, and one track minded. He didn't like that you were gone, it loomed over him like a dark cloud heavy with rain looms over the dirt countryside roads. He needed to know where you were going. He needed to know what you were doing. He needed to know what you were saying. Were you tired of him? Were you unhappy? It just gnawed at him like a beaver gnawing on a log.
Why was this even a feather of a thought? It's not that he didn't want you to have friends, it's just, why did they have to be male friends? And even then, it wasn't the idea of male friends that bothered him, it was the embedded, plated thoughts from the snake in the garden that made him believe that you were unhappy, that you were not in love with him any longer, that you were looking for a way out of this relationship. Well, that was going to be nipped in the bud right away. There was going to be no second-guessing it, not after this.
He decided to gather himself a little more and decided to head out to find you. He had these questions that needed answers. He turned to look at his mother who was still there. "Watch the house while I am away. We will be gone for a while." He states. His mother went to speak but before she could retort with a comment he was out the door and off to the stables.
After a few hours of looking and getting a general idea of where you were he stopped, getting off the carriage he approached, standing a good distance behind as you stood there, talking to another man. Oh, this did not sit well with him, but he watched and observed. With a lick of his lips and a look of heartache, as you touched the other man's face, he couldn't help but feel that slithering snake of a mother of his was right.
The more he watched, the more you laughed, the closer this man seemed to be getting to you, and the more it climbed up him like ivy claiming lattice fencing. This green envious monster coils around his every nerve, his nostrils flair as he walks toward you and clears his throat, but you don't pay much attention until he grabs your arm and pulls you to him.
You gasp and look over his face. "My Love, what are you doing here?" You ask him.
"I could ask you the very same." He states. His stare was cold, his stare pained, and his stare… it bore into you like a hot glue gun into plastic.
"I am just out with a friend, we do this every week. It means nothing." You state honestly.
"Does it? Does it really mean nothing? You were touching his face, and laughing with him like you do with me. Do I not make you happy anymore? Have you grown bored and weary of me?" He asks you with a small shake in his voice almost as if holding back tears.
"Of course you make me happy, why would you ask such a thing?" you respond back looking into his stormy blue hues.
His jaw clenches and he looks at your friend and back to you. "We are leaving." He states as if dismissing you from your date with your male friend.
"What? No. Alexei, no." you stated.
"I do not know him, nor do I like how you were touching him, we are going somewhere. You'll like it. Get in." he states and gestures to the carriage.
"Alexei, no." You state firmly.
He clenches his jaw and looks over you. "Do not make me put you in there myself. Now. Be a good wife, and get in the carriage." He snarls lowly.
Licking your lips you look over his face and let out a slight breath before getting into the carriage. Feeling the shake of the carriage from the door closing. Placing your hands in your lap you look down, studying them a moment before you close your eyes almost in defeat, and wonder where he is taking you. It was clear he wasn't taking you home. Why was he suddenly acting this way? What was it that made him feel like you were unhappy? You began to study yourself, you even began to question yourself. But why? His actions alone.
His actions just then made you question if this was really where you needed to be. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized that maybe he was seeing something you were not seeing. Were you really happier with your friend than you were with him? Was he not seeing how much you loved him? Were you really doing something bad? You turn back and look at him as he stops the carriage and climbs into the back of it with you as someone else takes over. Someone he had paid to drop you both off and take the carriage back to the house.
You sit there, in silence, and you study him, you study his face, his eyes, how his jaw twitches, how his brow knits, how his eyes seem to be full of sorrow, and maybe is that hate? You look down, and you think about all you've done, but you can't help but shake your head. You love this man, and he was blind to false things. Was there a way to fix it? Was there a way to get him to see that you love him just as much as he loves you?
"Where are we going? There is nothing for miles." You point out looking out the little window of the carriage door.
"We're going someplace secluded." He states.
"Secluded? Whatever for?" You ask with a slight bit of worry in your tone.
"Enough with the questions, you will see when we get there." He states, short in his tone.
You lick your lips and hike a brow before looking back down at your lap and letting out a slight sigh. You feel this could get problematic.
By the time you get to where you were going, the sun had already set and come back up. You look over his face as he offers to help you off the carriage. Your jaw clenches and you shake your head.
"Are you serious? Why are we here? We are days away from home at this rate Alexie." You point out.
HE shakes his head and looks at you and looks over the country home before looking back at you. "You will survive. This is for a reason."
"THIS IS ABSURD!" You scream. The only thing you cause to stir is birds out in the field. Your jaw clenches and you look over him shoving past him and heading toward the inside.
He sighs slightly and shakes his head, he isn't expecting you to understand. Rubbing his brow a moment he looks up at the gray skies and then over on the vast rolling fields of nothing. A small smile creeps across his face as he listens to the front door being slammed. Another soft sigh escapes his lips as he heads toward the house.
Upon walking in he looks around and spots you standing there in the living room. As he walks toward you to join you, you turn and look at him.
"What is all of this about?" You ask.
"You need to see how much love I have for you. I cannot do that back there." He stated honestly.
"So you isolate me?!" You raise your tone.
"Yes! It keeps you away from another man touching you!" He snaps.
"NO ONE ELSE IS TOUCHING ME!" You snap back.
"HOW DO I KNOW?!" He steps closer to you.
"No. You don't get to ask me that question! How do you not see that I love you!? I have always loved you!" You snarl as you step forward challenging him.
"Well, I suppose now you can show me just how much you love me as I show you how much I love you." He stated coldly.
"Don't be so pigeon-livered." You growl to yourself. "You're being a floozer Alexei. What has ever gotten into you?" You ask him.
"Are you really going to throw insults at me? Pigeon-livered? Floozer? Do not." He grips your arm and pulls you close. "Do not cross me."
You shove him and look over his face. "Or what?" You ask with a tightly knitted brow. "What are you going to do?"
Stretching his neck from left to right he licks his lips and his jaw clenched.
"WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?!" You snapped.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?!" He snapped back. He began to pace. "All I ever do is shower you with love and attention, I do nothing but prove to you how much you mean to me. I make sure you always put your best forward. And you do this. Run off with another man doing god knows what." He states.
Crossing your arms over your chest you stare at him a moment and blink a few times. "Are you blinded by your own selfishness right now? Can you not see past your own nose? I am not laying with another man Alexei! I have never laid with another man!" you snap.
"HOW DO I KNOW THAT?!" He snaps. "How do I know that?" He asked you. A complete and utter look of defeat sprawled across his features.
Walking to him you slap him across the face. Not once, but twice. Reaching forward he grips your throat and moves you through the house. Kicking open a door he shoves you into the bedroom and starts to unbutton his jacket. Looking over you his eyes hungry. His snarl was fierce, his jaw clenched so hard you could hear the bones grinding and you could feel the flex of his jaw. You try to shove past him but that wasn't happening.
"What are you going to do rape me Alexei?" You ask.
He scoffed and looked over at you. "Do you think that little of me? Strip." He demands.
"No." You cross your arms. At this point, you were fighting him to fight, how far could you push?
"I said strip!" He demands again. Walking to you he spins you around and starts to untie your skirt.
Layer by layer you fight, until you are both stripped down to mere thin layers. Tears staining your face, you look over him and shake your head, a small thumping sound of your heart feeling like it was echoing in the room.
"All I have ever wanted was for you to love me. You have to love me, you must love me." He states. He steps closer to you, looking over you he grips your face and pulls you near. "You will love me. You will." He states firmly.
Scared at this point you cannot find your words. He presses his lips to yours and at first, you give in, you cave, you wrap your arms around him and kiss him deeply, lovingly, longing for that affection he wanted to give you, but then you start to push away, saddened by the fact that he couldn't believe you, that he had no trust in you.
"No…" You start to push away, but you didn't want him to at the same time, it was this conflicting feeling.
"Do not tell me no, you want this…" he points out as he listens to your breathing.
You have no means of responding.
"I'm not taking that as a no." he states.
You give him a cold stare, looking over his face, his lips press against yours and you shove him back, and he throws you to the bed. You bounce once before he climbs on top of you and looks you over. He tilts his head and looks over your face and takes your wrists and places them above your head and looks over your face intently.
You attempt to wiggle free but he hovers over you, his body pressed against yours. In one hand he has your hands gripped together, in the other hand hikes up your skirt, he looks over you, and he leans in and nips at your lips. Your breathing becomes heavier, and you close your eyes. Shaking your head you begin to breathe heavier. It felt good, his hands on you, it always felt good, but there was this sense of fight that also washed over you.
As his lips found your neck he kissed up your neck to your jaw, finding your lips. While you loved his affection, you were terrified. Literally scared of him.
"Get off of me." you demand.
"Let me show you. See how much I love you." He takes your hand and places it on his hard cock. "This is how much I love you." He states.
You pull your hand away and turn your head in another direction. His senses overwhelm him, and unable to control himself he groans softly as he presses himself against you. You turn your head away from him, maybe checking out, but at the same time ever so present in this moment. As he thrusts himself into you you take in a deep breath. A whimper leaves your lips as a groan leaves his.
Looking over you he observes your features as he turns your face to look at him, leaning in he kisses you again. And it was then you cave, just a little. Your lips pressed against his, your hand moved up his arms to his hair and you pull him closer. Your hips roll against his thrusts and you begin to whimper against his lips. The feeling of him against you was something you always loved. Truthfully you never questioned this man's love for you. But you were conflicted because of how he was coming at you. You didn't know if you should fight him, or cave to him a little more.
The more he thrusts the harder he becomes in his motions, the more you fight. But the more you fight, the more he growls, it was a conflicting feeling all over again and you aren't sure what to do, it was overwhelming. You push him away, shoving him but he pulls you closer.
Feeling your body flush against his you let out another soft whimper. You move your hands to his shoulders as you feel him thrust deeper into you, your moans escaping you were almost pained but yet pleasure-filled. Your hips rolled against his as he continued to thrust with a fever. He pulls you even closer to him, pulling you into his lap as he guides you along his stiffened cock, nuzzling into you, nipping and biting at you.
The moans fill the bedroom, bouncing off the windows and the walls, and while you might be fighting him because of his choice of actions, this man was your life. You kiss him deeply as you both moan in pure pleasure. Your bodies collide in such a raw motion. Thrust after thrust, grunt, and groan after grunt and groan, screams of pure euphoria leaving you both. It all came to a halt with a trembling body-shaking finish, feeling as his cock twitched inside of you as hot ribbons of seed coat your velvet walls. He snarled against your skin, and you bring a hand across his face, and you begin to cry.
Holding you close, he looks down at you, smoothing your hair he presses his face against you.
"Shh… now now, everything is alright. I love you, so much." He whispers. "You have to love me back, you just have to." he says softly.
"I… I do love you, Alexei. I do. I wish you would see that." you say between sniffles.
He holds you close, nuzzling against you. "Shall we draw you a bath?" He asks.
Nodding your head he looks over your face and nods. "I shall draw you a bath. Think about what I said." He states.
"Are you isolating me? From everyone?" you ask as he gets up and slips his pants back on.
With a firm stare, he looks over you. "I am, and it's for our own good. You won't be seeing him, we will stay here as long as it takes." He states truthfully.
And like that, your heart becomes conflicted, you love this man, but you feel scared of this man… but then you look at him, and you don't feel afraid anymore. You just want him to see that you do love him. It's conflicting, and it's terrifying, you love him, but is it true? Staying here, you're only choice is to grow to love him. But that's been his goal all along, for you to love him, and for him to show you in so many ways how he loves you.
#dead dove do not eat#dead dove fic#Count vronsky x reader#count vronsky x female reader#count vronsky#count vronsky smut#count vronsky angst#alexei vronsky#alexei x reader#alexei smut#anna karenina#anna karenia smut#anna karenina fanfic#tangerine smut#tangerine x reader#tangerine x fem!reader#aaron taylor johnson smut#aaron taylor johnson x reader#aaron taylor johnson fanfic#bullet train x reader#tangerine x you#VoxMortuus
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
on the subject of the agreste mansion
#(i lied about going to sleep)#(i’m going to sleep now)#one day i’ll write this fic. and then you’ll all see#(you’ll see the inner workings of my mind regarding the agreste mansion and adrien’s relationship to it as a vessel for everything he loves#and resents about his childhood)#i just have. so many thoughts in my head#the benadryl is getting to me now though. goodnight#🫡#anna rambles#ml#thirteen#(the name of the wip fic)
602 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹
Zombie Apocalypse AU w/ Gwendoline Christie characters; (~9.2K words)
(Featuring: Larissa Weems, Brienne of Tarth, Jane Murdstone, Anna from WTM, Lucifer Morningstar, Miranda Hilmarson, Captain Phasma, and Jan Stevens) x Reader
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹
It started about two months ago. Russia went down first, then Mongolia. China. India. And in the midst, Finland, Sweden, Norway, the United Kingdom, down to the very southern tip of Africa. The Ocean is no killer of disease, frozen or not, and encouraged it to ravage South and North America, then Canada and Greenland. Until every place was overrun by dead freaks. Stinking corpses and moving gore.
They traveled in herds, packs, whatever it was that people wanted to call them—murders, perhaps—and shuffled aimlessly across any land they could find. Eager for food, for sustenance, to fill the empty bellies that would never be full. Gorging themselves on creatures like you.
Officially ‘the other’. Officially ‘the enemy’. The sole survivor of a good group that was attacked some days ago because an idiot forgot to shoot one of the creatures in the head. And by sunrise, it was over. Screams echoed into the silence and you soon found yourself alone… running for your life with a duffle bag over your shoulder (slowing you down) and a gun in your hand (low on ammo). Trekking through thick woods in a heavily-infested Vermont town was not a good idea, but you had no choice. The house you were camping in was left behind, ravaged by bullets that you put into your friend’s heads, and every other spot nearby had been looted. You couldn’t move all of those bodies yourself. You couldn’t do much yourself. There was no army background attached to your name, no conspiracy theorist survival-obsessed gene in your body, and not much training in fighting either. All you could do was run. Run and run and run until you were miles away and your lungs started to burn. Not the most useful skill considering most people could run, but if you were quick enough to speed past the shuffling bastards, you were quick enough to make it to safety.
—
Safety…what a joke. A shit joke. A joke that was, quite honestly, the worst joke to ever exist. There was no safety. No place, nowhere. You’d been walking for a few hours, hearing nothing but the forest’s silence, and stumbling over leaves and branches. They ravaged the animals, took them into their mouths like they were people, and ate until there was nothing left. Not even a squirrel, or a fox, and the birds had grown weary of the vast number of hunters (both dead and undead) that found themselves in the woods looking for food. So no birds either. And no houses. And you were pretty sure, as you paused to catch your breath, that you were doomed.
Only a few bullets left and your aim was never perfect. One knife tucked into your waistband but it was getting uncomfortable, digging into your skin, and caked in blood. Creature blood. Everything smelled horrible. Like burning flesh or dirty meat, raw and soiled. You probably didn’t smell too good either. It wasn’t like the world still worked without the people; only a few places had running water and you couldn’t trust the creeks and rivers. The undead enjoyed walking through shallow water, knowing somehow that there’d probably be prey nearby.
But you hadn’t seen anything in a while. A long while. A suspiciously long while...
Everything was green and brown around you, whisked by wind and soil, and you stood out like blood against snow. The last thing you saw was yesterday. Ever since? Not a single flash of undead flesh.
You swallowed, throat embarrassingly dry, and tapped your fingers against your thigh.
It wasn’t good when everything was still. You were vulnerable, out in the open, and without a good few rounds of bullets to spare. Every muscle and organ in your body screamed for mercy, crying with the effort it took to keep surviving even when you didn’t want to.
You thought about it a few times; gave the gun in your hand a long look on several occasions, but ultimately decided that ‘opting out’ was only a last resort. Somehow, even amidst the chaos and hatred and swill of humanity’s nature, you managed to hold hope. And often wondered where it would get you. How it would get you. While you were sleeping? While you were already wounded? Fighting off the hands of a loved one? The twist of hope’s rope… would you feel it closing in around your neck? A literal metaphor for the eventual death you’d experience?
Thinking about it gave you a headache.
For where was the point in wondering?
You had no one else. Whatever form of death awaited, it would end up being your fault. Probably because you couldn’t run fast enough. Probably because-
Because-
Wait.
Somewhere behind you, on the right, was a low sound. A hum. The smooth whoosh of something quick. The parting of wind… the low growl of…
“Fuck.”
You shot off in that direction, bag smacking against your shoulder blades, and instantly felt the exhaustion pull at your body again. It lingered like a plague, like the undead disease, and you yearned to fall to your knees - to give in - but it wasn’t the time for that. You had to at least try. You had to at least make it over the hill. Right over the hill. So close but so far. You leaned forward, threw yourself at the ground, and grasped onto gnarled tree roots. The Earth smelled wet with decay, sweet with promise - you huffed against dry leaves. They crunched and scratched at your fingers, eventually crinkling into nothing when your arms worked to drag you up. You probably looked a little mad, scrambling up a steep hill to reach something that probably won’t save you, but there was no other option. The hum grew louder, the quiet was broken, and you only had a few moments to get this right.
“Help!” Your lungs caved around your scream, but the forest swallowed it instantly. Greedy trees with their greedy barks, wanting to keep you hidden from salvation. The hum grew louder. Your fingers grew clammy, sweating and slipping against rough wood.
You’d be bruised to high heaven later, and probably exhausted, but the hum and the growl of an engine meant a road and a road meant civilization and goddammit you just needed to get over the stupid fucking hill.
There was a loud ringing in your ears, nearly deafening, and making your voice sound fuzzy.
“Help! Help!”
Was that you? Were you the one screaming like that? Why couldn’t you be quiet? Those things could have been lurking… wandering nearby… coming up behind you, eager to grasp at your ankles and drag you back down to Hell.
A glance back over your shoulder, aching from the duffle bag, found nothing but blurred terrain and darkened leaves–a symptom of the setting sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If the light went out, you’d be screwed. You couldn’t use the last of your matches and the world went black when evening struck. So there really was no choice. As the growl turned into a roar… there was no choice. Just a little higher- a little more. Your arms pushed, biceps straining against the cotton of your shirt, and your pants threatened to get caught on wayward sticks and tear into rags. The boots on your feet pressed hard against loose rocks, kicking them out of place, and gained just enough ground to push you up - over the ridge. The final stretch. Your chest pushed to the hard dirt and forced a grunt of effort from your tired body; the sound echoed through the woods, through the ground, and through the air that sat above the concrete road in front of you. Hard and vast, grey and long… you looked at it as though it were the holiest of grails, lying just beside it with your arms outstretched, your fingers still pulling at dirtied grass. Soil covered your skin, masked your features, caked beneath your fingernails, and when the roar of the speeding vehicle grew so close you had to close your eyes and wince, you knew raising a hand for help would not be enough. In the shade of the forest’s edge, half draped over the peak of the hill, you were inhuman to other survivors. Your dry mouth opened, your throat croaked, and your legs moved to push you up–closer–just short of the wind that caressed your hair when the car, the truck, ran past you with no second glance. You looked after it, watched it pass, and felt the burn in your heart grow into its own inferno. It licked at your insides, at your desperation, and had you hauling the duffle bag off of your shoulder and out onto the road. It rolled, a shuffling sound, and you followed after it with deep growls of effort and dwindling strength.
“Please,” you wheezed, panting for breath as soon as you staggered up to your feet.
In the distance, the car turned into a disappearing black spec. It drove and drove, out of sight, and you stood there, putting your arms in the air to wave it down and bring it back. To beckon it back. To beg and plead.
“Please please no-,” your voice was soft, weakened by days of rugged survival, “no…” rough and lost to the wind, it dissipated into nothing and you were forced to swallow again.
The thick smell of car exhaust settled against the steaming road. You watched the horizon, tracking the space in the atmosphere where the gold traced into a deep blue, and felt your bones quake beneath your skin. Their final cry. The last hurrah as you watched your future, the tatters of it, drive away from you.
Too late.
You were too late.
And you’d die there, on that road, and they may never come back and find you again in the morning. And your corpse would be chewed upon by undead bastards who would never give you a proper burial. And you’d be just another stupid human that found themselves trampled beneath the stinking feet of the walking dead.
Tears teased your eyes, burning the dry lands of your irises, and you felt the heart in your chest lurch against its cage.
Too late.
You were too late.
You had a duffle bag, a handgun somewhere off to the side, and the clothing on your back. One lasting water bottle, the knife you felt poking your side, and small bags of food that wouldn’t last you long at all. The tent, too, was destroyed by animals the night before. The most you could go was perhaps one more day, but your feet were aching so terribly that each step was a journey within itself. And you couldn’t push yourself to go further. There was no further. There was nothing in the woods and there was nothing beyond the road and you were running on fumes that no longer existed.
But you couldn’t just lie there and take it. You were about to reach over, bending at the waist, to grab your bag. To pull it up over your shoulder and trek on, even though it was pointless. But something stopped you.
Something–a sound–made you freeze.
It was faint. It didn’t sound like the undead, with their discordant groans and disgusting squelches, no… it was far. Getting closer. Closer. The hum and the growl. The purr of a motor. The hiss of pavement.
Your head snapped up, eyes bulging wide as you looked over the horizon to see…. Yes. Yes! Yes, it’s them! The car! A grin pulled at your lips. Halle-fucking-lujah! You felt the anxiety ebb, slowly falling away from your body, as they got closer. The black spec turned into a black blob, then a figure that took shape, and finally you could make out a Vermont license plate and the dirt that stuck to big wheels. Up close, it was a sleek thing, tall and well-built. Midnight black and aside from the splatter on the rubbered wheels, it was polished and clean. The dark paint reflected the bright world around you, turning it into weird warped versions of a faux-paradise. You swallowed at the feel of warmth against your legs, the exhaust from the truck flooding over the smallest sliver of skin around your ankles. Suddenly fearing a changed mind and bad intentions, you stumbled back until your heels pushed against your bag.
Tinted windows stared down at you, menacing and opaque. Not a thing to see behind them, even if you squinted. Nothing moved, nothing jumped, and you watched with bated breath for a window to roll down - until finally, it did.
The driver’s side. It went whirr-ing down, sliding for the shortest period of time in the world until only a shadow met you - and then a flicker of movement. And then-
“Oh my god! Jesus! Okay okay!” You flinched, not even hesitating to raise your hands above your head. You spread your fingers out, desperate to prove your innocence to the stranger in the car. And the gun they were holding, pointing at you, through the gap.
“Were you bit?” A rough voice, muted and deep, broke the atmosphere.
You shook your head.
“Words. Use them.”
“No,” you licked your lips, instantly deciding to turn around in a slow circle. “Not bitten. Not scratched.” You tried to ignore the way your hands shook, even as you shifted all the way back to face the gun’s muzzle.
“Ask where…” a voice, soft and feminine, came from somewhere beyond the driver’s seat. It was saying something, telling something, but faded into a whisper so quiet you couldn’t hear a thing. Your eyes shifted to the dark backseat windows, trying to see something- anything- and found no surprise in the lack of life.
“Any weapons?” The driver seemed to ignore the other person, and instead held the gun steady. You watched it with weary eyes.
“Yes.” And before they could ask, you tugged the knife out of your belt and the gun out of your pants pocket. They were held up in the air, another white flag, and you twitched the hand that held the firearm. “At least three bullets left, but that’s it.”
“And the others?”
You blinked. “Others? What oth-”
“Where is the rest of your ammunition? In the skull of a human or scum?” The stranger spat, and you detected the hints of an accent.
Scum… you’d never heard them referred to as that before. Your last group called them walkers, and some others claimed flesh-eaters. You were tempted to use ‘zombies’, but it felt rather silly. The world took that term too lightly, and the undead were nothing if not a very serious problem. But scum? Like they were beneath humanity and not its current destroyer? You’d ask about it later, you decided, if they deemed you well enough to take in.
“Both,” you breathed honestly, dropping your weapons to your sides with a heavy sigh. “They um- weren’t quite there yet. Got ambushed overnight.”
The gun still didn’t move.
“They don’t ambush. What really happened?”
Hm. They weren’t wrong. Animated corpses didn’t ‘ambush’, but when a herd of them went lurking about, it certainly felt that way. You didn’t think logistics were entirely necessary, but you understood the need for specifics. Trust among men was eviscerated in the face of danger, especially against those once living. You’d seen paranoia before, in others. Humans simply didn’t take each other in anymore… not without some level of severe mistrust. The second thought after seeing the truck drive off was that you probably wouldn’t be accepted anyway - you’d killed without technical reason. Could have just left. Run away.
But you didn’t.
You didn’t want to see them turn into those… creatures.
So what else was there to say? You stared at the gun, willing a click and the shot of a bullet, as you opened your mouth.
“A herd. A lot of them. Just… descended upon the place. Someone might’ve been walking around in the woods or something, and there was just not enough protection,” you paused, licking your lips, “...I was the last one alive. Had to shoot them and go.”
“How long since?”
“Few days, give or take,” you shrugged. The exhaustion only built as you stood there, trying not to sway and collapse in your spot. The truck was still running, hissing hot exhaust; it was the first genuinely warm thing you’d felt in so many days that you wanted to crawl underneath and take a nap. The world, turning to autumn, was growing chilly. There was no chance you could survive winter on your own.
“...Give or take,” you heard the driver scoff and laugh, bitter and mean. You frowned.
Then the window started going up, and you couldn’t help yourself. With a hard thunk, you pushed your shoulder hard against the car, and knocked on the thick glass with the butt of the knife. A look of utter desperation crossed your features, heavy and thick. Urgency, anxiety, fear forced any sense from your mind. There was no chance. There was no survival at all.
“No please- please I can’t be out here alone please- I’m smart and- and I can run fast and be an asset. Please,” you shook your head, searching with worried eyes, “please, please you can’t do this to me-”
Something dark spliced through the corner of your vision, dragging a shadow with it, and you just barely dodged the sudden swing of the truck’s backseat door. It bounced with force and you glanced back at the driver’s window once before stepping back and hastily swinging your bag over your shoulder. The knife and gun were slipped back into your clothing, concealed, and you held yourself strong as the black leathered interior bore itself to the world.
“-we can’t just leave them-”
“-on’t be stupid. They could be a liability-”
“-not stupid. We need more people-”
Voices, at least two, were rushed and tangled in an argument. You didn’t pay much attention to what you could hear, though the growing irritation was hard to ignore. It would be a hassle to be accepted, you knew, but you’d deal. There was no choice. The backseat door was open and there was a figure hustled back against the other window.
“The offer won’t last,” the stranger murmured, somehow louder than the two people in the front seats, and you decided not to take any chances in the world alone.
With a grunt, a push, and a final slam of the door, you found yourself in the truck. Your bag was pushed down by your feet, you tugged your knife out to rest it on your thigh, and you turned to say thank you- but was cut off by a cold blade at your throat. It grazed the soft dirty skin, less than a centimeter away from pushing, and you felt saliva pool in the back of your throat. Swallowing would have pressed you closer, so you fought the urge and only stared.
“Woah-”
“Try anything and you die. I don’t want a peep, not a shuffle. Do I make myself clear?”
The driver’s voice, clearer in such close quarters, was deep and mean. Accent, as you had clocked, from somewhere in the United Kingdom. It held a natural growl, a gruffness from years of smoking, perhaps, and you couldn’t help but sense the intimidation. It wasn’t fake confidence, you noticed, as you looked up and met the cool sharp grey gaze of a woman. Her hair, a deep blonde, was slicked back and short, ruffled slightly by the nape of her neck. A long neck… that led to strong looking shoulders. They were half covered by a jacket, but you could see the strength in the chords of her muscle. A force to be reckoned with. A leader, perhaps. She was pale, with a defined nose and lips twisted into a permanent sneer, and you probably would have thought she had some potential for post-apocalyptic modeling, if it weren’t for the scar that covered one half of her face. Slashed across the left eye, the wound was jagged and rough - it dragged from a point close to the exact middle of her forehead, right to the corner of her jaw. Thicker at parts and thinner at others, it split through a pale eyebrow and seemed to have permanently rendered her blind. The lid didn’t even move when one stormy eye shifted, and you suddenly felt extremely creeped out. Something about her was undeniably cold. Almost reckless, but her hand was so steady with control you knew not to make a move. She’d probably kill without hesitation, dump you back into the road, and drive off with the duffel. There was no choice but to answer, answer quickly, and do as told.
“Yes, clear.” Your head shifted half an inch up and half an inch down, still cautious of the blade.
But she didn’t move.
It was a battle of wills for just a moment, with your hands in your lap, empty and docile. You weren’t looking for a fight, or a staring contest, but the stranger didn’t let up until the figure to your right decided to sit up and speak.
“Ah they do not seem so bad. Look at them. Tired and scared, like sad city mouse,” another woman, one with a Russian accent and a voice a hint too loud, cooed.
Silence followed, persisted, for only a minute- and then the blade was tugged back so quickly you swear it nearly cut the air in two. The driver tsked as she twisted herself around, murmuring as she went.
“More like a rat.”
And then you were thrown to the side with a heavy wheeze as the truck lurched and began moving, working into a turn so you could go back the way they’d come.
You glared at the back of the headrest, not feeling above a little bit of irritation for some poor handling, but eventually grew bored. With some apprehension, your eyes flicked over to the person in the passenger seat. Their profile was strong, feminine, and you noted the unbelievably well-kept head of snowy hair. She looked clean, just like the driver, and a spark of hope welled up in your tired heart. Running water and food existed where they came from, wherever they were camped out, and if you played your cards right, you could finally indulge in some good hygiene. Unless the woman in the passenger seat was stingy with her water… god her skin was so clear, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. No one wore makeup anymore. Not the people in your old group and not the few stragglers you’d stumbled across. It simply wasn’t a necessary luxury anymore, but the woman sitting across from you, back straight and hands in her lap, seemed to think it was of the utmost importance. You wanted to speak, wanted to ask her name, but found yourself turning to your right - and catching the gaze of the person that opened the door for you.
“Anna,” your savior spoke, tilting her head to the left and regarding you with curious eyes. A pale hand, big and long-fingered, shot out and hovered above your lap. You glanced down at it, at the clean skin and the perfect fingernails, and knew that you hit the survivalist jackpot.
With a nod and a quick clasp of her hand, you whispered your name in reply. She nodded before leaning back against the door and crossing her arms; she seemed quite comfortable there, with a rather large gun resting across her lap. Her hair, blonde as well, fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. She saw with deep blue eyes - a contrast to the cold steel of the driver - and didn’t hesitate to flick them over your body in some sort of analytical search. Weapons, you figured, is what she was looking for. And the knife in your lap, which she eyed with some interest.
You wanted to say something, wanted to thank them, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough those days. Asking something of someone was a risk every single time. And you’d asked—begged—them to take you in. You needed to pull your weight, no questions asked.
“Um- thank you for-”
“Shoot them.”
“What?!” You straightened up, eyes going wide as, in your peripherals, you saw Anna’s hand inch toward her gun. Through the rear-view mirror, you caught the way the driver’s brow twitched.
“You heard me. Shoot them.”
“Pha-”
“I said no talking,” the stranger growled, not even bothering to address the woman in the passenger seat. The white-haired woman looked frustrated, her red lips tugging into a frown, as she watched the driver double down on her focus. “Didn’t I say that?”
“But I-,” you wanted to plead your case, wanted to defend yourself, but were cut off.
“I am not going to shoot,” Anna said before you could speak. “Why do you expect her to be quiet hah, Phasma? We just saved her жопa. No need for fighting.”
You glanced at her, picking up on the Native tongue. Fresh off the boat, or perhaps visiting, with the way she said it so easily. Zhopa? Given the context, it wasn’t hard to tell what she meant. Yes, they had just saved your ass. And yes, you wanted to say thank you. Even if that Phasma person wasn’t too keen on a bit of gratitude.
“I hardly think thanking us for a kind deed is worthy of execution, no matter how much silence you require,” the fair-haired woman across from you said smoothly, throwing a slight glare to the woman on her right. And finally, she took that moment to turn around in the seat and make eye contact.
Something that proved to be far more difficult than you thought it would. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, deep admiral blue eyes, and lips redder than blood. Not even a scratch on her face, not even a single spec of dirt - as if the apocalypse never happened and there weren’t dead people roaming every street in the world. In fact, she didn’t seem incredibly worried about the predicament the human species found itself in, and was looking at you with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and a smile that she hoped was welcoming.
“My name is Larissa,” her hand, gloved in white fabric as soft as silk, reached out as an olive branch. You wanted to take it, wanted to feel something so lovely for the first time in a long time and create some sort of bond, but your hands were very dirty. A part of you guessed that Larissa hadn’t put them on earlier that day with the hope to return to camp holding soft fabric smudged with dirt and dried blood, so you only looked down at your palm and then back at hers.
“Oh uh- I don’t wanna get your gloves dirty-”
“Oh,” she glanced down, realizing that she was, in fact, wearing hand-coverings. “Later, then,” a warm smile shone back at you - and you were helpless, instantly offering her a nod in return.
“Finished?” The driver piped up, eyes cold as she stared at you in the rear-view.
As if on cue, Larissa turned back around in her seat, rolling her eyes as she went, and you could only fall quiet. Introductions were over, you were warming up to the easy heat in the car, and Phasma–if you dared address her by name in your head–had a good handle of the wheel. You were safe. For now. And with one last suspended look at the gun on Anna’s lap, you reached over for the seatbelt, tucked yourself in with a click, and leaned back in the seat. It was so suddenly comfortable, such a huge contrast to the shit you’d dealt with recently, that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and revel. Even for a moment. Even for a second.
—
“Get up,” a mean grunt, paired with a quick rush of piercingly cold air, tugged you from the depths of sleep.
Before you could even open your eyes properly, a shiver set itself into your bones. Eager to escape it, and the confines of the car, you jolted and scrambled for your seatbelt. Leaning against the open door, watching you grab your things, was the driver. Phasma? Weird name, but there was no time to dwell - especially not when she was looking at you like that. Eyes sharper than the knife on your lap, holding a polished chrome pistol in one hand, and waiting with some tension for you to hurry up. The duffel was pulled up onto your shoulder, the knife was tucked into your belt, and your hands scratched at the leather as you looked around wildly for your gun.
“We took it. You’ll get it back when you prove you’re not a complete imbecile,” she spat, peering down her nose at you. Disgust danced in her expression, sparking flames of unwanted insecurity, and you felt compelled to look away. Her nostrils were flared, her pink lips curled into something disdainful and mean, and you couldn’t help but watch the way her jaw shifted as she tensed, watching you watch her. The hatred seemed a bit out of place, too strong for normal trust issues, and you briefly wondered if perhaps she’d always been that way - even before the end of civilization. She was clearly a bitch, and not interested in showing you kindness any time soon, so you decided to forgo a response, ignored her glaring, and slipped out of the car without a word.
Before your feet were completely on the ground, and your bag was out of the way, the door slammed closed behind you, quick and sharp. The speed of it nearly clipped your shirt, and you whirled around to face the stranger’s irritation. She seemed to have lost interest in you and side-stepped your figure without another glance. One finger on the trigger, a shit-ton of audacity-filled swagger in her walk, and a back broad and strong. She looked like an outlaw, tall, mean, wearing grey with a belt around her strong hips and a leather jacket over her shoulders. You wanted to throw your gun at her and watch it hit the back of her head, but there was no way in Hell you’d be able to run away faster than she could catch you.
“Come,” you heard Anna speak, interrupting your train of thought as she trudged up to your left. You turned, seeing the way she cocked her head. “I’ll introduce you.” The gun swayed in her grasp as she turned, making little shuffling sounds in the grass.
The grass.
You went to go forward, but stopped. The grass. It was… terribly neat. Very well maintained. Not like apocalypse grass, which was flat and bloodied and mudded and dusted, but like rich person grass. Striking green grass, healthy, it bounced back behind you when you stepped on it. And the air… you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It was fresh. Pure. Free of the smell of death and free of gunpowder and spraying blood. Just where on Earth were y-
oh.
Oh.
You looked up, finally, and found yourself in a courtyard. On all sides was a wall, sections of it made of brick, others of stone, and the rest of wrought iron fence, bolted hard into the ground; and across the way, piercing the sky, was a manor. Or what looked like a manor. No - what was definitely a manor. Dark, illuminated slightly by the deep blue of the atmosphere and the torches that littered the ground in neat paths, splitting off into cobblestone sections. You swallowed. It was gorgeous. Untouched. A world that seemed to run on and on while the rest of the globe went to shit.
How fucking lucky were you?
“Come! I must say twice?!” Anna called, giving you an exasperated beckon as she started disappearing behind the dark stone brick of the main entrance.
Sparing a quick glance behind you, you found a fortified gate and short stone walls - reinforced and built upon with barbed wire, wood, and sheets of metal. It must have opened up for the truck when you were still asleep, but was very much firmly shut and impenetrable once closed. You wanted to explore it more, wanted to study the mechanism and the layout and come to understand just how they managed to get the place so protected, but you didn’t want to leave Anna waiting. And a low rumble of thunder, far but rolling quick, told you that rain was eager to make her appearance - and you did not want to get caught in that.
After adjusting your bag and patting the knife in your belt for reassurance, you set off after the Russian stranger.
—
“So I am Anna, this you know already,” she pointed to herself, tapped her chest twice, then rolled her hand over to gesture to the clearing ahead.
It was beautiful, outlined against a dark wood. Rocky paths led to a big circle in the middle, and the ruins of stone benches and statues littered the camp. You could definitely see what it used to be - a beautiful place for the elite to sit, to bask, to enjoy the nice air and the wind. But the end of the world had gotten to it, not with the bearings of total destruction, but with the promise of change. A big spruce shelter had been built to the far left, reinforced with four beams and no walls - clearly just meant to keep the rain at bay while they worked outside. Beneath it, there were wooden benches and designated spots for farming equipment, guns, and even a water purifying system from the looks of it. If you assumed that sleeping quarters and showers existed in the castle, then they seemed to be in the best shape anyone could be in.
Even the people, who were busy going about their evening and tending to their duties, while you watched by Anna’s side and felt your excitement grow.
“Phasma was woman driving. Not so kind,” she tsked, giving you a knowing look, and you found yourself unable to ask about the strange name. You figured she wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. Then her hand moved, stealing your attention. “That is Jane,” she pointed to a pale woman sitting on one of the large stone benches.
Her back was turned, but you could see the severity of her expression in the reflection of a hand mirror. She was handsome, free of makeup, with jet-black hair. The strands fell from between her fingertips, spilling like water, as she threaded them into a braid around her head. Her movements were slow, methodic, and you watched, sort of hypnotized, as the long sleeves of her hooded dress stretched across her slim back. Tight along her arms and resting over the black pants covering her thighs, leading down to knee-high leather boots. Fit for an apocalypse, but somehow still chic. You watched her hands for a moment more, and turned slightly to her right when Anna gestured to the woman beside her.
“Miranda. Good girl, but way too skinskie,” she nodded to herself while crossing her arms.
The stranger in question–Miranda–was holding up an antique hand mirror for Jane to look into while doing her hair. They seemed to be the same height, though Miranda’s build was lankier and toned. The sleeves of her white top had to have been torn off, leaving freckled shoulders free to the air, and around one wrist was a black watch. It nearly matched the same leather as her belt, which held an attached holster and a sleeve for a walkie-talkie. Its antenna stood out against the baby blue of her uniform pants; tight by the hips but baggier toward the ankles, tucked into dark laced boots. Her hair was styled into a fair blonde bob, probably recently cut by the sight of such clean edges. It looked unbearably soft kissing the back of her neck.
“She was policewoman. Strong.” Anna commented, gazing at her from your spot by the castle wall.
You nodded absentmindedly, looking over the two strangers and the chess board that sat between them on the bench. Jane had black and Miranda white. The latter seemed to be focusing quite hard on the game, holding a pawn loosely in one hand, as the dark-haired beauty tsked and adjusted the hand mirror that slowly slipped to the side. You watched Miranda jump and offer what you assumed was a sheepish apology, as she tried to multitask. Her small smile was pink and soft, warm and welcoming. A friend, perhaps.
“Very…domestic,” came your soft murmur, sparked by the surprise of such a peaceful camp. In the past group, everyone was too busy trying to sleep, find food, or talk themselves through panic attacks. Maintaining sanity with comfort was not a priority.
“Da. Comfortable,” your companion nodded. “Jan is there, washing.” And you turned, yet again, to find a figure standing in front of a clothesline.
The combat boots made her seem tall, though they were a bit out of place—not really matching the long white sleeved shirt and full red skirt combo. Immaculate and clean, you noticed, though that was to be expected from a woman trying her hardest to get blood out of a white blouse. Her hands were covered by blue rubber gloves, with one clutched around a sponge and the other around the neck of a bottle of white wine vinegar. On the ground by her feet was a large pale jug of hydrogen peroxide and a bucket of what you assumed was water. And the blouse in front of her, held up by wooden clothespins, rippled from the breeze. It seemed to get colder and windier the longer the night went on, probably bringing the rain with it at some point. With any luck, it would clear up the light splotches of pink that covered most of the shirt’s chest up to the collar, but ‘Jan’ didn’t seem too patient and satisfied with that. She got back to her scrubbing a moment later, the strict waves of her blonde hair bumping gently against her neck.
“Jan is very chic. You go to her for fashion advice, no?” Anna tilted her head at you, dragging dark blue eyes over your face. The lawn lamps stabbed into the grass lit everything up with a sweet warm glow, bringing out the flames in her expression as she peered at you curiously. Very handsome, in her own sharp-featured sort of way. You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled up.
“Respectfully, I think fashion is the least of my concerns right now, Anna.”
“Hm. Maybe,” she hummed, shrugged, and gave you a once-over that set your heart racing before turning her attention back to the group.
“Brienne!” You jumped, flinching away as Anna’s loud voice carried into your ear. In the distance, a hulking figure shifted and unfolded, moving to look up at the call. They were sitting on a big pile of cut logs, holding a stone cylindrical sharpener in one hand and a… sword… in the other. Anna waved, talking to you gently as you both watched the figure’s expression change into one of suspicion. She was handsome. Pale, with the lightest blonde lashes and brows, and eyes that sparkled even from that distance. They squinted, drawing frown lines across her face, as she straightened up in her spot. You tried desperately not to stare at her figure, but it was impossible. The deep blue ribbed shirt clung to her torso like a second skin, wrapping tightly around strong biceps and broad shoulders. It was tucked into muddy green cargo pants, offsetting the brightness of the steel that covered the toes of her dark boots. You tilted your head and watched as she glanced between you and Anna before she finally decided to shoot the woman a firm nod. Anna’s lips quirked up into a smile. “She was once soldier. Good woman - she will protect you if you’re in trouble. Saved me many many times.” Her blonde curls swished as she nodded to herself.
That was good to know, you reasoned. Everyone seemed quite strong. Tall, too. And pale. The camp was gorgeous, the people seemed mundane enough, and the company was… well. Your eyes drifted over to Anna’s side profile, a silhouette of soft dips and curves, and you couldn’t hide the attraction you felt even if you tried.
“Larissa, you know too. She is leader, xорошо?” You didn’t really know what ‘harasho’ meant, but the light intonation of her voice had you saying ‘Yeah’ anyway.
Then an arm was winding itself around yours, jostling the bag on your shoulder and the gun slung around Anna’s body. It rested against her back, hitting her thighs, and you were suddenly powerless to the way she steered you further down the gravel path. Toward the right, there was a makeshift driveway; a patch of land ripped up from the grass and replaced with gravel, soil, and rocks. The black truck made an appearance again, probably having been driven up from around the back, and you watched with curious eyes as Phasma busied herself with a few bags and boxes from the trunk. Jesus, she was fit… tall and lethal. A small grunt left her lips when she hauled two boxes up into her arms, never faltering or pausing. Damn. You found yourself getting lost in the sight of her legs in those cargo pants, filling them out, until Anna clicked her tongue.
“Lucifer is strange, but ultimately harmless. Do not worry, they are not naked under the robe.”
Lucifer? Naked under the what?
You were going to take a quick glance around, to find whatever the hell Anna was talking about, but there was no need. Some feet in front of you, lounging on a red and gold velvet chase, was a lithe figure. They were almost glowing in the reflection of the walkway lamps, with the deep crimson of a flowing silk robe offsetting the smooth pale planes of soft skin. One elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair, and you traced the folds of flowing sleeves up to a slim forearm, wrist, and a delicate hand. Slender fingers were curled under the curve of a pale cheek, and you felt your heartbeat speed up at the sight of soft features and crystal eyes. And their hair, curled so perfectly into handsome shining ringlets of spun golden-web… goodness, they were…
“Luxurious,” you murmured, tilting your head as you watched the stranger chat with Larissa. She was standing over them, in front of the chase, and even at that height, you had a feeling that the one laying down was somehow a little bit taller. “Is Lucifer their real name?”
“Da,” Anna nodded, “little strange, no?”
“Yeah,” you gave her an odd look. “Strange as fuck.”
“Don’t get comfortable,” a voice growled from behind you, making you slip away from Anna’s hold and turn around. Phasma was walking past, holding a big bag under each arm. Her muscle was impressive, but dear god she was an asshole. You had to sort out that situation as quick as possible.
“Hey what’s your problem, man?” You spread your hands out at your sides before letting them slap against your thighs. “You picked me up, and while I’m grateful for that, I am, you didn’t have to-”
“Exactly,” she bit out as she whirled around and marched right back to you. Her breath was cool, washing lightly over your face, and she stood so close that your foreheads nearly touched. From that angle, looking up, you could reach out and trace the jagged line of her scar. It was quite attractive actually, even if her eyes narrowed as she watched you look at her. They were cold. Not an ounce of care.
“Don’t. Get. Comfortable.” Her lips twitched, carrying a silent threat.
“Okay,” Larissa’s voice, sing-songy and weary, cut into the conversation. “Why don’t we all take a moment to calm down, hm?” Her smile was blinding as she turned to you. One gloved hand hovered above Phasma’s right shoulder, but was instantly shrugged off the second it made contact. Her sneer didn’t fade even when she stepped back, eyes still flaming with anger. Larissa cleared her throat. “Y/n, you’re new here. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?”
Her expression, although kind, hid a sharpness that you didn’t think was wise to fuck around with. If Larissa was the leader, according to Anna, then it was her you had to charm. You didn’t really know why she was the top dog, especially because some of the other group members seemed more… abrasive… but clearly something about her was good enough to be the one in charge. And pissing her off, messing around with her people, was a one-way ticket to possibly turning into those fuckers lurking in the woods. So you didn’t really have a choice - and you didn’t really want one. No matter what, you’d stay. You’d be of some help. You’d stay on the soft grass, smelling the clean air. You’d become best friends with Larissa, the group would learn to like you, and you’d try not to combust when any of them looked your way.
Easier said than done though, of course. Especially when Larissa’s smile knocked down all of your reservations at once, in one big swing, and coaxed an obedient nod from your body.
“Okay. Yes. Sure.”
“Perfect,” Larissa’s grin, somehow, grew even wider.
“It’s getting late,” were Phasma’s parting words before she turned away and headed off toward two big wooden double doors.
You watched her strut without much thought, and found yourself on the other end of a staring Larissa. Her eyes were utterly striking in the evening light, and the outline of her face… a sight to be seen for a person as weary as you.
“So… is your group considered women only?” You murmured, peering up at her through your eyelashes.
Red lips twitched.
“Not intentionally. Though we have had the discussion before,” she contemplated her next words carefully, looking all over your face before resuming, “and we think it’s best if it’s just women. And Lucifer.”
“And Lucifer?” You still can’t get over that being their real name. Probably just picked out in a moment of edginess when they were a teen. Lucifer did sound cool, sort of bully-worthy. Like they were emo kid once upon a time.
“Lucifer is what many would refer to as non-binary. Not a man and not a woman. I hope that won’t be a problem?” Something flashed behind her eyes. Not a threat, but a warning. You couldn’t help but smile.
“Not at all. They and I are… one and the same,” you shrugged and adjusted the bag on your shoulder.
“How lucky I must be…,” someone purred from over your shoulder.
You tensed up, surprised by the closeness, and felt yourself grow a little weak at the tone. Like spiced honey, their voice was intense and smooth. You wanted to lap it up.
“Ah right on time for a proper introduction,” Larissa, ever the most efficient woman from what you could tell so far, found herself a golden opportunity. One hand shot out and gestured over to you, then to the person slinking around to your right. “Y/n this is Lucifer, one of the strongest members of our group. Lucifer and I make most of the big decisions, with the necessary input from everyone else. And Lucifer,” Larissa’s grin relaxed into a smile, “this is Y/n. Depending on our discussion of the rules, they may become a familiar face, so I suggest you play nice.”
You found that you couldn’t look to the side without short-circuiting. There was something.. something… about their aura that had you wanting to shy away and cower. It wasn’t the explosive intensity of Phasma or the consuming strangeness of Anna, or even the gentle but strong hand of Larissa… but instead a subtle sort of consumption. Utterly intriguing and fascinating - like they were put on the Earth to confuse humans. You didn’t even look at them and you could feel that. Didn’t even know them and you could feel that. Standing so close. So much body heat.
“It’s a pleasure,” they murmured, turning to you fully.
You swallowed, braced yourself, and looked up to your right.
Sweet holy Jesus. They were even more handsome up close. Just absolutely soft and glorious. And carrying the faint scent of… firewood? You cleared your throat.
“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.”
A flash of black, followed by measured footsteps in the grass, had all three of you shifting to see Jane walking past. Miranda was not too far behind, taking her time to cross the yard.
“Dinner is being prepared. Show face in the next 20 minutes or go to bed hungry.” Jane didn’t even spare you a glance before she disappeared behind the same doors Phasma had gone through.
“Thank you, Jane,” Larissa managed to call just before they closed behind her with a dull bang.
“Three moves…,” Miranda was muttering, holding the box for the chess set in one hand. “She beat me in three moves.”
“Oh it’s not hard. I would’ve beaten you in two,” another voice entered the fray, polite but amused. Jan, you recognized, as she sidled up between you and Larissa with a small smile on her deep red lips.
Miranda scoffed and turned to look at Anna, only to find that she was gone. One glance behind you revealed that she’d wandered over to Brienne, probably prompting her to go inside for dinner. You hummed, hiding the amusement of friendly banter. It had been so long since you felt even the smallest sense of normalcy. If they were so comfortable with each other, then it must have been a bit since they were all alone out in the world. You’d probably ask Larissa about that later - once everything was said and done.
“I would’ve beaten you in one,” Lucifer smirked as they pulled away and went walking inside. Had they been barefoot the entire time?
“That’s not even possible!” Miranda yelled, but the door was already shut. “...Is it?” She turned to Larissa, then to you, then back to Larissa.
“I don’t think so, Miranda,” Larissa smiled before looking at you. “Any chance you’re good at chess?”
Dear lord, having two sets of beautiful blue eyes on you was nerve-wracking, but you ignored the flush building up on your cheeks and nodded.
“Um yeah- it’s possible to beat someone in two moves. But it’s only black, I think.” You gave Miranda an apologetic smile and a shrug as she pouted.
“You will beat her next time Miranda,” Anna returned with Brienne in her wake. The sword she was sharpening earlier was still in her hands. “She cannot win forever.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brienne cut in, her voice strong and deep. Her mouth was pulled into a light frown, and you noticed the scar that cut through the upper lip on the right. From the time before, you suspected. Otherwise she’d be turned. “She beat me and Phasma one after the other.”
Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath.
“Then there’s no hope…” Goodness, she looked like a sad puppy.
“Why not?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could grab it.
And of course, all of the attention then dragged itself over to you. Five sets of sea-blue eyes, all gorgeous in the glow of the evening lamps, traced lines over your tired body. In comparison to them, you looked a sight. Obviously having been picked up from the side of the road, unclean and awkward, somewhat detached from society. In your bag? Not enough clothing and not enough supplies. In your belt, peeking out from beneath your shirt? A knife, dirty and growing dull. And in your eyes? Lurking sadness and horror - the same which probably lived in the women that were observing you.
Larissa, thank goodness, finally broke the lull of silence.
“Brienne and Phasma were in the military,” she said gently.
“Oh. That makes sense.” And it did - Jane must have been an intellectual force if she beat people that used to be in the military before the world ended. Though that made you wonder… “What branch?” You turned to Brienne, not really surprised that you had to look up to meet her eyes. It seemed you’d been adopted into a camp of skyscrapers. Though the sharpness of her eyes had you swallowing. “I mean- if you don’t mind me asking.”
She seemed to consider it, sizing you up, before saying, rather shortly, “SAS. Then Delta Force.”
You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened.
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed,” Larissa hummed. “But I think now would be a good time to head in, wouldn’t you say?” She spared her smile for everyone, meeting the gaze of each woman, before finally looking at you and raising her eyebrow.
It wasn’t really up to you, so you just shrugged and waited for Anna to say ‘Da, da, xорошо’ before heading in. Brienne followed after her, then Miranda, who was studying the back of the chess box, and Larissa, who started taking off her gloves. Jan, meanwhile, stayed where she was and kept her eyes on you. They were curious and deep, never-ending, and lined with mascara and eyeliner. Mascara and eyeliner that… well it suited her, but goodness it was certainly intense. Dark and shadowed, but beautiful nevertheless. You couldn’t look away.
“Jan Stevens,” she breathed and gave you her hand, elegant and admittedly quite charming. Her nails were painted a deep cherry red. Utterly flawless.
At the sight of it, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. Your palms were still dirty, and sort of calloused, and you didn’t want to… ruin her. So you hesitated, stared at it, looked back up at her, and found her kind smile to be unwavering.
“Go on,” Jan finally whispered, giving her hand a pointed look, and you fell prey in an instant.
Quickly, you shot out to gently cup her hand into your own, and gave it a gentle shake. You felt strangely compelled to bring it up to your lips, but you weren’t sure that meeting a stranger in an apocalypse really called for such formalities. Even though you yearned to feel her skin beneath your mouth. It wasn’t proper; though you did think that Jan’s expression fell just a little bit. Like she was excited. Like she wanted you to kiss her hand.
“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” she purred, looking you up and down, before turning toward the door. “Come quickly now. If we’re late, Jane will send us off to bed without dinner. And we wouldn’t want that.”
It probably would have been wise to consider and contemplate the fact that you were in a stranger’s camp, with a stranger’s group… but the saucy little wink that Jan threw over her shoulder sent a deep blush crawling up your cheeks. And just like that, without fail, you were one of the flesh-eaters… caught in the pretty paws of eight different beasts.
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹
Please let me know if my characterization is okay and if you'd like to see more. Be safe, darlings. - Rip x
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹
Far too many names to tag. Find it as you come.
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹
#rippersz#fanfictionwriter#fanfic#fanfiction#wlw fanfic#gwendoline christie#gwendoline christie characters#larissa weems#captain phasma#jan stevens#lucifer morningstar the sandman#brienne of tarth#jane murdstone#anna welcome to marwen#miranda hilmarson#x reader fanfic#x reader fic#x reader#larissa weems x reader#phasma x reader#jan stevens x reader#y/n#x y/n#jane murdstone x reader#anna x reader#miranda hilmarson x reader#brienne of tarth x reader#lucifer morningstar sandman x reader#lucifer morningstar sandman#got brienne
202 notes
·
View notes
Text
I love that in the Podcast they specifically said they wanted to frame the hospital fight not as this action packed scene, but as sad. Because Joel has completely disassociated. He’s checked out because trauma can do that to a person, let’s you separate what’s happening. They said this is him burning his soul for this one girl.
He’s doing what needs to be done in the same way Marlene did but while her focus was humanity, his focus is just Ellie. It’s tunnel vision. He kills anyone who is a threat and even if they drop their weapon, they could change their mind and still shoot him and then Ellie dies. He doesn’t kill the doctor until he becomes a threat by wielding the scalpel.
And them saying Marlene actually signed her death warrant the moment she said “let me go” because it meant she planned to try and survive her wound. There would be a tomorrow and in that tomorrow, she would try and come after them. So of course she had to die because her living meant Ellie wouldn’t be safe.
#tlou#the last of us#tlou spoilers#the last of us spoilers#joel miller#something I touched on in my fic was the fact that Marlene tries to say she understands#but she doesn't because she put distance between herself and Ellie since day 1#she didn't raise her#Joel spent more time with her since he first met her than Marlene ever did#so no she doesn't understand#Ellie is just a promise and a name#She doesn't know how much she likes shitty puns or loves animals or space#she's simply Anna's daughter#but to Joel that's HIS daughter
3K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
moje-upadle-krolestwo
Jeśli masz ochotę to pisz śmiało
bananenhasser
F R I D A
nhikinex-blog
Nhi Kin
cootsareahoot
bank robber emoji