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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Bouquet

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having come clean about being single for a very long time now and considering herself completely out of the dating scene, Y/N’s confession is taken and responded to with a ton of kindness, especially from a special someone...

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your lovely request, it was such a joy to write! I’m so sorry for the long wait you had to go through but the fic is finally here and I hope you enjoy reading it! Love, Vy ❤

I roll out of bed with little to no desire to start my day. We haven’t got a scheduled stream for today and the clouds glooming in the sky seem to be promising rain so really what do I have to get up for except that it’s a rule society installed?

Just kidding, I’m basically stalling and that’s all.

So what happened was the streamer gang and I were playing Among Us last night and our conversation during the pause between rounds somehow swerved into relationship territory. I stayed quiet the majority of if not all the time because I had no valid input to offer.

If you know me you know I’m not one of the performers on the dating scene. I have never really confirmed it with my fans - well, until last night, that is - but I bet they have picked up on that fact considering I’ve been on YouTube for around a decade and have never had a partner. That being said, I’d have to also mention that I have in fact dated but someone but it was before my YouTube era started. Me choosing this career path, which back then was just a hobby, had nothing to do with the relationship ending but it still motivated me to not to actively look for a relationship while I’m still focused on my career. It’s too much work, too much stress and requires a lot of balance I most certainly either don’t have or I don’t have the energy to put in balancing my romantic and professional lives. Luckily, no one’s ever pressured me into finding a significant other, not yet at least, so no societal pressure for me!

But I gotta admit I felt real awkward admitting all this last night.

“Hey Y/N what do you think? You’ve been awfully quiet?“ Rae asks, causing me to jolt in my seat from where I’ve been reading my chat for the past five minutes, my mic muted.

I quickly unmute to reply, blushing ever so slightly, “Um, sorry I was reading my chat. What do I think about what?”

“The gesture of giving flowers to your significant other, is it romantic or a waste of money and plant murder?“ Rae explains, still managing to catch me off-guard with her question.

I ponder what my response should be for a little bit before deciding to level it to a neutral level where I almost sound indifferent, “It is in fact plant murder basically and artificial flowers would definitely be a better gift - plus they’ll last longer.”

“Mhmm yeah that’s true.“ Poki agrees with me, “But there’s still the question of whether it’s a romantic gesture or not. I personally don’t think it’s overrated or cheesy, I actually quite like it. What about you, Y/N?“

And now she’s got me in a real trap that I can’t wiggle out of without speaking my truth. I don’t know where this sudden anxiety around the subject came from but it now resides within me rent free and makes me feel self-conscious and embarrassed of the confession I’m inevitably make.

“Um, I wouldn’t know for certain, I’ve never received flowers myself...“ I say sheepishly, cringing at the sound of my own voice, “It’s not like I’ve dated plenty of people and the one guy I did date wasn’t really romantic or anything, I mean - we were teenagers, after all. But when I think about it in theory I think I’d like the gesture: it’s thoughtful, plus you get a temporary but beautiful piece of décor out of it.“

I’m gonna hope I didn’t sound too pitiful or desperate. Of course I’m not gonna check afterward on the stream cause I’d rather live in the illusion of having sounded humorous rather than be given the confirmation that I didn’t.

“Wait, wait, wait, did you date your last boyfriend like a decade ago?“ Corpse is now the one talking and that makes me feel even more anxious. This is not the impression one would want to give to their crush, is it? Oh well, no turning back now.

“Correct.“ I reply with a laugh that I hope didn’t sound as nervous as it was.

“And you’ve never, like in your whole life, received flowers from someone?“ He sounds astonished which sort of makes me want to shrink up in my shell like a turtle. Too bad I don’t have a shell though. I’m genuinely thinking of the option to rip the router out of the outlet right now to save me the troubles but I’m not that immature. I’m surprised I’m even reacting this way - this topic doesn’t usually bother me at all but now for some reason I’m red as a tomato and shrinking in my chair.

I know what the obvious answer is but I’d rather die than admit to it.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it sounds bad but I really don’t care.“ I make an attempt at changing the subject, swerving it back to the main topic rather than my lack of a love life, “I do, in fact, find the gesture sweet - it adds vibrancy to the relationship just like the flowers would add vibrancy and color to the space they’re put in.“

“Oh my gosh, that’s such a cool analogy!“ Rae gushes, “You’re totally right, it might be an old trick, but it’s aged like fine wine.“

Phew, God bless you Rae.

“Exactly, exactly.“ Corpse agrees as well but I don’t think he’s fully heard what Rae said since he sounds to have fallen in deep thought.

At least I got away with it with only making a SLIGHT nervous wreck of myself.

Yikes, was that horrible, though I don’t people will remember it for long. Sure, my fans have sent me thousands of lovely messages and pictures of bouquets and will maybe continue sending them for another day or two - which I highly appreciate, don’t get me wrong. I’m severely touched by this gesture of theirs and it almost makes me glad I finally ‘came clean’ about my romance-less life - however, it’ll fade overtime. I mean, who the heck cares if I’m single or not?

As I pour the milk over my cheerios which I’ve been snacking on dry for the past half hour as I rifled through the many notifications clogging up my lock screen, I hear the doorbell ring. I’m understandably puzzled by this, seeing as how I never get visitors so that doorbell rings only when I’ve ordered something, be it takeout or a random item off Amazon. However, I can’t remember ordering anything, at least not anything that should be arriving at the moment or even anytime soon - that glow-in-the dark curtain isn’t supposed to arrive until next week. I make my way to the door, unbothered by the fact I’m still in my pajamas, and take a look through the peephole.

It’s a delivery guy...and he happens to be holding a huge-ass bouquet.

“What the...“ I mutter to myself as I unlock and swing open the door in the blink of an eye, “Hi?“

“Hi there, are you Y/N L/N?“ The delivery guy, who I’ve seen many times before and who I’m on pretty friendly terms with, asks me jokingly, sending a wink my way.

“I sure am.“ I reply, my gaze fixated on the breathtaking flowers he’s holding, “But those can’t be for me, that’s for sure.“

He fishes looks at his clipboard one more time, nodding before he looks back at me, “I double and triple checked, Y/N, they’re for you. Here, have a look if you don’t believe me.” He turns the clipboard for me to see and he is actually telling the truth. I mean, I doubt he’d have any reason to lie to me but mix-ups happen all the time.

“Um, ok thanks. Sorry for the halt, it’s just...I’d hate to be the recipient of the flowers meant for another girl.” I apologize as I take the bouquet for him, still in awe of the fact I’m the one it was made and meant for and sent to.

I say a quick ‘bye’ to the delivery guy before practically running inside to inspect this bouquet for a card from the sender. I have my guesses: it has to be someone who was present during the stream last night and someone who knows my address. Hopefully it’s someone from my friend group and not a fan who watched the stream and just happens to know my address. I’d still appreciate the gesture, but I’d also install security cameras if that was the case.

Something about the color scheme of the flowers - pink and black - gives me Rae vibes since she constantly teases me about my aesthetics contradicting each other. But then again, Poki does it too so it could be her as well....

Oh...OH GOD IT’S NEITHER OF THEM

~ ~ ~

I’ve been sitting here, keeping myself a safe distance from my phone so I’m not the first one to send her a text. So I don’t ask if she got what I sent her. So I don’t ask what she thought of it, how the bouquet looks in her living room, how it smells, how it makes her feel. I have so many questions so that phone is best off at a major distance from me. I’m the one who’s better off with such a huge distance between me and the device, to be perfectly honest.

Was it a bad idea? Should I have slept on it - or just thought about it longer cause sleep and I don’t get along? Should I have at least waited a day or two? Should I-

My phone vibrates with a notification and I practically fly to it from across the room, grabbing it and unlocking it asap. My heart sinks and takes off like a rocket simultaneously when I see I’ve been tagged in Y/N’s Instagram story. I nervously tap the notification that sends me to the picture of the bouquet I sent her with some text written over it.

“Thank you, Romeo ;)“

Somehow that one sentence answers all those aforementioned questions.

Is this what people refer to as butterflies in one’s stomach? Cause it feels significantly more like a crush...oh wait.

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iamdeku · 3 years

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Friday (I’m In Love): Oikawa x Reader

You don’t know Oikawa Tooru. You don’t want to know Oikawa Tooru. But when fate and circumstance bring you two together, you’re forced to confront, over a series of Fridays, your worst fear. You might have been wrong. Also, you might be in love.

Wordcount: 4.3k

Warnings: Some brief bullying from a girl I accidentally named Annoying. Pining.

Oikawa Tooru was one of the most obnoxious guys you had ever met. He thought he was the coolest guy in school, and he was not at all shy about sharing that opinion. He never stopped talking about himself in that high-pitched, whiny voice of his. You hated him.

So why you had agreed to tutor him was beyond you.

You supposed it paid well enough, but you were dreading your first session. You had prepared yourself to bite your tongue until it bled through his mansplaining. You were probably going to want to die by the end of the experience, but at least you would have some extra cash for the holidays.

Your boots kicked through the drifts of snow, pure as a coal miner after a long day doing overtime. The cold ice crunched under your weight, and you pulled your coat closer, wishing you had a scarf to help provide protection against the biting wind from the cold flushed skin on your face. Your headphones offered some protection to your ears at least, blasting your favorite song in an effort to raise your spirits.

The warm rush of the library’s heating system slammed into you in a wall of heat as you searched for the annoying setter. It took you longer than you thought to find him, expecting the loud man you knew and instead finding someone significantly more studious. He was hunched over one of the library tables, gray cardigan wrapped around his body, glasses perched on his nose.

You hoisted your satchel more firmly up your shoulder, bracing yourself for whatever weird thing was about to happen. Was he trying to look like he knew what he was talking about? Did he want to show off? You really weren’t sure.

You were hesitant to venture forward, but you did anyway, taking a seat next to him. Oikawa immediately looked up, blinking at you a couple of times before giving one of his usual smiles.

“Oh good, you’re here! As much as I’m great at everything, I have to admit that this has been giving me a little bit of trouble. I was so happy to hear you could help me. Iwa-chan won’t anymore, that traitor.”

You couldn’t blame Iwaizume for getting frustrated with Oikawa’s behavior, even if he had chosen to befriend the disaster sitting casually in front of you. You pulled out your books, writing utensils and laptop. You were a self-professed nerd, so you had brought a surplus of pens, highlighters, and other instruments to the table. You had a reputation to keep up after all.

“Well, I guess we should get to work. What part of this are you having trouble understanding?” You asked, pulling open your textbook.

Oikawa explained his troubles to you, and you were surprised to find how intelligent he was. Everything he found difficult to understand was...well, understandable. You could see why he would struggle in those areas, and for some of them you had struggled as well, despite this being your favorite subject.

Even more surprising, you found out he could be a good listener when he wanted to be. It was alarming, actually, how attentively he could listen. Damn it, he took notes on the things you said, writing down the important parts of your explanations.

As you started to pack up, you saw sparks of the Oikawa you knew.

“Thanks for that, cutie. You’re pretty smart, you know? Of course, you’re smart enough to already know that. Besides, I wouldn’t have asked you to tutor me if you weren’t the best.” He winked. “See you next Friday.”

He didn’t even ask if you wanted to meet him next week. Gosh, he was the worst.

Even with Oikawa “I’m the Worst” Tooru dragging you down, you were still resolved to keep showing up to these tutoring sessions. They weren’t half as bad as you thought they would be, and you hadn’t stopped needing the money. You could have gotten a better gig, but frankly this was a pretty easy job, easier than you thought it would be. It was, loathe though you were to say it, the best option.

Besides, you were the kind of person who kept their promises, though you weren’t sure you could say the same of Oikawa.

He was late. He was a whole 3 minutes late and you were only on your second session. If he kept up this kind of behavior you were going to have to have a serious discussion with him about timeliness. Your time was valuable, and none of this had anything at all to do with you needing something to justify your dislike of him.

You were halfway through writing your future lecture on timeliness when Oikawa arrived, slightly breathless and windswept, cheeks pink from the cold. Despite looking as though he had run all the way here, he had the nerve to still look all handsome and charismatic. It irritated you.

“Sorry about being late. The guys and I were practicing volleyball and we totally lost track of time.”

He gave you a sheepish smile, recognizing his mistake, and something in the general area of your chest did a little flip. It was probably a rib rotating in disgust.

“It’s alright. Just don’t let it happen again.”

Oikawa gave you his signature charming smile as he sat next to you.

“You know, you could stand to loosen up a little. I know you’re more fun than this, somewhere deep down in that nerdy little heart of yours.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not my job to be having fun with you.”

“Ah, but it could be.”

“Just open your textbook, Oikawa-san.”

He pulled the book out of his bag, flipping it open on the desk but not bothering to look down at it.

“Come on. Seriously. I got a way better grade than usual on the pop quiz we got this week. I feel like I should thank you for everything you’re doing for me. What are you doing tomorrow?”

The truthful, sad answer was that you were doing nothing at all, actually. You had tried to make plans with your friends, but they were all “busy” with something or other. While it pained you deeply, Oikawa was right. You had no social life.

You sighed. “I’m not busy tomorrow.”

“Well, that settles it then. The guys and I have practice. You can come watch the end of it if you want, and then we’re all going out for dinner. You should come.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Oikawa’s face lit up in a way you hadn’t expected, and he smiled down at his textbook as he turned it to the relevant page.

“Good. Prove to us that you can have fun after all.”

“Watch it. You’ll remember it’s in your best interest to stay in my good graces.”

Oikawa just laughed at your threat like it was meaningless. He was right to do it. You hated to admit it, but even now he was starting to grow on you.

Oikawa started explaining what he was having trouble with, and just as you were really getting into your subject, you were interrupted by a shrill scream. You stiffened in immediate panic, swiveling in your chair to find the source of the sound. Oikawa, on the other hand, looked momentarily annoyed before pulling his Prince Charming façade into place.

“Oh my gosh!!! Tooru-kun is that you!”

You felt a wave of deep-set annoyance go through you at the girl’s tone of voice. Not only had she caused you to be genuinely alarmed, but she was clearly being way to familiar with Oikawa, unless he had a girlfriend you hadn’t heard about.

“Hey there!” Oikawa turned to face the girl headed towards you, an indulgent smile on his face.

“Oh my gosh! I saw your practice earlier and you were like, so good.” The girl gushed.

“Thank you. That’s very nice of you to say.” Oikawa seemed genuinely flattered at this, if you were so bold as to assume you could tell the difference between the fake him and the real him.

The girl giggled, stars in her eyes before they turned to you, darkening dramatically. “Oh, who is this? Is she like, your girlfriend or something?”

You didn’t like the turn the girl’s tone of voice had taken. There was something distinctly catty to the way she said the world ‘girlfriend’ that made your stomach turn. You had met plenty of mean girls in your life, and now alarm bells were going off in your head.

“No, no. Just my lovely tutor. She’s helping me out in my worst class. She’s very talented.”

Oikawa seemed to have picked up on the change in tone, shifting slightly to be in front of you. Presumably, this was to block you from the daggers the girl was glaring at you.

“Remind me your name, would you?” Oikawa’s smile had grown tense.

“Oh, my name is Miko! How could you forget?” She pouted elaborately.

“Silly me!” If at all possible, Oikawa’s megawatt smile grew brighter as he caught her attention again, drawing her in once more. “I remember now. How have you been, Miko-san?”

You smirked to yourself at the honorific, so different from how she had referred to him earlier.

“I’ve been great! Way better now that I get to catch up with you. I missed you!” She stuck out her lower lip like she was trying to catch something with it.

“Well, I hope to see you at my next game, once we’re back in season. Thanks so much for stopping by!”

Oikawa’s body turned towards the table, clearly indicating that the conversation was over. Miko didn’t get the message.

“What are you studying? Maybe I can join you. I’m pretty smart, you know.”

You had officially had enough. You stood from your place, glaring at the girl in a similar fashion to how she had looked at you earlier, but for very different reasons.

“Listen, Miko-chan,” you said, purposefully pitching your voice up into an imitation of her own calling for Oikawa. “I don’t know who you think you are, but this is a tutoring session. So unless you intend to pay me for my services, I really am going to need you to find somewhere else in this rather large library to study.”

The girl turned to you, and you expected some kind of temper tantrum, maybe a few crocodile tears before she walked away, but what you got was far worse. She smiled at you sickly sweet, planting a hand on your table and leaning in.

“Pay you for your services? Oh, so I guess you’re nothing more than a common who-”

Oikawa stood from his chair, the legs loudly scraping across the floor as he grabbed her arm. He turned her to face him harshly, and you would never forget the look on his face. You had seen the prince of Aoba Johsai wear many faces, most of them some version of the charming, charismatic boy you knew. You had never before seen the look of cold rage he wore now, grip firm on her forearm as he practically snarled at her.

“You’re not going to call her that. You’re not going to call anyone that ever. If I see you at one of my games, I will make sure you are promptly escorted out. Leave. Now.”

The girl stood still for a moment, frozen in terror, before turning on her heel and bolting as Oikawa released her. You blinked in shock a few times, unaware that your classmate was capable of such emotion, let alone such anger.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you said quietly, the first words to cross your mind. “She’ll go around telling everyone you’re an awful person now. I wouldn’t be surprised if you got in trouble or if she started some kind of weird hate club.”

Oikawa scowled as he sat back down, mind clearly still elsewhere.

“I don’t care. People shouldn’t talk to you like that. Nothing about what she just did was okay. Whatever repercussions I face for that, so be it.”

You stared at him in surprise. Oikawa had come to your defense, at no personal gain to himself. Sure, anyone should have done that, but you never thought he would. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

“Hey.” You nudged his side gently, and he softened, looking down at you. “That invitation to your practice still open? I think I’d like to see you play. I hear you’re ‘so great’ or something.”

He smiled again at your gentle teasing. “Yeah. We’d love to have you.”

As the months went on, you began to acknowledge that Oikawa was not what you had thought he was. Reluctant as you were to admit it, you considered him a friend now. As you had grown to know him better, it became obvious that everything you had thought about Oikawa before had been a mask he put up to impress people.

“If you keep poking me with that pencil, I will stab you in the eye with it,” you mumbled, not bothering to look up from your paper until a soft spring breeze floated through the library door as it opened.

“Iwa-chan! She’s being mean again!” Oikawa whined.

Iwaizume, ready to join your Friday study session, cast a lazy gaze over the both of you, assessing the situation in half a second.

He shrugged. “It looks like you deserved it.”

“I’m wounded, Iwa!” Oikawa threw an arm over his chest, falling back in his chair.

You rolled your eyes even as a smile tugged at your mouth. You had gotten used to Oikawa misbehaving. Some might go so far as to say you liked it. Some might even go so far as to say you liked him.

You would deny it if asked, of course. The way you blushed when he complimented you was the same as the way you blushed when anyone complimented you. The warm tingle left on your skin when he touched you was just because he was warm, infecting you with it, burning you alive. And the way you couldn’t breathe around him sometimes? Well, nobody could prove that.

Nobody could prove that Oikawa Tooru was your best friend, and nobody could prove that you were in love with your best friend.

Oikawa rested his head on your shoulder, and you wish you could say you had long learned how to ignore the jump of your heart, but you were only human. You still caught your breath, still felt an ache somewhere in your chest when he did it. It was the sort of feeling you got when you saw something in a shop window you couldn’t have but amplified by a million. It was so strong that sometimes you wanted to scream it out, wanted to stomp your feet and throw a fit like a kid in the grocery aisle because you wanted something you couldn’t have but oh, how you wanted it.

It consumed you some days, the way you wanted Oikawa. The way you wanted to peel back his layers, make him reveal that real self you caught glimpses of when he was with you. The soft boy who cried during sad movies, the brave boy who fought for you when you were sad, the silly boy who made faces just to get a rise out of you. It creeped like a sickness through your bones until you wanted to throw up, wanted to lay in bed all day in your sticky sweet misery and sob taffy tears, taste them on your tongue.

“Who are you going with to the spring dance?” Oikawa asked you, breath blowing against your neck in a way he couldn’t know sent shivers through you.

“I’m not going,” you said, returning to your textbook now that Iwaizume had established his presence.

Oikawa sat up, posture stiff with his indignance.

“Not going? How can you be not going? I know for a fact there are at least 5 boys planning to ask you.”

“They asked. I said no. I’m not going.”

“Why not? It will be fun!”

You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the nasty feeling in your gut. You couldn’t very well tell him that you didn’t want to go just to watch him dance with every member of his little fan club. You refused to explain how absolutely heartbreakingly awful it would be to go and watch him rotate through his carousel of girls, all of them beautiful, all of them wanting him, none of them you.

“I’m studying. You know, that thing smart people do when they want to pass their classes?”

Iwaizume snorted.

“I know what studying is.” Oikawa glared. “I thought you would want to come, though. I figured you would already have a dress picked out and a date and everything.”

For a guy trying to convince you to go to this thing, Oikawa sounded almost sad talking about it. He especially seemed rather melancholy at the prospect of your date. You wondered if maybe one of your potential dates was somebody Oikawa hated or something. Not that it mattered, since you had turned them all away.

“I don’t really want to go. These things aren’t really fun anyway. Besides, all the guys who asked me were jerks.”

“That’s true,” Iwaizume said. “Didn’t Itsuki ask you? That guy got in 4 fights just this week. Pretty sure I heard him in the bathroom bragging about…actually, never mind. Point is he’s a jerk.”

“Trust me, I know. They were all like that, too.” You groaned. “If one decent guy had asked me, maybe I would have gone, but apparently there’s something about me that draws in the Itsuki’s of the world. So, I’m not going. I’m just going to stay home and watch tacky movies and do homework.”

“Go with me.”

You froze at Oikawa’s offer. He couldn’t be serious. Didn’t he already have a date? Didn’t he already have girls lining up around the block to go to this stupid thing with him?

“Don’t you already have a date? I thought…” You trailed off, unsure what exactly you had thought.

“No. I…I heard the person I was planning to ask was rejecting everyone who asked her. Didn’t want to risk it.”

For whatever reason, Iwaizume rolled his eyes from where he sat across from you.

“Okay. Well…can’t you just go with one of your fangirls?”

You weren’t sure why exactly you were fighting this. This was what you had wanted, but not like this. You had wanted him to ask you because he liked you, not because he was too afraid to ask some other girl who was apparently too good for the student body population.

“I don’t want to go with them. I want to go with somebody I like.”

Oikawa’s soft brown eyes were too earnest staring into your face. You couldn’t say no to him when he looked at you like that, so open and vulnerable you could almost pretend it was a confession. It would have been terribly cruel of you to turn him down now.

You sighed. “I guess I have to buy a dress now.”

Oikawa smiled. “Yay! You don’t deserve to be cooped up all night in your room. I promise I’ll make this fun for you.”

“You’d better,” you teased. “I’ll tell you once I know the color of the dress. That way you can match your tie.”

“Perfect.”

If you closed your eyes and didn’t think about it too hard, you could almost pretend it was a real date.

When the Friday night of the dance came, you really did almost believe it was a real date. Oikawa had told you he was going to pick you up, but he hadn’t told you that he was going to bring a corsage or charm the pants off your parents. He was acting like you were the girl he had wanted to take this whole time.

He opened your door for you before you got into the car, taking your hand to help you balance as you stepped into the car in your heels. You were dumbstruck when he reached over to buckle you in and make sure you were safe before heading over to the driver’s side. You tried frantically to control your breathing as he got the car started.

It was a short drive to the school, but the whole way there you could barely talk to him, trying to figure out his game. Was he doing this because he didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out? That had to be it. He was probably just trying to show you what a good date was like.

When you got to the school, he helped you out of the car, and you finally admitted it to yourself. When he escorted you in, despite everything, you sort of felt like a princess. Oikawa looked so dashing in his tux, his tie matching the shade of your dress, everything coming together perfectly for a moment before it came crashing down with the realization that you were not the person he had wanted to take to this thing.

In spite of that, though, he seemed intent to act like it. Oikawa’s fan club mobbed you as soon as you entered, but he ignored all of them entirely for once.

“Sorry ladies, but as you can see, I am escorting my date. Any other day you know you all have my attention, but I’m afraid tonight is all about us.” He flashed you a shy smile as he said it, cheeks turning pink on the word us. “Do you want to dance?”

“Uh….sure.”

He was being weird about this. You didn’t have much time to think about that though before he swung you out on the dance floor, swaying you to the beat of the music. The first few songs were fast, but eventually they played a slow song, and so you two danced a slow dance, Oikawa’s hands settled gently on your waist and yours around his neck. He had you pulled close though, enough so that his head curved over your shoulder and your ear pressed against his.

“So, I was thinking,” he said.

“Oh no. That’s always dangerous.” You laughed a little bit.

“Haha, very funny. But seriously, we’re graduating soon, and I…I don’t want to lose you.”

You couldn’t see his face with the position you were in, but you could hear the tenderness of his voice. Your heart ached with it even as he voiced the thought you had been having for a while now. You were coming to the close of your final year and you had wondered if, when you were no longer in school, you would have to face the reality of Oikawa no longer wanting to spend time with you.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you said softly.

“Yeah but…” Oikawa released a shaky sigh. “I don’t know if that means the same thing to you.”

Oikawa pulled back, far enough to look you in the eyes. You were too astonished to protest, staring up at him with your mouth fallen open in surprise.

“I want something more. I know you’ve just barely accepted me as a friend and you hardly even tolerate me and I know I’m annoying and loud and brash and obnoxious. I know all of that, but I need you to know that you’re everything I’m not. You’re gentle and smart and careful and considerate and you were the one I wanted to take to this dance. You. Not anyone else. That’s all I have to say.” He laughed bitterly. “I guess that’s my confession. I don’t expect you to accept it.”

Before you could stop him, he let go of you, starting to retreat through the crowd of dancing bodies around you.

“Tooru!” You used his first name in your excitement, forgetting any need to pretend distance.

He stopped when he heard you, a look of desperate hope on his face. You grabbed his hand, pulling him back into you.

“I wanted to come to the dance with you too. You’re my best friend, but you’re so much more than that. I’m so stupidly in love with you, but I never thought that you would feel the same. I do accept your feelings. All of them. Even the big, loud, obnoxious, dramatic ones. I love them. I love all of it. So let’s not lose each other. I was thinking that after we graduate, I’m probably going to go to college, but I don’t know if you have plans to go pro with your volleyball, or maybe-”

You were cut off when he grabbed your face between his hands, crushing your lips to his. Right there, in front of everybody, Oikawa Tooru started making out with you in the middle of the dance floor. Nobody really noticed the two extra teenagers kissing on the dance floor, but you felt your heart soar.

“We can work all of that out later. For now, I just want to dance with you.”

“And kiss me?” You teased.

“Yes. I would very much like to keep kissing you.”

You laughed, leaning into his shoulder again. The song changed, picking up pace to something more upbeat, and you changed your dance style in accordance with it. You could see Iwaizume on the side of the dance floor looking at you two approvingly, and when you made eye contact, he gave you a thumbs up.

Later, you would have to worry about college and volleyball and everything else. Eventually, it would all work out in the end, though not without some troubles. That Friday though, you danced the night away with your best friend turned boyfriend, and finally admitted to yourself that Oikawa Tooru was the best.

#hq #haikyuu!!#hq fic #oikawa tooru #oikawa #hq oikawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader

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panda-noosh · 4 years

Text

the other brothers wedding {finn shelby x reader}

Words: 8.4k

Summary: All Finn needs is a date to Tommy’s wedding.

Warnings: swearing, gets kinda steamy

Genre: fluff (??)

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions!

----

“You’re lonely, Finn. There’s no point denying it. I can see it in your eyes.”

The room swallows the words. Absorbs them into the wallpaper. Locks them in for good, so Finn will no longer be able to step foot in the office without remembering this very moment and the way Polly is looking at him now.

All he wanted to do was ask her who had eaten the sandwich he’d left in the fridge. He and Isaiah were planning on getting a few drinks, but it was an unwritten rule between the boys to not drink on an empty stomach.

But Polly had caught him before he got that far, as she often does.

He stands in the doorway, staring at his aunt with what he hopes is a look of confusion, just enough to hide the tiny spasm of panic erupting in his chest.

“You really are a witch, aren’t you, Pol?” he says, putting that tiny smile on his face to hide the truth.

Polly takes a puff of her pipe, blows the smoke directly into Finn’s face. “I spoke to Tommy about you. He’s worried. He’s going to get you a whore to bring to his wedding if you don’t hurry the fuck up.”

“He’s gonna get me a whore? That’s nice of him.”

“You and I both know he’s not doing it for your benefit.”

Finn purses his lips and looks away. “Tommy can do whatever the fuck he wants. He’s never taken an interest in me anyway.”

“I wouldn’t take it personally, son,” says Polly. “He doesn’t care about anyone but himself - himself, and the family image.”

Finn looks up. “What?”

“He may not give a shit about your feelings, but you walking into his wedding without someone on your arm is going to make people ask questions - questions Tommy won’t want to deal with. So, the bottom line is, you get someone for yourself, or he’ll do it for you, and he won’t take into consideration a single STD you might get from whoever he hires.”

Finn scoffs.

“I’m being serious, Finn,” Polly deadpans. “I’m warning you now, for your own sake. Get someone you know is safe and willing, and you’ll be alright.” She raises a brow. “Just for one night. You don’t even have to fuck them if you don’t want to.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Finn asks, because he genuinely wants to know. Polly has gone off the rails these past few years, distanced herself from the family more and more in her attempts to spend more time with her son. She’s also spent a good chunk of Finn’s teenage years trying to ‘find herself’ amongst spirits and other bat-shit crazy things that Finn wants nothing to do with.

Why she is here right now, giving Finn directions on how to see himself through to the end of this wedding safely is a complete mystery.

Finn isn’t sure he trusts it.

Polly takes another puff of her cigarette and turns, facing the window. The velvet curtains match her burgundy dress, a shadow of her slim frame crawling up the wall to her left.

She really does look like a witch.

“I just think Tommy’s getting a bit too comfortable, that’s all,” she replies in that way of hers. “He’s tainted Arthur and John. Ada wants nothing to do with him half the time. I’d hate to see you go down the same path.”

Finn doesn’t know how to respond; in truth, he’s never truly felt like part of the family. He’s got the Shelby name, and he’s part of the Peaky Blinders, but it’s more through association than anything else. Tommy has never looked at him as a true member, has never given him tasks he would give the other Blinders. Finn likes to tell himself it’s because his older brother is protective of him, doesn’t want to see him get hurt - but in truth, it’s most likely more so due to the fact that Finn isn’t the most skilled Shelby boy when it comes to anything pertaining to that kind of thing; he can barely shoot a gun, for gods sake. He wasn’t in the war. His Dad left long before he could ever teach Finn the basics, and his brothers have always been too busy to show him themselves.

Finn is the throw-away piece.

Finn swallows and looks to the ground. “I’ll - uh - have a look around for anyone interesting. Thanks for warning me, Pol.”

Polly nods. The messy bun atop her head slumps forward, but she does nothing to fix it. ”Anytime, Finn. And pick a good one, too. Really show Tommy up tonight, yeah?”

Finn nods. Polly can’t see him, but he does not correct his gesture. Instead, he turns on his heel and heads out, feeling a little bit sick.

---

The news on the front page today is yet another bomb.

It’s a petrol bomb this time - you suppose the culprits are mixing things up this time around, or maybe actual explosives were getting a little too tiresome to lug around Birmingham.

“This isn’t the pub your brothers own, is it?” you ask, tilting the newspaper a little bit.

Ada looks up from the pile of books she’s looking through and shakes her head. “No. Too big.”

“Good.”

“Debatable.”

You fold the newspaper over and stamp it, placing it back in the newspaper rack to your side. Another day doing overtime in the office because Ada needs help finishing up her work before she has to pick Carl up from the babysitters - she’s been stressed out recently, meaning she’s been getting to work later and later, and you’re the only person in the office willing to help her catch up before her time runs out and Carl is left stranded.

“Do you ever plan on making amends with your family?” you ask.

Ada scoffs as if the mere suggestion is beyond her wildest imagination.

You raise a brow. “What about that younger one? Finn. He can’t be too bad. He’s my age, is he not?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well.” You lean back, lacing your fingers behind your head. “I’m only young - I haven’t really had time to fuck up my life as much as your other brothers seem to have done.”

“Finn has messed up plenty of times.”

You tilt your head to the side. Ada glances at you, rolls her eyes and says, “Okay, so Finn isn’t all that bad. Is that you wanted to hear?”

You grin, spin round in your chair and pluck another newspaper off the newspaper rack. You get back to work without a word, which Ada seems most content with.

The silence does not last forever, though, as the staircase to your left creaks; Ada is the first on the scene, craning her neck and saying, “Sorry, love, we’re closed,” but you catch the tiny lick of hesitation at the end of her sentence, the way her expression drops on the last word.

You crane your own neck. “Who is it?”

“What the fuck are you doing here? Who dropped you off?”

“No one.” The voice is familiar, one you’ve only heard in tiny murmurs on the other end of phone calls Ada used to take all the time.

And then he appears in the doorway.

Tall, dressed in a brown suit that hugs his lean frame quite well, you’re embarrassed to admit. His hair is shaved round the sides, just like every Shelby boy you’ve ever known, and his smile is full of innocence, unlike every Shelby boy you’ve ever known.

Ada groans, turning back to her pile of books as you stare at Finn Shelby with your mouth slightly open; he’s got his eyes planted firmly on his sister, and you’re almost certain he hasn’t seen you yet.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” he asks. “You’ve been in hiding for god knows how long.”

“And there’s a reason for that,” Ada shoots back. “A reason you’re damn well aware of, so why the fuck are you here?”

“Nothing catastrophic.” Finn pulls a chair out from beneath Ada’s desk and sits down, crossing his legs. “I’m here for some actual big sister help.”

Ada raises a brow. “Unlike you.”

“Polly’s let me know that I need to bring someone to Tommy’s wedding or else he’s getting me a whore.”

You cover your mouth, stifling your giggle; you aren’t sure why, but you don’t really want to make a noise lest Finn hear you. At the minute, you’re perfectly fine with being the bystander, hidden away in the corner.

Ada takes a moment to respond. She’s got her stamp in her hand, the book open to the correct page, but she makes no move to finish her task. She just stares at the book for a little while, until Finn leans over and clicks his fingers in front of her eyes.

She flinches away. “You’re being serious.”

“Look, don’t make this a big deal,” he says. “It’s just for one night, and I know you’ve got all them friends - normal people.”

“I can’t believe you actually think I’d let one of my good friends waltz into an event hosted by Thomas fucking Shelby. They’ll be dead by the end of the night.”

“They’ll be with me,” Finn corrects. “And Tommy’s already promised this is going to be a quiet night - it’s not like him and Grace. This is purely a wedding for circumstance.”

“Tommy promises an awful lot of things.”

“Please, Ada. I never ask you for fuck all.”

Ada rolls her eyes. “Now you’re gonna guilt trip me?”

“I would never do that to you.” He leans forward, and you almost swear you see him bat his eyelashes.

Ada pushes him away, two fingers pressed to his forehead. “You’re a pain in the ass, Finn Shelby. I wonder where you get it from.”

Finn smirks, and something in your stomach stirs. “I think we all have a bit of that to take the blame for.”

Ada sighs, stamps her book and nods in your direction.

Finn spins around, eyes widening when he realises you’ve been sat there the entire time. You give a small smile, timidly waving.

“Y/N’s single,” Ada says.

Your eyes snap up. “You what?”

“Are you?” Finn asks, suddenly seeming much more lively. His fingers have tightened on the arm rests of his chair, and he’s straightened up significantly, really accentuating his lean torso.

You still haven’t entirely processed what Ada means.

“They are,” she replies when you fail to do so. “I don’t think you’ve been out with anyone in ages, Y/N, have you?”

“I - uh - that’s none of your fucking business.”

“Well, this is perfect.” Finn stands up and grabs your hand, surprising you by pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His cheeks are flushed a bright red colour, and you’re almost certain this isn’t the kind of thing he does all the time - he’s been playing off some kind of script, or some older source has been telling him what to do or say to win you over. Either way, he looks most unnatural in this state, and you can’t help the tiny laugh that escapes your throat.

“Is this for real?” you ask. “Are you asking me to go to your brothers wedding with you? We don’t even know each other!”

“We don’t have to know each other. It’s not that serious,” Finn replies. “Tommy will probably know you’re not my real partner, so he won’t give a shit. We’re just there to make appearances - nothing more.”

“Finn being on his own will be a right embarrassment to the family,” Ada adds over Finn’s shoulder. “Thank fuck I’m a widow.”

You flick your eyes between the two Shelby’s; no matter how much Ada tries to distance herself from them, you can see the clear resemblance, both in personality and appearance. Finn is staring at you with a hopeful smile, and he has the exact same eyes as her, a tiny dimple in his chin, eyebrows that look like they should constantly be arched in anger but are not.

“I don’t even know who you are,” you mumble.

Finn’s smile wavers. “Come for a drink with me, then.”

Your heart jumps. “What?”

“We’ll go for a drink together,” he repeats. “I’ll let you meet my mate, Isaiah. If we run into Tommy, or Arthur, I can just tell them I’ve been seeing you for a while, I’m taking you on a tour of the town-”

“So I’ll just have to pretend to be in love with you?”

Finn grins. “Exactly.”

“You’re saying that like it’s easy.”

“Oh, Finn is very easy to love,” Ada chimes in. Finn blushes at her words, but keeps his eyes on you. “Probably the easiest out of all of us. Go on, Y/N. Give the kid a break.”

You look back at Finn, noting that hopeful spark in his eyes, so like his sisters. You’ve never been able to resist Ada when she looks at you like that.

And apparently Finn is the same.

You sigh, slapping his cheek with a rolled-up newspaper. “Fine. But you’re paying for the booze. I’m sure being a mob boss pays a lot better than working in a book shop.”

----

Finn isn’t sure how to do this.

He knows it’s only fake. This is something he constantly reminds himself as he walks into the Garrison, you trailing close behind him - none of this is real. After Tommy’s wedding, it will all be over and he won’t ever have to put himself through this anxiety again.

But he can’t quite figure out why he’s even anxious in the first place.

He sees Isaiah first, seated at the bar, talking away to the girl behind it. A whiskey glass sits empty in front of him, and Finn says a silent prayer that his good friend isn’t drunk yet.

He turns, glances at you. You’re casting your eyes along the surprisingly well-kept pub, hands stuffed in your pockets, shoulders drawn a little too far up for Finn to be convinced you’re relaxed. It’s complete chivalry when he reaches over and places a hand on your elbow, his attempts at soothing you when he knows his words won’t do the trick.

You look at him. “Your family owns this place?”

“Yeah.”

You nod as if you understand. Finn knows you don’t. Nobody will ever really understand just how far the Shelby’s have managed to leave their mark. Small Heath doesn’t even scratch the surface.

Finn leads you to the bar and pulls your stool out for you. You sit down next to Isaiah with a grateful smile, and it is only then that Finn taps his best friends shoulder and grabs his attention.

Isaiah spins around, eyes widening when he sees Finn standing over him. “That twas awfully fucking quick. Do you know how long I’ve been sat here waiting for you, mate? I downed your whiskey.”

“I don’t care,” Finn replies, before motioning to you. “Isaiah, this is Y/N. The person I’m taking to Tommy’s wedding.”

Isaiah blinks. It’s not a drunken blink, not the ones Finn is used to seeing from his best mate. This is a blink of genuine confusion, slow and deliberate as he trails his eyes along your form.

You offer an awkward wave, and Finn jumps in before Isaiah can pick up on how uncomfortable you are.

“I thought I should introduce you before the big day. There’s gonna be so much happening that day, anyway - don’t wanna add anything else to the list, you know.”

“Man, what the fuck are you on about?” Isaiah thrusts a hand in your direction. “Hello, love. I’m Isaiah. I didn’t realise Finny-Boy was getting any action.”

“Plenty of action,” you mumble in response, and Finn pretends to cough in his attempts to hide his laughter.

Isaiah shakes his head, leaning back against the bar. “This is bloody surreal, I’ll tell you that much. I was starting to think our Finn had no bollocks or something and that was why he refused to talk about the sex.”

You raise a brow, glancing at Finn. “The sex?”

“Shagging. A good ol-’”

Finn slaps the back of Isaiah’s head. “Alright, Y/N, what are you drinking?”

You perk up. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Finn raises a brow. “I don’t know… I’m on the pretty strong stuff.”

You nod. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

And Finn has to admit he’s impressed when he orders you a whiskey - all on it’s own - and you down it in the space of ten seconds, barely even wincing. You order a second one, and the conversation goes from there.

Finn has to watch you. He can’t help it; he knows he’s hit the jackpot. Ada has plenty of friends, but most of them are hardcore Christians who wouldn’t even think of pecking him on the cheek if he asked them to. Either that, or very elderly women, and Finn might have been desperate earlier, but he isn’t sure he’d have agreed if Ada offered him one of her old librarian friends.

It was a miracle, really, that you were sat behind that desk, had heard every drop of conversation, had agreed to come with him, and now here you are, playing the part of his partner in a way that nearly has him wishing this wasn’t just a temporary thing.

At one point, with Finn standing beside your chair, you wrap your arm around his middle and use your other hand to absently mess with the tails of his shirt. You’re still chatting idly away with Isaiah, but at the feel of your nails scratching lightly against the fabric of his shirt, sending goosebumps to race along his skin, Finn can’t drag himself back into the conversation. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, nods along like he’s paying attention.

And then someone claps him on the shoulder.

Finn jumps, nearly spilling his drink over you in the process. Spinning around, he comes face-to-face with Arthur, his oldest brother and biggest pain in the ass. Ever since John died, Arthur has taken it upon himself to be the reckless, annoying brother in the family - only he does it with the added fuel of cocaine.

His grin is clear beneath his moustache. “And what is this?”

Your arm drops back to your side. “Hello.” You glance up at Finn. “Who’s this?”

Finn speaks through gritted teeth. “This is my brother, Arthur. Arthur, this Y/N - my date to Tommy’s wedding.”

Arthur pauses. Finn can see his thoughts racing, fuelled by the drugs and the alcohol and the adrenaline the mix of two can bring.

And then he smiles, so wide and daunting that Finn very nearly grabs your hand and declares he’s off to bed for the night.

“Well, isn’t that fucking lovely?” Arthur hollers. “How many STD’s has this one got, then?”

Your eyes widen. You open your mouth to say something back, but Isaiah stumbles in before you get a chance.

“Nah, mate, Y/N’s sound! An actual, working individual, as far as I’ve picked up. Hasn’t even got the clap.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. “Serious? You’re doing all this for free?”

You swallow. Finn watches your throat bob, reaches down and pinches your shoulder - his way of letting you know that this moment will pass, that Arthur won’t be here for good, you’ll be okay.

He turns back to his older brother. “Where’s Tommy?”

“Out doing god knows what.” Arthur tosses himself onto the stool next to you, orders a whiskey before turning back to Finn. “Honestly, mate, he hasn’t been on a night out in fucking ages. I think Lizzy’s got his balls hung up on the key holder by the front door.”

Isaiah snickers. Even you crack a smile, so Finn lets himself chuckle along.

“I hope this one doesn’t do the same with you,” Arthur continues, nodding in your direction.

Finn opens his mouth, ready to defend your honour or whatever, but you beat him to it. Raising your glass, you say, “Finn is allowed to go on as many nights out as he pleases - as long as he doesn’t mind me doing the same.” And then you down the remainder of your whiskey.

Isaiah hoots, slapping you on the back like you’re one of the boys, fitting so easily in the group. Arthur just stares at you, a look of mild admiration on his face that Finn has not seen in an awfully long time. Not since John died. Not since the world got so dark it was almost not worth trying to see the light.

It makes his stomach curl, a feeling of warmth mixing with that feeling he really isn’t used to.

Arthur glances at him and smiles. Finn smiles back, slowly placing his hand on your shoulder.

---

“I don’t think Tommy is going to like me very much.”

There. You’ve said it - you’ve spoken the truth, the one fear that has been swirling around your brain for the past three days you’ve been in Small Heath.

Finn glances at you in the mirror, too busy fiddling with his tie to pay you too much attention, though you don’t miss the small smile that plays on his face.

You sit on the bed behind him, messing with the cuffs of your sleeves; you’ve been dressed and ready to go since the early hours of the morning, having been far too nervous to just sit around and wait for the time to draw nearer. But now it’s here, and you’re beginning to regret this little arrangement.

“I’m not exactly a Polly Gray,” you continue. “I work with Ada, for fucks sake. How am I meant to impress him?”

“You don’t need to impress him,” Finn replies, because it’s easy for him to say that, easy for him to believe that when he is one of the lucky few who have had a part of Tommy’s respect from the moment they were born.

You sigh, slumping back against the headboard. “What kinds of things would he like to talk about?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“He’s your brother.”

“He’s a businessman.” Finn frowns at his reflection, undoing his tie for the nineteenth time.

You roll your eyes and make your way towards him. He doesn’t notice your presence until your centimetres away from him, and you’re not really sure what comes over you when you reach around him and start fixing the tie for him.

His muscles tense against you, and one glance at his reflection reveals the fresh pink hue added to his pale cheeks; your own face is heating up considerably, and it’s with an awkward stumble that you back away from him once the tie is done up.

He swallows. You can see his Adams apple bobbing.

He turns then, giving you a small smile. “Thanks. I’m shit at formal wear.”

“I find that hard to believe considering you live in a suit.”

He scowls. “Nothing like this. I don’t know what Tommy was thinking setting this as the dress code.”

You grin. “Are the Shelby brothers gonna be wearing matching suits?”

Finn glares.

You laugh, nudging his shoulder. “Kidding. Unless you are, in which case - that is very adorable, and I look forward to seeing it.”

---

Even though Tommy Shelby has not been in love with anyone since dear old Grace, he has certainly gone all out for his necessary wedding.

You don’t recall ever stepping foot inside such a nice building. Much too large, far too roomy, but pleasant nonetheless. Tinkling music rings softly through the spacious halls, and pictures are hung up along every wall, a mural of Tommy, his son and daughter and his soon-to-be-wife greeting you as soon as you step through the oversized mahogany doors.

Your breath leaves you in a single swoop, and Finn must hear you because he immediately grabs your arm and loops it through his own, guiding you through the house.

“Is this Tommy’s fucking house?” you hiss under your breath.

Finn smiles, giving Alfie Solomons a smile as the two glide past each other. “Did I not mention he’s got a shit ton of money?”

“I kind of picked up on that, but this is… a bit overkill.”

Finn snickers. “Keep your voice down. It’s his special day, after all.”

And so the two of you walk through Thomas Shelby’s mansion, nodding and greeting people you have no affiliation with, people you will never see again, all whilst trying to keep up the image that you and Finn are very much in love, have been in love for a while.

At some point, an elderly woman asks when the two of you plan on getting married. Finn, always the gentleman, replied with, “When there’s a baby on the way.”

You glare at him even now as he continues to snicker at his own humour. “It really wasn’t that funny,” you say. He simply winks in response.

You spend the evening clinging to his arm. You’re good at small talk, and nobody seems to have much of an interest in you nor Finn, so it’s easy enough to breeze through the crowd without earning too much attention.

However, these people are still Finn’s family, people he knows, people who have seen him grow up. It isn’t long before an elderly woman has grabbed his arm and dragged him away from you for a ‘quick catch up drink,’ an event you’re clearly not invited to.

You’re left entirely on your own in a room full of people who associate themselves with the Shelby’s.

Your safe place is the bar. You trudge through the thick crowd of excited party-goers, keeping your head down lest people lock eyes with you and try for conversation; you’ve never been a particularly antisocial person, but you’ve never dealt with the Shelby’s before, either - not unless you count Ada, and never before have you heard her state her last name as ‘Shelby.’

You approach the bar and order a drink - a whiskey, because you desperately need something to get your mind off what is actually happening. Now that Finn isn’t here to distract you, you’re feeling the full heaviness of this situation.

Pretending you’re in love with someone? It seems so bizarre, almost embarrassing. You barely know Finn, have only heard short tales and brief descriptions from his older sister, and yet here you are, hanging off his arm, laughing and smiling, listening to people talk about marriage that just makes your stomach turn to liquid because goodness gracious what would married life with Finn Shelby actually be like?

You down your whiskey.

“Slow down there.”

The voice is cool, smooth, recognisable even if you’ve never heard it before. Only recognisable because everyone in Birmingham has heard of the man who owns it, heard his life, his story, the lengths he will go to to get what he wants.

Slowly you turn in your seat. There he stands, the groom, the infamous Thomas Shelby, dressed in a suit that nearly makes you gasp with how expensive it looks, all gold chains and thick fabric. He’s gone all out for his special day, yet despite the effort put into his outfit, he is putting no effort into arranging his features to look even remotely pleased to be here.

“You must be Y/N,” he says. “I’m Tommy.”

“Tommy,” you repeat, even though that wasn’t what you were supposed to say. “Uh - Congratulations on the big day. Where’s the wife?”

He sits down and faces the bartender, ignoring your question. “A whiskey, please.”

You purse your lips, slowly turning back to the bar. Your glass is empty, your head spinning, your anxiety skyrocketing; what do you even to say to someone like Thomas Shelby, someone who has been through hell and still managed to crawl out the other side being even more successful than when he walked in?

“Finn’s told me nothing about you,” he says.

“Oh.”

“Are you in love?”

It’s such an abrupt question, and even though you’ve been telling people all evening that you and Finn are head-over-heels for each other, you can’t bring yourself to lie to him.

He glances at you through the corner of his eye, purses his lips at your silence and says, “Don’t worry. I understand.”

“He’s a good kid,” you hastily reply.

“Better than the rest of us.” He sips his whiskey, slow and mysterious for absolutely no reason, but it unsettles you anyway. “You work with Ada, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“How is my little sister getting on?”

“Good. She’s good. So is Carl.”

Tommy nods. “Good.”

You look away. “You’re not mad that I’m here, are you?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Well… You don’t really know me.”

“You’re here with Finn.”

“Technically…”

Tommy shoots you a glance, one eyebrow raised. “If I’m being honest, Y/N, the fact that you’re helping my brother out at all is enough to be put in my good books.”

And for just a moment you think you’ve misheard him. You turn, scanning his face for any flicker of humour, any sign that he’s just leading you into a false sense of hope right now - you wouldn’t even be surprised.

“I was watching you both when you walked in,” Tommy continues. “You must have said something funny, because I’ve never seen our Finn smile like that.”

Your face heats up. “I don’t… We get along really well. It’s easy to make jokes with him.”

Tommy nods. Says nothing, and it drives you insane, because you want to hear exactly what he’s thinking. You want him to stop this mysterious bullshit he seems to think he needs to keep up, because all it is is a waste of time, especially considering you’ll never see him again after tonight.

You lean forward, trying to catch his eye, but he keeps his gaze on the table, aimed directly at his hand. On his finger is a wedding ring - not the one Lizzy put there tonight, but the one Grace put there years ago. “Is it hard for you?”

He doesn’t look up, as if he expected you to ask that question, had been preparing an answer from the moment he sat down. “It doesn’t get easier.”

“Finn was telling me a little bit about her. How much you loved her. How much you miss her.”

“Yeah, well.” Tommy draws his shoulders back, inhales before taking a swig of his whiskey. “Finn would know firsthand; he saw the state I was in.”

His face is not the one of a man newly married. He’s sombre, jaw clenched and shoulders tense. You have half a mind to whisk him away, break him out of this venue so he can go off and live a life he maybe deserves - in all honestly, you don’t know what that life would ever entail. One look at Tommy’s track record would make anyone believe he deserves nothing more than a hole in the ground.

“I don’t want him going through the same thing,” he says suddenly. “I pressure him a lot, but I want him to settle down with someone he loves. I want him to have something like Grace and I.”

You blink. “He’ll find someone. I’ll - I’ll keep an eye on him, Tommy. I will.”

Tommy nods thoughtfully. There is nothing much left to say besides that, so together, you and Tommy sit at the bar and share a final glass of whiskey before Lizzy emerges and whisks him away to a life he does not want, a life he may or may not deserve, a life you do not want to imitate for yourself.

You glance over your shoulder when the night starts drawing to a close; Alfie Solomons has already left, claiming he had to feed his dog; Johnny Doggs and his wife have already left; Arthur and Linda have already left, though that decision was made more by Linda from what you could tell during the brief goodbyes in which she hastily pecked your cheek, wished you luck in the Shelby family and then fled the scene.

It feels like you’ve been at the bar all night, a waste of a good evening, in your opinion. The class and the grand lifestyle the wedding projected was certainly not for you, but you’d be lying to claim the free bar did not settle your nerves a little bit.

Plus, knowing Finn was there for you was a good comfort.

Your drowsy by the time the dance floor starts clearing, mind awhirl. You push yourself away from the counter, smiling to people you haven’t spoken to all night, saying hello to people who probably just think you’re part of the staff; at this point, with this much alcohol in your system, you don’t even care. Let them think whatever they want. You came here to help a friend-

Friend.

Can you even call Finn Shelby a friend? Do you even want to call him a friend? The more you think about it, the more your skin heats up. His hand on your own as he guided you through the crowd, his breath on your neck when he would lean in to whisper in your ear - just the thought of it is enough to make the word ‘friend’ sound so inadequate, so unsuitable. In your drunken stupor, you nearly start laughing.

But that is such dangerous ground. He’s a Shelby, and if there’s one thing your parents - god rest their souls - would disapprove of, it’s you getting involved with a Shelby. Ada is bad enough, and she’s nothing more than a dear friend.

“There you are.”

You whirl around. A piece of hair falls from your up-do and cascades across your forehead; Finn frowns, gently pushing it away as he analyses the dilation of your eyes, your cracked lips which are stretched into a smile that really makes no sense, because nothing is funny right now.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and he looks so good when he asks it, because his mouth just forms the words like he invented the god damn English language or something, and ugh-

You wrap your arms around his shoulders. “When we get married, Tommy is invited. Best man, Tommy Shelby. How does that sound?”

Finn draws away, keeping his hands on your waist. “Okay, you’ve definitely had a bit too much to drink.”

“What do you think about pre-marital sex?”

His eyes widen, cheeks going red almost immediately; it’s so adorable. You giggle and press a kiss to his face that he doesn’t recoil from, but he certainly doesn’t react how you want him to.

You pull away. “Okay, maybe you’re not as big on pre-marital sex as I thought.”

“Y/N-”

“Sorry.” You step back fully, crossing your arms behind your back like a child being scolded. “I need to learn how to bite my fucking tongue, don’t I? Very not classy of me to-”

“I don’t give a shit about classy.” When he says it, it mingles with a laugh, so the words sound jolted and lighthearted, even though you feel nothing but pure anxiety right now. “Do you know the amount of whores I’ve been with, Y/N?”

Your eyes widen. “Finn Shelby, I am not a-”

He steps closer, lowering his voice. “What I’m trying to say, love, is that pre-marital sex isn’t that big of an issue.”

Even in your drunken state, his words fluster you. You open your mouth to respond, perhaps some witty, sarcastic remark that will make him believe his confession didn’t completely sober you up in the space of two seconds - but the words fall short, and your shock filters through, and the only thing you can do is stare at him with wide eyes.

He chuckles, and for a moment, he looks just like Tommy, sounds just like Tommy. It’s weird, because for the time you’ve known of Finn Shelby, he has always been described as the quiet one, timid in his own sense, staying close to the background because his brothers never let him come any further forward.

But here he stands, making these snide little remarks and these tiny little jokes that leave you speechless, despite you being the one to have started them.

You look to the floor and cough. “How long is this thing meant to last?”

“The wedding?”

You look up. “You know what I mean.”

Finn grins, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his dress trousers. “You don’t have to see me again after the wedding. I won’t be offended.”

But there’s a bit of a dip in his tone that makes you look back up at him and raise a brow. He’s looking at you again, head tilted when he says, “Do you want me to walk you home?”

“Do you want me to go home?”

He pauses. “I don’t know.”

“Not like a Shelby to be unsure of what he wants.”

“I know full well what I want.” He takes a step back and holds out his arm. “But you’re pissed out of your head, and I’d rather wait till you can form full sentences.”

---

You think it’s quite unfair that you have to go into work the day after the Shelby wedding.

Ada takes one look at you when you walk through them mahogany doors and bursts into laughter; you don’t need to hear it from her. You know you look a mess, hair half-done from the night before, clothes leaning more towards comfortable than stylish. You honestly couldn’t bring yourself to wear anything fancier than a shirt and trousers today, and you’ll gladly slap any fucker who has anything to say about it.

You slump down behind your desk and send Ada a glare. “You look chipper this morning.”

“Mm. You see, Y/N, I was actually responsible last night and remembered I have work this morning.”

“Aren’t you going straight to heaven?”

Ada laughs even harder. You roll your eyes, turning to the stack of newspapers you have to finish sorting through before your boss walks out and sees you didn’t finish them a few days prior - the very day Finn Shelby walked into your life and derailed everything.

Part of you knows it’s dramatic; you’ve known Finn for only a handful of days, but he’s the same man you’ve been hearing about from the first day you started work with Ada Thorn, the same man who invited you to his brothers wedding, the same man who told you last night that he would gladly have sex with you, but was decent enough to wait until you were sober enough to give proper consent.

You haven’t stopped thinking about it since then. Last night, your alcohol-infused brain ran at a million miles per hour as you pondered over whether or not you would ever take him up on his offer, if that was even plausible considering the circumstances; he was a Shelby after all, which - on its own - is a big enough reason for you to take a step back and move on.

It’s as these thoughts crawl back to you that you notice Ada staring at you from across the office. You perk up, giving her your best smile, as if she can somehow read your thoughts of her brother.

“Finn was good to you last night?”

Apparently she can.

You look away. “Fucking hell, Ada. Give me a chance to settle in before you start, yeah?”

“I’m just curious. I barely saw you two last night.” She folds her arms across her desk and leans forward. “You were at the venue, weren’t you?”

Your cheeks heat up. “Yes, Ada, we were. And then he walked me home, and it was lovely - but nothing else happened.

“Hm.” She draws back. “That was gentleman-ly of him. Didn’t expect it from one of my brothers.”

“I thought you said he’s the decent one.

“Oh, he is. But that’s me comparing him to actual fucking murderers.”

You shrug. “Fair enough.”

Ada takes a moment, but when she responds, her voice is soft, unlike anything you’ve heard from her before. “He really is a decent bloke, Y/N. He’d treat you well if you’re looking.”

Your eyes shoot up. “Who told you I was looking?

“Well, you’re single, you have absolutely no social life outside of this office-”

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself.”

“-and I saw the way you and him spoke to each other.” You open your mouth to respond, but Ada holds up a hand to silence you. “I’m not suggesting anything before you take a fucking hissy fit, alright. I’m just saying - if no one else is ringing any bells for you…”

You kind of hate that she has a point.

You scoff and roll your eyes, tell her to get back to her work, but you ponder over her words for the remainder of the day - not because they were ridiculous, but because you can see where she’s coming from, why she would think like that. And it’s not as if you and Finn spent the night hanging from each others arms - in fact, you spent most of the night apart, considering Finn had family to impress and you were more interested in the free bar than anything else - but still. When you were together, there was obviously something there.

Maybe you’re just flattering yourself, seeing things just because you want to see them. Maybe Finn really did think of this whole thing as nothing more than a fun little business deal, a taste of the world his brothers have estranged him from since he was a little boy. In years to come, someone will ask Finn Shelby what his first Big Business Deal was, and he’ll be able to say “I convinced someone to go to my brothers wedding so I didn’t have to sleep with a whore,” and that will be the end of it. You will be nothing more than the one who went to the wedding.

The one stupid enough to go to the wedding.

The day drags on after that - partly because of these new thoughts, and hugely because of your massive hangover. Ada tries her best to help you through it, returning the favour, but she has to leave at half six to pick up Carl, and you’re too polite to ask her to stay and tend your emotional wounds.

So she leaves, and the office is quiet, and you finish up her work for the day because you’re also too polite to let her get in trouble by not finishing her work.

The door starts to slowly open at around half seven. Already the streets of Birmingham are getting dark, the kids ushered into their homes as parents notice the street lights turning on, a sign that the fun is over and it’s time to start putting the little ones to bed.

You look up from the pile of unstamped books you’ve been working through for nearly an hour now. You see nothing, just a sliver of light and a faint shadow creeping beneath the opening door. Your heart speeds up for a reason you can’t pinpoint - the most likely case is one of your co-workers has come back to check on you, which they do quite a lot considering you’re one of the youngest employees.

You crane your neck. “Ada?”

“Close.”

Your heart plummets. “Finn.”

He pokes his head round the door, offering a grin that doesn’t look a single bit pained - the bastard got off without a hangover, then. Typical. Unfair.

He steps into the office, waving a jug of whiskey as he does so. “I brought gifts.”

“You can keep them,” you reply, gesturing to the books in front of you. “I’ve got work to do.”

“Boring.”

“And a hangover.”

He snickers, tossing his fancy blazer off his shoulders and onto the chair he then proceeds to slump into. “So last night caught up with you, did it?” He pauses. “How much do you remember?”

“Enough to know I don’t want to talk about it.” You don’t mean to sound so harsh - it just kind of happens. Finn’s expression doesn’t waver, but you see him drag his lower lip between his teeth for the briefest of moments, the only sign he’s actually heard what you said.

You continue stamping the books. Finn watches, taking the occasional sip of his whiskey.

“How was Tommy this morning?” you find yourself asking, just to make conversation.

Finn chews his bottom lip. “Decent. Busy. Didn’t really talk to him much.”

“Not even a congratulations?”

“Pretty sure I told him I felt bad for him, but that was about it.”

“Affectionate.”

Finn shrugs. “You know me.”

“Do I?”

“Better than you probably should.”

You purse your lips, stamping a book a little harder than necessary.

Finn leans forward, placing his joined fingers on top of the stack. You pause, flicking your eyes up as if to say do you need something?

He tilts his head. “You’re really gonna just sit and pretend like last night never fucking happened?”

Your grip tightens on the stamp. “I thought that was what we both planned on doing.”

“That was before we had our little conversation.”

“Little?”

“Would you say it was a big deal?”

Fuck.

You look down again and shrug, shoving his hands off the pile so you can continue working. “I would say I was drunk, and so were you-”

“I don’t get drunk.”

“You had alcohol somewhere in your fucking system, Finn, so neither of us were in our right minds.”

He scoffs. “Speak for yourself, love. I was perfectly fine, and I knew exactly what I was saying.” He leans forward. “And I remember exactly what you said, too.”

“Why are you such a pain in the arse?”

Finn pulls back, holding his hands by his ears in mock surrender. “Hey, just tell me to leave and I’ll walk out that door and never turn back. Simple.”

You open your mouth to say just that, because that sentence would make things ten times easier. Finn will leave, and you’ll hurt but it will be okay because you’ll be left with no other option than to forget him. You’ll never have to deal with the consequences of being with a Shelby if there was no Shelby left in your life to be with.

But again, the words die. The truth pushes against your rib cage, the feelings you’ve been unable to deny from the moment he walked into your life and said come to my brothers wedding.

Finn watches your hesitation, and then you watch him smirk, like he’s figured out some plot twist in a story he’s invested himself in. You grit your teeth and look away, shaking your head at the table as if that will somehow change something.

“You’re a pain in the arse.” The words come out as a whisper. You’ve cracked. Finn can see it.

He doesn’t chuckle or goad. He instead stands up and walks around the table. You tighten your grip on the stamp, refusing to look up even when you feel his presence hovering over you, willing you to notice him, notice him, notice him, everything will shatter if you notice him.

His presence alone is strong, making you weak in the knees. But then he reaches forward and runs a finger along your jaw before cupping your chin and guiding your head to look at him. You have no other choice - you could close your eyes and pretend none of this is happening, but then you would lose the experience of having Finn Shelby look at you with that fire in his eyes, and you’re not really willing to do that.

So you look back at him, and he smiles.

“I don’t know how any of this shit works,” he says softly. Too soft for a Shelby. “You’re gonna have to help me out.” He tilts his head. “Do you wanna help me out?”

You swallow, eyes drifting to his lips before you can stop yourself. “I - I can try.”

Finn smiles once again, and then that smile is placed against your own. You didn’t realise just how desperately you wanted to feel his lips, didn’t realise just how desperate last night had left you - but now it’s happening, and the dam has broken, and your clawing at his shirt, drawing him impossibly closer until he’s forced to press his fingers against the wall behind your head just to keep himself upright. He grins against your mouth, tongue slipping between your teeth before he draws back and lifts you up. It startles you, but you wrap your legs around his waist nonetheless, letting him press you against the wall as his hands fumble for your hair, knotting themselves in the strands; you do the exact same, and he groans into your mouth, pulls away just to nip at your jaw before he realises he wants to feel your lips a little more and goes back to square one.

“Good,” he whispers against your mouth. “Good, good.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you hiss, pulling him in for more. He laughs, breaking away from the kiss to trail kisses down your jaw, towards your neck, fingers kneading into your thighs as he holds you against him.

You tilt your head back. “Finn.”

“Mm?”

“Ada will kill me if I don’t get this work done.”

Finn pauses. His breath lingers on your flesh, and for a second, you’re tempted to just pull him back and forget you ever said anything - you’re sure he won’t mind, considering the hesitation in his movements when he finally draws away from you, letting you drop back to the floor.

You look up at him and smile. He smiles back, a hint of frustration building behind the expression, but he’s kind enough to let you waltz past him, back to your desk.

“Sorry,” you say, fighting to control your grin. “A busy day. You know how it is.”

“Mhm.”

You glance over your shoulder. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not-” He sighs, running a hand over his face. “I’m not mad.” He slumps back in his chair, waving a lazy hand towards the pile of books. “Do whatever the fuck you have to do.”

You grin. Finn rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too - a smile you had yet to see on a Shelby boy until now, a smile of genuine amusement with absolutely no malicious intent behind it.

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