#a swing and a miss perhaps but i am happy with the shoes!

[abd-illustrates]

💛 Some Sketches 💛

A buncha Heartless doodles from last month that I forgot to post! (Mostly of Murphy the cat) 🐈‍⬛✨ I’m getting a clearer grasp on what I want Heartless’ ghouls to look like, but I’m still not 100% sure whether they work with his very yellow color scheme 💀

[DO NOT EDIT OR REPOST TO OTHER SITES / ACCOUNTS] ♻️reblogs are lovely tho!♻️

[hongcherry]

seeking trouble || p.sh (m)

"Seonghwa entertains your need for a late-night rendezvous despite his better judgment."

🏍 Pairing: biker!Seonghwa x richGirl!Reader (afab)

🏍 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); Smut, angst; light fluff; Bad boy/rich girl au, friends to lovers

🏍 Warnings: Reader referred to as "girl", pet names (pretty girl, princess, whore, baby), #teamseonghwa.... you'll see why 😪 | [smut] dirty talk, unprotected sex on his bike, one spank lol, 5 seconds of summer choking, creampie, orgasm denial, fingering, oral (f. rec.), degradation, seonghwa's gets a lil mean 🥹...lmk if i missed anything! ^-^

🏍 Word Count: 3.5k

🏍 Author's Note: I am shamelessly contributing to the biker!hwa agenda 🫡 And ofc for research purposes, I stared at the gif for a long while. Curse you Park Seonghwa *shakes fists in the air*

part two

ateez masterlist | main masterlist

The flickering street lamp casts an eerie glow on the man in the distance.

He sits half on his motorbike as he slips on a black glove. He pays no attention to the sounds your feet are making on the rough cement. He only looks up when you’re a foot away.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he smiles, leaning back slightly. The chains resting around his neck greet you with tinkling winks under the light.

“Hi, handsome,” you reply cheerfully.

Seonghwa drinks in your appearance. Your bright clothes are the polar opposite of his and the scenery around you. However, he expects nothing less from you.

His eyes lower until they spot your platform heels with fuzzy decor across the toe straps.

Seonghwa lets out a silent huff of air in amusement, one corner of his mouth lifting in a lopsided grin. He blinks once then his eyes are suddenly on you.

The action has you shifting your weight.

“Interesting choice,” he comments. They’re a little odd, but they’re growing on him as the seconds tick by.

“Cute, huh?” you ask, angling your foot to show off your shoe.

“Perhaps,” he murmurs, then picks up a spare jacket from the back of his motorbike. “But I’m not sure they’re appropriate for tonight.”

Seonghwa tosses you the jacket, and you catch it with ease. It’s similar to his, but the reddish-orange accent color swirls in a different pattern.

You put on the item as you reply, “I didn’t have enough time to change.”

“Your date lasted that long?”

“It wasn’t a date,” you sigh at having to repeat yourself from previous conversations.

“You got all dolled up for dinner with a man. Sounds like a date to me,” he explains.

You shake your head, walking toward his bike and gesturing for him to get on. He obeys languidly.

“I’m about to go for a late-night drive with a man. Is this a date then?” you ask and swing a leg over the seat.

Seonghwa hands you a helmet before putting his own on.

“You didn’t get dressed up for me,” he states while you slip on the helmet.

You don’t have time to reply because Seonghwa has revved up his bike. Seconds later, he is driving out of the abandoned parking lot.

You wrap your arms around his waist, the familiar feeling bringing comfort. You can smell his strong cologne and resist the urge to take a deep whiff.

Riding on Seonghwa’s motorbike has your heart soaring with happiness.

Your eyes close as you embrace the wind rushing past your body. The graceful way he swerves through traffic makes you feel like you’re dancing.

You’re tempted to outstretch your arms, but you recall Seonghwa’s nagging voice from the one time you did it in the past. You don’t know why he cared so much, but you figured he just didn’t want to be reliable for murdering the mayor’s daughter.

That definitely wouldn’t end well for him.

Thirty minutes pass until you reach your destination.

Seonghwa’s first to climb off his bike. He sets his helmet down before reaching out for your hands. He helps you off of the bike carefully, watching as you stumble and feeling you squeeze his hands.

Normally after rides, your legs feel a little like jelly. It’s become a habit for Seonghwa to hold you for support afterward.

“’m good now,” you giggle after a moment. 

Seonghwa drops your hands and then takes a few steps to overlook the town. You quickly set your helmet by his before turning to watch him.

The area is just outside your town on top of a hill. You and Seonghwa had stumbled across the spot by accident a month ago, and it’s become your regular hang-out ever since.

The freedom you feel from being away from town makes you feel weightless. You’re not the mayor’s daughter here. You’re not required to go on “dates” to uphold your family’s reputation. You’re not told who you can and can’t see.

It’s liberating.

And addicting.

You step next to Seonghwa silently. The town’s lights look more beautiful from a distance. If you didn’t know better, you’d want to go back. But you know what awaits you at home.

“You ever have to sit in a car with a guy who smells like rotten fish?” you ask out of the blue.

Seonghwa’s not affected by your sudden outburst. He simply slides off his jacket before laying it on the ground. You expect him to sit on it, but he sits next to it.

You open your mouth to question him; however, when he gestures to the item, you understand.

You slowly lower yourself onto his jacket.

Seonghwa leans back on his hands, legs straight in front of him. He’s wearing a simple black tank top in the chilly night, but he’s not shivering.

“No, because he would’ve been kicked out,” he belatedly answers.

You smile and avert your gaze from him to the town.

“If only I could’ve done that,” you sigh.

“So, who was he this time?”

You groan at the memory. “One of the council’s sons. He’s, like, seven years younger, but of course, Daddy wants me to befriend all his friend's children.”

“Aren’t you a good little girl,” Seonghwa teases in a sing-song manner, coming close to your ear.

You scoff and shove at him. “I don’t want to be.”

“Hm,” he pauses in thought.

Seonghwa brings a hand to your chin, angling your face so you’re looking at him. You’re thankful for the moon that allows you to see his handsome features.

His voice drops an octave when he says, “You want to be a bad girl?”

Your heart races at his words. He somehow always has a way to get your blood pumping and mind whirling.

“Aren’t I always when I’m with you?” you reply with a subtle smirk.

Seonghwa chuckles lowly.

“Sneaking out, hanging around someone like me, engaging in inappropriate behavior,” he trails off, slowly leaning in until he’s guiding you back on the ground.

“Definitely a bad girl,” he concludes.

His lips are centimeters away from yours. He’s staring at you with an intensity only Seonghwa can create. It causes your insides to do somersaults; your heart beating irregularly.

You don’t like the feeling.

Needing some form of control, you push against his chest. He pulls away, but instead of leaving him be, you sit up with him and climb into his lap.

Seonghwa’s hands rest on your hips.

“Only for you,” you smile sweetly.

He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s true, princess.”

“Why is that?” you wonder, trailing your hands up his arms until they’re around his neck, inching yourself closer.

“You’ll crawl to anyone who gets you away from that town,” he replies. His hands rise to apply pressure against your lower back, pressing your chest against his. “I bet if you met Jongho before me, he’d be here with you instead.”

There’s truth to his answer.

Seonghwa’s your key to freedom. Without him, you’d be stuck in your overly big mansion—alone and unhappy.

But even though you saw him as a way to spread your wings at first, you started to want to spend nights with him for different reasons. Reasons you’ve been pushing down for a few weeks now. Reasons you’ll never admit to.

Reasons you want to forget.

“Then aren’t you lucky you paid for my meal when I forgot my money?” you say, leaning down to peck his pretty lips.

“Maybe you’re the lucky one since you followed me out like a lost puppy,” he grins. He glides his hands up and down your body lazily.

“I just wanted to thank you,” you argue.

“Wanna know what I think?”

“Trick question.”

“I think you thought I looked like trouble,” he answers anyway.

“Well, aren’t you?”

“If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Enough talking, Hwa,” you sigh. “Let’s get into that trouble I’m looking for.”

“Don’t we always,” he murmurs before crashing his lips on yours.

You instantly swipe your tongue along his lower lip, encouraging him to deepen the kiss.

Seonghwa’s no stranger to your quick antics, so he moves his tongue to meet yours without hesitation. His hands trail to squeeze your breasts through your blouse, eliciting an approving hum from you.

Your back arches in his hands as you begin to roll your hips. Seonghwa’s deft fingers pinch your nipples through your shirt, and it’s not long until his mouth is peppering kisses along the swells of your breasts.

When you start sliding off the jacket you’re wearing, he stops you.

“Leave that on,” he instructs before lifting your top and pulling down one of your bra cups. His mouth connects with your nipple, giving it a few flicks of his tongue.

“It’d be easier if you let me take it off,” you say between moans.

Seonghwa pulls away from your chest; he stares at you while he thinks.

“Fine,” he agrees and helps you remove the item.

You’re quick to remove your blouse and bra completely. Goosebumps litter your body from the cold night, but you’re sure you won’t be chilly for long.

You’re about to remove Seonghwa’s top, but he grabs one of your hands to halt your movements. He retrieves the jacket and guides your arm through a sleeve. Your eyes narrow at him as you slip the clothing back over your body.

“Something about leather on me excites you?” you tease.

“It’s not the leather,” he murmurs.

You hope he’ll explain, but he simply kisses your breasts again.

He’s scattering kisses all over your skin, occasionally nipping it. While he picks up where he left off, you do the same.

Your hips begin to grind against his, basking in the feeling of your clit being brushed against his hardening cock. Your fingers find purchase in his hair as he switches to your other breast. When he grazes his teeth against your pebbled nipple, you tug on his hair and pull him away.

Your lips find his before he can speak a word. The kiss is brisk, mouths moving with feverish haste. You could kiss him all night if you could, but you want to spend your time doing something else.

Too eager to undress Seonghwa’s upper half, your hands unbuckle his belt. You break the kiss with heavy breaths and climb off his lap.

Both of you strip yourselves of your pants and underwear.

“You ever fuck someone on your bike?” you ask once you’re completely bare—except for Seonghwa’s jacket and your heels.

“No,” he answers simply.

“Can I be your first?” you smile and stand next to it.

“What makes you think I want you to contaminate my bike?”

You roll your eyes. “Haven’t you ever wanted to? Come on, Hwa. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it.”

“And how exactly are you going to balance on it?”

“Like this,” you instruct and slowly bend over it.

You keep your feet planted on the ground, hands gripping the side of the seat. You spread your legs slightly and wiggle your hips at him.

Seonghwa’s eyes are cast down between your legs. He can see how wet and ready you are.

Fuck.

He admits he has thought of it before…

“Stop thinking and just fuck me,” you sigh when he doesn’t move.

“I ought to gag you,” he growls as he comes up behind you. He removes his gloves and tosses them with the rest of the clothes on the ground.

“As if,” you smirk. “You love when I moan your name.”

Seonghwa doesn’t reply and instead lowers his mouth to your cunt.

You gasp when his tongue licks up your folds. He repeats himself a few times before diving his tongue in your core.

One of his hands wraps around your thigh to keep you balanced while the other toys with your clit.

Your body jerks at his touches. You rest the side of your face against the cushion seat, his name spilling from your parted lips.

“You’re right,” Seonghwa mumbles against your slickened folds. “I love hearing my name coming from your mouth.”

As if wishing to hear it again, he slides two fingers inside you.

“Fuck, Hwa,” you whimper at the way his digits stretch you out. Your hands clutch onto the seat as he pumps his fingers quickly.

You’re withering against his motorbike as he plays with your cunt. Your climax is building, but you don’t want to come around his fingers.

“Need your cock, Hwa,” you cry.

Seonghwa slows his movements.

“Need?” he chuckles. “My fingers aren’t enough for you, princess?”

You shake your head, trying to focus on his words rather than the slow glide of his fingers still inside you.

“Need my cock to stretch you out more?”

“Wanna be full of you. Please,” you whine.

Seonghwa scoffs and pulls his fingers away. He stands and presses himself against you. The feel of his heavy cock against your ass has you squeezing your legs.

He leans down so his face is closer to yours. The silver chains around his neck dangle downward, causing you to shiver at the feel of the cool metal. You angle your face slightly to see his eyes.

“Such a greedy little whore,” he chides.

His words should offend you, though all it does is turn you on more.

There’s a sassy comeback somewhere within you, but it doesn’t come to you quickly enough.

Seonghwa pulls away slightly and then slides into your drenched hole.

A gasp falls from your lips.

Seonghwa stills for a few seconds before moving in and out at a pace that’s not too slow, yet not too fast.

“You feel so good, baby,” he groans, thrusting roughly once before going back to his normal speed.

The sudden action has you cursing while you hold onto the bike as you’re lurched forward.

“Like that, Hwa,” you instruct.

Seonghwa smirks, running a hand down your spine before reeling it back and connecting it with your ass.

“You like being stuffed and taking it rough, hm? What else do you like?” he wonders. He pulls out until just the tip remains.

“When you do as you’re told without smart remarks like those,” you groan, sticking your ass out to push him back in. You’re buzzing with need and just need Seonghwa to give you what you want.

Seonghwa’s silent for a moment.

You begin to turn around, but he grabs your wrists and pulls you up. A hand snakes around to your throat while the other holds you tight around your tummy.

You moan when his cock slides all the way in due to his actions.

“Just for that,” he hisses in your ear, tightening his hold on your throat. “You don’t get to come.”

You don’t have a chance to argue with him before he starts snapping his hips.

Loud mewls, squelching, and skin slapping skin fill the empty area.

Your arms are trapped under his, though you’re still able to raise your hands to grab his forearm around your body. His grip around your throat loosens, but he keeps his hand there.

Seonghwa’s using your body like you’re nothing but his toy, slamming his cock deep into your walls and hitting that spot that makes you weak in the knees. His grunts behind you are low and guttural, making you even wetter.

His thrusts become sloppier as time goes on, and you know he’s not far from coming.

Seonghwa can also tell you’re close to your own release by the way you’re clenching around him. Usually, he’d go back on his words and let you dive into your pleasure, but he’s not feeling too nice tonight. Not when he knows he’s just a warm body for you to use to escape your wealthy world. Not when he knows he’s replaceable.

Not when his feelings are on the line.

So, instead of being a gentleman, he slams into you roughly—forcing you to bend over the bike as his cum shoots deep in your cunt.

Instead, he pulls out and starts to get dressed despite your pleas and whines.

Seonghwa watches you with heavy breaths. There’s a moral debate roaring inside him. Part of him wants to fall to his knees and devour you until you come on his tongue. The other part wants to leave you like that. Desperate and needing him to help you.

Desperate.

Needing him.

“You can’t be serious,” you whine, eyes wide in disbelief and fear that he might actually leave you like this.

He picks up his jacket, shaking off debris before shrugging it on.

“Get dressed or make yourself come,” he orders.

Your mouth drops open.

Never in your time knowing Seonghwa has he been this cruel. You know he’s not the most upright citizen, but this?

This is too much.

And you hate him for it.

Too close to your orgasm, you roll your eyes and start to prop a leg up when Seonghwa touches your back.

You eye him with the hope that he’s changed his mind; however, he simply pulls your back against his chest and hooks an arm under your knee. His other grips your hip—not even close to where you need him.

“Can’t send you back with bruises when you inevitably lose your balance,” he explains. “Go on, princess. Show me just how badly you wanted to come on my cock.”

You groan, wanting to pull away but knowing trying to balance yourself on his stupid bike would be a bad idea.

You reach back to grab his arm to steady yourself before you bring your other hand to circle your clit.

Your head lolls back against Seonghwa as you touch your aching pussy. Your fingers glide between your folds, silently cursing the man behind you when you feel his cum coat your digits.

His cum makes it easy for you to slip your fingers in your heat, and you close your eyes as you imagine it’s his fingers instead. The feeling isn’t nearly as satisfying as his fingers or cock, but you make it work.

Your body squirms as you finally orgasm, slumping against Seonghwa while you catch your breath.

Seonghwa smiles. “Feel good?”

“Fuck you,” you curse weakly.

“At least I gave you the opportunity to get yourself off here. I could’ve made you wait until you got home,” he says.

He doesn’t make an effort to move you—letting you regain your energy. At least, he’s not a complete asshole.

“Whatever,” you grumble.

You stay leaning against Seonghwa for a minute before moving away and getting dressed.

Seonghwa finishes getting dressed and is leaning against his bike when you’re done.

“Do you hate me or something?” you ask as you stand before him.

He tilts his head in confusion. “No?”

“Then why did you do that?” you scoff.

Seonghwa chuckles. “Because you should learn that your naughty mouth has consequences.”

He pushes away the underlying emotions that caused him to act like that. That’s something he can ponder over with a drink.

“You could’ve like,” you pause in thought, “given me the silent treatment instead.”

He smiles at you, finding your idea of punishment cute.

“The point of a punishment is for you to learn your lesson,” he explains.

Even though he’s right, you still pout.

“Come on, princess. We gotta get you home before—”

“Your bike turns into a pumpkin?”

“What?”

“What?”

Seonghwa shakes his head, a small grin on his lips, and then offers you a helmet.

“You hungry?” he asks while you swing a leg over.

“A little,” you answer.

“Okay. I’ll stop by that one place before dropping you off,” he says.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

Nearly an hour later, you’re sneaking into your room, a takeout bag in hand.

You’re thankful your family members are deep sleepers. You’re not in the mood to confess all your sins to them at two in the morning.

As you’re munching on the food Seonghwa bought you, your mind wanders to the future.

At some point, you know something is going to have to change—whether that be by force or by choice.

Your family will never approve of Seonghwa. Sure, they may end up tolerating him, but that will take years, and even then, they’ll never truly accept him. Hell, they may even pay him to go away. That brings another thought to mind.

How much would it take for Seonghwa to leave you? Would it take much? Would it even be monetary?

You would hope he’d stick with you regardless of what they’d offer him, but you’re not sure. 

Even with the looming possibility of your family discovering your secret rendezvous, there’s another issue at hand. One that’s more internal than the former.

One that involves your heart.

There’s only so much you can do and tell yourself that holds Seonghwa at arm's length. His world is so different from yours. Even if you could be with him, could you really handle it? You’ve never had to worry about money, a job, or chores. Being part of both worlds would be ideal, but you’re sure your family would disown you if you dated Seonghwa. Could you leave it all behind for something that may not last?

Both scenarios result in bad outcomes.

Although one of them is bound to happen, you don’t know which will come first.

A/N: Not sure if I wanna make a part two or let y'all use your imagination... 🤔

Edit: Here's part two 🤣

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[dragon-kazansky]

I'm your boyfriend | Helmut Zemo

Requested by anon

Bucky version

Zemo had never seen you this drunk. Sure, you both go out for a drink from time to time, but this was something else. You could barely walk in a straight line. He stayed close by in you fell, but it wasn't after you nearly tripped that things got interesting.

He had caught you before you reached the ground. At first you seemed pretty put of it and hadn't noticed, but he had kept his arms around you. That's when it got fun.

"I don't think my boyfriend would like this very much."

"Your boyfriend?" Zemo chuckled softly to himself. You were that drunk.

"Yeah. He's pretty damn impressive, and not someone you want to piss off." You glare at him.

"Oh?"

You smack his hands off of you and lean against the wall, trying so hard to stay upright. You looked like a newborn deer.

"He'll... he will come for you."

You stagger over to the alcohol cabinet, grabbing the first bottle you see. Zemo comes over and tries to take it from you, but you hug it to your body, shake your head vividly, and push him away.

"No!"

Your childish behaviour did not deter him. Zemo guided you over to the table and made you sit down.

"He's a baron you know!"

"Is he?" Zemo plays along. He wondered if you really did have no idea who you were talking to.

"Yeah. He wears these big fancy coats and he takes me places. He's super smart too. Can I tell you a secret?" You grab at his arm and tug.

Zemo chuckles and leans down.

"Of course."

"He broke up the Avengers a few years ago. He did that. Isn't that... like, impressive?" You let out some drunken giggles.

Zemo smiles at you.

"I suppose it is."

You out the bottle on the table, forgetting all about it as you stand up and sit on the tabletop, legs swinging slightly.

"He's the best! He loves me very much, I know he does. He does all these really nice things for me and I can't thank him enough." You hiccup.

Zemo stands right in front of you, watching, listening.

"I hope... I hope he knows I love him too."

"I am sure he does."

"You know, you look a lot like him." You poke his chest. Zemo wasn't wearing his usual get up, having dressed a bit more casual tonight. He wondered of that's why you couldn't recognize him.

"Do I?"

"Yeah. Same colour eyes. He has very pretty eyes. Same colour hair. He always looks so smart. You even have the same smile. God, I love that smile," you sigh softly.

Zemo laughs.

"Where is your boyfriend now?"

You turn your head to the clock on the wall and squint at it. Honestly, you can't make out a single number, but you know it's late.

"Probably in bed. Ooo, he's probably waiting for me." You go to slide off the table, but Zemo tries to steady you, concerned you'll fall.

"Waiting for you?"

"Yeah. Sometimes if I go out without him, he stays up and waits for me. Sometimes we cuddle and go to sleep, sometimes we make love. He's very talented under the sheets." You burst into a fit of giggles again.

Zemo smirks.

"I've been told much the same, myself."

You stare at him.

"Really? Maybe you're, like, his doppelganger?"

"Perhaps. Would you like to find out?"

You shake your head sharply.

"No! I'm loyal to him. Helmut would kick your ass if he knew you were flirting with me. I'll tell him! Then you'll see."

Zemo smiles proudly.

"I'm sure he would."

You knew me would. Zemo has had to deal with people flirting with you before. You're a stunning, incredible, talented soul. People are drawn to you all the time.

Yet, you always come back to him.

"You remind me so much of my partner," Zemo says, smiling softly.

"I do?"

"Yes. They're very much like you. Stubborn, proud, can give a man a run for his money. They're talented, sharp, someone I admire very much."

"Lucky you."

"Yes. I am lucky."

You lose your footing and Zemo catches you again. This time you don't push him away. You lean against him and sigh.

"You even smell like him," you whisper.

"Good?"

"Yeah, like home. He always makes me feel at home. I miss him."

Zemo hugs you. You sounded very sad just now and it tugs at his heartstrings. You had no idea he was right there and you were missing him.

"Let's get you to bed. I'm sure he'll be there when you wake up," Zemo mutters, supporting your weight. He takes you to bed.

When you wake up, you have the worlds worst headache. Your ankles are also crying in agony, no doubt because of the shoes you were wearing the night before. You can't bring yourself to open your eyes.

"Good morning, Schatz."

You groan.

"Sleep well?"

You stick up your middle finger, unable to glare at him. You hear his deep laughter as he sits in the bed beside you. His hand settles in your messy hair.

"Good night last night?"

"I don't honestly remember," you groan into the pillow.

Helmut smiles.

"You drank everyone under the table."

"I vaguely remember that."

"We got home and you then proceeded to tell me about how wonderful your boyfriend is. He sounds very fine indeed."

You lift your head and look at him, "but, you're my boyfriend."

"Yes, I'm very much aware of that fact. You weren't last night, however. I'm honoured you think so highly of my, dear."

"Of course I do.... what did I say?"

"Only good things, I promise."

He didn't sound like he was lying, so you believed him. The way he was smiling at you made your heart flutter.

"Breakfast?" You asked, softly.

"Coming up. Rest, I'll be back soon."

Zemo planted a kiss to your forehead and left to get you some food.

You have no idea how happy you made him last night.

@ajeff855 @moonstuffsteve @sky-writes-stuff @lieutenantn @lostghostgirl94 @friday18eo @yaskna @my-blood-is-maple-syrup @gingerwriter97

[clickbait-official]

A Perfect World

🕰 anon i would like to formally apologize

herobrine x reader

masterlist

/ - / pt 2 / pt. 3 / pt. 4 / pt. 5 / pt. 6 ~~~

In a perfect world, we could be happy together.

I woke up at the start of a stone path, the dirt matted onto my skin from the apparent fall I'd taken.

Sitting up, I groan, clutching my head. It must’ve been one hell of a fall, even if I couldn’t remember it.

Slowly I stand up, and feebly make my way into a nearby village.

I walk up a set of spruce stairs, and knock on the door.

A villager opens it, green eyes peering into my own. They wear a green shirt that nearly matches their eyes, and have what looks like a brown vest draped over it.

“Hello. Who are you?” They ask, and after taking in my state, they gasp.

”Oh! Come in, come in! I’ll go run for Miss Ellie!”

The villager pulls me inside before running off.

There’s a chair pushed against a dining room table. I sit down in the chair, and put my head against the wood.

And carefully, slowly, I shut my eyes.

~~~

Opening my eyes feels so tiring.

“It’s up to them now. I’ve done all I can. Call me if it looks like they might get worse. Though I admit I’m not sure what to do. It’s been so long since a Player came about, you know. And-“ The woman cuts herself off, noticing that I am awake.

“Oh, hello. We were just talking about you. What’s your name, Player?Just something we can call you.” The woman asks, who I can only assume is the Miss Ellie the kind villager was talking about.

”My…name? I- Where-“ I look around, wanting a name for where I am. “Where am I?”

“Well,” Says Miss Ellie, looking towards the villager from before. “Right now you’re in Charlie Nyewhy’s house, and this village is the village of Ebelence. Do you remember anything from before you got here?”

I pause to think, yet come up with nothing.

“So you only remember your name and nothing else? Hmm…” Miss Ellie trails off, thinking before speaking again. ”We ought to take you to the Traveler. Perhaps he will know something.”

“But first,” Charlie says, “We should take you over to Mrs. and Mr. Swordsroe. And swing by the Bakers’ too!”

I sit up, albeit slowly, and hesitantly step onto the wooden floor.

It’s surprisingly warm for the early spring months, and quickly I notice a set of clothes, as well as a pair of shoes on the dresser, pushed against the other wall.

”We’ll step out for now,” Says Charlie, “Change into those and we’ll be on our way!”

Stepping outside the room, my shoes click on the floor.

“That was quick.” Miss Ellie says, “Charlie, if they get hurt, I want you to bring them back to me, okay?”

“Of course, Miss Ellie. I’m not that stupid!”

And then, we were off.

The same stone path that lead into the village was the same one that lead out of it. On the other side, of course.

One thing I learned about Charlie during this whole thing is that Charlie talks. A lot. They were a bit of a chatterbox.

As we walked up the path, Charlie talks about the Traveler, who lives close by.

Apparently, there were two of them, who lived on the other side of the castle. One was named Alex, and the other Steve.

Charlie told me that the Lord of the castle had been long gone, and expressed glee at his disappearance.

“He was no good. No good at all!”

Soon enough, we arrive on a front stoop.

”It’s Steve’s” Charlie supplies, knocking on the door.

Carefully the door opens, revealing a man. He has the most entrancing violet eyes, and I can’t help but feel incredibly drawn to him.

However, there is…something off about him.

“…Hello?” He looks back and forth between us, clearly wondering what was going on.

“Hey, Mr. Steve! This is Y/n, and they showed up yesterday all banged up! Miss Ellie said to bring them to you, cause you might know something! So here we are! Do you want me to go and get Alex?”

Steve nods, turning on his heel and walking inside. He gestures to follow.

Charlie runs further down the stone path, leaving me alone with the beautiful stranger.

Steve beckons me inside.

Inside his house is very neat. There‘s a table on one side, the kitchen right next to it.

He takes a seat by the table, and I take the one next to him. Steve pulls out a book and begins writing on it. I look away, not wanting to stare.

It looks like the night is coming soon, and it makes me nervous.

“…Here.” Steve murmurs, and as I turn I notice the book is in front of me.

I read what it says;

”Hello. My name is Steve. The other villagers refer to me and Alex as the Travelers.

Charlie said you just showed up yesterday and didn’t know where you were. Do you remember anything from before that?

-Steve”

His handwriting is very tidy, printed neatly on the page.

“No, I don’t remember anything, other than my name.”

He nods, takes back the book, and begins to write again.

Distantly, I can see the silhouettes of two figures, which I assume are Charlie and the other Traveler.

Steve slides the book over again before standing up.

I read what it says;

”Well, you can stay here. I could use the company, though I’m not exactly the best communicator. I’m sure Charlie would also be willing to open up their spare room as well.

Either way, you can always make yourself at home here.

-Steve”

I smile a bit at the sentiment, an affection already growing for the quiet man.

A knock on the door startles us both.

Steve gets up and opens the door again, this time letting in Charlie and someone who I can only assume is Alex.

“Hey Steve! Charlie came to get me! This must be the Player, right? It’s nice to meet you!”

Alex is a very energetic, lovely sort of person, I find. And she makes the same offer Steve does.

”You can stay at my place, Y/n! That is, if you don’t wanna stay with this old fart.”

Steve glares at Alex, though its easy to tell he doesn’t put any malice behind it. She laughs, smacking her knee.

Soon after that, Charlie asks me where I was going to stay.

After a minute or two of thinking, I tell Charlie I want to stay with Steve.

Alex makes an extra-dramatic exit, faking crying as she leaves. Charlie shrugs, saying that they should be back for lunch tomorrow.

Amidst the chaos of the two people leaving, I miss the gentle smile on Steve’s face at my admission.

I wanted to stay with him.

In a perfect world, we could be happy together.

And this could be a perfect world.

~~~

requests and asks are open! come talk to me!

(request here)

taglist under the cut:

@solar-core @starry-moments

[kenmei]

-ˏˋ EVERYTHING BUT! ˊˎ-

♡ gn!reader x boyfriend!sakusa kiyoomi

cw: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, slice of life, a pinch? of toxic behaviour, kinda suggestive somewhere in the middle, timeskip!au, established relationship!au

synopsis: in the times where home doesn’t feel like how it should, somewhere along the blurred lines of forgiven and guilty, “i’m home” gains back its familiarity

wc: 1900+

notes from mei!

happy bday to omi omi!!

it’s routine.

“i’m home.”

words that are familiar leave his lips; an expected response lingers in the air—it’s routine. the problem is, he’s only met with silence and an unusually cold apartment complex.

there are leftovers on the island; down the hallway leading to yours and his shared room, the lights are off. kiyoomi sighs, shrugging off his coat and not bothering to keep the sound of his dangling keys to a minimum.

and for the fifth time that week, he eats dinner alone.

the next morning proceeds as usual. quiet good mornings, a kiss to the cheek that feels robotic. he makes the food and you make the coffee; working in tandem as the news fills the silence between you both.

“i’m going out today.” you say, spoon clanking against the mugs as you’re pouring in the creamer. “hairi’s birthday.” you add.

he doesn’t turn to face you. “okay.”

you both eat in silence, not bothering to make small talk because the last time you tried, it ended up in a fight that brings you to your situation right now.

the night after, you both “made up,” but after a day and a half passed, he snapped at you more harshly than usual, giving you the silent treatment and coming home extra late just to get on your nerves.

tired of being a verbal punching bag, you reverted back into the person you promised you wouldn’t be again, because you wanted to be better—because you trusted in him enough that he wouldn’t make you feel that kind of pain again.

but now you’re here.

the words scratch at your throat as you open the front door. it’s dark, but you hear the shower running.

you’re not sure why you suddenly feel so anxious, but then again, you dreaded the entire uber ride “home.”

because as much as you love kiyoomi, he’s dragged you to hell and back for the past week and a half. as much as you’re willing to put up with his bullshit because you know he’s just like that, you’re not sure if this relationship is even worth it anymore.

it’s because you know his bad sides, good sides, everything-in-between-sides, you can’t find it in you to say something other than a half-assed sorry because you don’t want to drag things out.

you don’t want to lose him because he’s still your kiyoomi. 

he’s the boy who shared his umbrella with you in high school, the boy who threw his jacket on your head because you never listened to him when he said it’s cold out, wear a jacket.

the man who makes you play with his hair; the one who likes to be babied from time to time. don’t leave, he used to say, arms trapping you to his chest as you both wasted an hour in each other’s embrace.

in every season, all your favourite memories involve him.

and you’re being honest when you say you don’t want anything else—anyone else, but him. he’s a part of you now, and after him, you never thought of life without him.

but as you sit on the couch, head hung low, you think, perhaps, life would be better.

you fell in love rather young, at seventeen where love was like sunshine and rainbows. seventeen, where you didn’t know any other romantic kind of love besides him.

but now you’re twenty-three, where love feels more or less of a shitty scripted tv show. twenty-three, where you know there are many different kinds of love besides romantic.

“what are you doing?”

like you’ve been programmed, you stand. “sorry. i was waiting for you to finish.”

you brisk by him, blindly picking some clothes to use for pyjamas.

and he lets you, waiting for you to finish.

as you’re settling into bed, his lips find yours in a teeth-clashing, empty manner. naturally, you return, unaware of the void in your eyes as you humour him.

hands find their way underneath your shirt and you tense up.

he pulls away. “what’s wrong with you?”

“what do you mean?” you reply, pushing him off you. “...i’m kissing you back? why are you complaining?”

“you’re so bland lately.” he scowls, “you never say anything besides sorry! it’s like i’m dating a fucking statue!”

with the remnants of liquid courage swishing in your bloodstream, you snap, “what the fuck am i supposed to say besides sorry?!” you say, keeping a level-tone as you look at him in disbelief, anger bubbling in your veins. “you’re always mad at me and i’ve done nothing! you keep taking your bad days out on me!”

“that’s because you never do anything right!”

your mouth falls open in bewilderment. getting out of bed, you grab your phone. “fuck you.” you spit, “go find someone else. i’m not dealing with you anymore.”

a shout of your name, the sound of something falling to the floor.

the click of the front door doesn’t let you hear anything else.

kiyoomi<3: please come home

kiyoomi<3: where are you?

kiyoomi<3: talk to me baby please

“no.” you scoff, powering off your phone. you throw it to the other end of your hotel bed, grabbing your laptop.

two days.

(you wish it wasn’t like this).

glancing at the time, you think now would be a good time to go back to the apartment. he’s at practice and you need to start getting your shit out of his place.

your phone beeps a few more times and you wonder why he’s texting so much when he’s at practice. but then again, desperateness isn’t something to take lightly.

and you want to laugh at him, because now, when you’ve left, he’s texting you nonstop, leaving you a shit ton of voicemails you don’t even bother listening to.

your chest hurts, you’re sure everyone and their mother’s can tell you’re literally lifeless as you drag yourself to your car.

the drive is quiet and full of an empty head. you might’ve accidently ran one or two red lights, but you can’t find it in you to care.

jiggling your keys, you swing the door open, expecting to be met with emptiness.

but he’s there, on the couch with his head hung low, phone in his hands.

it looks like he’s pleading to the phone. you take note of his disheveled appearance and apartment. his head shoots up when he hears keys jingle, eyes widening before his eyes gloss over when he takes in your somewhat put together appearance.

you move to close the door, to leave him in there, but his voice stops you from shutting the door all the way.

“wait!”

it’s desperate and broken, you mentally smack yourself in the head for opening the door again. he relaxes a bit when he sees you again, mouth opening before it shuts abruptly.

he doesn’t know what to say.

and before he can get his head to work right, you turn left and go down the hallway, shoes on and all.

he follows, silently, watching in pain as you grab your duffle bag and start stuffing clothes in it.

he follows, chest pinching and palms sweating as you move around the room, shoving whatever you can into your bag.

you don’t even know why he’s here. he never misses practice.

“please.”

your back is facing him as the words, quiet and heavy, leave his lips. you choose to ignore him, rummaging through your bedside drawer in case there’s anything you might need.

a call of your name.

“stop.” you mutter, scratching your eyebrow in irritation. “we’re not doing this again.”

your lip trembles, you take a deep breath to try and stop the tears from falling.

it hurts to see him like this. your chest aches when you see the bags under his eyes and the tear stains on his cheeks. “we’re not doing this again.” you repeat, an attempt to solidify yourself, but instead, you’re sobbing quietly into your bedside drawer, a polaroid of you and him staring back at you.

“i can’t do this.” you cry, recalling his hurtful words.

frantically wiping your tears, you reach into the desk to flip the picture backward.

“i’m sorry, y/n.” he says, voice wavering.

it’s only been two days, but he feels like he’s been through a century. he thought he’d be fine, that you’d come back.

but after having his texts being left on delivered and his calls going straight to voicemail, the buildup of everything and the reality of everything punched him in the gut.

a home that was once full of love. a home that was once so easy to come home to.

it’s scary how fast everything went tumbling down.

and kiyoomi’s more than aware of how selfish he is. coming home to everything being in it’s exact place isn’t all that odd, he just loathes coming home to everything being in it’s exact place, but you’re not there.

your candle you love so much stares at him. pictures hung of you and him mock him.

everything in this apartment, it was there. everything but you.

and it drove him crazy.

you, the only one he’s ever felt so strongly for. you, the one who makes home feel like home.

but as he stares at your back, tears of his own getting caught in his lashes, he hates that he makes this “home” of yours and his, feel unfamiliar.

and kiyoomi isn’t good, he knows he isn’t. he’s selfish and he likes things done his way because he likes things done right.

but he doesn’t know how to make this right. he loves you so much, but all he can do now is watch as you suffer.

he knows his problem, he knows his shortcomings, his faults—kiyoomi’s had too much time to be fucked up by it all. but the only thing he doesn’t know how to do right, is to fix the problems before his eyes.

a second passes and he finds his body moving before he can think.

he pulls you into his chest, uncaring of your fists pounding against his chest. he holds you tighter because this could be the last time.

and kiyoomi wishes he could do it all over—to go back in time and be the person he promised himself he’d be for you, his supposed forever.

“i’m sorry.” he whispers into your hair. “i know you’re tired, but please let me apologize to you, i don’t want you to walk out that door thinking the things i’ve said to you are true. they aren’t, i swear.”

his arms tighten around you when you stop fighting against his embrace. “all those things i’ve said and done that hurt you, i didn’t mean.”

“i know that, kiyoomi.” you cry, “but i can’t do this anymore.”

“don’t say that.” he pleads, “please, y/n, let me try again.”

and you’re crying because it’s so raw and real. his voice is so gentle and his embrace feels so soothing.

this is all you want. to be in his arms and be held together by him.

he gets his response when your arms circle around his middle, when you bury your face into him and grant his wishes of letting him fix the mess he made of you and him.

“thank you.” he whispers, a choked sob breaking free and he pulls your impossibly closer.

it’s half-past two and everything is where it’s meant to be.

(i'm home).

[bonknigirlinthehood]

What he needs to understand

About: Zhongli was about to go to work when you suddenly throw a tantrum at him, forcing him to stay.

Pairings: Dad!Zhongli x GN!Child!reader

Tags/Warnings: Family Dynamics, father-child dynamics, gender neutral reader, Fluff.

A/N: Another Zhongli and his child fluff. Idk how tf i write this in between his smut fic, and somehow i finished this at 4 am in the morning.

Zhongli had fostered many children under his care throughout his years of living, growing them into an adult that will benefit Liyue. And so, he really was thought it will no different from raising you, his biological child, and yet it turns out to be way more, and more difficult, to raise his own child than foster children as he did back then.

It was a fine morning in Liyue Harbor. Zhongli, a Consultant from Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, already prepared to go to work. On the dining table there's food ready to eat, but not for him, It's for his child who apparently just wake up when he was about to leave. You opened the door to the dining room, still sleepy, only to find your father already done wearing his shoes.

"Good morning, dear. Breakfast is ready, you should eat first, Ms.Lianyi will come shortly after" He notices your presence and smiles warmly, but there seems to be something with you because he also noticed your sour expression.

"My dear, is there something wrong?, Are you sick?" He asks worriedly, he immediately took off his shoes again to approach you.

"Why didn't you wake me up before you had breakfast, daddy?" You pout at him, your little dragon tail swinging behind you with upset. "You always like this, I want to have breakfast with you too!"

"I thought you still wanted to sleep?, You seem tired so i thought you need more rest" Zhongli wipes your face and stroke your messy hair, He can see that you are pretty upset, but he cannot understand why, considering usually you have no problem with him letting you sleep more. In fact, he thought all children like to sleep more in the morning, so he is a bit confused on why you are upset.

Zhongli was about to ask you when you suddenly hoofed onto him and hug him tight.

"Don't go to work daddy" 

He is even more confused upon hearing it. Why you act like this all of a sudden?, He doesn't understand.

"Dear, why are you suddenly like this?, You know I have to go to work today. I can't stay, besides, your caretaker is about to arrive in few minutes, you should wash and prepare to study" 

"I don't want to study!, I don't want to be with Miss Lianyi today!, I want to be with you today!" Suddenly, you start throwing tantrum and whining at him, making him frown in disapproval. 

"Y/n, you shouldn't act like this, daddy doesn't like it if you keep throwing tantrum"

Honestly, you almost stop when he said that, but you decided you don't want to stop.

"No!, I don't want you to go to work!, I don't want I don't want I don't want!" You start thrashing on his chest, hitting him with your little fist, much to his dislike.

"Y/n, if you don't stop I will be mad. I was already late, I can't have you throwing tantrum this early in the morning-" Zhongli stops, realizing his harsh tone. He cursed himself mentally and continue talking with lower voice, "..tell me what's wrong, my child"

You stop thrashing, burying your face in his chest, sobbing. 

"...don't go daddy..." 

Your father sigh, he really doesn't understand what is happening with you today. Usually you are such a good and obedient kid, eating breakfast with your caretaker and either studying or playing for the rest of the day. Is this matter related to him somehow?, Did he do something wrong yesterday to cause you so much upset?.

He was about to ask you another question about it when a knock can be heard from the front door. Realizing who is it, Zhongli immediately picks you up and opens the door. Your Caretaker is here and her greeting smile suddenly turns into worry when she sees you clinging to Zhongli and he hasn’t gone to work yet.

“Did something happen, Mr. Zhongli? Is little bao sick?” she asks worriedly. Zhongli shakes his head, he then invites her to come inside and explain what had happened.

“I...So little baobao won’t let you go to work, and has been clinging to you this whole time?” 

Zhongli nodded, despite you still clinging tightly to his neck, his hand also didn't stop supporting your body so you won’t fall.

“That’s right...and I honestly have no idea what wrong I did to her to make her this upset...Do you perhaps have any idea, Miss Lianyi?” He asks, He looks a bit sad and confused mixed, but his strong facade almost made it impossible to notice.

“I...I probably have an idea why little Y/n acting like this” she said, not so sure. But Zhongli immediately snaps his head to face her with a curious expression. "May I hear it, Miss Lianyi?, I think as her caretaker, you may know things I, her father don't" there's a bit of glimmer in Zhongli's eyes, eager to know. 

"U-uh...well, Mr. Zhongli, for the times I've been taking care of little bao, I've noticed sometimes, they will always waiting near the window…,waiting for you"

"Waiting for me?" Zhongli raises his eyebrows.

"Yes, I think they were feeling pretty lonely because you rarely at home. You see, you always go to work very early in the morning and go home pretty late at night, causing you two to barely have any conversation. And I think it's pretty normal behavior for children to want their parents to spend more time with them. Little bao must be missed you so much" 

Lianyi was done answering, while Zhongli was still trying to digest the newfound information. Throughout his life, every child he had fostered acted very differently, but neither of them ever had such feelings for him. They are always such obedient kids, always eager to learn and be useful for the world. What was the difference?Is it because you are his biological child?So the bond between you two is different?Zhongli needs to understand this or else he won't be able to understand you more. And as a father, it is his responsibility to be able to take care and understand his own child like the back of his hand.

"...Thank you for the information, Ms. Lianyi, I didn't know Y/n was feeling like that this entire time. I should be more cautious about it." He sighs and looks back at you, who are now sleeping again on his shoulder, probably too tired after all the crying. He puts you back to your bed, and after having a brief talk with Lianyi, your caretaker goes back home, leaving you and Zhongli alone. Your father writes some letter for Hu Tao, notifying her he wouldn't be able to go to work that day and asking her to reschedule all of his appointments. 

It's already noon when you finally wake up, and the first thing that goes into your head is if you are alone again. You jump out of the bed and run to the living room, but your father is nowhere to be seen. You let out a sulky pout and grumble, but then the door to Zhongli's room opens and the man steps out. He is still using his usual attire, just without the coat. Upon seeing him, you feel so happy because he is finally at home with you, but when you just about to leap into him you immediately feel embarrassed and awkward, knowing he was here because you threw a tantrum earlier that day, causing him to be unable to go to work and being forced to stay at home with you.

When he noticed you didn't come to him and just stay still, he approached you with a worried expression, asking what was wrong.

"My dear…,is there something wrong?Are you still mad at me?Do you want to eat something?" 

You fidget your fingers behind your back, your tail hidden between the legs. You didn't dare to look at him, still feeling embarrassed and all despite knowing how soft and kind your father was towards you. And after a few minutes you finally gaining courage to talk to him.

"Daddy..?” you whisper slowly.

“Yes, dear?” 

“I-i’m sorry...i didn’t mean to be a bad kid today...i just..i just…” You cannot continue your words, somehow feel too embarrassed to say it. But Zhongli, being as sharp as he is, quickly catch what you meant and smiles softly. 

“It’s alright, i understand” He caresses your head, his ungloved hand feels warm and soft to the touch. “I’m sorry, I should understand your needs more. I’ll try to make more time to spend with you together in the future”.

You can feel your cheek feel warmer, mix of embarrassment and happiness. Your plump cheeks are now as red as peach fruit. Zhongli pulls you into a hug, feeling the warmth of your body, and the comfortable feeling of the part of his soul being so close to him, heart to heart. He now understands why his late wife was so nervous and scared to leave their only child in his hand despite knowing how old and cultivated he is. She was scared this kind of thing will happen someday, because raising his foster children in fact, are different from raising his own blood and flesh. You are just almost as stubborn as him and she is probably afraid the two of you won’t get along nicely. But as always, Zhongli finds his ways to solve problems.

“Let’s eat dinner at Wanmin Restaurant tonight” He says, and you smile wide, your tail wiggling happily. “Yes, papa!” you giggles, your father can’t help but feel ticklish in the heart at how sweet your smile is. Right, he swore to protect that smile ever since you were a baby.

“But you need a bath first” He clears his throat, and without waiting for your reactions he just scoops you out from the floor and brings you to the bathroom. You whine and just resigned to the situation as Zhongli scrubs your body (especially your tail) to wash you clean. He always told you that young dragons need to scrub their body a lot because they are constantly renewing their skin to make it thicker and stronger, so you need to take a bath everyday and scrub your whole body to clean out the older skin so it won’t pile up. And Zhongli always likes it whenever he is just done bathing you. Your skin looks brighter and smoother, and your tail looks shinier, much to his liking. 

Not to mention how proud he is whenever he gets the chance to show you off to the people of Liyue. They always praise you at how cute and how much you resemble your father, but whenever someone tries to pinch your cheeks he is always quick to hold you back close to him. He sure doesn’t want to let anyone touch his one and only child.

With every passing days, Zhongli always learns something new about you. And even though your little self likes the attention your father gives you, in the future you probably will start hating it, and Zhongli will need another solution to solve your adolescence and puberty. But surely, surely he always enjoys seeing you growing up under his care.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Spare Me A Moment? // Benedict Bridgerton

Request: I’d love to request a Benedict fic, if that’s okay ☺️ Maybe one where the reader doesnt belong to the ton and works for the Bridgertons and he falls for her but she can’t quite believe it (because why would he fall for someone of her status?) but eventually admits that she has feelings for him too? I hope this is something you’d like to write 🙈 Thank you so much 💛 - @dreaming-about-fanfictions

A/N: My first Bridgerton request and it’s from my dear, Astrid! Thank you, my lovely. I only hope I have done it justice. There are moments in this that are inspired by Downton Abbey (a different time period, I know, but I adapt) and the way the fic is written is meant to jump about POVs before finally bringing the reader or Benedict as the sole focus of the scene.

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: use of she/her pronouns, female reader, class differences, societal differences, pining, mutual pining, kissing, honest conversations, bridgertons being bridgertons, healthy family relationships.

Word Count: 5.4k

Of the families that resided in Grosvenor Square, there was not one so loved by their staff than that of the Bridgertons. They treated their staff fairly with decent wages and housing well as treating them with respect. The staff that work for the Bridgertons are so admired by the family that those in their employment tend not to leave for years on end; perfectly happy to remain devoted to one family.

To be a housemaid in a home such as Bridgerton House was an honour; as was repeated by the butler, Jenkins and the Head Housemaid, Mrs. Thorpe when (Y/N) began working in the house many years ago.

There was no other way to put it, (Y/N) adored working in Bridgerton House. She never minded the early starts, or the late finishes when the season was in full swing. She could never find herself bothered by having to pick up after the youngest children; their shoes and books lying about hallways and staircases, ready to cause an injury. (Y/N) was utterly devoted to the family; she could never imagine working anywhere else.

And if she had admired the second born Bridgerton with an interest that spoke to more of an employer/servant relationship, then that was (Y/N)’s cross to bear.

-----------

For months he had watched her from the centre of attention. He had observed how she held herself; tall and proud of the work she completed daily.

It had been a passing glance that had started it all. A polite smile and nod from her as Benedict passed in her the hallway, and suddenly he was hit with one, if not all, of Cupid’s arrows. After that, Benedict started to notice (Y/N) everywhere – started to notice the extra attention she paid Hyacinth when she was missing Gregory; he noticed how she would go out of her way to ensure his mother’s comfort in her drawing room, fluffing up cushions and pillows, and offering a blanket should there be a chill.

Benedict began to notice all of this and for a moment, he wondered whether he was beginning to lose his mind. He knew of the barriers between them, but that didn’t stop him from experience the raw emotion of wanting her. Benedict didn’t like to think how many hours of the day he devoted to thinking of her; dreaming of her.

All he wanted was to talk to her. To have a few minutes with her to plead his case; to help her understand that there is the very real possibility of a relationship between then should she feel the same way. How often he had dreamed of her feeling the same way…

A lovesick fool. Benedict Bridgerton was a lovesick fool but should (Y/N) spare him a moment, he would be her lovesick fool.

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

From the very moment she woke, (Y/N) had been on her feet, rushing from room to room, tidying up after everyone. The whole Bridgerton family would be descending on the main house for the final meal of the day; they were welcoming Anthony and his new wife, Kate, home from their honeymoon.

That meant everything had to be perfect. That meant there was very little time to wander through the house; Jenkins was already close to tears; he could not be pushed any further.

The chiming of the grandfather clock in the hallway has (Y/N) hastening her steps, trying not to look too rushed as she thinks of the dinner service still needing to be taken upstairs and the wine to decant and the port to breathe. Whilst Anthony had a collection of whiskies and brandies in his study, the port was kept to the realm of the butler – Jenkins knew exactly what to buy and when to serve it. Tonight was one such occasion, and it still needed to breathe.

“(Y/N)!” Benedict calls, hurrying after her as she makes her way back to her quarters to dress for the dinner service. Jenkins, the Butler, would not be best pleased if she were to show up late.

“Mr. Bridgerton, how can I help you?” (Y/N) asks, curtseying to the second-born Bridgerton before eyeing the grandfather clock and noting the time.

“Spare me a moment of your time, please?”

“You should be getting ready for dinner. I know that Benjamin has laid out your clothes.”

“I want to talk to you… only for a moment, I know you have jobs to attend to.”

Smoothing down her apron, (Y/N) smiles softly at the brunette. “What would you like to talk about?”

“I thought it was obvious but perhaps not,” Benedict murmurs to himself, practically ignoring her question.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Bridgerton but I must be getting on.”

“No!” He all but shouts, reaching for your hand, “Spare me another moment of your time… please.”

She wavers as if caught between the berating she will no doubt receive from the Butler for being late to the dinner service or letting down her employer whom she stands in front of. After a moment’s silence, her decision is made. “How can I help you, Mr. Bridgerton?” She repeats.

“Call me Benedict, please.”

She shakes her head, “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Mr. Bridgerton. It would be improper.”

Benedict hesitates; his hand still outstretched towards her as if desperate to feel her underneath his palms. “I’ve gone about this all wrong,” He says, eyes sad.

“Pardon?”

“I’ve fallen in love with you,” Benedict confesses, speaking plainly as if he hasn’t changed her world in six words.

“What?” She gasps; propriety falling away from her for a moment as the words he uttered settle into her skin.

“I’ve fallen in love with you,” Benedict repeats, voice firmer as he becomes surer of himself.

“How?” She asks, her face and voice puzzled, “I’m a housemaid, Mr. Bridgerton.”

His eyebrows furrow as if such a thing shouldn’t matter in their world. Yet it does – status is everything; titles are everything. A man who hails from a family such as the Bridgertons could not marry, let alone fall in love with one of the serving class. It simply didn’t happen. There was the occasional affair, but (Y/N) knew herself well enough not to be reserved as a mistress – it was not her destiny. She was to marry for love.

“I don’t know how it happened, but I find myself thinking of you every waking minute of the day. I find it hard not to stare at you when I see you completing your duties. At night, I long for it to be you lying next to me instead of the emptiness of the bed. I don’t know how it happened, (Y/N). All I know is that I am in love with you. This is no farce or folly.”

The words fall over her as rain would fall over grass. They soak into her skin, mould to her bones and become part of her in the span of mere seconds. Mere seconds, and her world has changed. As much as she longed to hear those words from his lips, this could not happen. Moving away from him, her chest aching with every step, she whispers her excuse to escape, “I’m sorry, Mr. Bridgerton, I need to get back downstairs.”

Watching her walk away from him, Benedict feels something heavy settle in his chest, pressing his lungs down and making it difficult to breathe. The barriers between them were so entrenched into society, Benedict begins to worry that he has lost her before he every truly got to know her.

Shaking his head, determination sets his nerves to steel. He would try again, he promises himself. He would not pester, but he would do what he could to ensure a brighter future for the both of them.

----------

“We’re down a footman,” Jenkins panics, “I’ve had to send William to bed with a head cold. We’re down one footman in the dining room.”

“What do you propose we do?” Mrs. Thorpe asks of the grey-haired man. Hands on her hips and her lips, thin, Mrs. Thorpe was not a woman to be trifled with. She had not run Bridgerton House for close to thirty years for Jenkins’ panic to ruin a single evening. So far in their shared career with the Bridgerton family, his nerves had almost ruined an engagement party, a christening, an end of season masquerade ball and now, a traditional family dinner.

The colour fades from Jenkins’ face as he mutters, “I’m going to have to have a housemaid in the dining room.”

Mrs. Thorpe rolls her eyes at the antics of the overly dramatic butler. “It won’t be the end of the world to have a housemaid in the dining room. Take (Y/N) – she’s liked well enough by the family and knows how to serve.”

Jenkins sighs wearily as if the weight of the world rests upon his shoulders. “I suppose I have no choice. Will you let (Y/N) know?”

(Y/N) is walking down the stairs to the lower levels of the house when she hears Mrs. Thorpe call her name. Turning, as she lands on the bottom step, she has a fond smile on her face for the Head Housekeeper. “Mrs. Thorpe,” (Y/N) greets.

“We’re down a footman this evening, dear,” Mrs. Thorpe says in greeting, never one to beat around the bush, “Would you be able to cover the dining room with Jenkins and Benjamin?”

“The dining room?” (Y/N) questions as the rug is pulled from underneath her feet for the second time that afternoon. It would mean having to see Benedict once more, but what choice was there.

“Yes,” Mrs. Thorpe confirms, “There aren’t enough bodies to cover the whole family. Everyone is dining tonight.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) smiles, “Of course, I’ll help. I’ll also take William a tray when I get a moment’s reprieve.”

Mrs. Thorpe smiles; the corners of her eyes crinkling from the force of it. “You are a gem. Thank you, dear.”

(Y/N) nods, smiling at the Head Housekeeper though she knows it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Having to see Benedict so soon after his confession had sent her mind into overdrive; her stomach tying itself into knots – she could only hope that the gentleman wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t humiliate her in front of his whole family.

Mrs. Thorpe touches (Y/N)’s shoulder, asking her softly, “Is everything okay, dear?”

(Y/N) nods, trying her best not to let her emotions show on her face. She had been blindsided by Benedict and his confession; didn’t ever expect such words to leave his mouth… well, expected them but never thought they would be directed at her.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Thorpe,” She smiles and whilst the Head Housekeep returns the smile, she does not believe the one on (Y/N)’s face for a moment.

“Are you sure you’re okay to help out in the dining room? Jenkins can always find someone else.”

(Y/N) shakes her head, knowing the butler better than she knows herself. “He would cause such a panic. No, it’s better I do it myself.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” She pats Mrs. Thorpe’s hand. “I am sure.”

-----------

It takes everything she has to stop her hands from shaking as she enters the dining room with her tray of food. Following Jenkins’ lead, (Y/N) holds her head high as she serves the Bridgertons, beginning with Anthony and then making her way from his right.

Benedict all but freezes in his spot when (Y/N) finally comes to serve from his left shoulder. He turns in his chair to find her staring down at him; a serving plate in her hand, the tongs pointed in his direction. Their fingers brush as Benedict reaches for the utensil sending a zap of static electricity up (Y/N)’s arm. She sucks in a breathe, desperate to keep the connection between them yet she is the one who straightens, who schools her face into a mask of polite interest.

“Thank you,” Benedict whispers, still unable to take his eyes off her.

“You’re welcome,” She replies, swiftly moving onto Gregory who sits patiently by Benedict’s side.

Jenkins who had noticed the exchange between Benedict and (Y/N) clears his throat, gaining the attention of the family waiting to start their meal. “I am terribly sorry for the informality. William took ill at the last moment and (Y/N) graciously offered to fill his shoes.”

Anthony Bridgerton smiles at (Y/N). “Thank you, (Y/N), for stepping in so quickly,” He states before turning his attention to Jenkins, “Has a tray been organised for William? Do you need us to contact the doctor?”

Jenkins watches the young Viscount with warm eyes; having known the Viscount since he was a babe in arms, it has been his pride and joy to watch him grow to the man he is today. “(Y/N) has offered to take a tray to William as soon as she is finished here. As for the doctor, my Lord, it seems only to be a head cold.”

“Let us know if anything changes, please.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

As food is served and wine is poured, happy and warm conversation flows through the Bridgerton family. Laughter is the most often heard sound in the Bridgerton home; it punctuates the air whether the chuckle and giggle comes from a member of the family or a member of staff.

Tonight is no different, it seems, as Hyacinth snorts midway through her laughter at Gregory’s latest antics. Visiting home for the weekend from Eton, Gregory was on hand to entertain his brothers and scandalise his dear mother with stories of his school life.

“I do hope you are paying attention in your lessons,” Violet admonishes her youngest son though there is nothing but maternal love in her voice.

Gregory smiles widely, holding a hand over his heart as he promises, “I do nothing less.”

His words receive an amused snort from all three brothers and a roll of eyes from his mother. (Y/N) turns her face away from the loving scene to keep the smile on her face from growing. This; this is what she years for – family, love, laughter and warmth. No matter how Benedict phrases his feelings, and no matter how she may feel for the Bridgerton, a relationship that harbours the four things (Y/N) holds dear would be impossible due to her station. A sad fact, but a universally accepted truth.

The topic of conversation once again shifts; this time focusing on the latest branch in literature. A novel had been published that had managed to scandalise not only the religious community, but also the scientific one. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein was, to (Y/N), two things. Not only was it a book that promised the reader to be horrified, but it was written by a woman. Shelley was not the first female author, and she would not be the last but this latest venture into a new genre of literature inspired pride within (Y/N). With the growing availability of books through libraries, (Y/N) felt it was only time before something big happened in the fight for rights for women.

Though she kept those thoughts readily to herself.

“What do you think, (Y/N)?” Benedict asks, blue eyes sparkling over the rim his wine glass as every member of his family turns to look at her.

Eyes wide with shock, she glances over to Jenkins. He nods but he doesn’t look pleased at her having been called on by the employer. Taking a step forward, she curtsies slightly before answering, “I couldn’t possibly say, Mr. Bridgerton, sir. I haven’t read the book.”

“Come now, (Y/N),” Benedict continues, his smile growing wider, “You must have an opinion.”

“Benedict,” Violet chastises, “Leave the poor girl alone. She’s only serving tonight as William has fallen ill. There is no need to badger her.”

Violet smiles at (Y/N) apologetically as she takes a step back to the wall, her hands held neatly in front of her. Conversation soon turns to another subject, another topic which gives (Y/N) the space to breathe; to slow her racing heart.

Benedict’s eyes continue to steal glances of her figure for the rest of the meal. It feels close to a brand; the heat of his gaze burns through whatever shield she has up to the point where she is certain Benedict has laid her bare for all to see. It’s all she can think of; his keen gaze and his words to her before the meal.

Trying her best not to fidget, (Y/N) keeps her eyes focused on the portrait of a Bridgerton ancestor hung on the wall across from her. She only rouses herself from her nerves to serve the courses of the meal. (Y/N) cannot help but thank any god or deity out there when the dessert course is brought up and the meal is soon brought to a close.

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

It is easy to avoid someone when you ask for extra duties, (Y/N) thinks to herself as she carries a pile of dresses to be mended. The muslin is smooth against her skin as she lays the dresses out on the mending table before turning to find the sewing kit. Thankfully, for the dresses, there was not much to be done but mend a few holes that had torn near the hem. The danger of heels and quick walking women, (Y/N) humours.

It had been a week since the conversation with Benedict; his words constantly playing on her mind until she wakes in the middle of the night with them on her lips, as if she were reciting the conversation in her sleep.

Benedict had tried to gain her attention; he had made clear attempts at wanting to talk to her. However, she simply curtsied and went on her way. She didn’t know what to say to him; she couldn’t understand how he – the son of a Viscount, no less – had fallen in love with her.

It felt preposterous; it felt too good to be true. Yet as the oil lamps are dampened for the night and the other servants in the house have fallen asleep, (Y/N) lets herself dream of what it could be like to be loved by Benedict Bridgerton. She wonders about the curve of his mouth; what it feel like, whether he would smile into their kiss. She thinks of his hands; his long, artistic fingers and she briefly ponders whether he had ever drawn her, whether in his many sketchbooks there lies a portrait of her.

When she’s feeling a particular glutton for punishment, (Y/N) lets herself dream of a life with Benedict where class status didn’t matter. She thinks of what it would be like to wake up to him every morning; to feel the heaviness of his arm wrapped around her waist as he rises to consciousness with the sun. She yearns to know what it would feel like to be able to reach over and take his hand in hers, tangling their fingers together as if they had always meant to be intertwined.

The longing for him is what breaks her. It’s what causes the tears to roll down her face as she lets herself accept the fact that she is sure she has known for a long time. She lets herself accept that she had met the cliché of so many housemaids before her by falling in love with Benedict Bridgerton a long time ago, before he had even come to know her existence.

-----------

The drawing room on the upper level of the house was where Violet Bridgerton spent most of her day. On occasion, her sons’ joined the family, but for the most part, it was her daughters that kept her company. Violet remains occupied by her stitching patterns; a garden of tulips for the birth of Anthony’s darling new baby, however, she keeps a weather eye on Eloise and Hyacinth – her only daughters to remain at home and unmarried.

“Eloise,” Violet murmurs, “Would you be a dear and ring for some tea. My throat is parched.”

Eloise pauses in her writing; so occupied these days, Violet thinks as her second eldest daughter rises to ring for the kitchen. “What are you working on?” Violet asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

Eloise frowns, collecting the papers out of fear anyone should read them. “I’m writing to Penelope if you must know.”

“Writing? She lives just across the way, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you calling on her.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t,” Eloise allows, “But there is nothing wrong with practicing my handwriting, is there mother?”

Violet smiles; a pained one that shows her exhaustion with her beloved daughter. “No, my dear. There is no harm in that.”

Eloise nods, smiling softly at her mother before returning to her letter. Violet watches her for a moment; the way her eyes read and reread the sentences written on the page – this was not a letter to Penelope; it was to a suitor. Violet knew full well, however, that Eloise would come to her when ready – she was not someone to be pushed into giving information.

Returning to her stitching, Violet finds that her attention is once more interrupted by the opening of the door. She sighs, placing the stitching down, curious as to whether she would get the piece done before the arrival of the sweet babe.

Turning to face the door, she is surprised to find her second-born, Benedict entering the room. His eyes, sad and his expression, solemn as he runs a hand again and again through his hair.

“Mother,” Benedict greets, leaning down to press a kiss to her ageing cheek. “May I speak with you about a private matter?”

Violet’s eyebrows furrow but she says nothing as she dismisses her daughters; each one complaining as they leave the room, closing the door behind them. At the click of the lock, Violet smiles warmly at her son – he was so different from Anthony and Colin, not the least interested in their games such as Pall Mall but would rather sit to the side with his sketchbook in hand. He had a boisterous streak; could play with the rest of them, but he had his moments where he fall into a tranquil state and produce artwork that could rival the greats.

Nerves tangling his stomach to pieces, Benedict begins to pace the room. His hands are hooked behind his back as he begins to pace backwards and forwards, trying to form sentences from the jumble of words in his mind. He knew, deep down, that whatever he should want to do with his life, his beloved mother would support him, but even Violet Bridgerton could not ignore the class lines so entrenched within society.

“Benedict, my dear, you’re beginning to make me dizzy. Stop pacing and tell me what’s wrong.”

Benedict pauses his pacing but does not sit down. Instead, he stands as still as a stone, hands gesturing wildly as he tries to form thoughts into sentences. Mouth opening and closing, he struggles of how to bring up the issue of love and marriage.

“You would never stand in the way of who we love, would you?” He finally asks, running a hand through his deep brown hair.

Violet frowns, “I would not considering they were within reason. Why? Have you fallen in love, Benedict?”

“I think… No. I know I have, but there’s a problem.”

“Are they a drunk?”

“No.”

“Do they gamble?”

“No.”

“Then whatever is the matter?”

“She’s a servant. A housemaid to be precise… in this house.”

Violet would be the first to admit that she is surprised by her son’s admission. Sighing, she pats the cushion next to her, urging her son to sit down. “Who?” she asks as Benedict falls into the seat beside her.

“(Y/N),” He admits, fiddling with the hem of his jacket.

She runs a hand through his hair, “Does she love you too?”

“I don’t know,” Benedict admits, “She ran off after I confessed.”

“Then I need to speak to her to find out once and for all,” Violet declares, smoothing out her skirts.

“Mother…” Benedict groans. Violet shakes her head, “Let me talk to her. I can reassure her in ways you cannot. I can tell her that I approve.”

“You approve?” He asks, shocked at the words leaving hid mother’s mouth. “I thought you would disapprove…”

“Because of her class? My dear boy, you have found your love match, that is all I wish for my children. Should (Y/N) feel the same then of course I approve. I would rather you be happy than miserable, my son.”

“Thank you, mother,” Benedict replies, kissing her cheek once again, “You’re truly the best there are.”

Violet blushes at her sons words, dismissing him with a wave of her fan. “Off with you, and ring for Jenkins before you go.”

Benedict bows before pulling the cord by the door. Leaving the room, Benedict cannot help the smile that crosses his face. He truly holds some hope that (Y/N) might feel the same as he does and if his mother should approve, then there should be no issue to their courting and their union.

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

(Y/N) wrings her hands together on entire walk to Lady Violet’s drawing room. Having been summoned by the Lady herself, this could be either of two things. One: she was about to find herself suddenly unemployed for reasons she did not yet know. Or two: Lady Violet knows about the conversation with Benedict.

Neither reason made (Y/N) feel particularly confident as she is shown into the drawing room. Her heart remains in her throat even as Lady Violet smiles at her warmly; gesturing for her to sit down across from her and take some tea.

Adding one lump of sugar to her tea, Lady Violet bluntly asks, “Do you love my son, (Y/N)?”

(Y/N) promptly drops her spoon into her tea causing it to splash on the table cover. “Oh!” She gasps, reaching for a napkin to clean up the mess as best she can, “I am so terribly sorry, Lady Bridgerton.”

Violet chuckles, “It’s no problem, (Y/N). Tea tends to wash out as I am sure you are well aware. I do not want to think of how many table cloths and dresses I have stained in my time… but I love the drink so many more stains are due to come.”

“My mother says that the world can be put to rights over a good cup of tea.”

“Your mother sounds very wise.”

“She is,” (Y/N) nods, smiling wistfully as she thinks of her mother with the fondness of a child. “I write to her nearly every day. She likes to hear about the city and what is happening. She feels as if the Bridgertons are her own family.”

Violet beams at that, “I am glad to hear it, (Y/N), but you have not answered my question.”

“I apologise, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Are you in love with Benedict?”

(Y/N) remains silent for a moment before beginning to nod her head. “I am. I know I am,” (Y/N) begins, “But…”

“But what?”

“I could bring nothing to the courtship and then nothing to the marriage. My family are not rich enough for me to have a dowry; I have no title or land; I barely know proper etiquette – I would offend everyone the moment I stepped through the door. On top of that, think of the social connections Benedict would lose – there would be families who would never speak to him again all because he had the rotten luck to fall in love with me.”

Violet’s blue eyes grow determined as she begins to list off: “You do not need a dowry; we have enough money as it is. There is no need for you to have a title or land, Benedict has his own homes. In terms of etiquette, you converse with me quite well, so I see no issue there. As for social connections, if people cannot see how happy you make my son then that is their issue, not yours and not Benedict’s.”

“What about the Viscount, Lady Bridgerton? Surely he has final say.”

A glimmer of something maternal shines in Violet’s eyes as she smiles. “Let me handle my eldest son. You have no reason to worry, (Y/N). Benedict loves you. I will not stand in the way of his happiness.”

“So you approve?” (Y/N) asks, forgetting herself for a brief moment before dipping her head in apology.

Violet dismisses her apology with a wave of her hand; after all, if things go to plan, she would be calling (Y/N) daughter in no time. “Do I approve of having to find another housemaid as talented as you? No, I do not. But do I approve of the lady that my son has given his heart to? Absolutely. To be entirely truthful, I would rather it be you than someone in society.”

“Thank you, Lady Bridgerton,” (Y/N) says gratefully, feeling the all too familiar prick of tears in the corner of her eyes.

“Now go,” Violet smiles, the familiar sting of tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, “Go find my son and tell him how you feel.”

Standing from the chair, (Y/N) curtsies with a smile before rushing from the room. Her mind in a daze as to what has truly happened just now.

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

(Y/N) finds Benedict in the library, sat awkwardly in one of the chairs with his sketchbook propped up in his lap. He’s focused entirely on the sketch at hand; his mouth set in a determined line as a finger delicately smudges part of his work.

For a single instant, (Y/N) watches Benedict in his element, finding that the butterflies in her stomach have turned from slumbering to a full blown riot at the mere sight of the man that had captured her heart. Still riding on the high from her conversation with Lady Bridgerton, (Y/N) steps further into the room. Benedict freezes in place at the sight of her stood by the stacks of books; her eyes are bright, and her skin flushed as she fiddles with the hem of her apron.

The painting flashes in his mind suddenly and his fingers twitch with the urge to turn the page of his sketchbook whilst simultaneously asking her to remain still so he can immortalise her on page. She’s perfect; she’s the perfect model and she doesn’t even realise it; Benedict thinks to himself.

“Spare me a moment?” She asks tentatively, as if worried of his reaction.

“All my moments are for you,” Benedict whispers honestly setting her heart racing in her chest. He stands from the chair, long legs coming out from under him as he leaves his sketchbook behind.

“All mine are for you too, if you’ll still have me…”

“What?”

“I love you too,” She confesses, voice small as she fiddles with her fingers, eyes cast on them – too scared to meet his gaze.

A finger under her chin has her meeting his deep blue eyes. Eyes that are alight with the happiness that surges through his veins; that highlight just how his heart sings at hearing those magical words leave her mouth.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” (Y/N) begins to ramble, “There is so much that is standing in the way for us, and I know you do not care or at least, I think you do not care but I cannot help but worry that if we were to happen, one day you would wake up and regret every moment of it. I am not from the same class as you, Benedict, I do not want to ruin you.”

A smile breaks across his face despite the stark desperation of her words. She furrows her eyebrows, half in curiosity, half in concealed frustration. “What are you smiling at?” She demands.

His hands move to cradle her face; thumbs rubbing over her cheekbones as he chuckles, “You called me ‘Benedict’.”

Thinking over her words, she smiles despite herself. “I suppose I did.”

“As for your worries: I do not think there will be one day in my future that I will not wake up and be grateful. However, that will only happen if you are in it – if I am waking up to you every morning. Darling, I do not think you can ruin me. I think you will be the making of me.”

“Do you promise? Not to regret me?” She whispers, a note of vulnerability in her voice.

“I promise,” He vows, pressing a kiss first to her forehead, then to her nose and cheeks. Then as he hovers above her lips, he whispers, “With every moment you spare me, I could never regret falling in love with you.”

******

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley​

Taglist is open! If you would like to be added, drop a message to my ask box and I shall add you to the list.

[tennessoui]

Hi miss Kit! So um, I'm not the anon who had the idea about the Pokemon obikin AU but I saw that you're still looking for a prompt so I did some brainstorming?

Obviously Anakin is aiming to be a Pokemon Master which is why he'll have to fight the elite four eventually. Which is not an easy task despite what the games might imply! So what if, despite breezing through the gyms before, beating Team Rocket and having a team that is powerful and adores him, he still fails his first attempt at the league.

I remember Prof Oak telling your rival after you beat him in gen 1 that he lost to you because he doesn't love his Pokemon enough which is bullsh*t!! But must surely be a cutting remark.

So ofc he goes to caretaker!Obi-Wan afterwards because he is a former Pokemon trainer so how has he dealt with loss before? Does Anakin really not love his team enough? Bonus points if Obi has challenged the league before (and won??)

I just realized that this is way too angsty for the Pokemon universe >.< everything is nice and soft here

alright!!!!!! finally!!! here is that pokémon au, a bastardization of this prompt and @sinhalbutnoangst 's prompt "24: Right before a passionate/first kiss & 16: “There’s nothing to be scared of, okay? I’m right here.” For a Pokémon AU !!!"

I hope y'all both enjoy or at least find parts to be happy about!!!

(fair warning i don't know a lot about pokémon so who knows how accurate this is at ALL)

(3.3k)

(i've linked each pokémon name with their pokedex picture just so everyone knows what they look like. no need to read the descriptions or anything)(god knows i didn't half the time)

Obi-Wan is in the water, tending to a shy gyarados a trainer had left behind as a Magikarp a few months ago, when on the shore his flareon raises its muzzle and barks loudly. That’s her signal that someone’s arrived at the Daycare center proper. Obi-Wan furrows his eyebrows, as he strokes his hand down the gyarados' side.

“I always tell them to call ahead,” he mutters as the pokemon nudges closer for more attention. “Why do they never call ahead?”

Gyarados knocks him hard in the arm. It’s clear she wants more pats, but business calls.

“Would you mind terribly taking me back to shore, dear?” Obi-Wan asks politely. It’d be faster than swimming all the way there, and it would strengthen the Pokémon's connection with humans.

On the shore, Flareon bounds around in a circle, tail flickering back and forth. It must be someone she recognizes the scent of. A regular then. That means Obi-Wan can take his time getting back to the counter to greet them, but he probably shouldn’t show up dripping wet in only a pair of swim trunks.

Luckily, Gyarados gives him a lift, bellowing mournfully to be left alone again when Obi-Wan alights onto the sand. When her trainer comes back to pick it up, Obi-Wan has half a mind to offer to buy her from them. No one who actually cares about their pokemon would leave a magikarp to become a gyarados under the care and instruction of someone else.

But becoming known as the Daycare Runner who gets attached to Pokémon and tries to keep them is perhaps a serious threat to his business as a whole. And he’s already done that too many times.

No, the best thing to do is to wait for the trainer to come back and sit them down to give them a serious talk about their Pokémon’s emotional needs. They’re probably young. Most trainers are these days. On some level you have to be in order to have the energy to travel as much as you do, to sleep on the ground more nights than not.

Yes, they’re probably young, and more focused on gym battles than their Pokémons’ growth and happiness. It happens sometimes with tunnel vision like that. Too many advertisements for the Pokémon League, the Elite Four, the Gym badges. Obi-Wan had been the same way when he was a kid.

He gathers his clothes from the shoreline and slips on his shoes. Flareon tries to help dry him out by wrapping herself repeatedly around his ankles and cooing out gusts of warm air, but all it does is create a new and unusual tripping hazard.

Especially when she suddenly perks up, about halfway to the building and jumps forward into a run. Obi-Wan stares after her, confused, clothes held in a slackened grip until he sees a very familiar growlithe running fult tilt from around the building. It hops the fence with practiced ease that makes Obi-Wan inwardly despair at the lesson it’s unwittingly teaching all of the other Pokémon.

But he can’t deny the way his heart thuds when he realizes what its presence means. His flareon, embarrassingly enough, seems to be thinking along the same lines, as she bounds up to the growlithe and starts winding between his legs instead, rubbing her head over every part of black and orange fur she can reach.

Obi-Wan sighs and shucks on his buttoned shirt, shaking out the water from his hair. He doesn’t even really bother with pants, seeing as his wet swim trunks go almost to his knees.

It’s Anakin. Anakin’s here. Anakin hasn’t been here for four months when he left in the midst of a shouting match. Obi-Wan has been trying--unsuccessfully--to put Anakin out of his mind. And now Anakin’s growlithe is prancing towards him like it’s a special present to see him at all.

“Yes, hello there,” Obi-Wan murmurs, pausing in buttoning up his shirt so he can pet at the growlithe’s--what does Anakin call him again?--muzzle. For a second, the Pokémon nuzzles back, scenting his face and neck as territorial Pokémon are wont to do, before it moves quickly forward and grabs Obi-Wan by the shirt, swinging him up onto its back.

Out of shock and a latent survival instinct, Obi-Wan drops the rest of his clothes and clings to the Pokémon’s back. “Shit!” is on the tip of his tongue the entire two minutes it takes to bound back to the fence, over it and through the welcome doors of his own Daycare.

Anakin is standing, back to the entrance, furiously tapping the bell on the desk, looking somehow both desperate and bored.

Growlithe barks once, twice, and shakes himself hard enough that Obi-Wan knows to let go before he gets rolled over upon.

It’s not the most graceful entrance he would have chosen after going months without seeing Anakin, to land on his back, partially dressed and smelling like the sea at the Pokémon trainer’s feet.

Anakin at least has the wherewithal to be both surprised and immediately worried. “Obi-Wan!” he yelps, turning around immediately upon his growlithe’s bark of victory.

“Yes, hello there,” Obi-Wan says dryly sitting up from his sprawl and combing a nervous hand through his hair.

“Where are your clothes?” Anakin asks shrilly, turning a very interesting shade of magenta and looking quickly away from Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan couldn’t be more different, what with the way he looks at Anakin as if he’s starved for the sight of him. It’s been several long months since they last saw each other. The fight had been...awful, to say the least. Anakin had accused him of not really wanting him to succeed. Obi-Wan had accused him of the same tunnel vision he diagnoses most young adults to have.

Neither had been true. Obi-Wan hadn’t even meant it, but he’d been mad. He’d been mad that Anakin hadn’t even thought to listen to him more than a Gym Leader he’d just defeated.

Palpatine had urged him to go straight to the League. Obi-Wan had thought it prudent to return home to his mother, give his Pokémon a break, work his way to the island of the Pokémon League naturally as a means of bonding with and further testing his Pokémon. He has no idea who Anakin ended up listening to. It’s been something that has haunted him for weeks.

“Out in the back,” Obi-Wan grunts, standing and trying to pick up the shattered pieces of his dignity under the Pokémon trainer’s wide-eyed stare. Anakin’s grown older in the past few months, his face sharper. What is he now, newly twenty-three? Halfway to twenty-four? “Your Growlithe was quite enthusiastic to bring me here as soon as possible.”

Anakin flushes and looks down at his feet. He looks tired, Obi-Wan decides. Like he’s walked the entire continent just to show up at his door.

“Sorry,” Anakin says sheepishly. “I had--”

“Him out and walking with you, I know,” Obi-Wan finishes with a fond shake of his head. He buttons the last necessary button on his shirt and sweeps past Anakin to stand behind his desk. “You always liked having one of them out with you. How’s your Jolteon?”

“Twilight?” Anakin asks, sounding surprised Obi-Wan even remembered he had a jolteon. He tries not to feel offended. It’s an unfortunate truth that Obi-Wan remembers almost everything about Anakin, the trainer that used to hang around his daycare as though he couldn’t bear to step more than fifty paces from his front door. “He’s fine. A bit angry with me, I think.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asks, furrowing his brow as he looks up at his guest. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Anakin is quiet for a few seconds, and his hands clench down on the edge of the counter-top. When he speaks, his voice wavers. “Obi-Wan...do you think my Pokémon love me? Like, do you think I am a good trainer?”

Obi-Wan stares at him. This isn’t a conversation he should have without pants on, he decides. He slowly puts his pen down. “What happened, Anakin?” he asks gently, reaching out and laying a hand on the arm Anakin still has resting against the counter.

“I lost,” his favorite trainer whispers, looking down. Growlithe--Resolute, that’s what Anakin had named him--noses into the nape of his neck. Obi-Wan is not jealous. “I challenged the Elite Four, and I lost in the second round.”

Obi-Wan’s hand tightens completely involuntarily. He hates hearing that after their years-long friendship, the last few years where he’d thought perhaps they were on the verge of being something more, despite his reservations, Anakin had listened to Palpatine over him. Palpatine.

“Come around back here,” he instructs after a second’s thought. Somehow, still, after all these months, he thinks he knows what Anakin needs. “And release all of your Pokémon from their Pokéballs.”

“All of them?” Anakin asks, sounding so unsure Obi-Wan’s heart aches with the doubt of it all before he reigns that in. This isn’t about him.

This isn’t about him, but he can’t stop himself from asking, just once, “Yes. Do you trust me?”

Anakin’s fingers hesitate on the seal of his first Pokéball, and Obi-Wan’s heart jumps into his throat. “Yeah,” Anakin finally says gruffly, pressing the release. “Yeah, I do.”

His altaria pops out of her Pokéball with a trill and a flap of her cloud-shaped wings. He just catches a hint of the jolteon materialize into existence before he turns his back. “I’m going to put on proper clothes,” he tells Anakin over his shoulder. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’m sure your Pokémon will remember half the ones here.”

And all of the ones Obi-Wan calls his own, he doesn’t add. Anakin should know. Anakin’s known them since he was fifteen years old and surly over the fact that his mother wouldn’t let him go out and hunt legendary Pokémon until he finished schooling.

He finds his abandoned clothes quickly, and shuffles into them. Flareon noses around him curiously, with more than a bit of excitement. She probably smells Anakin on him. The thought doesn’t warm his cheeks, but if it does, he’ll blame it on the sudden amount of heat she’s giving off.

He leaves his shirt as is and doesn’t even bother with the vest or tie. He’s not here to be Professor Kenobi. He’s here to be Obi-Wan, Anakin’s friend. That’s what Anakin needs from him right now. A friend.

He fixes his hair anyway in a mad bout of nerves, but no one, not even his mienshao or flareon, obsessed with appearances as they are, are paying enough attention to him in order to soothe his sudden insecurities.

More than anything, he wants to be back in the sea, surrounded by the gyarados’ coils. He doesn’t understand humans as much as he would like to, and he certainly doesn’t understand Anakin. Not anymore. Perhaps he never did.

His flareon bumps at his wrist with the crown of her head and he looks down with a sigh. “Someone’s excited, I see,” he murmurs wryly, smoothing down the stuck-up fur of her hair and chest mane. She purrs. “Not the most excited though,” he adds with a huff as he sees a blur of white and blue from the corner of his eyes as the female Meowstic who spends most of her time strolling the parameter of the Daycare abandons her position to dart towards the backdoors where a newly emerged navy male Meowstic stands waiting.

They collide and curl into each other, two halves of one whole brought back together.

Well, that’s as good as any sign to approach Anakin, who has decided to collapse on the soft grass of the enclosure. Other than the Meowstic, his freed Pokémon have curled around him. The jolteon, Artoo, rests by his head, while his charizard, Mustafar, brackets the length of his body with his own. The growlithe sits watchful at his feet, while a new, unfamiliar pancham curls up on his chest. Finally, his gallade sits cross-legged to his side.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan drawls before he can help himself, “It’s very obvious that your Pokémon don’t love you.”

Anakin bolts upright at the sound of his voice. The pancham growls at him, a baby noise that Obi-Wan didn’t necessarily think the species capable of.

The Pokémon trainer hushes it quickly with a stern, “Vader, no.”

Obi-Wan comes to sit cross-legged in front of the man. “You didn’t have a pancham last time,” he says easily. What he really wants to ask is much more complicated. He wants to know everything. He wants to know how Anakin changed. When. Why. He wants to know what’s still the same.

It’s always complicated when it comes to Anakin. It’s never been easy.

“He was injured when I found him,” Anakin admits, stroking the top of Vader’s head. “But a fighter. I think I was injured when I found him too.”

The man seems so lost in his own recollections that Obi-Wan hates to interrupt. Carefully, Anakin’s jolteon, Twilight, noses his hand. When he’s not pushed away, he jumps into Obi-Wan’s lap with a trill. Flareon lets out a hiss, but acquiesces when the jolteon licks at her snout, accepting her ownership of Obi-Wan.

“I had just lost,” Anakin says slowly. “I wanted to come back here, rent a Lapras and just ride until I saw the shoreline I knew was yours. But I didn’t know what you’d say to me. How mad you’d still be.”

Obi-Wan bites his lip. He wouldn’t have been mad. He’d been worried, from the second Anakin left his property. But how to tell the man that? Would the other even want to hear it? Would he think Obi-Wan was trying to infantilize him, to protect him?

“I didn’t want you to be right.” Anakin whispers, arms tightening around the Pokémon. “I didn’t want you to be right and say that I wasn’t ready. And then I was in the forest, walking home, and I found this guy. He’d been attacked by a bug pokémon who was probably a higher level. But he was so angry still. I...I wanted him on my team. I needed that fire back.”

Obi-Wan suddenly thinks that there’s much more distance between them than there should be. He wants to be hugging Anakin, to be kissing his temple. These were allowances they had given each other before the fight, things that Obi-Wan had squirreled away, close to his heart.

He wants them back.

“But I keep thinking about how the professor who gave me my first Pokémon told this guy I beat in my first battle that he lost because he didn’t love his Pokémon right, and I...I’m just worried that’s why I lost.” Anakin stares down at his pancham, who puts his paws on his cheeks and pats a few times.

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs. He thinks it sounds too fond, too revealing, but Anakin looks up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “I’ve never known a trainer to love his Pokémon more, dear one.”

“Then why?” Anakin asks plaintively, scooting forward until their knees brush. “Why did I lose? The gym leader of Cinnabar Island told me I would win!”

Obi-Wan, quite maturely in his opinion, doesn’t mention the fact that the recently defeated Palpatine probably had ulterior motives for Anakin to challenge the league too quickly and then fail. “You weren’t ready, Anakin,” he says instead, placing his hand on the other’s knee and holding it even when the trainer jerks out of his grp. ���Please, listen. It's about sheer time, training experience. It’s not about you or your relationship to your Pokémon. You have such an amazing, strong relationship with them! They love you. Anyone could tell. And you’re not lacking in skill either. I know your mind is sharp and ready for battle.”

Anakin looks at him teary-eyed. “I’ve been so worried that maybe they didn’t know I loved them,” he admits in a wavering voice.

Obi-Wan can’t resist moving impossibly closer to his trainer. “Oh, Anakin, of course they do. Pokémon don’t always express or interpret love the same way humans do, but they do have their own ways of showing it.”

“Like what?” Anakin sniffles, wiping at his wet eyes. If Obi-Wan had really been listening, he would have noticed the change in his tone. As it is, he continues immediately, too focused on trying to stop his trainer from crying to think of anything else.

“A fire-type Pokémon wil try to warm you if they think you’re cold, even if it means staying up all night to keep you in in its flame. And fighting-type Pokémon are capable of throwing a blanket over you if they think you need to rest. Psychic-types have been known to read their trainer’s emotions and either hug them or give them distance whenever they want. Ground- and bug-type have been known to bring berries to their trainers to get them something to eat, and electric--why are you looking at me like that?” Anakin’s nascent smirk grows bigger at this interruption and he cocks his head to the side as he studies Obi-Wan’s face. “And what does it say about a man who spends all of his time around Pokémon, that he would do those exact same things for me?”

Obi-Wan at least understands enough to scurry backwards a few paces, much to the jolteon in his lap’s distress, who jumps away with a huff.

“I’m not sure I understand,” he says quickly.

Anakin inches forward, setting the pancham, Vader, aside. He really has grown in the past few months. The loss of the League, the months apparently spent on the road, have aged him so that he’s both recognizable and something new and wild. “What if I knew of a man,” Anakin murmurs, falling to his palms as he closes the gap between them. “One who warmed me when I was cold, covered me when I was tired, hugged me when I was needy, and fed me when I was hungry? What would that mean, in terms of Pokémon?”

Obi-Wan swallows nervously. His entire body is bracketed by Anakin. Anakin, who seems to have discovered his most-guarded secret in their months apart. Anakin, who is hovering over him now with a dark look in his eyes. Finally something in Obi-Wan gives way. This is it. He will give Anakin everything he asks for. Everything he needs. He’s always tried to do this exact thing.

“I suppose that would mean he loved you,” he whispers, closing his eyes so he does not have to see Anakin’s recoil, Anakin’s disgust.

Anakin hums instead. “Obi-Wan,” he whispers, exhale hitting his lips. “Obi-Wan, open your eyes. There’s nothing to be scared of, beloved. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

At these words, Obi-Wan’s eyes jump open of their own accord. Anakin’s lips press down onto his in a movement just as sudden. He whimpers involuntarily and reaches up to clutch at the trainer’s hair, hold him to his mouth. Just as involuntarily, his lips part and Anakin’s tongue licks around the gap before darting inside. He moans. It’s shameful, the way he goes from scared to sucking on Anakin’s tongue as if he’ll die without the warm intrusion of it.

It hardly feels like the first time they’ve kissed. It feels like they’ve been kissing for years, like Anakin knows his mouth completely and utterly.

There are so many secrets left between them. Obi-Wan’s one unopened Pokéball, sitting on his belt. Anakin’s relationship with that last Gym leader. What he’s been doing these past few months. What Obi-Wan Kenobi made his fortune off of.

But none of it matters now. Not here at this moment. All that matters is showing Anakin that he’s been just as missed, just as wanted.

With that in mind, Obi-Wan rolls on top of his trainer and shoves his hands up inside Anakin’s shirt to trace along the muscles of his chest and back. This was his. His, his, his. He had come back to him. Everything else could wait.

[phoenixrising0308]

El Regresso (The come back)

Books: The Royal Romance - Royal Heir

Rating: M (Mature content and implied sexual activities)

Pairing: Liam & Jessica Garcia (MC)

Triggers: Sexual innuendo, Vulgar language 

Disclaimer

Our Life together timeline: This is still within Agent Phoenix A/U and its stories about Jessica & Liam’s relationship as live-in partners and married life. Character traits don’t always remain the same. Stories using this timeline are meant for challenges or requests. catch up here

A/N 1: Regresso is the Spanish word for return or come back.

Chapter Summary: Someone returns to the fold after a long absence.

Chapter Song inspiration: Viva la swing - Cold Play & Savage 

Word Count: 1715*As always, forgive my typos and grammatical errors.*

Average reading time: 8 minutes

Palace Entrance

She was a little unsteady on her feet as she exited the limo. Liam held her hand as they walked towards the palace entrance, “They have all been asking for you.” Liam quickly gave his wife and his Queen a kiss on the forehead.

“Liam, I’m nervous what if-” before she could finish she was approached by her old partner he always had her back, and she sure as fuck had his. “I fucken miss you Garcia… can I still call you that?” She let go of her husband’s hands and gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek. He didn’t care she had berry lipstick and surely left a mark.

“Drake I will always be your Garcia and I will always be your pain in the ass.”

Maxwell ran and picked up her off her feet spinning her around. Then placed her firmly on the ground. “Blossom we have so many more dances to dance. Do you remember our handshake?” Maxwell held out his hand and they started a complicated series of hand gestures when she missed a few movements he didn’t correct but her but mimicked her movements thinking to himself it didn’t matter as long as she was back. This new handshake was just as meaningful as the original.

“Well, that was a dramatic exit.” Oliva scoffed; she hid a smile when she looked at her friends’ shoes. “Red I see.”

Jessica smiled at the gorgeous redhead and said, “Red is the color of a true warrior. I thought perhaps considering the circumstances we could share the color.”

Oliva cracked a smile “Glad you didn’t lose your impeccable taste.”

Hana smiled softly and said, “I’m so happy you're back. You have missed a few great stories from the book club but don’t worry I saved them for you and they are all still waiting to be read.”

Jessica gave her friends a half-smile “Sorry guys. I’m just kind of nervous coming back here. God I feel so lost.” her voice cracked as she spoke failing to hold back the tears in her eyes she sobbed into her husband’s chest.

Liam wrapped her in a warm embrace and stood back a bit holding up his left hand and pointing to his half of their matching crown-shaped wedding bands and said in a whisper “It means forever… remember? You are not alone. Love, if you are lost let me help you find your way.”

The Palace doors were opened for them and everyone filed into the parlor room.

Parlor room

Jessica looked around nervously and said with worry and panic “Liam where is she? Where is the baby?”

The parlor doors opened once again, their jaws dropped at the sight before them Leo holding their daughter in a baby carrier.

“Leo.” Liam chided

“Liam. Liam. Liam. OUR baby is fine. We were doing tiktoks in the nursery while we were waiting. Jessie I am so glad you’re back the last time you left him for a while  Liam went a few weeks without shaving I swear I saw pieces of M&M in that beard Li, The double chin, and stretch marksman that good you came in time. Got say though he went back to some familiar habits.”

“Am I ever gonna live that down,” Liam said as he combed his figures through his hair.

“Jessie, listen if a shoe feels a little slippery or a lot more broken into then you remember it’s because-

“LEO” Liam interrupted

“Alright back to the serious matters.” Leo began pacing giving a slight bounce as the little princess cooed with delight at the movement. “Jessie so is it me or is your milk supply dipping? Drinking enough water? Are you getting enough time on the breast pump? Lets try a nip-

“Leo please that’s personal.” Liam huffed.

“LIAM! Need I remind you that I am a certified lactation consultant! You wouldn’t allow me to be her birth coach which was completely selfish of you. BUT I will be damned if you cut me out of being her postpartum doula! Jessie, I made some minor adjustments to the sleeping and feed schedule based on my notes –

“L-E-O please!” Liam breathed out

“FINE! Okay so the tiktok name is @Whosyourfavoiteuncleleo.” Leo pressed play and the song began to play the song viva la swing.  Liam was about to protest at the song choice but he could see his wife dancing in her chair with a smile that warmed his heart.

Oh shit, shake that ass ma, move it like a gypsy,

Stop, whoa, back it up

Now let me see your hips swing

Oh shit, shake that ass ma, move it like a gypsy.

Stop, whoa, back it up

now let me see your hips swing

Leo danced as the little blue-eyed princess remained safely in her carrier, his hips swaying with purpose as his arm moved in time.

Now drop it low and let me see your hips swing

Down to the floor, now let me see your hips swing

Now drop it low and let me see your hips swing

Down to the floor, now let me see your hips swing

Jessica heard the sound of all too familiar footsteps. The pair forging an unusual relationship born from a fractured one that over time repaired itself with understanding, kindness, and most of all forgiveness. Both founding something in each other that they never knew they needed. Jessica gained a mother figure, something she had long for since the passing of her mother and Grandmother. And for the other finding in Jessica the daughter she always wanted but never could have. In her, she also found her most sincere friend in a society that only cared about wealth and power. Not to mention her fiercest ally when she too faced the cruelty of the press.

Jessica smiled as she looked on and said, “Gina you’re back!”

“Yes, my dear. I am so happy to be back.” Regina gave Jessica a quick kiss, the pair showing each other that despite their time apart they still wore their friendship bracelets that they had made at Cordonia Senior Citizen Center.

Leo stopped dancing and said, “Alright Regina don’t be a stiff bitch. I heard you last night. Liam, you got to do something for these walls this is not a holiday in.”

Maxwell said in a hushed tone, “Even Regina has a part? Why am I not dancing in this.”

Hana put her hands on her lips and said, “Hush Maxwell. We have the sing-along. I’m so glad you listened to reason and we are going with the Taylor Swift Love story Marry me mash-up.”

“Hana I really think not going with Desperado by Rihanna is a mistake. We could have easily gotten an old monte Carlo in here and the Peacocks would have been a great addition to the dance number. Lorraine just bit Liam in the ass that one time. It was an isolated incident.”

Regina smiled as she walked to the center taking her place in the impromptu performance and said, “Thank you for the gift certificate to the Tantra Yoga studio. Vishal is such a hands-on instructor.”

Leo quirked a brow and said, “Geezus Regina, can you keep it in your girdle for a minute.”

“Leo, I don’t have many years of life and a quad only but comes once in a lifetime. Besides its not my fault I have a WAP” She got distracted and softly sang the opening bar loud enough for Liam’s sharp hearing to make out the vulgarity that fell from Regina’s lips.

I said, certified freak

Seven days a week

Wet-ass pussy

Make that pull-out game weak, woo

Liam shouted “REGINA! Please.”

Leo said, “Don’t add any of that extra shit stick to the movies. You know you have your limits.”

The pair resumed their dance. Regina shimmied and swayed her hips to the movements forgetting her time away from her adoptive daughter as she was miles away nursing the broken heart given to her by Alejandro the physical therapist that leaked their sex tape was now a distant memory.

Uh oh, lean back, girl you got some mean racks

You Got a mean ass and I really mean that

But can’t you see that I need a girl that can move

Make her hips swing and look just like you

But come to think about it,

I think this club is crowded

Its kinda hard to do your thing when

everyone’s surrounding

So let me form a circle, everybody step back

I heard somebody yell.

“Savage where the chorus at?”

Regina decided that her choreography was better than the creator and she dropped it much too low and fell using her wrist to break her fall a loud resounding crack was heard.

Regina yelped in pain and said, “My fucken wrist! Oh, my fucken wrist. God damn this osteoporosis.

Leo gasped at the the sight of his dance partner broken on the floor. He thought for a second she would get back up and power through so he continued to dance around her at moments stepping over her calcium deficient body.

Regina yelled “I’ve fucken fallen and I cant fucken get up!”

In between the madness and confusion Leo stopped dancing like no one was watching snapped out of the routine by Jessica who shouted, “Liam call a doctor!”

Liam spat in frustration “Regina! You nearly ruined my proposal, during the wedding rehearsal I found you drunk and a closet with no panties, caught you having sex in royal gym, I had to send you away because of a widely circulated sex tape my God there is never a dull moment with you. I couldn’t make this up even if I tried. You already had your hip replaced, a knee replaced and good only knows what else they will do to you!”

JLI’s Quarters

Jessica sat on their couch drinking trader Joe’s wine right out of a bottle  as Liam took his spot next to his wife. Liam said, “Baby is finally asleep.” Jessica gave Liam a warm smile and said, “Liam do you think?” Liam gently placed the bottle down and kissed her lips then motioned for her to straddle him on the couch. They kissed again their tongues twirled and coiled around each other passionately. She smirked as they kissed once more. He murmured between kisses, “Welcome back home love.” He gripped the small of her back to deepen the kiss.

[wordstro]

[11:26 AM] + hero/villain au + "you think he'll stop? after what he did to you?" + part 6

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 masterlist

2k, hongjoong's pov for the first half but it goes back to y/n's! warnings for lots of cursing lol

-

kim hongjoong felt responsible for you. he'd seen you around when he was younger, but he hadn't truly known you until years after the Incident. you lived three streets down from him, near the park with the hydrangeas. he remembered this because he spent time in that park often with his parents, and later his friends. it was the best spot to hide whenever he and his friends wanted to smoke or drink before a party, or if he wanted to spend time alone with a date.

neither of you ran in the same circles. hongjoong smoked cigarettes behind the school next to broken CCTV cameras. you kept to your small circle and he never saw you at parties. hongjoong only cared about his music classes. you cared about your classes so much, you even went to supplementary after school classes. he hadn't known much about you in high school, aside from the fact that some time in ninth grade you were teased briefly for your tattered shoes. he never cared enough to find out if that escalated any further.

when hongjoong turned sixteen, he was used to screaming matches with his parents. he wasn't used to his powers. they came one day all at once, bursting from him one morning. he'd touched his toothbrush and it disappeared. he hadn't thought much of it that morning, assuming he had been severely hungover and dropped his toothbrush somewhere. but, when he came home late that night and his parents confronted him for missing classes, his emotions burst from him. he never knew what they had said to him in that moment, he only felt a rush in his ears and the feeling that his heart was attempting to burst out of his chest. when he woke up in an unfamiliar white room surrounded by people in white hazmat suits, he was told he wiped out his entire town.

when he returned to the spot where his home should have stood, after months of government-issued rehabilitation, all that was left was a crater where his hometown once was and his inability to figure out where the hell he put them. dimensional storage, he learned, was his power. he ran himself into the fucking ground trying to figure out which dimension he sent everyone.

his mentor insisted he go to university, try to live a life outside of trying to redeem himself, try to be happy. he'd obliged only because he respected his mentor. he didn't think it possible because he basically killed an entire town. hundreds upon hundreds of people. and that burden would live on his shoulders forever.

when he saw you in his first year calculus class, wearing the same tattered shoes he remembered you were teased for, he knew he had to speak to you.

you told him what happened, how you went to seoul for a supplementary class, and you'd missed the last bus home and had to spend the night at an overnight bathhouse. when you returned everything was gone. your parents, your home, every single thing was gone and all that was left was a giant crater filled with rubble. from there on out, you were left to fend for yourself.

"it was you, wasn't it?" you asked him, a few months later.

hongjoong tried to deny it, but you'd spent enough time with him to see past his facades. you'd leveled him with a frown and said, "i spent years trying to figure out what the fuck happened that night. the internet has everything, joong. besides, you and i are the only survivors."

hongjoong would always remember the guilt that lay heavy on his shoulders as he looked at you. he'd spent enough time with you to learn the consequences of his actions. you lost everything because of him. you'd gone hungry often and never quite had a home since that night. even now you worked multiple jobs to pay for university classes. because of him.

"it was an accident." he began, and to his surprise you didn't grow angry. you only sat and listened. it was more than he deserved.

when he disclosed his powers to you, you'd only picked up a rock off the ground, crushed it in your hands, showed him the dusty remnants, and said, "i assumed that was it. mine's not as cool as yours though."

from that day onwards, he felt responsible for you. he refused to let your applications to the hero-villain alliance go through. perhaps it wasn't his call to make, but he could not live with himself if you got hurt on the job because of him. not again.

eventually, he gave in, when he realized just how rundown you'd become from your multiple jobs and how often you spent weeks on his couch while searching for cheaper apartments, when he realized it wasn't his place to make such decisions for you. so he made a few calls, had your application bumped up, and made seonghwa, yunho, san, mingi, jongho, yeosang, and wooyoung swear they would not let you get hurt on the job.

it worked, until a year ago.

until he pulled you from the rubble and took in the burns wooyoung left on your neck.

until he had to face you in battle, your eyes looking right through him as he tried to speak sense into you.

until now.

"what the hell are they doing here?" san grits out the words, his gaze narrowing as he stares at the camera footage in front of him, at you standing at the front door of the alliance, your back ramrod straight and your knocking incessant.

hongjoong drags a hand through his hair, "we should let them in."

"and what if they go berserk on us the moment we do?" san bites out.

"what else are we supposed to do?" hongjoong turns a glare on san, "shoot them on sight?"

"maybe that's the best course of action."

"you don't believe that," yunho's voice is quiet, but it rings between them, his kind eyes on san.

san does not meet his gaze.

"just," hongjoong takes a deep breath, "get the chains, mingi. tranquilizers, too. hopefully, they cooperate. yunho, tell taeil to scout outwards up to radius five in case they're a decoy for someone else."

san stiffens at that. hongjoong just squeezes san's shoulder as he steps around him, "we outnumber them right now. don't worry."

"i'm not worried," san mutters, but his shoulders relax under hongjoong's touch.

hongjoong takes a deep breath as he approaches the door, the months and months of guilt that had accumulated while you were gone heavy on his shoulders.

~.~.~.~.~

you wake up to a bright light and the inability to move a single inch. your breath catches in your throat and you think, oh god, is this eunwoo's lab? and your chest feels tight with the thought, the very idea that you did manage to escape, that maybe you dreamt yeosang helping you escape, or wooyoung made due with his promise and has left you in eunwoo's clutches to do whatever experimentation he's wanted to do to you or -

"woah there, hey, it's okay."

the deep voice is familiar. kind. the touch on your arm is not cold like eunwoo's. you blink away your confusion, and your heart flips at the familiar face.

"mingi?" your voice cracks.

mingi smiles, but before he can say anything, the door behind him swings open and in walks san, his expression fixed into a tight glare. yunho eyes you warily, and he keeps a distance you don't blame him for. hongjoong enters last. his gaze flits over your form, assessing you quickly as he used to do. you've missed them. even as you assess your own situation, understand that you are strapped to a chair the same way you were when wooyoung and yeosang first kidnapped you, the relief swirling in your chest makes you want to cry.

you open your mouth to say something, anything, but you have no idea what to say. the guilt and fear and relief creates a lump in your throat you can't move past. you can't even remember the awful things you must have done to them. the distance makes you want to disappear.

hongjoong steps close, crouching in front of you, his gaze searching yours, and he simply says, "explain."

you tell him everything.

~.~.~.~.~

hongjoong drags a hand through his hair, "that's...a lot."

san hovers close, and though his hostility has lessened it's still there, still so potent, but you understand it because you'd watched him act that way before wooyoung and yeosang took you.

san's face is inches from yours, "how do we know you weren't ordered to come here?"

"you don't," you say, "but i left that pouch on purpose and yeosang risked his life to get me out of there and...and my word is all i can give you. i know -"

san cuts you off, "how do we know you won't try to finish the job the moment you're set free? i watched you kill those people, y/n." he jabs a finger against your chest and you wince when he touches the injection bruises, "that was all fucking you. how do we know what's going to come out the moment we test the words you gave us? how can you guarantee our safety in all this?"

his tone is accusing, and it only makes you feel worse. you glance at yunho, mingi, and hongjoong, but neither of them step towards you. only yunho looks away, closing his eyes.

"i don't know, i'm sorry," your voice breaks. the thought of having lost their trust and not being able to fix it breaks your heart.

"crying isn't going to help," san grits out, though he does step back a little.

"san, stop it," yunho pushes san's shoulder, dabbing at your face with a handful of tissues, his gloved hands noticeably hesitant. still, he powers through, frowning between you and san, "you don't need to be so hard on them."

"yes, i do," san snaps, "one of us needs to be hard on them, and i know it's not going to be any of you. i'm not letting us go through the same shit all over again."

you drop your eyes to the floor and yunho lets out an audible sigh, "hongjoong, please tell him to lay off."

you look up, meeting hongjoong's gaze for a long moment. his eyes are heavy with the same kind of guilt you've seen on him since the day you met him. an existential, bone-deep guilt you know he will always feel when he sees you. you remind him of his past, of his moment of weakness, of everything terrible he's ever done. he thinks you never notice the guilt, but you do. hongjoong looks away. he says, "san's not wrong. we need to be careful."

yunho rolls his eyes, and mingi sighs.

san opens his mouth, hands crossed over his chest, when he's interrupted by the high whine of a siren. it pierces through the room, startling all of you. yunho drops his gloved hand from your face. mingi frowns.

"it's a level one breach," hongjoong says, though you all know exactly what it is. you've had training on it, sure, but the last time you heard this exact siren go off was when wooyoung, yeosang, jongho, and seonghwa betrayed the alliance and wreaked havoc on the city. it means there's an attack on the city and it's predicted to be devastating.

your heart drops just as san spins on you and grabs your collar, "what the fuck is going on?"

"i don't know," you shake your head, "i really don't."

"now's not the time," hongjoong yanks san's arm off you, "we need to go to the debriefing room and figure out the threa-"

a loud, distant boom has hongjoong snapping his mouth closed, eyes widening. the floor quakes beneath your feet, your teeth chattering at the intensity of the trembles.

"oh fuck," yunho grips the table to steady himself, "we need to go. now."

another boom fills the silence, followed by screaming, loud and shrill.

"what about -"

an explosion echoes right above them and the room lights start to flicker. you flinch at the dust falling into your eyes.

"let me out."

san lets out a bitter laugh at your demand, "see? this is exactly what the fuck i was talking about. you just -"

"we can't just leave them down here." mingi snaps, "we're in the fucking basement, san."

"we should! do you think it's a coincidence that we're having a level one attack while we're all preoccupied with y/n showing up unannounced at our doorstep?"

"stay with me if you want!" you shout, "i just want to see wooyoung."

hongjoong swivels on his heels, meeting your gaze. it's the first time he's looking at you so candidly since you woke up and you nearly recoil at the intensity of it. "why do you want to see him?"

"to stop him."

"you think he'll stop? after what he did to you?" hongjoong grits his teeth and, for the first time, you can truly see how angry he is, how affected he is by everything. he never shows his anger so blatantly, but now it rolls off him in waves. the world is silent, eerily so, like the calm before a storm.

you resist the urge to recoil and look him dead in the eyes, "if i have to break every single bone in his body to stop him, then i will." you turn your gaze to san and repeat, "i will."

after a beat, san says, "i'm holding you to it."

you nod and he looks away.

"great, glad we got that figured out," yunho sighs, "now let's get the fuck out of here."

suddenly, a sharp creaking noise cuts through the eerie silence. the groan reminds you of a wailing whale, low and drawn out and a chill runs down your spine and straight to your toes. mingi yanks at your chains. you pull an arm free, just as there's another keening wail and suddenly -

"holy shit."

the entire building above you is gone. sunlight fills everything. at least, you believe it to be sunlight at first, until you realize just how bright it is. it's searing. hot, like the sun.

your eyes widen.

or like wooyoung.

"y/n, come on. get up."

you're yanked out the chair, ignoring the pain running up your leg when the chains scratch at your calf.

when you reach the ground, you cough around black smoke filling your lungs, your eyes widening as you take in the sight of wooyoung on fire, brighter than the sun, hotter, flamed wings surging from his form. below him marches an army of skeletons, dragging their bones as they lay siege on your city.

your heart drops to the pit of your stomach when wooyoung's eyes meet yours.

[wienerbarnes]

Are You Growing?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Cheek to Cheek) Word Count: 1,886 Warnings: mentions to alzheimers A/N: idk about yall but im loving posting about the earlier times w bucky n reader

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

You sit on Bucky’s couch, Alpine curled up in your lap, purring softly with closed eyes as you lightly scratch behind her ears.

Bucky’s sitting on the floor in front of you, in the place of where his coffee table used to be, which is now pushed into the corner for the time being. He rereads the instructions to put together his new bookshelf for the eleventh time now, still not understanding where exactly to put each screw.

You were no help to him, your first suggestion was to toss out the instructions and build to his heart’s desires; whatever felt right.

The last thing he needs, though, is for his bookshelf to collapse in the middle night and scare the shit out of him, so he tries his luck with the instructions.

He’s grateful for the ring of his cellphone, perhaps a break for a phone call will somehow make the instructions easier to read.

His stomach drops when he sees the caller ID as Rebecca’s retirement place. He pushes down his nausea and answers the phone.

“Hello? Is Rebecca okay?” He answers, quickly standing and moving to another room, not missing when your eyes look up at the sound of his sister’s name.

Is Rebecca okay? Did she hurt herself? Did she hurt one of the nurses? Is she dead?

“Hi, Bucky. Yes, Rebecca’s okay,” The receptionist Bucky’s gotten to know well responds, causing him to let out a sigh of relief, “She’s asking for you, is all. She’s… not eating. She didn’t touch her breakfast or lunch, she just keeps asking when you’re coming. I know you don’t normally come until tomorrow, but I promised her I’d call you.” She finishes explaining.

“Uhm… okay, okay. Tell her I got hung up at work and that I’ll be over as soon as I can.” He tells her, sparing a glance into the other room to see you peeking at the instructions on the ground.

“You’re amazing Bucky, thank you.” She responds, and all he does is hum through his anxiety before hanging up, returning to the living room where you sit.

You look up at him as if to ask if he is okay and he only stares back for a few seconds, thinking, before deciding, “Put your shoes on, we gotta go somewhere.” He tells you, voice still a little shaky from the scare of that phone call.

You don’t question it, recognizing that it’s probably not the time, and move to go grab your shoes by the door. Bucky silently pushes out air through his mouth, an attempt to calm himself down and get the nausea to go away. Rebecca’s okay, he reminds himself, she’s having a bad day, but she’s okay.

You’re worried at how quiet Bucky is and with how fast he speeds on his bike down a route you don’t really recognize. Finally, though, you see the sign in the distance, St. Francis Alzheimer’s Hospital, and you understand.

He parks the bike out front and turns it off, not yet moving, and you take off his helmet you’re wearing to get a better look at him. You say his name when you notice tears have gathered in his eyes; you’ve never seen him cry before.

“Sorry,” He wipes his eyes, “This shit is just so… exhausting. Everytime the phone rings, everytime I come here, I don’t know what I’m going to get, if she is okay.” He vents before letting out a long sigh.

You don’t know how to respond, choosing to rub his back as he composes himself. Bucky’s always been a tough rock; always knowing what to say, what to do, always knowing how to take care of everyone and how to solve everyone’s problems. You’ve never seen him so tired, so nervous before, and you see the toll doing this has taken on him.

Before you can say anything, he stands, “Let’s go.” He holds out a hand to help you off the bike and rests the helmet on the seat, knowing no one’s going to take it.

You follow quietly behind him as he enters and greets the receptionist, walking past the desk and down the hall. You feel out of place, not only here, in the retirement place Bucky’s sister lives at, but in public. You’ve barely left the apartment while you’ve been in hiding; you think this is the most amount of people you’ve been around in months.

Bucky approaches a door and knocks quietly before entering, “Hey, troublemaker,” He calls out, voice no longer strained or shaky as it’s been for the half hour, as though he flipped a switch to make himself normal again.

“Bucky!” You hear an excitement-filled elderly voice call out.

You enter to see her sitting on the bed, arms reaching out for Bucky to embrace him in a hug.

“Sorry, I’m late, I got caught up at the gym.” He tells her, hugging her back.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were at work, I just wanted to talk to you about the carnival, it’s coming this weekend.” You notice Bucky’s jaw clench for a second before loosening.

“It is, isn’t it. I’ll get Steve and we’ll all go together, I know how much you love the rides there.”

You linger by the door still, observing the interaction. How Bucky plays along so perfectly and so composed. You tense when you notice that Rebecca’s eyes have found you.

Bucky follows her gaze and snaps his head to you, “Becca, this is a friend of mine.”

You walk over and hold your hand out, giving your name, and she reaches out and accepts it, giving you a gentle smile, “A friend, huh?”

“Bec -”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, it’s really great to finally meet you.” You tell her.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, too, I haven’t met one of Bucky’s friends in a while,”

“Rebecca -”

“Who was that floozy you brought home once, the one that Mama hated?” She teases Bucky, who now stands with arms crossed looking at you take a seat in the chair next to Rebecca’s bed.

“That was Madeline.”

“Madeline! My goodness, she didn’t last very long at all -”

“How about we talk about something other than my love life? Are you hungry, Bec?”

“A little bit.” She responds, and Bucky feels relief flood through his body. He nods and leaves the room to go fetch her lunch from one of the nurses.

“I love these flowers on your shirt.” Rebecca compliments, snapping your eyes away from the door Bucky exited out of and back to hers. They’re the same blue as Bucky’s.

You glance down at your shirt, one you thrifted with lilac’s all over them.

“Thank you, they’re, uh, lilacs. They symbolize growth. Like, change from ignorance to knowledge, innocence to wisdom, and all that.” You tell her.

She hums, “And are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Growing?”

You pause to think about it. Have you grown? Changed?

“Yes. I think so.” You respond.

“Well, then I’m happy for you.” She says sincerely.

You feel a knot swell in your throat at the validation, being greatly reminded of Bucky in that moment, and it’s then that he returns with a tray of food, a bowl of fruit, and a glass of juice.

Bucky places the tray on the small table that can swing over her bed, cutting the food on the plate for her small pieces, before moving to the fruit and juice, taking both lids off for her.

You watch as he takes gentle care in moving the tray closer to her, piling small pieces of food onto a spoon before feeding it to her.

She clears about half the plate before saying she’s full, which is more than enough for Bucky to be satisfied; it’s better than this morning.

Whatever problem there seemed to be this morning that caused Bucky to come over here in a rush is gone. To you, it was like his presence was the only thing she needed to feel better; it’s like there wasn’t anything wrong in the first place.

Soon enough, the two of you leave, with a promise from Bucky that he’ll see her tomorrow on Thursday and they’ll go to the carnival this weekend.

You don’t mention anything else about the visit to Bucky the entire way home, and choose to help him on the floor of his living room for the rest of the evening instead.

Thursday and Friday pass, and Bucky goes to Steve’s on Saturday.

“Remember that girl I told you about? The one I’ve sort of become friends with? That I’ve been looking out for?” Bucky stirs sugar into his coffee, his sweet tooth showing up more frequently since he’s been hanging out with you.

“I remember.” Steve says, sitting down next to him at his table with his own cup of coffee. Steve’s is decaf, though.

“I, uh… I took her to meet Rebecca.” Bucky doesn’t meet his eyes, waiting to see what his reaction will be.

“Oh?” Steve responds, setting his mug down and resting his aged hands on the table, paying all attention to Bucky now.

“There was a situation on Wednesday, Becca wasn’t eating and she was at my apartment -”

“At your apartment?”

“So, I just took her with me -”

“You haven’t even taken Sam to meet Rebecca.” Steve tells him, making Bucky stop.

He pauses for a moment before continuing, “When I saw Bec on Thursday, she remembered her.”

Steve’s head tilts, processing his words.

Bucky continues, “I went to go see Bec on Thursday, and she asked me about her, apparently they talked about some flowers and she wanted me to bring her some so she can see them in person. Asked when I was going to bring her to see her again.” He finishes explaining.

“Wow.” Is all Steve says.

“Rebecca… doesn’t remember anything. I mean she remembers me and you, but she barely remembers anything she and I talk about when I visit, barely remembers her kids. But she remembered talking about lilacs with this girl she’d never met before!” Bucky says, still in disbelief.

“...Must be something special about her.”

“Oh, don’t you start now, too.”

“Just saying. Maybe you should bring her here sometime.”

“Nah, I didn’t even plan to take her to see Becca. That was a risk all by itself, taking her out in public like that.” Bucky glances up to see Steve smirking at him with that stupid wrinkled mouth of his.

“Stop looking at me like that, would you, punk?!”

Steve chuckles, “She sounds like a sweet girl.”

“She’s my friend, Steve.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.”

“But you’re implying -”

“Implying what? What are you thinking?”

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes, Steve twisting his words around, and he realizes he won’t escape this conversation without teasing.

“Whatever. She’s just a friend. If that. We just hang out sometimes, I help her do things that I had trouble with when I got out of HYDRA. I’m just around to help her.”

“Sure, pal. That’s nice of you.”

Bucky sighs, standing to go refill his coffee, and Steve smiles to himself, glad that Bucky’s met someone like you, and glad to see where it’ll inevitably lead, even if the two of you don’t see it yet.

[essektheylyss]

i can't decide if i want 12 or 16 more for the shadowgast ficlet from that things fictional couples do prompt list

I did 12 here, so this is for 16! I had three requests for this one and admittedly it was... hard, I'm not sure that I quite captured the true spirit of the prompt, but I like how this ended up!

The knock on the door is soft enough that he nearly doesn’t hear it, as absorbed in his text and the findings his researchers have brought back from Aeor proper as he is, but after a minute he blinks and swings his legs off of the arm of the chair to stand and tread softly to the door.

He is, somehow, not surprised to see Caleb standing there, face as miserable and exhausted as he’d been when he’d left to sleep this evening, and Essek gapes at him.

“You should be resting,” he says, perhaps too gently, and Caleb runs both hands over his face, inhaling.

“I can’t sleep, I—“ he inhales again. “I keep dreaming that one of my… one of the scourgers somehow have found you, I couldn’t—“ He leans into the doorframe and presses his hands to his face fully now, and his shoulders tremble. “I had to know you were alright, I had to—“ He takes a deep breath, seemingly to calm himself, and stands up straight. “Can I come in?”

Without a word, Essek steps aside and gestures him into the warmth of his quarters.

“Caleb, as you can see, I’m fine,” he insists, when Caleb settles down on the chair he has just vacated, and he rests on the edge of the bed a few feet from him. “And you are here now, so if you are worried about my protection, well, you won’t have to rely only on the troops here.”

“I know, I just—“ He shakes his head. “I can’t get him out of my head.”

Essek leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees to match Caleb. “Is he still contacting you?”

“No, no, but…”

Caleb shakes his head again, and it seems not like a no and more like a wet animal trying to get water from its ears.

“I can’t tell. When I wake up with his voice in my head, I don’t know if I’m dreaming or if he’s in the room or if he’s merely haunting me in the way he knows how. I—“ He runs out of breath, pauses to catch it, and Essek lets him keep talking. “Every time I think I can sleep I hear it again, and I… I can’t tell. When it’s real or not.”

Essek is not familiar with physical comfort, as much as it might be warranted here, and while Caleb is hunched into himself, a slight rock in his shoulders, gripping his forearms even through layers of coat and sweater, Essek doesn’t even think that would be a particular help.

Still, he crouches on the floor and pulls Caleb’s hands from his scars and holds onto them tightly, feeling entirely out of his element, but when Caleb meets his eyes, he thinks that at least a little magic, he can offer.

“Close your eyes,” he says, and when Caleb does, he levitates his spellbook off the desk to his left and lets it hover beside him. Letting go with one hand, he signs runes in the air, and mouthing the words beneath his breath, he casts Sending.

I cannot keep him from your mind, but he does not have to monopolize your thoughts, if you don’t want him to.

Caleb’s face, for the first time since he arrived today, twists into a slow, crooked smile. “That’s very kind of you.”

Normally he would not waste spells for this kind of thing, but the heaviness that evaporates from Caleb’s shoulders with just the first is enough to coerce him. He casts the runes again, faltering for a moment as he wonders what else to say. You can feel the arcane here, yes? It is not the same as a thought. It is more concrete, more tangible. Nothing like a hallucination.

“Yes,” Caleb agrees, and his hand tightens around Essek’s. He casts the spell again.

I’m sure you could convince Jester to do this, if you care to. I imagine she would be happy to oblige, if she is able.

“I’m afraid…” Caleb purses his lips, his eyes still closed. “I’m afraid that would not help alleviate the guilt.” He smiles. “How are you able to cast it without speaking?”

I am speaking very softly, but what arrives in your mind is loud enough that it drowns it out.

“Ah.”

Do you not use this spell? I simply assumed that Jester merely enjoyed tormenting her recipients.

“No, no. I never picked it up, as Jester can cast it, though with how many times it would have been useful in recent days…” he opens his eyes and meets Essek’s gaze, and he looks stronger now than he was when he walked in, by miles. “Would you mind if I copied it from you?”

“I would mind if you choose to do that instead of sleep, yes. You are exhausted, Caleb.”

Caleb’s crooked smile returns. “I’m not sure I am able to sleep, still.”

“Then sleep here. I can trance in my chair—the luxon knows I’ve done it enough.” Caleb gapes at him. “Don’t look so aghast.”

“I would not wish to impose—“

“You would not be imposing,” he says dryly, and stands, realizing how close they are now that Caleb is looking at him. “If we are to leave tomorrow, you will need to have your wits about you.”

“As will you.”

“And I can rest perfectly fine seated.” He shrugs. “Besides, I am still working. Get a few hours rest here, and if I for some reason deem myself in dire need of a bed, I will wake you.”

The humor in Caleb’s face makes him think there’s an innuendo there that he’s missed, and he flushes slightly, but doesn’t move. “Very well.”

“Good.”

Caleb stands, and as he does, he catches Essek’s face in his hands and gives him the quickest kiss on the forehead. “Thank you.”

Essek freezes. “It was nothing, really.”

As Caleb discards his coat and shoes and climbs beneath the covers, Essek resituates himself in his chair, one leg tucked beneath him and the other drawn up to rest his elbow on, and he returns to the book and his notes, but after a moment, he glances over at Caleb, whose eyes are closed and whose face is still tight. His fingers move with little more than a thought, and he uses far too powerful a spell to send Caleb a message across the room. Good night, Caleb Widogast. Get some rest.

Caleb's brow smooths with a soft smile, and his voice is little more than a murmur as he responds. “Danke. Good night, Essek.”

[aitarose]

SEVEN AM (T. OIKAWA) ⤷ pairing: oikawa tooru x fem!reader

synopsis: between wrinkled bedsheets and lost undergarments, the evening of your dreams is one of a living nightmare—you, alone in a simple bed without its king. 

word count: 1.2k

genre: fuck boi!tooru, best friend!reader, one night stand, one-sided pining, angsty angst

warnings: extremely suggestive content, swearing, slight obsession, brief mentions of intercourse :( but not fully descriptive bc i’m a minor haha ok

24 hours collab masterpost

notes: for bby ly’s (@kyotarou) collab that i already forgot the name of oopsie brb OK it’s called the 24 hours collab aha aha there we go. also half of this takes place at like midnight umm chile anyways

It’d been a spur-of-the-moment decision, something that you’d relived over and over again within the constructs of your own mind—but never believed would actually come true. It was the very thing that you’d wished for most in all of your months by his side, never realizing that it was right within your grasp.

The dream being just beneath your skin, hands laced together through gentle movements and breathless moans, all occurring in one single night of ecstasy. 

A night that had been, of course, proceeded by your typical evening of celebration. The excited haze of energy that followed a perfect win on the court—victory for Club Athletico San Juan, which was led by none other than their esteemed setter—your best friend, Oikawa Tooru. 

You’d walked out of the bar together after eleven PM, hand-in-hand, him swinging your palms back and forth whilst you strolled down the spaced pavements—avoiding crazed traffic and wandering strangers—heading towards your quaint apartment which sat peacefully atop the local cafe. 

One after the other, the two of you stepped inside—locking the door behind you as you dropped your abandoned shoes on the mat, having taken them off hours earlier in the midst of dancing. His hand had never left the small of your back, guiding your steps towards the cozy kitchen with a dream-like cloud floating through the air. 

You’d offered him a mug of decaffeinated coffee, turning on the machine with the muscle memory of countless similar nights, not noticing the hardness of his gaze. There had been a glint in his eyes—an expression you’d never quite seen before displayed on his features as you turned to face him, the only sound being the soft grinds of the water heater. 

There wasn’t any verbal discussion, no command that had signaled him to rush over and take your jaw between his calloused fingers. Only a split second of eye contact, both of you having the same wish in that moment—to finally know the feeling of your lips on his in an ever-seizing kiss. 

And it really had been everything you’d dreamed of. Soft and passionate, perfection in terms of intimacy—a seemingly life-changing kiss between you and your best friend. The very person you’d been falling for for years on years now. The man that you imagined yourself meeting at the end of a rose covered aisle in beautiful designer attire. 

The path from the kitchen to your bedroom hadn’t taken long to conquer, strewn clothing across the floor, like scattered treats in the woods on the way to the witches hut. A desirable sight, but also one that would inevitably lead to pain and heartbreak—and unfortunately for you, those outcomes had never crossed your mind, not even once. 

But now, as you lay awake—facing the bedroom wall in an attempt to ignore the rising sunlight—there was a physical pain in your chest. The bonds of your being snapping into two as you heard him roll out of bed, groaning at the bright rays whilst his regretful actions cycled through his mind. 

“Shit.” You heard him mumble as you turned slightly to see him run a hand through his disheveled locks. He was biting his lip, tapping his foot against the hard wood floor with his eyes on the window, staring out into the incoming horizon with reddened irises. “Shit.”

Oikawa stood, abandoning the bodily indent in the comforter and scrambling to find his clothing. It seemed as if he were more focused on the location of his belt than the status of your relationship—all the more confirming that you were nothing but another one of his flings. Another one of his famous one night stands. 

“Tooru?” You called out, sitting up with your elbows as support, a fully serious gaze falling upon his eyes of fear as his attention snapped around. “Tooru, where are you going? Do you have an early practice?”

There was a part of you that wanted to believe that he did have an excuse for trying to leave you. That there was a valid reason as to why he hadn’t held you through the morning haze, why he hadn’t pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head in an attempt to wake you softly—why he hadn’t confessed any true feelings for you in the night turned dawn?

But all of your worries were confirmed at his reaction. His usually charming cheeks were replaced with ones devoid of commitment or love, his stance being awkward and weary rather than comfortable and content in your presence. He was practically a different person. 

You didn’t know this Oikawa Tooru, you hadn’t ever known the man before you now—but all the women at the bar, the fans in the stands, girls at the beach who’d whistle in his way and send him flirty glances had always been familiar with this feeling of longing. 

It was the tone of rejection and regrets, stolen kisses that had been thrown into the bin—taken away to the sea and lost in the landfill of broken hearts and mixed emotions. He didn’t need to come up with a response to your wonders, knowing that you were smarter than his empty promises and lies. All that was needed was a pained shake of the head and the stale wake of his absence. 

Tears rained down your make-up smudged skin at the sound of the front door closing, the realization of reality setting in—the reality that he would likely never take a walk with you on your path of life again. Your streets were at one for what you wanted to be forever—but forever doesn’t always last, does it?

No, because if it did you wouldn’t be driving down the boulevard of broken dreams with an open hand—an open hand that was, for some reason, still waiting for him to come back. Still hoping with every part of your soul that he would come rushing into your arms and fall back into a peaceful slumber. 

Perhaps you could find that slumber yourself, snuggled in the cold cotton sheets of your king sized bed—which was ironically missing its king of the court. 

If there was any chance that you could find rest, lucid dream the reality that you oh-so-wished you were currently living, you’d take that opportunity. After all, what is life without the one you love? What is life if not missed connections and broken signals? What is the point of trying so hard, only to be beat down after finally getting what you wanted?

Maybe you just weren’t meant for the type of mind-blowing love you saw in the movies or on television. The lifestyle of happiness just wasn’t in your book—the dream of dancing through a fairytale was a phony pretense, as you weren’t the princess in the story, but rather the abandoned love interest instead. 

Turning the next page wouldn’t be easy for you, it would take all the mental strength in your bones—but at the sight of the parting clouds and shining sun, you knew you’d be okay. The next chapter of your story would be a good one, you were going to make sure of it—with or without him.

dedicated to my silly little beautiful baka @gellysticks​. you’re such a silly goose you silly little goose you

aitarose do not copy, claim, or mimic my writing, works, themes, copy and paste my words, or headers and tags as your own. do not use my blog as a template for your own, or base your theme on mine.

[missdawnandherdusk]

A Girl’s Choice

Draco X Reader (highschool!AU)

Summary: Everything was absolutely fine in his small town, until you stumbled in and began to defy the status quo.

A/n: So, guess who got Midnight Sun and has been reading it non-stop for the past few days? Me. It was me. So, please enjoy this Twilight Parody of our favorite characters. Also I get to move back to college in like a week and I am EXCITED--mainly because there’s a good chance that I get a room to myself bc of the virus. So yay me. I love you guys a lot and really thank you for your patience and enthusiasm. It makes me smile. 

“So, Gin asked me to the dance this morning,” Harry was chatting you up—a normal occurrence before class started.

Draco didn’t mean to eavesdrop on you. He really didn’t, but he was intrigued about how this would go down. Since moving to the small town, you had been a buzz among the boys in the grade level. Draco could all but assume that most of the fantasized about you asking them to the girl’s choice dance coming up.

“That’s great!” You genuinely smiled. “You’ll have a lot of fun!”

Harry fumbled, losing his casual composure. You noted on it, and your look became more skeptical and judgmental—something Pansy would approve of.

“Well, I told her I’d think about it,”

This surprised Draco as much as it seemed to surprise you. It was no secret that star lacrosse player Weasley and Potter were all but official and had been for almost all of high school.

“Why in the world would you tell her that?” Your words mimicked his thoughts.

“Well... I thought maybe you’d... want to ask me?” He ran a hand through his usually untidy mass of curls.

Draco could not make this up if he wanted to. He barely suppressed the laugh that threatened to escape his lips. How in hell had Harry figured that you’d want to go to the dance with him? You’d been here maybe a month. As far as Draco knew, you weren’t interested in anyone. Perhaps the small town didn’t have enough shine for your city lights.

“You should tell Ginny yes, Harry,” You scolded him like a child. “It’s rude to make a girl wait,”

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry sulked, his face falling as the bell rang, signaling the start of class.

Draco couldn’t wipe the amused smirk from his face. You huffed annoyed and opened your notes, already prepping a new page for today’s lesson. You didn’t pay him any mind during class—a normality between the pair of you. Draco ignored you and you returned the favor. It was almost easier this way for him. Your shiny new toy status had no effect on him. He had every shiny toy he ever wanted. You had no appeal to him.

Harry, however, Draco stole glances over from time to time. The green-eyed jock pouted throughout the entire lesson, stealing glances over to you. You hardly noticed. Instead you were doodling in your notebook, waiting for the teacher to move on.

Maybe the stars aligned, or maybe you did fascinate him, but Draco found himself in the lunch line next to you the following day as another tried to ask you to the girls choice ball.

“So, I heard you turned down Potter,” Cedric gave off-hand. “Waiting to ask someone else then?”

Draco snorted, and this time you did give him the slightest glare before turning back to Cedric.

“I’m not going,” You answered curtly, grabbing fruit from the stand. “And no, I don’t plan on asking anyone.”

“Why aren’t you going?” Cedric almost pouted.

“There doesn’t have to be a reason.” You snapped. “I’m not going,”

Draco could only imagine the glare that you gave Cedric for him to back off so quickly. Again, a smile quirked at his lips. You might be the shiny new toy, but you weren’t going to be used like a porcelain doll.

“So, has she asked anyone yet?” Pansy asked as he sat beside her at their usual lunch table.

“She’s not going, and you totally missed her going off on Diggory,” Draco grinned. “That girl has to have a glare that rivals yours,”

“She turns down Potter and Diggory... do you think maybe she’s into chicks?” Pansy asked almost hopeful.

“Wouldn’t know and don’t care,” Draco shrugged. “Besides, she’s not going to the dance so go ask Greengrass before it’s too late,”

Pansy sulked and stabbed her salad with a bit more vigor than before.

You stormed into the chemistry classroom a bit more irritated than he had seen you in the cafeteria. He wanted to guess that another guy had tried to ask you to the girl’s choice dance because honestly it amused him to see you so upset. It was cute how riled up you could get from some unwanted attention. He wondered how far you’d have to be pushed before you actually started swinging. Maybe he wanted to find out.

“So,” He asked pointedly. “Anyone else try to ask you to the dance?” 

“Oh, fuck off Malfoy,” You hissed making him grin wider.

“Well, I was wondering if—”

“If you even start to finish that, I won’t be so forgiving,” Your hand clenched into a fist and Draco thought that maybe you’d actually try to hit him, but Snape walked in as the bell rang, taking any chance away from you.

Draco sat back smugly in his chair—to your great annoyance—as class droned on. At the end of the hour Draco followed you out, calling your name. You froze in the hallway, before turning to face him.

“I’m really not in the mood right now Draco,” Your strained voice gave a hint of weariness. “What is even with you guys? Can’t you just leave a girl alone? I’m not going to the stupid dance and I’m not just saying that so I can ask someone else,”

Before Draco could get a word in you stalked away, disappearing in the crowd. And he stood there, dumbfounded. Was he not amused an hour ago about your annoyance? Did it not make him smile that you were tortured by your suitors? Why all of a sudden was he frowning and loathing Potter and Diggory—and whatever poor bloke had the unfortunate courage to ask you before class—even more for winding you up?

“It was Krum,” Pansy didn’t even say hello as she sat next to him in Spanish. “He was the one who tried to ask her,”

“She said no to Krum?” Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “You might be right, she really might swing the other way,”

“Aw, but I already asked Daphne,” Pansy pouted.

“Pans, darling, I think if anyone else breathes near her about the dance she’s gonna send someone to the nurse,” Draco chuckled. “So maybe you dodged a bullet there,”

She sighed wistfully. “Still, it’s nice to dream,”

____________________________________

“So, did you ask anyone to the dance yet?”

“Dad, I really don’t want to talk about this,” I huffed, kicking off my shoes. “I’m not going to that stupid dance,”

“Well, I know it’s probably not as glitzy as your uptown shindigs, but you should still go and have fun,” My dad set down his paper. “Make some friends while you’re here,” His tone was hopeful, as I knew it would be.

He wanted me to be happy here. He wanted me to fit in and enjoy my time in the middle of nowhere. It was a farfetched dream. But it was mine, I supposed.

“I have a few friends,” I insisted. “But I’m not one for dances... and the guys in town aren’t exactly... appealing,” I decided.

“Well, not that a father will complain about his daughter not wanting to date, but maybe you should go with a group of friends or something?”

“Everyone’s paired off, dad,” I sighed, looking in the fridge for something to make for dinner.

As I set off to do my chemistry homework, my mind meandered to my chem partner. It was out of character that he spoke to me today. Normally we disregarded another in comfortable silence. It had been that way since I showed up. And though it might have stung a bit in the beginning, I could tell quickly that Draco and his friends were the wrong sort of crowd that I didn’t want to be caught up in. The kind of crowds that I escaped by moving from my city life.

And I liked the crowd I had found; Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville were all very sweet and welcoming on my first day and had sort of adopted me into their group without looking back. Not that there was much depth in any of their lunchroom conversations, but at least I wasn’t alone. Hermione was the only one I could hold a conversation with—she had AP classes as I did and was a saint when I needed homework guidance.

Chemistry, however, was the one subject she couldn’t help me with. She had opted out for AP Environmental instead, claiming she had done her time with Snape and would rather dropout than be in his class another year.

So, it left me begrudgingly texting Draco about tonight’s homework. He was the only other one in class that seemed to keep up easily. Maybe it was because he was a shoe shiner class pet of Snape’s.

Malfoy: Oh, so you’re talking to me now. Don’t want yell at me again?

My cheeks flushed in anger and embarrassment at his response. He was never one to hold back what he was thinking—even if it was brutal.

Y/n: I’m sorry for snapping at you. It wasn’t fair to you. I’d give a reason, but I doubt you’d care

Malfoy: Pansy already told me that Krum tried to ask you to the dance. That’s what? Three guys now? If I hadn’t stopped her, Pansy wanted to ask you too.

Y/n: At least it would have been a girl asking me to a girl’s choice

Y/n: And you’re short one, Ron asked me too

Malfoy: Weasel? Wow. Never thought he’d have the guts to ask anyone 

Y/n: He’s actually going with Hermione

Y/n: Now will you please help me on 7?

And to my surprise, Draco was quite civil about walking me through the covalent bonding prompts. It made me feel a bit more guilty about snapping at him earlier today.

Seeing how I struggled on the homework, I wasn’t surprised that Harry came over during study hall and asked me for help on the same, if not more, questions. After the first couple, he griped that I was too similar to Hermione for knowing it all. And that it wasn’t fair that it came so easily to me.

“Actually, Draco helped me,” I smiled as I showed my notes to Harry for the next question. “He might help you if you ask,”

That was a long shot. Harry hated Draco and vice versa. It didn’t take me long to figure that one out.

“Malfoy helped you? Like actually helped you?” Harry scoffed. “The little prat,”

“Hey,” I warned snatching my notes away. “If you’re not gonna be nice about it I won’t let you use my notes,”

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that,” Harry pouted. “You know I was kidding,”

“Yahuh. Sure Harry,”

“Oh, come on,” Harry tried again. “He’s a prat. Always has been,”

I rolled my eyes, not wanting to hear anymore of Harry’s lamenting, and grabbed my bag. “I’ll be in the library,”

Wordlessly I left, fuming slightly. The music from my headphones thawed out my anger towards Harry a bit as I pushed the doors of the library open and sat at a table, pulling out my calculus homework to go over it one last time.

“This seat taken?”

I barely heard the question over my music. My eyes darted up to meet steady grey ones.

“It’s a free country,” I shrugged then remembered that I want particularly irate towards Draco at the moment. “Thank you, by the way,” I murmured, taking out one of my headphones. “For the chem help,”

“I might have had an ulterior motive,” Draco mumbled, pulling out a binder.

“If you think I’m gonna ask you to the dance because you helped me with my homework you have another thing coming Malfoy,” I warned.

“I think every guy in the school has got that by now,” a smile played at his lips. “No, I... I need help in McGonagall,” He was almost sheepish to admit it.

I raised an eyebrow at him skeptically, but he did seem genuine about needing help.

“I’m not sure I’ll be much help, but I can try. My old teacher, Jones had a different way of explaining it...” I trailed off, a pang of remorse about leaving my old school in my chest.

And maybe the way Jones taught me made more sense to Draco because he did eventually start to understand the calculus on the paper beneath us. I realized that Draco was very methodical. He enjoyed having rules that worked every time no matter the question. A failsafe that kept him ahead of the curve.

“Do you miss it?” He asked as we started to pack for the next hour. 

“Miss what?”

“Your old school? It has to be a lot different than this hell hole,” His words were nonchalant but still skeptical.

“It’s not so bad here,” I defended weakly. “But... I miss it, yeah. I feel like I have to prove myself all over again. Back home—back in New York no one questioned me. The teachers trusted me... the staff knew me...” I sighed. “I’m a stranger here.”

The warning bell rang and the same sense of dread that settled upon me reflected in Draco’s eyes: we were halfway across campus and there was little hope of getting to Snape’s class in the two minutes we had left.

Both scrambling, we headed for the doors and tore down the hall. I followed Draco’s path because if I was honest, I still didn’t quite know my way around the school nor the quickest ways to certain buildings.

“Miss Y/l/n,” Snap looked down disapprovingly at me. “I hope you have reason for being late or it’s Saturday detention for you,”

My anxiety spiked as I fumbled out an explanation. In the corner of my eye, I saw Harry stand, ready to come to my defense, but there was no need. Flawlessly Draco directed the attention of the irritated teacher to him with a sly smile and quick lie, that wasn’t really a lie at all.

“It was my fault,” Draco smoothed quickly. “I was having Y/n help me with McGonagall’s homework and I kept her late.”

Snape’s eyes darted between the two of us before he sighed, telling us to get to our seats before he gave out detentions for disrupting his class.

With a breath of relief, I sat beside Draco. 

“Thank you,” I murmured.

He shrugged and took out his notes and homework just as Snape began to go over it. And we went back to ignoring each other. Except, this time, it deemed impossible for me not to glance at him every so often, or for my eyes not to drift to his notes on the table, making sure that I hadn’t missed anything. The hour seemed to end quicker than normal. As usual, Harry walked to gym with me, chatting about the upcoming game before the dance this weekend.

“So, you and Malfoy?” The comment caught me off guard. “I don’t like it,”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s nothing Harry,” I shrugged. “No need to let your little feud make up wild stories. He just needed help with calc,”

“Sure, the golden boy needed help with his homework,” Harry said flatly. “That’s believable.” 

“And what about it is so farfetched?” I demanded.

“He’s doing it for some reason. He knows you turned me down, maybe he’s trying to get at me by being nice to you,” The offhand comment had my blood boiling.

“Are you serious right now!?” I snapped. “What is so wrong with you that you can’t see past your own ego!?”

Storming off, the only relief from my anger I was allowed happened when I ‘accidentally’ pelted Harry with a ball in the face, sending him to the nurse. When my anger faded, doubt remained. Was Draco only trying to be nice to me to get at Harry? From what I knew of Draco secondhand, I wouldn’t put it past him.

______________________________

Draco was shocked when Snape had called on you for a homework answer, and you admitted that you didn’t know. Didn’t you know that he didn’t mind you texting him about the homework? That helping you wasn’t the worst waste of his time in the world? You had done it before. Not days ago. And yet you allowed yourself to be ridiculed by Snape for your lack of habitual knowledge.

You didn’t notice the small frown that lingered on his face for the remainder of class as you kept your head down and doodled in your notebook. Deciding that he didn’t like your comatose, he did something that deemed childish: he passed you a note.

You ok?

You stared at the paper and looked over at him, biting your lip before scribbling: 

Fine. Pay attention.

Rolling his eyes, he took the paper back and wrote:

I can’t if you’re over here moping.

You took the small piece of paper and crumpled it in your hands, shoving it into your bag. Draco decided to leave you alone for the rest of the hour his curiosity still burning through him. A quick meeting of Harry’s livid stare, and Draco had a better idea of what was going on. He just hoped, for perhaps the first time ever, that he was wrong.

“Oi, what the hell did you say to Y/n?” Draco demanded, singling Potter out in the hall the next morning.

His curiosity and suspicions had festered over the night. Draco had made the conscious decision to text you, asking if you needed help with chem, and your lack of response had him worrying again.

“What are you going on about Malfoy?” Ron crossed his arms, coming to Harry’s defense.

“Stay out of this weasel,” Draco hissed, noticing the crowd that began to gather around the small confrontation. Most of his attention, however stayed focused on cold green eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Malfoy,” Harry tipped his chin back. “What? Is she not bowing down at your feet like you’re used too?” A laugh barked out of him and Weasley and a few other onlookers.

“At least she’s got enough self-respect to not be on her knees for you,” Draco heard the familiar condescending voice of Pansy beside him. A grin curled onto his face at her words.

Harry didn’t know what to say to that it seemed, and it further proved Draco’s suspicions. 

“So, you did say something to her,” He accused. “She got her not a month ago and you’re already dragging her into our mutual hatred?” Draco wouldn’t stoop that low. It was pathetic. 

“Well if you hadn’t gone and pretended to need help with McGonagall’s work, there wouldn’t be a problem,” Harry gritted, as if he had the high ground.

“As opposed to you who pretends he doesn’t need help them blames others when he fails?” Draco snapped.

There was quite a large crowd gathering around now, and he and Harry were less than a foot apart. Both boys were on the verge of snapping.

“Draco?”

Your voice was enough to distract him that he didn’t see Harry throw the first punch. Pain blistered across his jaw as fury burned in his eyes. Now the kids around them were chanting and egging on the fight. But Draco never had the chance to swing back.

Because you had drove yourself into the cleared circle and delivered a few punches of your own.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You shouted at him kneeing him in the groin leaving him keeled over, groaning. “I told you to back the fuck off!”

Draco wasn’t as surprised at the comment as he was about the knowledge that you knew how to beat the pulp out of a star football player without a whim. You never seemed like the athletic type but the blood pouring from Harry’s nose begged that you were slightly more dangerous than Draco had originally thought.

“Are you okay?” Your wild worried eyes were trained on him.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” He didn’t mean for the words to be so harsh, but the hurt that flickered across your face made him regret them.

He wished he had time to explain exactly why you shouldn’t have done that, but McGonagall and Snape were already upon the scene and threatening detentions. He and Harry, of course, were called out as the other students scattered.

“McGonagall, please,” You stood loyally beside him, despite his harsh words. “Draco didn’t have a hand in this, I did.”

Both teachers raised their eyebrows in surprise. Draco just gaped at you. Harry was glaring and still bleeding.

“I see. All three of you go to Dumbledore’s office.” She said, her careful eyes not leaving yours.

Harry strode off first, perhaps feeling smug in the fact that either way, you or Draco would be in trouble for this encounter. Draco wondered if you knew you had just bought yourself three days suspension for fighting.

You were silent beside him as you flexed your hand. He pondered if you had hurt it in your fervor. He almost asked you. Then he remembered the hurt on your face at his last words and decided against it. You wouldn’t want to talk to him.

“So,” Dumbledore said pointedly. “I heard there was a bit of a skirmish today in the hall,” An amused smile sat upon the principal’s face, no doubt taking in Harry’s state. Draco wondered if his skin was bruising yet.

“It was me,” Draco said not realizing what he was doing.

“Oh, don’t you even,” You were scathing at him, your hands clenched again, pain flitting across your face—you definitely hurt your hand then. You turned to Dumbledore. “Harry swung at Draco and I stepped in. I’m the one who did it.”

“Mr. Potter?” Dumbledore raised an ancient eyebrow.

Harry seemed like he was debating whether or not he wanted to admit getting beat up by a girl. The thought made Draco smile, causing his jaw to hurt. He tried to flex it but halted when pain blossomed again.

“That’s what happened,” Harry admitted under his breath.

“And why, Mr. Malfoy, did Potter swing at you?” Dumbledore turned to him, an amused smile lingering on his face.

“I thought that Harry had said something to her that hurt her. She... wasn’t keeping up on homework and it was unlike her. After she turned Harry’s proposal to the dance down, I thought...”

“You turned down Mr. Potter’s proposal to the girl’s choice dance?” The principal turned back to you.

“His, Weasley’s, Cedric’s, Viktor’s,” You muttered, much to Dumbledore’s delight as the older man began to chuckle.

“Had quite a welcome here, haven’t you?”

“You could say that again,” Folding your arms, your face became solemn. 

“And do you have a reason for your actions?”

“I don’t like bullies, no matter where they come from,” Confidence founded your voice as you squared your shoulder. Never once had Draco ever heard someone call Harry a bully. The words had always been reversed. Everyone in the school saw the reputation in Draco, never Harry.

“Well, under normal circumstances, I’d have to suspend you and Mr. Potter here, but instead, I’m suspending you from being allowed to the dance this weekend. All three of you,”

“But sir!” Harry argued.

“Not another word Mr. Potter.” Dumbledore rose from his office chair. “My decision is final.”

Three ‘yes sir’s were mumbled as the three of you filed out of the office. You began to walk away, towards your next class Draco assumed, but he caught your non-injured hand, Harry slinking away himself.

“Let me go,” You shrugged him off.

“Wait,” Draco caught up to you, blocking you in the narrow hall of the office. “Look, about what I said,”

“Forget it Draco,” You snapped, and he could see unshed tears in your eyes. “Just leave me alone,” You pressed past him with a bit more force than necessary that had him after you again.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” He called, and you actually paused, your head turning in interest.

“Then what did you mean?” Your voice with thick. “Cuz all I see is a rich little prat who can’t say thank you. Or a self-centered guy who thinks I need someone to fight my battles for me. A high and mighty guy who thinks he can tell me what to do,” Your words were sharp and snarled. “So please, tell me what you meant.” The challenge dripped dangerously from your scowl.

“I...” Draco fumbled for the right words. “I’m not worth getting suspended for,” Your anger turned to confusion, turned sympathy, turned neutral.

“But I’m worth fighting for,” It was a stubborn and bold declaration. “And I know that,” A pause as you turned to leave. “So yeah, I should have done that,”

___________________________

I couldn’t help the tears that streamed down my face as I nearly ran to the parking lot, yearning for the safety of my car. Slamming the door shut, I let out a frustrated yell and slumped in the seat.

The backroads under my tires held a calming solace as I drove the long way home. It was something that New York couldn’t replace: the backroads I had grown up on. With the windows down and the radio blaring, all of my thoughts were tuned out.

At a red light, I found the courage to call my father and explain what happened. He said I was grounded this weekend for fighting, but I didn’t mind much. It got me out of having to go to the dance, even if Dumbledore hadn’t already said I couldn’t. I smiled when my dad told me he was proud for standing up for myself and beating the hell out of Harry.

I found myself smiling as I pulled in at home. Icing my hand and popping some pain killers just in case, I scrolled through my notifications, only answering Hermione. I didn’t care what the school gossiped about or what rumors started because of the fight. Hermione just wanted to know if I was okay and if I’d want her to send the homework from the classes I missed. I told her yes to both and thanked her.

Another notification popped up.

Draco: are you okay? how’s your hand?

I stared at the notification, and instead of deleting the icon like I should have, I opened it and gazed at the words. His mood swings were giving me whiplash. I thought about ignoring it, but he had already seen that I had read it. Cursing modern technology, I responded.

Y/n: fine

Mulling it over, I sent another text.

Y/n: can you send me the chem homework? please

The messages that followed were unexpected. Steady and clear photos of his notes for the day— and week it looked like—as well as the worksheet Snape had given. I felt a pang if gratitude towards Draco in that moment and his words from earlier settled in.

Draco has confronted Harry because he was worried about me. Somehow, he had picked up on how Harry’s words had affected me and driven me into doubt and a few missing homework assignments. Tears sprung back up in my eyes without my consent. It left me regretting the words I had snapped at him earlier. I let him know as much with another text.

Draco: most of it was justified

Draco: I know I’m not the easiest person to know 

Y/n: I was still wrong to say it. I’m sorry

Y/n: and you’re not so bad :)

There wasn’t a response from him for half an hour, so I settled down and began to transcribe his notes into my own notebook, then began to untangle the questions that the worksheet gave me. The crumpled note from a few days ago spilled out of my bag. I took it, unfurling it, running my hand over his words. I tucked it in my chemistry binder, smiling softly at his kindness.

Anxiety fluttered in my chest the next day as I drove up to school and parked in my usual spot. I felt torn between two clicks—probably the only two clicks this school had, and I had managed to get caught in the middle of a turf war—the thing that I wanted to escape by moving back in with my dad and I still managed to find myself in the same situations. Maybe it was just me. Maybe I was the problem.

Shaking the thought, I headed to first hour just as the bell rang in my efforts to avoid confrontation. Other than a few approving comments from my sorta friends, no one seemed put out that I had fought their golden boy. It eased my anxiety as the day went on. I was quelled a bit more when I heard that Harry wasn’t in school today. And maybe I smiled at that a bit.

“The jackass deserved it,” Ginny shrugged, “If you hadn’t shown up, I wouldn’t have hesitated either,”

She calmed the majority of my fears with her words unknowingly. If there had been one person I didn’t want to cross it was Ginny—she was fierce and took no prisoners. If the school had a queen bee, it would have been Gin.

“Is your hand alright?” Luna asked during art class. “You seem a bit off your game today,” She noticed my failing live portrait.

Luna was always quiet but observant of others, and it drew me towards the peaceful girl. Her calm nature as well as my fierce need to protect her from bullies kept me as her partner despite the seat changes in Trelawney’s art class. The teacher didn’t seem to care as Luna and I were some of her best students although Luna’s whimsical style contrasted my realistic preference heavily.

“It hurts a bit,” I answered truthfully. “But not enough to cry about,” There were yellow and purplish tinges to my knuckles, but nothing was broken.

“Everyone’s talking about it,” Luna semi-whispered. “Are you and Draco together?”

“No,” I answered a bit more harshly than I meant and refined my answer. “I was tired of Harry being an egotistical ass and dragging me into it,”

“He’s probably just jealous,” Luna gave offhand, adding some shading to her sketch. “Boys are like that,”

“Jealous? Of what?” I scoffed. “He’s with Ginny, and it’s not like I fancy anyone at this school,”

“Yes, I heard about all the failed proposals to the dance.” A smile touched her lips, “Regardless, from the outside, the only person you’ve shown interest in is Draco, and Harry doesn’t like it,”

“Well, he needs to get over it,” I muttered. “I’m not some prize to be won,”

My annoyance didn’t fade as I slumped into my seat at lunch, grateful that Harry was absent today because I might have just gone off on him again. Stupid teenage boys thinking they have some claim over a girl.

Harry was back the next day, looking worse for wear. I went to apologize, but he didn’t allow me too, saying he deserved it and the he was the one who was sorry. I wondered if Ginny had a hand in his apology. Shrugging, I decided it didn’t matter. At least Harry, and maybe everyone else at the small school, knew that I could handle myself.

The weekend passed, and I didn’t notice much. Hermione sent me a few pictures of the dance. They held no interest to me, but at least they were having fun.

On Monday, it seemed that Draco had gone back to ignoring me. At least that’s how it appeared for about the first half of Snape’s lecture. Then every so often I’d catch him staring at me, or my notes. His eyes would quickly dart down when he realized that I had noticed his gazes. It left me frowning and struggling to focus.

It was Wednesday that Hermione and I talked about the calculus test coming up on Friday. I glanced over to Draco, wondering if he’d need help or a study partner for the exam. I wondered if he’d be too proud to ask. Or if I’d be too stubborn to offer.

“Go over there and ask,” Hermione nudged my arm, picking up on my train of thought.

“I shouldn’t,” I shook my head. “Besides, you’d be a better tutor than I am,”

“Yes, but Draco doesn’t like me. You on the other hand,” An amused smile lingered on her face.

“We’re friends,” I insisted. “That’s all,”

“More than it was last week,” She pointed out. “Draco’s always been a stuffy prat, but I see how he is with you. He’s almost... normal.”

My eyes shifted back over to his lunch table, where he was hunched over a book, tuning out the dark-haired girl beside him as she prattled about something adamantly. Something the girl said must have caught Draco’s attention, perhaps she warned him about my gaze, because his eyes met mine. I looked down quickly, my cheeks flushing.

“He’s coming over,” Hermione whispered.

“Stop staring,” I hissed under my breath, breaking my own rule by looking up.

“Can I talk to you?” His voice was quiet and guarded, his eyes sliding over my company. 

“What’s up?” I asked casually.

“Alone?”

I looked to Hermione who was saying if I didn’t go, she’d never forgive me with a single look.

“Sure,” I stood, gathering my things and followed him out of the cafeteria and down the halls, to the library. “Did you want help for the calc test Friday?” I asked softly as we sat at the same table as our previous encounter.

“Well, yes,” He chuckled softly. “I... also wanted to talk to you... about last week, and...” His eyes refused to meet mine. I waited in silence for him to continue. “This... this doesn’t have to be anything, and I know you’d probably rather it weren’t... but I’ve never actually...”

I raised my eyebrows, leaning closer to him, the butterflies in my chest growing more restless with each second that passed. They had begun to arrive on the day of the fight, and now it seemed like they were taking flight for the first time.

“You came here a month ago... and in that time have managed to capture every guys heart in this school and then proceeded to turn most of them down. You’ve gotten into fights and out of trouble and you’re really someone I should avoid, but... I don’t want to, not anymore.”

“You think you should avoid me?” The question was soft on my lips. His eyes flashed to mine in brief panic.

“Again, not what you think,” He sighed and scrubbed his face, then proceeded to wince at the pain that no doubt was triggered by his action. “I should avoid you because if I’m being honest, I’m not much better than Harry, and I wouldn’t be someone you’d want to be with. And it would make it easier for the both of us if I avoided you.”

“Cards on the table then?” I mused softly and he nodded, begging my candor. “I know what they say about you. And I have my own opinions, but...” I paused and smiled. “You are the first guy who hasn’t acted like an arrogant jackass to me,” Then mended, “At least in a way that hasn’t made me want to deck you,”

“That’s comforting,” A smile reached his eyes this time.

“And... if it had to be anyone... I’d probably want it to be you,” This surprised him, told by the expression on his face. “In terms of intelligence, I feel semi-confident to say that you wouldn’t drive me mad with your lack of knowledge, because most of the kids at this school are so dull,” I muttered then continued. “You’ve been kind to me, and never pushed me into doing anything I haven’t wanted to do,”

“So, you wanted to beat the shit out of Potter then?” The same smile turned to a grin.

“It was bound to happen eventually,” I chuckled softly. “You gave me a valid excuse, to which I thank you,”

“Shouldn’t I be thanking you? For ya know, being my knight in shining armor coming to my rescue?”

I laughed at his words and shook my head at his antics.

“Does that make you my damsel in distress?” It never occurred to me how easy it might be to talk to Draco, considering we’d barely said a word to each other since my arrival.

“If I must be,” He feigned distaste, the smile not leaving his face long enough to convince me of his façade.

A silence fell between us.

“Is this something then?” His words were riddled with uncertainty.

“It’s not nothing,” I offered. “But I don’t know what it is yet.”

“Would you be willing to see what it is?” Draco’s voice turned hopeful.

“If you’re willing to be patient,” My eyes met his grey ones, storms above the seas held in them. “I don’t really... date. Flings and a list of exes isn’t really on my bucket list ya know?”

“Understandable,” His smile returning. “Not that I prefer them either,”

I sighed softly. “People are gonna talk, if they’re not already,” It was a defeating thought.

“Let them talk,” Draco shrugged, lost in thought. “That’s all they do. No matter where you go,”

“It’s a bit worse in a small town,” I challenged.

“I’ll give you that,” He chuckled. “But things are a bit less scandalous in a small town,”

“Granted,” I thought of New York and how the smallest things morphed into rumors and gossip that took down empires. Here, in the middle of nowhere our problems seemed almost trivial.

“So,” He raised an eyebrow at me, awaiting my verdict.

“So,” I mimicked. “This... this can be something,”

 ______________________________

Draco had never once thought of dating. Ever. Whereas Pansy couldn’t wait to have her next summer love, Draco... he was reserved. Not that he ever held it against Pansy, and of course he was there to curse the name of her exes with her, but him dating? It was laughable.

He could claim that ‘you weren’t like other girls,’ but it’d be a lie. You were just the perfect mix of being like other girls that appealed to him so much. The girls he had passed in the halls for years and never once felt attraction to were now suddenly a bit more interesting. Granger had calculus with you and was very good at the subject, sharing your passion for it. Ginny had the same fire in her eyes as you did when you were angry. Even Lovegood seemed less like a spaz and a bit more down to earth in the few passing moments that he saw her when picking you up from art class.

“I might warn you,” he whispered gently the next day, hand in yours as you headed to the cafeteria. “Pansy has been dying to talk to you... so heads up,”

A laugh fell through your lips as he opened the door for you, the cafeteria, once buzzing solemnly was now almost hushed as eyes turned to the couple at the door.

“Oi! Malfoy!”

Draco tensed at the curt calling of his name but relaxed when you smiled and waved to Ginny.

“Come sit with us,” The redhead offered. “No need in you taking Y/n away from us,”

“Get Pansy,” You smiled, letting his hand go as you went to drop your stuff at the table before heading toward the lunch line.

“Can I talk to her now?” Pansy demanded.

“She’s all yours,” Draco chuckled, trailing behind his dark-haired friend, a smile resting on his face as you entertained all of Pansy’s question with unbelievable grace.

Tensions were high as Draco sat with you at your usual lunch table, Pansy on his other side, but it seemed that you, Ginny, and Hermione had the boys under control, so nothing more than loathsome glares were exchanged before the conversation settled into something pleasant.

It took a couple weeks, but the bruises on your hand and his jaw faded, then soon Harry’s broken nose was healed, and it was as if nothing had ever happened. As if it were preposterous that your group ever had animosity against another.

True to your word and his, it wasn’t exactly dating. He dedicated a lot of his effort to figuring out what you were comfortable with and what you weren’t. Something that appealed to both of you was holding hands in the hallways. The gawking faces of those around you seemed to keep a smile on your face. You had tamed the rich prat and he had tamed the spitfire in their eyes. And perhaps he was a bit kinder to those around him. And maybe you weren’t as volatile. Maybe you had finally settled into the small town.

Slowly it seemed, you sifted into the role of a girlfriend—well, whatever the equivalent was for you and him. It took some coaxing and a compromise, but you allowed him to pick you up and drive you to school—three out of five days of the week. He looked forward to those mornings and didn’t mind leaving earlier as long as you were at the end of the road under his tires. You were defiant about him paying for things, mundane things like lunch or random gifts, so he tried to keep it at a minimum, or at least didn’t let on how much he had spent on you.

Draco was never one for physical affection. His parents had been distant and reserved. Closed off. He wasn’t bitter about it, but he was worried that it might affect how he was around you. But it seems that you were a bit standoffish as well. The abrasion faded over time, but it was still never over abundant. You held his hand, that was easy and almost routine for the both of you, and though he hadn’t kissed you yet, displays of make outs in the halls never appealed to any part of him. Ever.

But he wouldn’t forget the first time you kissed him. It was a quiet night at your place after you two had studied for Snape’s final. You declared if you looked at another carbon bond you were going to scream, so you slammed your binder shut and led him to the old sofa and pulled him down, both of you nestled beside another as you flickered through TV stations, settling on something that held half your interest.

His arm draped around your shoulder, a gentle sign of affection that you returned by resting your head on his shoulder, your arm stretching across his stomach, holding him. His hand absentmindedly played in your hair, earning soft sounds of agreement from your lips as he continued. Your exhausted face in the TV light held all of his interest. The way your eyelashes fluttered eleven your eyes changed focus, or the way you worried your lip now and again almost thoughtlessly. Never knowing that it drove him mad.

Draco called your name softly, earning your attention. Your faces were inches apart and he could feel your soft breaths mix with his. Your eyes searched his for something—what exactly he wasn’t sure. But you must have decided that whatever you found was enough, because you leaned up and closed the distance between your lips and his.

He smiled at the moment and the ones that followed. The desire that built in his chest and the gentle pant of need that left your lips, flushing across his as you pulled away.

“Thank you,” You had murmured.

He smiled at you simple gratitude and wondered why you thought it necessary. Did you believe that he didn’t want to kiss you? That you weren’t constantly in his psyche? Imagining how soft and warm your skin must be? Wondering if the rest of you was worked and scarred like your hands from years of use?

Not knowing what you were thinking—or why he was for that matter—he pulled you into his lap as the two of you sat on the couch, cradling you close, letting you know that he craved your affection though he wasn’t the best at portraying the ideal.

You had fallen asleep in his lap that night. When your dad came in to check on the two of you, Draco thought your father would be furious but instead he smiled and suggested that Draco carry you to your room so that you could stretched out on your bed and sleep for the night. Those were the few moments that Draco had ever been in your room. It was one of your fathers rules—which he humbly agreed to. The sight made him smile. It was perfectly you. An organized chaos of all of your favorite things.

You barely noticed him setting you into your bed and pulling the covers over your shoulders after removing you shoes.

He preferred your home over his. It took about two months before you coaxed him into the idea of meeting his parents formally. Draco was terrified, knowing that his parents disapproved just about everyone in the town they lived in, save a few families. He wasn’t sure how they felt about the divorcee and his daughter living on the outskirts of town.

“You understand how much of a bad idea this is?” Draco hissed as he walked you up the front steps of the pristine farmhouse—it was the last attempt he made before it was too late to back out.

“They’re just your parents,” You took his hand, saying the words nonchalantly.

“That’s why I’m worried! They’re my parents!” He dismayed.

“Dray, love, it’s gonna be okay,” You reassured, and he couldn’t argue with the honesty in your eyes.

You’d never stop surprising him. He didn’t think ever. He knew his parents were hard people to entertain. There were thousands of unspoken rules that they forced him to follow and you picked up on them as easily as you knew calculus. Sit one way, speak another, you blended in flawlessly. Your persona differed from the one he knew, but it was still perfectly you.

“And you moved here? From New York?” His father eyed you skeptically.

 “Father—” A cold look silenced Draco.

“Yes sir,” Your smile was sweet and conniving.

“Was the city not satisfactory for you?”

“It had a certain charm,” You spoke softly. “But I didn’t want to give my teenage years to a concrete jungle when I could call here my home,”

“Well,” Draco’s mother cut in before his father had a change to reply. “You sure do have quite a spirit in you. I can see what our Draco likes about you,”

You smiled and looked over at him. The blush on your cheeks matched his.

“Thank you,”

Lunch came and passed. If it was out of the ordinary in any way to you, you gave no sign.

You did however, pause, gazing at his grand piano that sat in the drawing room, your face pensive.

“You play?” He mused, curious. You hadn’t let on if your hidden talent. 

“Not very well,” You muttered back. “It’s been years.”

“Y/n, do you play my dear?” His mother cut in. “You must play for us,”

“I...” Glancing at the piano, you caught your lip in worry.

“Mother, if she isn’t comfortable, she doesn’t have to,” Draco defended.

“No, it’s alright... you must forgive me, it’s been a few years since I’ve played properly.”

The shy smile on your face didn’t fade as you made your way to the instrument. He shadowed you all the while, asking one more time before you began to play.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Your smile turned warmer. “It’ll be alright.”

Draco watched as you placed your hands on the glossy white keys and fell into a pattern as they searched for the next note, the next chord, the next verse. And you kept forging ahead until your piece had come to an end. Draco should have known that you’d lie about having the talent tucked away.

“That was lovely,” His mother fawned from somewhere behind. “Draco you must play with her,”

The eyebrow you raised at him informed him that maybe he also hid the talent from you unintentionally. Who did you think the piano belonged to?

“Any ideas?” He muttered softly, placing his hands on the keys next to yours.

“Moonlight Sonata?” It was a simple request, and one that he knew decently enough to nod.

Draco began the repetitive harmony as you waited for the melody and joined him. Your fingers played in time and in tune as the song unfolded—your hands trailing along the treble clef and his adding in the deeper bass tones.

It wasn’t until one of his hands ran into yours that the dance faltered, and four hands banged on the keys in frustration. Draco laughed at the simple fact that you had the same response to making a mistake as he did while playing. Your soft laughter joined his.

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and you both turned, meeting the scrutinizing gaze of his father. Draco looked down anxious and respectful and you followed suit, your hand finding his in reassurance.

“Perhaps if you two had more time to practice together, you two wouldn’t be tripping over another.” His father mused.

“Father?” Draco looked up. “Does that mean?”

“Yes, she is welcomed here any time she wishes.” His father gave a small smile.

 Relief flooded through both of you. Draco might have even slouched momentarily. 

.

Masterlist

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[honeyandbloodpoetry]

Gender Thoughts Pt 1 and 2

The first time I put a binder on, a little under a week ago, I felt euphoric. Ever since I hit puberty very early on, I felt uncomfortable with my breasts. They never felt right on me, and even though I’ve come to love them sometimes, they still don’t always feel like they match up. I hated how people always looked at them, pointed out how much they showed in low cut shirts when I never even noticed they were--or even wanted them to. They were just there. I liked the way low cut shirts feel and look on me, I just can’t help these giant sacks of flesh that sit on my chest. 

Except...now I can! I ran my hands over my smooth chest, feeling bright. I looked into the mirror, and felt something warm wash over me. I put on my new masculine clothes, letting my partner clip on my new suspenders. I realized that I was shaking as I looked at myself again… I looked like a boy. I felt like a boy. Like a man. And I liked it. I wanted it. Admitting that to myself was like coming home. 

I remember being in sixth grade, walking around the track for my civil air patrol class. I had been slotted in with the rest of the girls, the boys walking ahead of us. I remember feeling uncomfortable being shoved in with only girls, and looking at the gaggle of boys ahead. The exact thought that whispered in my brain was “I wish I was a boy. I want to be like them, with them.” I never forgot that moment, and how strange it made me feel. How it was easier to shake that thought away, and dismiss those feelings. Except they never really left, did they? 

I remember sitting on my bed, crying with my best friend kneeling in front of me. I remember telling her how I didn’t like feeling like a woman all the time. That I wished I could be a black shadow, monstrous, androdynous. Specifically like Venom. She took my hand, did my makeup all in black and helped me pick out the perfect black outfit to achieve that dark, gothic look. I was so incredibly happy and validated. But I still felt like something was missing. 

I remember going into an Adam and Eve for laugh, not expecting much since I am an asexual with a low libido. I remember seeing packers and feeling my chest tighten. I never liked my genitalia--I had wished for a cloaca or something akin to that, but since that was biologically impossible for a human… I sometimes wished I had the opposite of a vagina. I frequently imagined what it would be like to have a penis. I frequently lamented the fact that I didn’t have one. I took the box up to the counter to ask some questions, my dress swishing as I went. The cashier told me it was for trans people only, and a girl like me couldn’t have it. She didn’t know what asexuality was, and had tried polyamory once but decided it was bad when her girlfriend kissed her boyfriend. I was upset, disheartened, and left the store empty handed feeling frustrated and lost.

I remember finally cutting the long, curly locks that had frustrated and imprisoned me for so long. Seeing all of my hair fall to the floor, staring into the mirror as the barber buzzed the back of my head… It made me want to cry tears of joy. It was the first time in my entire life that I had looked at my hair and was happy. The first time I could look in the mirror and feel like myself. Then I remember wanting to go shorter, and my barber encouraging me to keep it a little longer so I didn’t look manly, so I could still be soft and feminine. The way my stomach dropped and the sick feeling in my chest only increased when he began to make fun of the gay men who came down the street near his favorite restaurant. I never saw that barber again. I instead found a nice local place down the road from my apartment, where the kind lady cut it all off without question, other than “Why?” and accepted my warm “It makes me happy. It makes me feel beautiful.” 

But wearing that binder for the first time? It was as if a beam of light had funneled its way directly into my heart. I felt like a handsome man, with just a little bit of striking man boob, and it felt so right. My partner called me a dashing boy and my heart began to race. I still feel his hand tracing my jawline as he called me handsome, and the butterflies it sent up through my belly, even after more than eleven years. 

I love my partner--he identifies as agender and primarily masculine, and has been on the lookout for a good pair of size thirteen shoes to wear with a dress. They also wear joggers and flip flops and graphic tees and can’t seem to stop talking about the ocean and outer space. They’re probably one of my biggest inspirations for finding myself, and being authentically me. 

I’m not super sure who or what I am right now. I’m still figuring that out, but I’m pretty sure I’m somewhere between agender and genderfluid. I feel like me more than anything else, but all pronouns make me feel good. I feel like all of them and none of them at once, but I swing between wanting to be feminine and masculine pretty strongly, though I enjoy being masculine most of all--even when I’m wearing dresses and pink. I feel like a beautiful person in a dress or a button down, no matter what gender I feel like today or tomorrow. 

I am me. And I am one dashing boy, and one beautiful girl. 

4 July 2021

XXX

Since first writing this little essay, I’ve been doing a lot more examination of my gender. I have come to the conclusion that I am transmasc and nonbinary, and am shaky on the title of genderfluid. I am feeling less and less like a woman--if anything, occasionally adjacent to a woman rather than actually being one. I love feeling like and presenting as a man. I have my first appointment with a gender services doctor at my local community clinic for consultation on starting hrt testosterone. I am planning to start with low dose first, and see how I feel. 

I am still unsure of my exact identity, but I have found great euphoria with being and presenting as a man. I love being a man and everything that entails. I have loved myself like never before. Being with my partner is amazing, and he has been endlessly supportive--even recounting little things they had noticed throughout the years. One of the funniest being that I only ever referred to my body parts--my belly, hands, hair, genitalia--with masculine pronouns. I always seemed to see my body as male even if I had a certain sort of dissonance from it. 

Coming out has been difficult. I have had both positive and negative experiences from it. I have been told going on testosterone would be self harm, and that I can’t be something I’m not. I’ve had coworkers I trusted out me without my permission. But I have also had positive affirmation, polite questions, and discussions. I am terrified to tell my mother and her boyfriend--I have no idea how they will react and am terrified that I will be disrespected and disowned. 

But I am prepared to do whatever it takes to be my happiest and most authentic self. 

I have been binding a lot more often, wearing sports bras for long shifts at work, and occasionally going without either when I feel like letting my man boobs hang free. I’ve had the delightful experience of going to a men’s big and tall store and finally wearing pants. I grew up as a fat girl and felt as if I had to perform high femininity to be taken seriously and be treated well--and had been told by someone I trusted that I was too fat to wear pants, which I heavily internalized. So I had completely cast them away in favor of dresses and skirts, bows and gaudy jewelry. Realizing that I could wear pants was...totally wild. That I could be comfortable and look good in pants and shorts, and that it didn’t matter what people did or thought of me was life changing. Maybe I’ll feel like being feminine again someday, but right now this masculinity and masculine clothing, with perhaps the added spice of funky earrings, feels like home. 

I also grew up autistic and with PCOS, both which I think have affected my gender identity. Being autistic, I truly struggled to connect to others socially, and especially to understand societal norms. Being a proper woman felt like I was making up for everything else I was lacking--I may have been awkward, semi-verbal and weird with no friends, but at least I was cute and girlish. I never connected to womanhood though, and always felt out of place no matter how hard I tried. With PCOS, I had heightened testosterone, which meant wider breasts and shoulders, a lack of periods, and excessive body hair. I recall the endocrinologist asking high school age me if I had excessive body hair around my stomach, breasts, etc. and my mother jumping to say no I didn’t...even though I did. I remember suddenly feeling very self aware and ashamed of something completely natural, and even something I started to enjoy. I started shaving my entire body then. 

I even remember being in middle school, and thinking nothing of my hairy legs. In fact, I loved my body hair and how it felt. A rude girl began making fun of me though, tutting her tongue as she cooed, “Aw, does your mommy not let you shave?” Among other things, all throughout many years of severe bullying and abuse. I remember feeling ashamed, but not knowing why, and immediately shaving my legs, covering them in nicks from my shaky and unsteady hands, that same night. 

So many things set me back in my gender expression. So many things contributed to me willful ignorance and denial. I remember wanting to be butch, and everyone in my life laughing at me and saying I was too soft for that. That sweet, sharp ache in my chest. I remember going to a salad bar with my mother, wearing a button up and telling her I wanted to wear some more boyish clothes around that same time--I had already told her that I was bi sometime earlier. I remember her lip curling, looking uncomfortable, and telling me that I better not become one of those boy girls. My late father was very vocal in denouncing homosexuality and specifically men loving men--something which always sat horribly wrong with me on a deeper level. 

I think I might ending up being a trans man. I am still unsure and figuring myself out, but I struggle greatly with the autistic need for sameness vs. the trans need for change. My sapphic love of women has always been very important to me, and fully becoming a man rather than genderfluid is scary for that very reason. I am still navigating my identity and what it means to me and my reality--but no matter what, being a man, being masculine is integral to who I am. 

I was called a “sir” at a job interview for the first time the other day, and nearly began to bawl from sheer joy. The gender euphoria from that and so many moments is worth so much more to me than the years of suffering and ignorance and my ongoing struggles with dysphoria. I finally got a packer and have had help from my partner in learning to position it properly--I am thinking of cutting my hair even shorter. I have almost perfected a pretty basic tie tying skill. Okay, not really, but I’m getting there. I feel deep inside that even though my father loved me, he would not like who and what I am. Still, I wear the last watch he ever wore, and hope to be a good man like him--and to learn from the toxic parts of him to be an even better man. 

I am very excited to start hrt. I am terrified of hair loss and vaginal atrophy, but I look forward to so much more. I cannot wait for bottom growth and body hair, for the voice drop that will hopefully get me misgendered less. I have always felt disconnected from my voice and look forward to getting to know it better as it changes with me. I look forward to meeting with new facial hair. Working out and growing muscle. I just look forward to my second puberty and becoming more like myself. I look forward to navigating and exploring my gender even further, both with loved ones, support groups, and myself. 

More than anything, I am just happy to be me. 

25 August 2021

[ijustwant2write]

Sweet Boy-Bonnie Gold x Reader x Finn Shelby (Part 6/?)

(GIF credit to @roseydoux​)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

Masterlist

Tags: @stressedandbandobessed7771 @bethany-taylo @lovelynerdytraveler @savvy7392 @kingarthurscat @smallheathgangsters @soleil-dor @alyse45 @bloodorangemoonlight @amirahiddleston @captivatedbycillianmurphy @jenepleurepasbaby @haphazardhufflepuff @ravenoussss @ophelias-flower-bed @peakascum​ @mzcrazy2​

Summary: After her meeting with Tommy, (Y/N) is conflicted on what to do. She knows what choice she wants to make, but is it the right one? Is it the right choice that will make all these problems go away, and keep the people she cares about safe?

Characters: Bonnie Gold x Reader, Finn Shelby x Reader, Polly Shelby x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Swearing, neglect, bullying, shouting, arguing, some fluff

(A/N: Joan is a made up character)

                                         *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Here ya’ go!” Arthur beamed as he dropped off two suitcases filled with my things, throwing them onto my bed.

“Thank you, Arthur.” I politely replied, knowing that nothing in there was folded or organised. There were bits of clothes hanging out of it, they would surely be creased by now.“I’m sorry you had to pack for me.”

“No problem, it took no time at all.”

Further proving my point.

He clapped his hands together.“Right, well, I’ll leave you to it then.” 

“Arthur?” I called after him before he could walk away. 

“Yeah?”

“Um...has...has Finn said anything? About what happened?”

He shook his head, smiling at me before he left the room.“Nah. Got to go darlin’.”

Arthur really couldn’t read people. He was smiling to himself as he left, thinking he did a good job. And although I loved him dearly, I hated the thought of ironing all of my clothes again. Opening the cases, I groaned into my hands at the sight of all my belongings piled on top of each other, pairs of shoes in different cases, jewellery scattered all over the place. It was going to take me days to sort all of this out.

“Shall I give you and suitcase a minute?” Polly said from the doorway, cigarette in hand.

I sighed.“I’m thankful for this, I really am. I just wished Arthur was house trained.”

“Linda tried her best.”

“And thank you Pol, for letting me stay.”

“It will be like old times.”

Yeah, we were just missing one person.

I sorted my belongings into piles, beginning to hang up clothes that didn’t need ironing (which turned out to be two jumpers and a cardigan), untangling jewellery and pairing up my shoes. After half an hour, with little to no progress, I decided I needed to go for a walk to clear my mind. I would stick to the surrounding area where everyone knew me, and where I knew peaky boys were patrolling, informing Polly of this so she wouldn’t worry. She was hesitant to let me go, but knew I would be safe if I stuck to my word. 

I felt strange that day. Not because of everything that had happened. It just felt like I had stepped back in time. Being back with Polly brought on many memories, mostly happy, though some upsetting. But Finn wasn’t here this time. I just prayed that the double bed wouldn’t feel lonely, especially after having Bonnie in mine the other night. God, I sounded like a whore.

Rounding a corner, I bumped into someone, my instincts making me jump back in case someone was trying to kidnap me. The panic quickly slipped away when I realised who it was. 

“Joan?” I smiled, glad to have ran into an old friend.

However, she frowned at me, brushing down her coat as if I was dirty.“(Y/N).”

“I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?”

“You would know if you ever wrote to me. Or even pop by. Or even join me and the girls for a drink.” Her tone was snappy.

“Joan, you know I’m not with him anymore.”

She didn’t look sympathetic.“I thought as much. You’ve been dragging yourself around, looking miserable.”

“So if you’ve seen me, why didn’t you come up to me?”

Joan scoffed.“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! You ignored us as soon as you started going off with Finn Shelby!”

“I did that to protect you-”

“Oh, this again.”

“Have you seen what they do? Have you seen the type of people they’re up against? I couldn’t bear it if something happened to any of you because of me.”

“But you’re still with them, aren’t you? Their little bitch on a lead.”

My mouth dropped open at that, ready to swing for her.“How dare you?! I stay because I have a stable job!”

“You stay because you enjoy their power and the reputation and attention it gives you.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“No, I don’t. Because my best friend deserted me. I don’t want to speak to you ever again. Goodbye (Y/N).”

Joan side stepped me, quickly walking away. I wouldn’t have stopped her anyway. I was in shock. She was right, I had left them behind but none of them were ever mixed up in peaky business. However, I didn’t think her comment was fair. It hit me like a tonne of bricks; I had lost my life because of that boy.

I took a deep breath, trying not to burst into tears as I entered the sweet shop. I did’t care how weird I looked as I scooped up as many sweets as I could into the little paper bag, quickly paying the man and rushing out. Perhaps I could go down to the canal, sit and eat my feelings. But I couldn’t be sure how safe it was. As I tried to think of a place to sit, I heard someone yell out to me, making me flinch for the second time that day. Looking down at the sweet I just dropped was almost the tipping point for me.

“Oi!” It was Tommy, he had shouted again as he approached me, Arthur, John and Finn behind him.“What you doing out here?”

“A walk.” I mumbled, popping another sweet in my mouth. 

“You’re not supposed to be out here.”

“You didn’t say I had to stay inside.” I wasn’t talking back, I was just stating a fact.

“It should have been obvious. If you want sweets, get someone else to buy them for you.”

“I’m sorry.” I couldn’t stop the tears brimming in my eyes, embarrassingly one rolled down my cheek.

He sighed, mumbling under his breath.“Fucking hell.”

“Why don’t I take her home Tom?” Finn suddenly suggested.“I’m sure you don’t need me for this.”

Tommy glanced between us, but it was obvious he couldn’t give a toss about this. He had far more serious things on his mind. Tommy just nodded, gesturing for his other brothers to follow. I stayed still, unsure why Finn had offered in the first place.

“You coming?” he asked, but his voice was gentle.

All I could do was follow, keeping a little bit of distance between us. He reminded me of how he used to be, when he was still slightly shy, trying to be like his brothers, but a true sweetheart nonetheless. I wasn’t going to fall for it. Neither of us spoke as he escorted me back to Polly’s, until I pulled him back, spotting Joan with some of my oldest friends. This was the only way to get to Polly’s if we didn’t want to walk for another forty minutes; but in this case, I wouldn’t have minded the extra steps.

“What are you doing?” Finn stumbled back. 

“My friends are there.” I whispered as if they would be able to hear us.

“So? Go and see them.”

“No, they’re...they’re old friends. Well, I don’t think I can call them friends anymore.”

“What? Why?”

“Because of you.” 

“Me?”

I furrowed my eyebrows at him.“You told me to stay away from them to make sure they didn’t get caught up in anything.”

“Oh, I did, didn’t I? Explains why I don’t recognise them.”

“We need to go the other way around.”

“No we don’t.”

“Yes, we do.”

“You live across the road, just go.”

“No, I don’t live there, and they know that! And if they see me with you, they’ll think all kinds of things.”

“Like what?”

“It doesn’t matter, they just said some things earlier-”

“What did they say?”

“Nothing, let’s just go Finn.”

“No, tell me.”

I hesitated, hoping he wouldn’t do anything.“They just...they called me a Peaky Blinders bitch. Said that you’ve got me chained up on a leash. Don’t worry about it and go the other way home.”

I turned around, ready to head to Polly’s in the other direction. I didn’t care that Finn wasn’t speaking to me, but I still looked over my shoulder, wondering if he was following; which he was not.

Finn’s P.O.V

I knew there was something wrong with (Y/N) as soon as I saw her that morning. She may never smile because of me again, but there was a reason for that sad expression. She had also been wandering, (Y/N) knew not to go out of the safe area (which she wasn’t), though it was clear that her mind had no idea where to take her. I had to take her under my wing.

However, when I made her tell me what was on her mind, guilt and anger rushed through me. I had told her to ditch her friends, both because they would be safer, and that selfishly meant I had her to myself. However, knowing that she now had no one outside of my family to rely on or spend time with, I realised how toxic I had been towards her. I assumed she would go back to her friends, cry about how I broke her heart, have a night out with the girls getting drunk trying to find someone to ease the pain. But she had been alone.

My feet started walking before I could even think, heading straight for the group of girls. (Y/N) tried to stop me, but didn't risk being seen. They should have forgiven (Y/N), given her a second chance at least. Instead they cast her aside, no longer interested. I knew (Y/N) had upset them when she no longer saw them, so she was in the wrong, but that was my fault too. One girl who was facing me had a scared look on her face when she spotted me, causing the other girls to look over their shoulders, all of them tensing up when I stopped.

"I heard you lot don't see (Y/N) anymore." I bluntly said.

The girl who seemed to be the leader pursed her lips."She stopped seeing us. Did she put you up to this?"

“No, she didn't. But I know things."

“You're not scaring us."

"Am I not?" I couldn't help but chuckle, especially seeing as the girls were practically hiding behind this one."Look, I think you need to give her another chance. I was the one who took her away from you."

"(Y/N) is smart. We all said we would never let a boy get between us, yet she broke that promise. She could have sneaked out to see us at least. Or said hello in passing."

"Well even if you don't take her back, watch your fucking mouths. You don't speak about her like that."

"Oh god, she's still got you wrapped around her finger. How did she do that? Is she your little visitor during lunch breaks? Is that why she's still got her job?"

My nostrils flared as my breathing got heavier."You're lucky that she's stood behind that building right now, and that I don't pick fights with women. She has her job because she earned her place, including her place in my family. And that's how she kept it. You said it yourself, she's smart. If I get word that you say something as stupid as you just did, you might want to stay inside and lock your doors. No one disrespects a Shelby."

The leader didn't seem phased when I walked away, though I knew she had been effected by what I said. Heading towards my aunts house, I took the keys out of my coat, looking back to (Y/N) and gesturing for her to follow. I stayed outside of the open door, waiting for her to reach me. Her head ducked down, trying to hide herself from her old friends, walking as quickly as she could. Once (Y/N) was inside, I lingered by the door, sending one last glare to the group.

(Y/N)'s P.O.V

My heart was in my throat, I felt mortified. I tried to steady my breathing as I walked into the house, rushing to the kitchen to get a glass of water. My nerves weren't easing up, and I found my hands were shaking as I held the glass. Quickly chugging down the water, I accidentally slammed it back down, before brushing past Finn to the front room and flopping onto a chair. It felt as if I had gone running around the whole of town.

“Why did you do that?” I sighed, putting my head in my hands.

“I was defending you. I don’t understand what’s wrong?” Finn protested, but he didn’t seem angry, just confused.

“I left them for you, it’s one of the worst things someone can do to their friends. They warned me time and time again not to go off with you, but I did. Then it turned out they were right. I couldn’t exactly go back to them after, even though I tried. I was alone. And them seeing us together today...well, I can only imagine the rumours they’ll spread.”

“Who cares?”

“I do! Everyone know who I am and what I did! They’re right, I’m just a Peaky Blinders bitch.”

“Don’t talk like that!” Finn snapped, sitting beside me.“They’re terrible friends for not helping you.”

“No, they’re not. You know that.”

“Well, you’re certainly no ones bitch. You don’t answer to anybody.”

“Yeah, sometimes. I hate to say this, but thank you Finn. That was quite nice of you actually.”

Finn went to speak again, being interrupted by a knock at the door. He offered to answer, tapping me on the knee like he used to always do. We both tensed, trying not to make a big thing out of it. He quickly left, closing the living door on his way. I sat there stunned. He hadn’t touched me like that since before we broke up, when he was still affectionate. I heard some commotion from the front door, worrying that it was one of the girls. Curiosity took over, making me peek my head out as the front door closed. Finn had just walked past when I opened the door, but I saw a flash of colour in his hands. 

“Who was that?” I asked.

Finn spun around to face me, looking suspicious.“No one. Just some kids.”

The bin was behind him, and I had a feeling he was hiding something.“Don’t lie to me. I know what you look like when you lie.”

“It’s nothing.”

I walked up to him, pushing him to the side as I looked in the bin. There was a small bouquet shoved in there, the poor, fragile petals either crooked or ripped off. My jaw dropped at the sight before I slammed the lid back down.

“Who are they from?”

He didn’t reply.

“Tell me.”

“Bonnie.”

“Bonnie?”

“He’s not supposed to be round here. He-where are you going?”

“To catch up with him. He can’t have got far.”

Finn called after me, though I didn't listen, making a point of leaving. However, when I stepped outside, I saw that the girls were still stood there, looking like they were heavily gossiping until I showed up. They caused me to halt, we all avoided eye contact, and I distracted myself by looking for Bonnie. I saw his figure up the road, head hanging low and hands in his pockets. For a second, I didn't care what those girls thought, running to catch up with him. I called out his name once I was closer, he turned around after I shouted a second time.

"(Y/N), what's wrong?" he sounded worried, and I realised I must have looked like I was in trouble.

"Nothing, nothing." I breathed out."Sorry, I just didn't want you to get away."

"Oh. Finn said you weren't in."

I sighed."Of course he would. I did see your flowers, or what was left of them rather. They were beautiful, thank you."

"Just thought I could start earning your trust back. I know it's not a lot, but I figured it was a nice gesture."

"Bonnie, you don't have to-"

"(Y/N), you should get back inside." Finn said from behind me. I hadn't even heard him approaching.

"Finn, I'm talking to Bonnie."

"Come on, you heard what Tommy said."

"He didn't restrict me to the house-"

"Finn, let her do as she pleases." Bonnie said.

"Don't get involved."

I gently pushed them away from me and each other, knowing where this was headed."I just came out here to thank you Bonnie. We really shouldn't be altogether anyway."

"You're right (Y/N)." Bonnie smiled.

Finn rolled his eyes as Bonnie agreed. I knew Bonnie was trying to please me, and piss off Finn at the same time.

"Well then, thank you again for the flowers Bonnie. Finn..."

I had no clue what to say to him, deciding that nothing was best. Walking back to Polly's house, I refrained from looking behind. As I got to the door, I noticed the girls had inched closer, becoming silent when I was in range of hearing them. This was such childish behaviour. We were adults, we could move past this. If they didn't want to be friends, then fine, there was nothing I could do about that. I would hold my head up high, move on and-

"Never thought I would see the day that sweet (Y/N) (Y/L/N) had two men on her arms."

That made me stop instantly, with only one foot in the house, hand now clenching onto the door frame. She had some nerve today.

"What did you say?" I slowly asked.

"You heard me. You've changed. And not for the better."

"And how would you know?"

"I was debating giving you another chance, I was feeling guilty about what I said. But now I see that I was completely right."

"You know what Joan, I really don't give a fuck." I said, throwing my arms up and letting them flop by my side.

She looked shocked at my words.

"We had a past together, all of us girls. But if we can't move past this well, I guess it's goodbye. It's been fun ladies."

"Wait a minute, you can't-"

"We're all adults here. If we don't want to play together anymore, then let's not do that."

Before she could say anything else, I went inside, leaving the door open for Finn, who I had seen approaching out of my peripheral. Standing in the hallway, leaning against a wall with my arms crossed, I heard Joan having the last word as Finn stood in the doorway.

"You did this. You corrupted her."

Finn smirked at me, shouting over his shoulder."Yeah, and she loved every second of it."

The girls gasped and instantly started talking again, but Finn just slammed the door behind him.

"I must admit, that was good." I shook my head smiling.

"Me corrupting you, or me back chatting them?"

I wasn't expecting that answer, my mouth gaping a little as I thought of what to say. When nothing came to mind, I made my way upstairs, trying to focus on unpacking again. I hoped Finn wouldn't follow, as I had no idea what to say, but of course, he did.

Picking up where I left off, I didn't start a conversation, waiting for Finn to say something. He walked into my room, inspecting my things even though he had seen everything I owned before. As I started to pull my jewellery apart from each other, Finn spoke.

"I'm sorry about that. What I said downstairs."

I shrugged, hiding my shock that he had apologised."It's OK."

"You always did that."

"Did what?"

"Pretending like everything I did was alright, when it wasn't. I was a shit boyfriend."

I hesitated to say anything."Not at the beginning."

He didn't respond, focusing on my hands that were struggling to untie two necklaces from each other. I also stayed silent, concentrating even more on the task as I noticed him moving towards me. He knelt down in front of me, so I had no choice but to make eye contact. He put his hands over mine, helping me to separate the necklaces, but my fingers were frozen at his touch. Why was I feeling like this? I didn't want my feelings for Finn to come back, he hurt me. Think of the pain (Y/N), think of all the times he deliberately hurt you!

I had been distracted by those memories to not see Finn's face was now closer to mine. He had a sweet look in his face, hope in his eyes, he looked like he used to when we were younger. For a second I saw the old Finn. But that was the problem, that was the old Finn. I stood up, pushing him back, and he landed on the floor.

"Why would you do that?!" the necklaces slipped out of my hands, clinking on the floor.

"(Y/N), I wasn't going to-"

"Then what were you going to do?!"

He didn't answer.

"I want you to go."

"Wait, (Y/N)-"

"Get out Finn!" He scrambled to his feet, staring at me for a few seconds before rushing away. I let out a shaky breath as I flopped onto the bed, hands slightly shaking. My mind was swirling with thoughts on what just happened, and I didn't like them. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs again, making me angry that he thought he could come back just like that. As they got closer to the door, I rose to my feet, storming towards the door.

"I told you to leave!" I shouted as I swung it open, jumping back when I saw Polly."Oh my god, I'm so sorry Pol!"

"What the fuck is going on in my house?"

My mouth opened and closed repeatedly, wondering if I could really tell her the truth. When I didn't answer her in time, she rolled her eyes, frustrated that there was still drama occurring.

"Would you fucking kids get a grip?" she scolded.

There was definitely something else stressing her, but it was a mystery if she would tell me.

"I've got to go." she huffed.

"Where are you going?"

"There's a family meeting."

I was about to move to follow her, before remembering that I wasn't part of the family anymore. Polly noticed, though didn't comment on it.

Her tone was softer now."There's men on guard, alright? Just in case."

I nodded, watching her walk away. Closing the door, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, not surprised by how much had happened that day. It seemed that this was the norm. That's what you got when you mixed with the Peaky Blinders.

Peeking through the window, I watched Polly walk off, it looked urgent. I also tried to recognise any peaky men guarding, managing seeing one on a corner. Before I could back away, someone else caught my eye, he was already looking up at me.

Bonnie smiled, his hands in his pockets as he strolled down the street, I wasn't sure if he was part of my protection or planned to hang around to see me. Embarrassingly, I hesitantly waved to him, blushing when he did the same back. However, I was confused.

Today had shown a lot of my past. It felt like I had been thrown back in time, but this time the pain followed me. Joan was right, I would always be tied to the Peaky Blinders, it was like an unbinding contract. I would never have a normal life, I would always be known as the youngest Shelby's ex, and I was scared how much it would effect my future.