#i love his freakish smile very much i love him dearly

[munchboxart]

His beautiful smile ☺

[romeowritesshit]

Cigarettes & a Fancy Dinner

WARNINGS!!- p in v (wrap it guys!!) oral (f), making out, smoking. minors can interact i literally cannot stop you😭 HES A CONSENT KING GUYS 🗣️🗣️🗣️

a/n- there may be slight spelling mistakes, and i do not auto capitalize my words unless i remember 😓. please leave requests, comments, questions and concerns! have an amazing day/night! remember you are loved ❣️

It was my first summer at Saltburn. Despite being good friends with Felix and Venetia, I never had the time, or opportunity to stay at Saltburn until now. Ironic, I know.

“you’ll love Farleigh and his attitude, I promise.” Venetia said with a grin.

"I'm sure I will, will Felix be at the dinner?" I asked, hopeful to see him. I always looked up to Felix, seeing him as an older brother.

"Of course he will. you know Felix, he loves his dinners." Venetia said I followed quickly behind her, eager to see what dress she had picked out for me for the dinner. I followed her into her room, where I waited about 5 minutes before she finally brought out this beautiful lavender dress that came with its own jewelry and hair set.

"Venetia.." I stared at the dress in awe.

"It's wonderful isn't it? I saw it in this shop and I knew it was perfect for you!" Venetia said with a huge smile on her face.

I got up from her bed and gave her the biggest hug "You're the absolute best Venetia, I love you so so much"

After me and Venetia got dressed and ready we made our way to the dining room, running into Felix and his new friend Oliver, whom Felix called Ollie. He was very quiet. I was shocked him and Felix were friends honestly, they're absolute opposites. But then again, Felix always has a new and odd toy every summer

"It's good to see you again y/n, i miss seeing you around since we hardly have time anymore." Felix said while he hugged me

"Its good to see you too Felix, i missed you dearly." I said while hugging him back.

"Gosh you talk so proper i will never get used to it." Felix said letting go of me and laughing.

"Whatever Felix, lets go we have a dinner to attend." I said, pretending to be annoyed.

When we got to the dinner the only open seats were next to Oliver and Farleigh, and obviously Felix went and sat with Oliver so i was stuck with Farleigh. I looked for Venetia and she was off talking to some new rich guy, i can never keep up with who shows up to these dinners.

I decided to sit next to Farleigh, he seemed bored so i figured this would be the perfect time to start a conversation

"Hi! you're Farleigh yes?" i asked he turned his head and looked me up and down, "Yes i am, am i supposed to know you?" he asked. i was a little taken back by his attitude but i brushed it off.

"I dont think so, im Venetia and Felix's friend, y/n. I dont know if you've heard about me but i've heard about you." i said. "Oh yes i've heard all about you from Venetia. Its your first summer here isnt it?" Farleigh said, a slight smirk on his face. "yes it is! i really enjoy it here so far, I've mostly been keeping to myself and staying with Venetia. so that is probably why we havent run into each other." i said, smiling at him.

"that's wonderful, im guessing you havent run into Felix's new freak boy toy Oliver?" he said

"i actually did! before me and Venetia came in, we ran into Felix and Oliver. im quite shocked they're friends. Oliver is so.." Farleigh cut me off before i could finish my sentence, "soooo freakish? creepy? unsettling? annoying? weird?" he said. i looked shocked, "what did he do to you? you seem to hate him." he giggled and said "oh nothing, i can just see right through him. i swear he has everyone wrapped around his finger but i know his true intentions."

"and his true intentions are?" i asked, curious so i knew how to avoid Oliver. for some reason my gut was telling me to trust Farleigh.

"i dont know yet, but, what i do know is i need a smoke." he started to get up and then looked at me "are you coming?" he said

i immediately got up and followed him out to the maze, we walked and talked while smoking.

we eventually stopped and settled at this giant statue in the middle of the maze

"so, Farleigh, Venetia mentioned you had quite the attitude." i said

"oh did she? yeah its not as bad as hers, just wait till she goes on a mental, it is crazy." Farleigh said, blowing smoke and handing me our shared cigarette.

"yeah, i will believe that until i see it. but until then, you have the worst attitude." i said

"fuck, chuck, or marry?" Farleigh said

"what?" i looked at him confused

"fuck chuck or marry? its a game. i give you three people and you choose to fuck one of them, chuck one, and marry the other." Farleigh said

"oh ok. give me three people then." i said

"me, Oliver, Richard the III."

i laughed at that last one and looked at Farleigh, "chuck Oliver, marry Richard the III, and fuck you mr Farleigh." і said, handing him the cigarette. he took the cigarette and asked, "are you serious about fucking me?"

"possibly." i cleared my throat, "now its your turn. Oliver, the headmaster at oxford, and me."

"chuck Oliver obviously, marry the headmaster, and fuck you." Farleigh said, putting the cigarette to the ground and putting it out.

"are you serious about that Farleigh?"

"i dont know y/n. are you serious about your answers?" Farleigh said, walking in front of me, slowly trapping me in between him and the statue.

i looked up at him and nodded my head.

"then you have your answer y/n." Farleigh said

and before i could say anything, he pulled me into him and started to kiss me.

after a rough makeout he let me go and began to take off his tux

i started at him the entire time, out of breath and in shock that someone could kiss like they were starved and i was their meal.

i heard him unbuckle his belt and that brought me back into reality, and when i looked at him he had undone his belt throwing it onto the ground next to his jacket, and he began to untuck his shirt and unbutton his pants.

he came and stood in front of me and asked "can i pick you up?" i nodded my head and he proceeded to pick me and up and sit me on the ledge under the statue

he got on his knees and put his head under my dress, his hands spreading my legs open for him. he moved my underwear to the side and ran his finger through my folds, causing me to gasp. "god you're so wet for my touch arent you?" he said. i moaned in response and he chuckled.

He grinds his nose against my clit, his tongue dipping in and out of my clenching hole as my hips roll against his face. my hand is clenched in his hair, pulling him closer and he moans, drooling as i guide his head to move faster against my pussy. He's mouthing against me, swallowing everything i have to offer and i moan, grinning, “You like that?” i ask, yanking his head back and away from my cunt. His face is shiny with my slick and his eyes are glossy, he licks his lips nodding as much as he could in my grip. It makes my smile grow, “You like eating my pussy?”

his eyes look up at you and he smiles, which is his version of a yes.

he starts swirling his tongue over the swollen, sensitive nerves of my clit and lapping at the dripping entrance of my cunt like a man possessed, i start to ride his face again, trying not too moan loud.

Farleigh suddenly stopped and stood up, standing in between my spread legs. “what are you doing Farleigh?” i asked, tilting my head.

“you’ll see.” Farleigh said, as he took off his pants, sliding his underwear off and lining his cock up with my entrance.

“can i?” Farleigh asked, looking at me for approval

i nod my head and he slowly puts his cock in me, stretching me a little bit in the process.

“god you feel so good” Farleigh said, as he thrusts into me.

“faster Farleigh please i need to cum” i beg him, my hands gripping his shoulders.

he starts to fuck me faster and harder, holding onto my hips while kissing me

“yes Farleigh just like that oh my god” i said throwing my head back as i cum on his cock

a few seconds later he slowly stops fucking me, groaning as he cums.

we both sit there, half dressed, breathing heavy.

Farleigh pulls his cock out, and helps me get off the ledge of the statue, and helping me clean up.

i help him gather his clothes so he can get dressed and then we start to head back to the dining party

“that was really fun y/n we should do that again sometime” Farleigh said as we walked back

“you’re making it sound like we just got done hanging out at shops” i say, playfully punching him in his arm

we both laugh and he then says “i mean it y/n, i really did enjoy that.”

i look at him and smile and before i can say anything i hear Venetia’s voice

“y/n!! i was so worried you disappeared i got scared for you!” Venetia said as she ran to me, grabbing my hands.

“im ok Venetia i was with Farleigh we just went for a walk and smoked” i said, trying to help her not to worry

she nods her head then starts to tell me about this new cute guy she met, while walking me back inside.

i look at Farleigh, motioning with my hand for him to follow, and he does.

when we’re all inside, i tell Venetia to give me and Farleigh one second so i can tell him something. she walks away and i turn to Farleigh, smiling at him.

“i enjoyed tonight Farleigh. i would love to spend more time with you this summer while i am here.” i say

he smiles and says “i would love that y/n. you should go spend time with Venetia right now though, i think she missed you.” Farleigh winks at me and walks to Felix.

i turn and walk to Venetia, prepared to hear all about her new obsession for the next three days.

A/N- i hope you all enjoy this fic :3 this is my first time writing and i am kinda inexperienced and i struggle to describe things sometimes. BUT! i did edit this (by edit i mean starting to capitalize what i needed to and then just gave up and only capitalized names) so i could get it out soon! i know i did say my sisters were going to proof read and edit but we have all been busy with exams and school and i finally had free time! so please feel free to leave requests, comments, message me if you would like! and critique and criticism is welcome :3 bye bye!!

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

Red Roses

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: I wrote this a few weeks ago and gave up on it because I thought it was too messy and too repetitive. But I re-read it yesterday and was surprisingly pleased with it and with its messiness. So here you go.

Credits to Stevie Nicks for some of the words in one paragraph at the end.

Summary: this is my take on the “reader introduces new gf to her family” story, except I decided it should not be cute but angsty

Warnings: homophobia, internalised homophobia, racism

Word count: ~ 5 400

 “Are you ready ?” Wilhemina asked.

You made a face and gave her hand a squeeze. “No? But I don’t think I’ll ever be so let’s just do this.”

“Permission to cane them if they get mean?”

You breathed out a laugh. “Mina, no.”

She gave you a small wicked smile that made your heart skip a beat. “Too bad,” she said in that deep voice that meant someone was in trouble.

“They’re old,” you smiled. “You would break their bones.”

She hummed thoughtfully. You stared down at your linked hands on your lap as you absentmindedly stroked her knuckles. Wilhemina waited a few more seconds, then opened the door of the car and got out.

Well, here goes. You followed her immediately, as she knew you would.

Outside the air was cold and crisp and smelt of the ocean. Every year your family would gather at your grandparents’ house to celebrate Christmas. It was a tradition you dared not break, no matter the toll it took on you. This year, it would just be you, your parents and grandparents.

You stepped closer to Wilhemina as your grandparents appeared at the front door and waved. “Come on in, come on in, it’s so cold!”

“I can smell the ocean from here,” you smiled.

“Yes, but come on in!”

When they closed the door behind you, it felt as if you had just been thrown in jail. They beamed at you, happy and content, as they helped you and Wilhemina take off your coats.

“Welcome! How was the drive? We’re so glad to see you, it’s been too long!”

“I made your favorite cake,” your grandma said with a wink.

“And welcome to you, Y/N’s friend!” your granddad said, opening his arms to Wilhemina.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said. Her voice was cold, but not cold enough to set off their reproaches.  

Your grandparents gave her polite smiles as they ran their eyes up and down her body, gazes lingering on her cane for a second too long. Automatically you reached out and brushed her wrist, a small gesture of comfort just in case she needed it.

“Are mum and dad here?” you asked, taking a peek inside the living-room.

“Not yet.”

Your parents had always supported you and knew you and Wilhemina were a couple. They had met her three or four times already, had offered her kind smiles that had grown kinder when they’d noticed the fond look that would soften her eyes every time she’d look at you. But your grandparents – that was quite a different story.

You loved them. You really did. They were kind and affectionate and generous. You hated them. They made you feel so small and dirty.

Here was the thing. Your grandparents had their own definition of what was right and what was wrong, and nothing would change their minds. Their convictions were engraved in marble. They pointed a finger at everyone who dared put a toe out of the norms, and laughed at them and jeered and hated. How they hated. It was a terrible monster, that hatred of them. It was too big and too strong and too dark. It stifled you, clawed at your skin, bullied your heart. And how they adored you. You were the perfect grandchild, polite and kind, educated, always respectful, always so proper. If only they knew – they didn’t know you. They only saw what you had allowed them to see, a masquerade, a very pretty picture in a golden frame.  

You had wanted to keep Wilhemina safe from your grandparents’ toxicity, but the alternative was her spending Christmas on her own. Again. While all around her the world celebrated. You wouldn’t have that – it wasn’t even an option. She had been so alone for so long, and it had hurt her so deeply, so viciously, until loneliness had become so familiar she had mistaken it for home. You had been trying to teach her, one gentle touch at a time, what home really felt like. So this Christmas, she would be loved and cherished.

You carried your and Wilhemina’s bags upstairs to the spare room you would sleep in. Wilhemina rolled her eyes at the twin beds. You shot her a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

She shook her head. “No need to apologize.”

“We can put the beds closer after I tell them about us.”

You wouldn’t get to sleep in that room, part of you knew that. Your grandparents would kick you out like the reminder of a shameful memory as soon as they learnt about Wilhemina and you.

You picked up one of the pillows, so soft and comfortable, expensive pillows that had been carefully chosen for the comfort of loved ones, and stroked it absentmindedly. Your eyes veiled over.

You had been so happy in this house. There had been so much love and joy, so much sunshine. But you had never really been yourself in this house.

Wilhemina slipped one arm around your waist and pressed your back against her chest. A soft kiss on the nape of your neck. You leaned back into her, eyes fluttering closed, gathering strength from her warmth. She gave you so much of it, every day.

“Are you okay, little one?”

You hummed, turned in her arms to look at her. You poked her cheek. “Never better.”

Your parents arrived half an hour later, and your grandma immediately ushered you all in the kitchen for lunch. Cooking was how she expressed her affection. Her meals were always abundant and delicious. Because she loved you all, so dearly.

“Your house is very lovely,” Wilhemina said as your dad poured the wine.

Your granddad flashed her a smile. “We fled big cities two years ago. Too many freaks, too much filth. We couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Your grandma piled food on your plate, her eyes soft and kind, for she loved you so dearly. Your hands were shaking.

“We are being invaded,” your granddad was saying. “In two years my neighbours will be a couple of fags or a family of black people. And the government is doing nothing to stop it. When I look around, I cannot recognize my own country.”

You fidgeted with your fork, unable to eat, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous. Several times before, you had heard Wilhemina complain about how “worthless” part of the world population was. You had seen her look down on people and snarl at them for merely existing.

You stole a glance at her. And what – your throat closed up – what if she took your grandparents’ side? What if she agreed with them? What if she pulled her chair closer to them, and nodded to what they said, and shared a few laughs with them, and when next she would look at you it would be with scorn and disdain? What if, listening to what they had to say, her eyes finally opened, and she saw you the way you sometimes saw yourself? Freakish, unlovable.

What then?

You shook your head, suddenly angry with yourself. You knew her. You trusted her. She would never think of you like that.

But what if she did?

Your dad laughed loudly, startling you from your thoughts. You met your granddad’s eyes – kind, soft – and offered him a weak smile.

“And how’s your love life, Y/N?” he asked.

Tell them. You had promised it to yourself. You had promised it to Mina. But what if – Lord – what if they were right? What if they had been right all along? What if Wilhemina finally opened her eyes –

“Did you see how the neighbours pruned their apple tree?” your grandma was saying. “It looks hideous now.”

You cleared your throat.

“Uh, guys, I have something to tell you.”

Your heart was beating so fast you were pretty sure it was going to burst any minute now. You couldn’t look at Wilhemina. You had never been more aware of her presence ever since you had met her, her body radiating burning heat that almost threatened to destroy you.

Your grandparents looked up at you expectantly.

Who’s the lucky man? your granddad’s happy eyes asked. Great-grandchildren! your grandmother’s smile beamed. So proud, so satisfied.

You had become ice. Ice that was melting in the fire that was Wilhemina. Your hands were shaking. You wanted to run away so badly.

“Um, so, Wilhemina and I are dating,” you heard yourself say – from very, very far away. The voice wasn’t yours. It echoed in your ears.

Your grandparents didn’t understand.

“We’re dating,” the voice said, “as in we’re together. We’re in love. I love her.” The voice was almost proud. It surprised you.

Your grandparents understood.

This was terrible. This was the worst. The disappointment on their faces, as if you had failed them, as if you had failed to honour your side of the contract. What would they say to their neighbours and friends now? How would they boast about you? When would they get to greet your nice, respectful husband? When would they bounce their great-grandchildren on their knees?  Where were the respectability and the pride and the freaking normal?

You lowered your eyes so you didn’t have to watch as disappointment and pain settled on their faces. You were vaguely aware of the stinging in your eyes and the trembling of your chin. This would not do. You were freezing, ice crystallizing around your heart, to choke it or to protect it you didn’t know. You would break under your grandparents’ gazes and nothing would be left of you. You had failed them.

Warmth. Wilhemina’s hand found yours under the table. She gave it a gentle squeeze, laced her fingers with yours. Warmth, and softness and love.

Your parents weren’t saying a thing. Your dad was staring at his plate, your mum at the ceiling. It broke your heart, their silence. It was like an agreement with what your grandparents’ faces were expressing.

You couldn’t talk either, so you waited, for Wilhemina’s hand to let go of yours as she realized just how pathetic you were, how disgusting, you were disgusting and your love was disgusting and –

“Why are you doing this to us?” your granddad asked. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Wilhemina wince. “Uh? What did we ever do to you to deserve this?”

How sad he looked. How so terribly broken.

There was the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, and then Wilhemina stood up, slowly and threateningly, eyes half-closed, teeth half-bared. You looked up at her, saw the anger on her face, and mechanically you reached out to stop her. She shouldn’t snap at them. They were right. Couldn’t she see that, see how sad they were, how badly you had hurt them?

Wilhemina looked down at you in surprise. For a second she seemed to be at a loss for what to do. Her mouth opened, but you shook your head, jumped on your feet, and flew out of the room.

It was so very cold outside. You had left without your coat. But the cold felt good. You dived into it.

You couldn’t see very well because of the tears in your eyes, but the sky was white, the earth was wet, and the sand was a faded yellow that was almost grey when your feet sank into it. You hadn’t even realized you had run to the beach.

The tide was low, the ocean quiet, barely any waves, which was funny really because your heart was a storm. You had expected the ocean to be raging.

You sat down on the sand and wrapped your arms around your knees. The chilly wind bit your cheeks. You let the cold sweep through you, let it slip its fingers under your clothes. You took a few deep breaths of the salty air.  

Warmth. A gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You left without your coat, little one,” said Wilhemina, her voice firm but laced with tenderness. “It’s too cold. Here, put it on.”

You didn’t move, so Wilhemina draped your coat over your shoulders. She sat down beside you and you hated the tenderness and the love that clutched your heart for it felt wrong – her love felt wrong. You deserved a slap in the face and a few bitter insults.  

You sank into her nonetheless. You couldn’t help it. You had always been drawn to her like a magnet, and she was always craving your touch.

She wrapped one arm around your shoulders to press you close against her. She was staring fiercely at the ocean, eyes black and angry. You saw her blink several times, her jaw working as if she were gritting her teeth to hold back words. She wasn’t good with words. Communication had always been her weak point. But she always tried, for you.

“Maybe they’re right,” you heard yourself whisper after a while – or maybe it was just the wind, carrying the words from your heart to her ears. “Maybe I am a freak. Maybe I am disgusting and there’s something wrong with me.”

Wilhemina’s face hardened. She held you tighter. “Well then,” she said, very low and very slow, “we are meant to be together. I’m a freak, too.”

“You’re not!” you exclaimed. “Don’t say that about yourself. You’re not a freak, Mina!”

Her lips curled into a small smile. “Funny you should say that. It’s what I think of you, too. See, maybe we can help each other.”

She turned her head to look at you. Her eyes were big and so painfully honest and loving you felt like dissolving into tears. You bit the inside of your cheek as your face crumpled.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Wilhemina cooed. Her brow pushed up in concern, her hand coming up to hold your chin. She gazed at you, searching your eyes, then leaned in to kiss you.

You couldn’t kiss her right now. It didn’t feel proper – if your lips met, the gods in the sky would roar in wrath and smite you. And what if one of your grandparents’ neighbours or friends saw you? Your family would be so ashamed. You had already hurt them so badly. So you put a hand on Wilhemina’s chest to hold her back, and you saw the pain and the fear flash in her eyes before she blinked them away.

“No, Mina, I –“

She leaned slightly away, blinking, nodding. You told yourself it was the cold wind that made the tears pool in your eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to Wilhemina. You watched her out of the corner of your eye and reached for her hand.

“It’s okay,” she nodded, smiling through her fear.

You gave her hand a squeeze. “I love you,” you whispered, low and anxious, as if it were a shameful secret. As if it should never be uttered loudly. But the ocean captured the words and sent them back to you and her with a loud groan and spray as a wave almost lapped up your feet.

“I love you,” you repeated, louder. You leaned in and planted a peck on her cheek. Nuzzled her skin, breathed her in. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, love. I understand.”

Of course she did. You had seen the harshness in her gaze when she inspected herself in the mirror in the morning. There were days she would not even dare meet her own eyes.

But she was right. You could help each other. For you both knew what the other was worth, and you both were willing to apply love like a balm on the other’s wounds.

It seemed to you the ocean was whispering. What was it? A secret. Come closer. Don’t be afraid. Closer still.

You sagged against Wilhemina. I’d rather stay here on the beach with her, you told the ocean. Where it’s warm and dry and safe. Keep your secret. I don’t want it.

Tentatively, Wilhemina dropped a kiss on your temple. You hummed, to let her know it was okay. You felt her relax slightly against you, and then she whispered in your ear the secret you had refused to hear from the ocean. You didn’t fail them. They failed you.

Without warning you put one hand on the small of her back and your other hand on her shoulder, and gently pushed her so that she was lying on the sand. She met your eyes in surprise, mouth opening in protest but you kissed her silent. You felt her smile into the kiss.

Her lips were cold, but her mouth was warm and so very sweet. One of her hands tangled in your hair and gently stroke the nape of your neck. Your whole body was tingling. There was no way, you thought, no way this could be wrong.

When you pulled away, Wilhemina’s eyes were shining, and she bit down on a smile. “You’re getting sand in my hair,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Tough shit,” you teased. You brushed your mouth against hers, marveling at the warmth and softness of her; your tongue darted out to taste her lower lip, then plunged into her mouth and gently licked her teeth.

Wilhemina held your hand all the way back to your grandparents’ house. You mother was waiting for you by the door. She gave Wilhemina a grateful smile when she saw you were safe and sound.

“Y/N that was quite an over-reaction,” your mum gently scolded.

“Thank you for your input,” Wilhemina snapped. With a hand on your back she guided you inside. “And thank you for speaking up for your daughter earlier,” she spat over her shoulder. You couldn’t hold back the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“Y/N?” came your granddad’s voice from the living-room.

He appeared in the doorway.

And just like that you were freezing again. For he looked so sad, so very broken – his anger would’ve been alright, you could stand up to anger, but this look, this terrible look on his face that suggested his whole world had just come apart – you froze. Instinctively you leaned away from Wilhemina, hating yourself for doing so.  

Your granddad took a tentative step towards you. “Can we talk this over? Surely if we talk this over, you’ll change your mind.”

Wilhemina’s hand on your back felt like molten metal. You had to force yourself not to squirm away from her touch. It wasn’t right, your granddad’s expression told you. It wasn’t natural for her to love you like that.

Your body leaned towards him and further away from Wilhemina. Did she notice? Please don’t let her notice. But she did, and you saw her square her shoulders to look taller like an animal sensing a threat.

“Come on, love,” she said, giving your back a gentle push.

Your granddad’s eyes fell on her. “Where are you going?”

“We’re leaving,” Wilhemina answered in a cold but calm voice. “Our destination is none of your business.”

“And you think Y/N’s gonna come with you?” A laugh, of genuine surprise.”We’ve spent every Christmas since she was born together. We’re family.”

Wilhemina’s fingers on your back stuttered. Her eyes widened, oh, just a bit, just the slightest bit, imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know her as well as you did.

“Christmas,” your granddad went on, his face growing more and more animated, “is for family and love. What do you have to offer her, apart from depravity and deceit? Did you really think,” here he laughed again – genuine surprise again, so much worse than hatred, “that she meant it when she said she could love someone like you?”, with a glance at her cane, incredulous, pitifying, almost amused.

He was good, you had to give him that. He knew exactly where to scratch so it would hurt the most. But he had also made a mistake. He could abuse you all he wanted, but Wilhemina was off limits. She was sacred ground, never to be sullied by anyone.

“She’s family,” you groaned, raising your chin defiantly, “and I love her.”

Your granddad scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Please, you’ve seen her – or maybe you haven’t, and that’d explain why you agreed to date her. Come on, come sit with us, let us talk, let us help you –“

“Just, stop talking.” You closed your eyes and gritted your teeth, trying to curb the anger that was rising inside you – hot, red, like lava. “Stop talking, and leave me alone.”

Only now did you realize that Wilhemina hadn’t said a word for too long. No snide comebacks, no insults. You glanced at her. Her face was hard and blank, but her eyes were veiled, and you knew that look. There was the glaze she always hid herself behind when she was afraid and hurting. Like that Sunday morning at the farmer’s market, when she and you had been browsing a flower stall, bright pink orchids, red and yellow tulips, green buds, and that old woman behind you in the line had made a disparaging remark about “cripples”, loud enough for Wilhemina to hear.  

You reached for her hand on your back and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Come on, Mina, let’s go.”

Your granddad called after you as you stomped up the stairs, Wilhemina’s hand still in yours, but you ignored him. Your body was tingling with a strange mix of anger, fear and relief. You walked into the spare room, picked up your bag and Wilhemina’s – there had been no time to unpack – and turned towards the door. Wilhemina was staring at you, her left arm crossed over her stomach in a hug, her brow slightly pulled down in thought.

“If you’d rather stay here with them –“she started.

“I don’t,” you cut her off firmly.

“I don’t want to get between you and the people you love.”

You heard the pain in her voice, so you dropped your bag on the floor, walked up to her and cupped her face. “Don’t let his words get to you,” you said, tilting her head to make her meet your eyes.”They were lies. You know that. I love you.”

Her eyes locked with yours, wide and begging for reassurance.

Please, you know better than that. You’re so smart, did you really think that she meant it when she said she could love someone like you?

Footsteps on the stairs, your grandma’s voice – how much she loved you. How very much she wanted to be proud of you.

Wilhemina’s eyes reflected the hesitation she saw in yours, and it spread and spread and spread until it threatened to darken the whole room like the falling of night.

“I love you,” you repeated, voice strangled, fingers trembling on her skin.

Oh please – they’re family.

And it was the same fear, the very same fear that was pulsing in both your veins – freakish, unlovable. Your lips curled in a soft smile at the exact moment your grandma entered the room.

With your free hand in Wilhemina’s, her pulse and your pulse drumming between your palms, you walked past your grandma, down the stairs and down the hall, towards the front door, and when you opened it you could have sworn you heard the call of the ocean, singing “come away”.

Wilhemina was half crying, half laughing nervously as she fumbled in her bag for the car keys, hands shaking, so you cupped her face again, kissed her, her mouth, her cheeks, kissed her tears until she could breathe easier. And you heard someone behind you gasp, and someone else curse in the same voice the old woman had used that day at the farmer’s market, when Wilhemina’s fingers had stuttered over the flowers.

A sob pushed out of her throat, a jingle of keys as they fell to the floor; Wilhemina bent down to pick them up, but she couldn’t see well enough through her tears. You picked up the keys for her and opened the car.

Before you got in, you turned and faced your family. When you spoke your voice was firm and hard, a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. “I will sit with you, and we will talk, when you’re ready to apologise,” you growled, staring into your granddad’s eyes, then your grandma’s. You slammed the door of the car, just to make a point.

You drove. A little bit above the speed limit, on winding narrow roads that crossed small, sleepy villages. You had driven almost twenty miles when you realized you had no idea where you were going.

You glanced at Wilhemina. She was staring out the window, her face blank, but at least that veil had lifted from her eyes. When you focused on the road again, you spotted a sign that read a familiar name.

“Let’s go there,” you said. Wilhemina didn’t react. “You’ll like the place.”

The place in question was a small fishermen village surrounded by fields, with a narrow pier and a wide beach that stretched for more than half a mile before it abruptly ended on an expanse of rocks covered with seaweeds. You had come here countless times with your family as a child, to sit on the pier with your feet dangling above the water and ice cream dripping between your fingers.

Today the water was as grey as the sky. You reached for Wilhemina’s hand and led her down the coastal path that weaved among the dunes.  

“I have so many happy memories linked to this place,” you whispered, barely louder than the wind. “Now I want to make one with you.”

Wilhemina let out a small, pejorative laugh.

You shot her a sideways look. “What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, then straightened your shoulders and pointed at something in front of you. “Look.”

There, half-hidden behind a swell of the dunes, rose the ruins of what must have been a manor house, but was now a clustered mess of broken walls from which four seagulls flew out with angry cries. A small stream spurted out from between two stones and flowed lazily across the beach to be soaked up by the sand right before it met the ocean.  

Wilhemina stopped in her tracks and let out a surprised puff of air.

“I told you you’d like it,” you smiled. “Doesn’t it look so very Victorian?”

With a clumsy curtsey you extended one arm towards the ruins. “Would Miss Wilhemina accompany me on a tour of Netherfield Hall?”

Wilhemina’s face lit up with a smirk.

The place was rather tricky for her to navigate with her cane, but she didn’t complain. You and her stepped over the bits of wood and the stones that littered the sand, falling into a comfortable and slightly awed silence. There was something so solemn, and a bit impressive, about those ruins, like walking in a silent church.

Wilhemina stopped in a doorway that led into a small, square room. “What is this room?” she asked in a haughty voice.

You assumed a proud expression. “The library. See all my books? Folks come from all across the country to admire them. I have the largest collection.”

“All I can see is you have very bad taste,” Wilhemina quipped as she turned on her heel and walked away. You laughed and followed her into the next room, of which only one wall remained. It opened on the ocean.  

“Careful!” you screamed, pointing at a brown seaweed on the sand. “There’s a banana skin on the mahogany floor!”

Wilhemina snorted, then assumed a scornful expression. “Call a servant. Somebody get us rid of it. I will not tolerate the state of this kitchen.”

With a grin you pulled her to you and kissed her, slow and sweet. She hummed into the kiss, bringing one hand up to cup your cheek, fingers barely brushing your skin as if it were made of something indescribably precious. When you pulled away, her smile was genuinely happy.

“Hello,” you giggled, giddy and fond.

She bit her lip, ran her thumb over your mouth.

“Hi.”

You took her hand again, and together you made your way through an archway into yet another room.

“This, I believe, must be the master bedroom,” you sang. You shot Wilhemina a suggestive look, which she pretended not to notice.

“I see a bed, but where is your husband?” Wilhemina asked.

A sad smile. When you spoke, your voice had a quaver to it. “Alas, Miss Wilhemina, there is no husband.”

She hummed. Pressed her cane against her stomach. “So who’s to share this big bed with you?” she asked after a while. She was avoiding your gaze, her eyes fixed on a tuft of grass that had managed to grow in the sand. “It must get so cold in the winter. Any suitor waiting by the door?”

She was no longer teasing you. Her voice was serious, her face had become unreadable again. You looked at her, and felt that familiar pain that wasn’t just pain but also sadness, and yearning for an easier, kinder life, clutch at your heart.  

“A hundred, probably,” you whispered. You stroked your thumb over one of her knuckles, back and forth. “I don’t know. I didn’t check. I keep the doors closed.” You tugged her arm to make her turn and face you. Gave her a soft, sad smile, cupped her cheek with your free hand and caught the lonely tear that dropped from her eye. “I already have my sweetheart here with me inside,” you murmured, gazing into her eyes.  

There was so much fear in your heart. So much fear you could have thrown up on the sand in the middle of those ruins that had once been a manor house, where people dressed in pretty clothes had met to share an evening of dancing and revelries. Love had bloomed among those walls before, love that had been so bright it had lit up the whole room and love that had been kept secret behind closed doors. The walls and the ocean were still singing the long-dead lovers’ songs.

You would sing it, too, grab the hand of the nearest dancer and join the farandole.

So you gave Wilhemina’s hand a squeeze that was almost too tight, just like that day at the farmer’s market when, with rage thundering in your chest and your eyes shooting daggers, you had towered over the old woman and shouted profanities at her until all the colour had drained from her face. And you had bought Wilhemina a ridiculously big bouquet of roses she had carried down the aisle, her cheeks flushed with gratitude and happiness and almost as bright and red as the flowers, for the whole world to see how beloved she was.  

You pulled her close and smirked when her eyes flicked hungrily to your lips.

“What is that sweetheart of yours like?” she whispered.

“Most of the time she’s an ass.” Wilhemina gave you a look that made you laugh. “But when I do this – “you leaned in and dropped a soft kiss on her mouth, “I find my home and family.”

Wilhemina’s eyes had fluttered closed; she didn’t open them for a long moment after you pulled away. That was new: she always made sure her eyes were opened when somebody stood that close to her, so that she would see danger come, so that she would not be taken by surprise when her lover suddenly sneered and mocked and laughed. But today she let herself sink into intimacy and trusted it would not hurt her, and you felt yourself melt with gratitude and love.

When she eventually opened her eyes again, she gazed at you with wonderment, as if she were seeing you for the very first time and you were the most beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes on; and then she blinked, and wonderment gave way to adoration and something that was so pure and so genuinely happy.  

[rinusagitora]

we will carve a home out of the hollow in your chest

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Momo Hinamori, Izuru Kira, Renji Abarai, Shuuhei Hisagi, Tetsuzaemon Iba, Shinji Hirako, Byakuya Kuchiki, Shunsui Kyouraku

Pairings: RenShuuKiraHina, mentioned badship AiHina

Words: 1900+

Summary: Canon divergent, pos TYBW arc. WARNINGS– body horror, violence, mass death. 2/4. The war is over, and the losses are permanent, but they know how to manage.

FFN | AO3 | Previous | Next

She wasn't like Renji. She couldn't compartmentalize like he could. She could distance herself, distract herself, but the shock had worn off by then. Every bit of rubble she turned over, she feared she would find Izuru, lifeless, that arm contorted in some freakish way. The dread made her nauseous.

She couldn't take anymore bodies. She couldn't distance herself in her worry. Izuru was alive when she thought he was dead, and he was gone because she scared him away. It was almost worse in that way because it was her fault and her fault alone, like the times she turned her sword against her brother and her friends for that man.

She needed to create, to breathe life into something. But even if there wasn’t any shortage in charcoal, she was without her sketchpad.

Reconstruction wasn't art, but it was better than tally after tally after fucking tally. If she asked, she knew with almost absolute certainty that she could tug at Hirako-taichou’s heartstrings and land herself in the west of the Seireitei for a couple of hours.

Her captain was in a tent with their new Head Captain and Kuchiki-taichou, bent over a map until she entered. Her captain looked so tired. He didn’t walk over her and wrap her in a one-armed hug and he didn’t jostle her with a friendly, confident grin. He didn’t even smile at her, like the bags under his eyes were too heavy for his cheeks to lift. She hated to see someone who had so quickly one a spot in her heart so exhausted.

“If you have a moment, could you reassign me to the west end of the Seireitei? Please? I need a break from all the bodies. Just for this shift….” She pleaded under her breath.

She wasn't met with an immediate yes or no. Hirako-taichou merely looked to Kyouraku-soutaichou, who then looked at a roster.

“I think we can afford an extra man there.” The head captain said.

“We can't. We need to clean up all of this, account for as many bodies, and then track down and incarcerate any deserters.” Kuchiki-taichou responded.

“We’re spread a little thin, but when aren't we? It'll help us take down some of those tents sooner rather than later at least. It couldn't hurt to switch the poor thing for just one shift, Kuchiki.” Kyouraku-soutaichou said. His calm amazed her-- she always wanted to clock Kuchiki-taichou ever since his cold dismissal of Renji’s life not even two years ago.

Kuchiki-taichou’s lips tightened into a line. It, at least, seemed he wasn’t hot about the tents either.

“Meet up with Iba-fukutaichou, Hinamori-fukutaichou. He’ll delegate you where you're needed.” Hirako-taichou said.

She bowed graciously to them and made herself scarce. She had already thrown a wrench into their carefully balanced schedule, she couldn’t make herself a nuisance on top of it.

Iba-fukutaichou had always been among her favorite lieutenants-- outside of Renji, Shuuhei, and Izuru of course. He had always been more noble than any of the aristocracy, and down to earth and so very sweet. She wasn’t close to him, they had only spoken before lieutenant meetings, but he was good in her book. Not many were anymore. Especially not men.

The west of the Seireitei was different from the rest. The air was much fainter of burnt fat and decay and the walkways were clear if not just slightly crumbled where they hadn’t been repaved. It was a totally different atmosphere on top of it. It felt like she had finally bobbed above the dirty water for a breath of fresh air.

Yes. It wasn’t art, but it was an escape from all her anxiety, that awfulness in the rest of the Seireitei.

Iba-fukutaichou was among his men as they pieced together platforms with smooth slats. He straightened as she approached.

“I was told you could give me something to work on here.” She said. “I would appreciate anything. Really, just put me somewhere. Please.”

“Happy to have you, Hinamori. Just join the rest of us. If you need any help, just shout.” Iba-fukutaichou replied.

“Thank you.” She would’ve asked where Shuuhei and Renji were and if he knew where her dear Izuru had run off to, but she figured they would only be a distraction. Distractions-- Izuru-- made her sad and they couldn’t afford that then. It was like Renji said-- one step at a time.

She would ignore how it felt like she abandoned her dearly beloved and thank whatever higher power had taken the Soul King’s place that flooring was busy work. It didn’t require quite the amount of attention as her art or reading, but it was nice to busy up her hands with something more visibly productive than tolling bodies. The hours passed just as quickly either way.

Shuuhei described her as beat when he and Renji came to fetch her. He must’ve meant she didn’t look much different than she normally did because sleep eluded her. The noise did not, on the other hand. It was difficult to not listen in on the conversations around her, bored out of her mind and worried out of her hyde. It was still mostly who was still missing, grief over the deceased, cynicism in hushed voices.

She was a terrible leader. If she couldn’t hold herself together, how could her men? They were the gears of the Soul Society. Their leaders were merely the lubricant that kept those gears cool. Without them, the gears would surely be ground away or pop off their spindles.

If she didn’t listen in, she probed for Izuru. Normally, she could pinpoint any of her loved ones’ reiatsu at any time with little trouble. Izuru’s was unusually faint, however. Like he really was gone. But she knew otherwise. Half the Seireitei knew about that scene at the tents, and her brother was there too so it couldn’t have been a hallucination. Izuru sulked somewhere, because she was a terrible excuse of a human being and an even worse lover.

There was a sudden change in the cadence and the speed of the murmurs around, and the sudden silence as she picked up on a pinprick of Izuru’s reiatsu. It felt so distant, but she heard his footfalls. Each was like a kick to her gut. It brought tears to her eyes-- relieved and terrified. She wished his reiatsu was strong enough to tell how he felt-- if he hated her, if he needed her.

Or perhaps it was just a hallucination. Perhaps she had finally been driven undeniably and irreparably mad. Or maybe the entire thing was just a long nightmare, and she would finally wake sandwiched between her boys and they would kiss her at breakfast as she told them about the most horrible dream she had ever had.

She stayed silent. If he wanted her, if he was even real, she figured he would speak. Aizen’s voice never accompanied his phantom presence. The memories of his words, but never his voice.

“... you hold yourself when you’re asleep.” Izuru rasped finally. He sounded winded.

Tears welled in her eyes as she laid sight on him. He was paler, more ragged, with a blanket tied around his shoulders.

“You’re here.” She sighed.

He nodded solemnly. Izuru normally wasn’t one to smile in the first place, but those blue eyes were so emotive. Those same eyes were dull and they were lifeless then, like he belonged on a metal slab and knew it. Her teary stare was no different from the others he must receive.

“Do you not want me to be?” He asked plainly, as if bored.

“I always want your company, you know that.”

“You wanted Izuru Kira’s company. He is dead. I am but a humble war machine in his shape.”

“Don’t you say that.” She quivered. “Don’t you say anything like that again. You are my beloved Izuru. We’ve all been turned into war machines. But it’s over now and we’re going to rebuild our home and our lives, and we want you in that.”

“The man you loved is dead.” Izuru iterated. “He is only a small percentage of my reiatsu. The rest is reiatsu from fallen soldiers mashed into me so I can operate.”

“So?” She sniffed. “You look like my Izuru. You talk like my Izuru. I can still feel my Izuru’s presence. If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, then it’s probably a duck.”

“You’re still as deluded as when Aizen fucked you.”

She flew upright. Her knuckles stung after they connected with his cheek. “How dare you bring that monster up.”

“The man you share all those happy memories with is gone. He died, and he let all of his men die too. Every single one of them.”

“We lost a lot of good men against the Quincies. It’s not your fault.”

“Like Aizen was coerced by Gin?”

Her knuckles stung as she backhanded Izuru again. His expression didn’t change as he stared down the row.

“Have you come to be cruel to me?!” She barked as embarrassed tears streamed down her face. She didn’t turn to Renji or Shuuhei  when they startled awake. “Izuru has always been like that. You’ve been so sarcastic and mean since Ichimaru died. You’re damn right I was loyal to Aizen, and I’m loyal to you now. Did you really think we would cut you out of our lives just because you’re having a tantrum!? You underestimate my tolerance!”

“You’re morbid to love a dead man.” Izuru growled

She slapped him again. “Enough of that! I don’t want to hear anything like that come out of your mouth again.”

Izuru stared off to the side, past the audience they had garnered. He got that thousand-yard stare when he was sad, when he truly debated death. She knew it well. How could he claim to not be Izuru when he was still so much like him?

“And what will you do if I refuse?”

She burst into humorless, bitter laughter. “You expect me to discard you? I couldn’t leave that monster when he raped me nightly, I wouldn’t have left him after he stabbed me! What the fuck makes you think you can make me leave you?”

“... I ought to go.”

“No, you’re staying. I’ll make you. Renji and Shuuhei will hold you down, and we’ll call Kuchiki-taichou in to hold you somewhere.”

He finally looked at her. “You’ll make me stay? Like you made Aizen stay?”

She slapped him once more and wailed. She couldn’t see his gaze through all of her tears, but she could feel it like a drill.

“You and I are taking a walk.” Renji plucked Izuru off the bunk and dragged him out. She couldn’t bring herself to look anyone in the eye as she walked in the opposite direction.

She knew the pain would fade, she thought as Shuuhei laid her head against his chest. She knew they would come together again just like they did after those men exited their lives, she knew her kisses would ease his pain, but Izuru was stubborn and she hurt too much to look at him.

Perhaps she was a fool, she thought, to let Izuru get away with a mere lecture from Renji. Perhaps she hadn’t changed since Aizen. Perhaps she was morbid and sad and needy, but he never seemed to mind it in the past.