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vibraniumwing · 4 years ago

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breaking point.

a neville longbottom x reader wherein neville finally reaches his breaking point when it comes to you

WARNING: nsfw, 18+ (really, don’t read if you’re not.),dirty talk, light choking, oral (female receiving), semi-public, slight praise kink, unprotected sex and just plain nasty nasty lmao

A/N: look, okay, i have discussed this headcanon with @minty-malfoy and @slytherinsunrise about how neville is actually a dom underneath his soft and fluffy exterior and i just really wanted to write this akdjaksjf i love vanilla neville but honestly this hc is the death of me.

DO NOT READ UNDER THE CUT IF YOU ARE BELOW 18.

---

There are certain moments in time wherein people make promises to themselves about keeping things hidden from the eyes of the public, that no matter what would happen, they would carry this burden ‘til they’re in the grave.

However, with you acting like this, Neville is finding it hard to keep himself in place.

---

Neville swore himself into secrecy about keeping this alter-ego of his a secret due to the fact that it doesn’t fit the image that the public has set upon him. He knew he was this soft, little angel in the eyes of his friends and those who knew him; little did they know there was a beast underneath that façade of his.

His eyes watched you like a hawk as you travelled to-and-fro, grabbing items to put in your grocery cart as you dragged him all the way to a muggle one since you’ve running low on supplies back at home.

He studied the way your face would contort into one of seriousness when deciding what brand to buy for pasta sauce, how your shirt would lift up just a bit and expose the soft skin underneath while grabbing things from a certain height and how innocent you looked in that shirt of his you decided to wear on your trip.

It was driving the lad absolutely mad at how gorgeous you looked without even trying and all he wanted to do was to pin you up against one of those shelves and show you how badly he wanted you. But he was stuck in his own restraints—physically and figuratively speaking— so there was no way he could do that.

Also, he just loved you too much to even do so suddenly.

---

You were currently working on dinner, mindlessly stirring as your head moved to the soft music that was playing through the kitchen. It was a rather cold day so you opted to wear or steal one of Neville’s sweaters that was a size too large for you. Your hands quickly moved to tie your hair in a messy bun and continue on with your task.

What you didn’t know, however, was the fact that the owner of the sweater you were wearing was watching you work silently. His jaw clenched shut as he fought with every patience he had to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you senseless.

Oh how he wished to do that, but he just can’t, not yet to say the least.

---

Of course, there are secrets that no matter how hard one tries to hide, it’ll uncover itself eventually. Unfortunately, one of those was Neville’s.

You had always thought of the idea that maybe your boyfriend isn’t as vanilla as he always was. You’ve always adored how gentle and caring he was when it comes to your intimate moments with him, how he was always aware of what keeps you over the edge and leaves you wanting for more.

Yet you had always yearned for something that you don’t have the heart to bring up to the man, until you discovered what lies beneath his innocent little mask.

Coming home from a tiring day at work was never fun, but when you have a loving boyfriend waiting with warm cuddles and kisses, you wouldn’t mind the exhaustion at all; probably even looking forward to come home to that everyday.

However, instead of being greeted by your lovers warm smile, you met with silence the moment you walked into the door. Your eyebrows were furrowed in confusion since he was nowhere to be seen. Lightly making your way up, you heard soft pants come from your room.

Your mind immediately went to a difference place, getting ready to be greeted by something very heart shattering but instead what you saw was something rather surprising as you peeked through the small opening of the door

It was Neville with his back against the headboard of the bed you both shared, low groans rumbling from his chest as he relieved himself from his stress, accompanied with strings of rather colorful words on how he wanted to make you know who’s in charge inside the bedroom.

Safe to say that scene left you hot and bothered for the rest of the night— and that you might have cooked up a plan on how to make your adorable boyfriend reach his limit.

Then you commenced your plan, wearing more of his shirts and sweaters around the house knowing how much he loves you to see you in them (which sometimes leads to them being scattered on the floor) and by tying your hair in-front of him, grinning at him cheekily when he goes silent by watching you do that.

You’d get a certain reaction from him whenever he catches you doing that, adoring how he’d have this entranced look while watching you and how he’d immediately be flustered after because you caught him.

But to no avail- he knew how to control his urges and you weren’t having any of it anymore. As much as you love Neville for his patience and respect, you’ve reached your breaking point.

---

Neville was seated beside you with a certain flare in his eyes as you continued to palm him through the fabric of his slacks, his cheeks were flushed as he watched you casually conversed with Hermione from across the table, acting as if nothing was happening from under the table.

The woman had invited the two of you over for a rather fancy dinner and he was already losing his mind upon seeing the white body hugging dress you wore and you were really drawing the line with your discreet actions under the table.

“Say Neville, are you really planning on teaching back at Hogwarts?” Ron asked, looking at your boyfriend expectantly with a curious grin. You looked over at your boyfriend who adjusted in his seat, “Oh yeah, I do actually. Professor Sprout’s about to retire so I’m planning to take over for her.” He managed to splutter out, adjusting his tie as you slowly quickened your pace against his pants.

As the table moved on to another topic, your boyfriend was quick to lean in and whisper, “Not here, (Y/N)” with a gentle tone, holding on to the last ounce of patience he had.

You batted your eyelashes at him, a devilish grin plastered on your lips as you shrugged him off, “I have no idea as to what you are even implying, Nev.” you simply replied, retreating your hand from its position as you felt him starting to twitch under the fabric.

The male threw his head back in annoyance at the sudden interruption of his pleasure before giving you a stern look, voice low enough so that only you can hear, “You know exactly what you’re doing and I swear if you don’t stop that attitude right now you’ll see what you’re in for.” He said, jaw clenched as you laughed at him softly, igniting his frustrations even more.

“Make me, Longbottom.”

And that was enough for the beast inside Neville to let loose, absolutely enraged at the bratiness you were showing him. He cleared off his throat and stood up, “As much as I love this party, me and (Y/N) have to cut the night short. I still have a few things to pack before leaving for Hogwarts.” giving his friends a rather sad smile and glanced at you.

The sudden change in his demeanor has left you wet in-between your legs, your heart racing as you gathered your purse and waved off to your friends. His larger hand instantly found its way to yours as he led you outside the restaurant and into a rather isolated alley and instantly apparated to your shared bedroom.

He was quick to pin you against the wall, one hand holding both of your wrists above your head as the other was cupping your cheek, thumb swiping on your lower lip as he spoke, “Princess, I know you love me gentle but do you really think you deserve that? After what you’ve done to me?” his hips grinding against yours, feeling how hard he was underneath his pants.

Your breath hitched at the friction, shaking your head as your brattiness faltered all too quickly by the way he was acting, “No Nev, I don’t.” which led to him wrapping his hand around your neck as he lightly pressed down on it. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

His usual gentle voice was coated with arousal making you moan, “No, sir. I’m sorry for acting like a brat” which made him groan in satisfaction at the way those words rolled out of your mouth. He then captured your lips in a heated kiss, feeling himself let loose as his hand slowly trailed down to the underneath of your dress, his fingers now ghosting over your heat.

You felt his lips curl up into the kiss, “Aren’t you a dirty little one, you’ve gone the whole night without underwear on?” He teased, middle and ring fingers dipping into your pussy as he left open mouth kisses against your neck, sucking on the skin rather harshly.

“So wet for me, aren’t you darling?” he whispered, ravelling in the lewd sounds that left your mouth mixed with desperate pants. You bucked your hips into his hands, begging for more friction as you felt your knees slowly start to give out from underneath.

Neville slowly pulled his fingers out upon feeling your walls tighten around it, making you whine as he licked your essence off his fingers, letting out hum of satisfaction as he locked lips with you again; hand reaching over the back to unzip your dress, letting it pool to your feet, nimble fingers quickly undoing your bra and letting it join the clothes on the floor.

“So beautiful” He mumbled, stepping away from you as he loosened his tie, “Be a good girl and lay down on the bed, princess.” His tone sends chills down your spine as you lay on the bed, watching him get rid of own clothes, mouth watering as you watch him stroke his length to soothe it from its aching need..

He then approached you, licking his lips as he lowered himself, eyeing how your heat glistened against the dim lit room, “So fucking wet for me.” He growled before diving right into you, tongue dancing around your clit gently he curled two fingers inside of you, causing your hips to buck up in the process, moans escaping your lips which made the male groan. “Keep still, darling.” He said, his other hand gripping on your thigh tightly as he continued.

You tried your best to keep still, panting heavily as Neville continued to fuck you with his tongue and fingers, back arching as your hand was now gripping on his hair, the sensation too overwhelming for you as a familiar knot form once again.

“N-Nev, I’m close” You said, only making him pump his fingers in and out of you more quickly, humming in approval which sent you into this state of pure bliss as you reached your high, coating his slender fingers with your juice.

Neville was quick to lap whatever mess you had made, tongue darting out to clean his own digits as crawled up to your eye level, “You were such an angel for me now, weren’t you, princess?” he questioned, thumb brushing against your bottom lip again as you nodded, taking his thumb in-between your lips to suck on in gently as you locked your gaze with him.

His usual soft brown eyes were filled with lust as he positioned himself, expression faltering slightly as he waited for your approval, making your heart flutter at the fact that he still wanted your answer. With a single nod, he thrusted into you, groaning at how tight you were around him. “So.. fucking tight for me, isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes, Nev, all for you.” You answered, hips jolting up at the way he slowly started to move, teasing you lightly as he trudged on with this pace, making you whine, “Faster, Nev, please!”

Neville happily obliged in your request, pace picking up as his lips attacked all the soft spots of your neck, making you a moaning mess underneath him as he soon became relentless with his speed; your lewd sounds making him go wild, his free hand finding its way back to your clit, the pad of his thumb toying on it as he continued to go in and out of you.

Still sensitive from your first high, you quickly felt your second one forming as he kept his pace. “Go on, baby.” With those simple words, you felt your orgasm crash through once again, sending you a wave of euphoria as he rode out your high, eventually coming down from his own high too.

He gently pulled out of you and smiled, kissing your forehead, “Stay right there, alright?” He said, snatching his boxers off the floor and headed off to the bathroom before coming back with a towel in hand, waving it sheepishly.

“Let me do the work, my love.” He said gently, cleaning you up before taking you into his arms, carrying you into the bathroom where the bathtub was full and ready to use.

He gently placed you down and helped you hop in, the warmth of the water instantly relaxing your muscles, before situating himself behind you, a shy grin on his lips, a light pink dusting over his cheeks, “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

You laughed at him softly, shaking your head gently as you sensed his fingers massage your scalp gently, cleaning you off. “No, Nev. You were great.” You answered, leaning into him gently as you teased, “Who knew you had that kind of side, my love?”

Neville chuckled at your words, carefully rinsing you off as he shrugged lightly, lathering his hands with soap as he ran his hands against your soft skin, fingers tracing the marks he’s left, “I’ve always had that side of me, I know that you know that, but I just kept on holding myself back because I didn’t want to hurt you like that.” He answered truthfully, voice laced with gentleness.

You turned to face him with a smile, leaning in to press your lips against his, heart jumping everywhere at how pure his answer was, “You don’t have to hide anything from me anymore since I’d accept you either way, Nev.”

And with that the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s company as you both got ready for bed once again, Neville doing all the work of changing the sheets and what not before letting you back on the bed and into his arms, peppering your face with a ton of kisses soon afterwards.

“Are you sure that I wasn’t too hard on you, love?” He asked once more, looking at you with a rather guilty look, to which you shook your head, giving him a comforting smile as you placed a gentle kiss on his lips, “You were perfect, my love, trust me.”

You felt him relax against you, holding you closer to his chest as he kissed your lips once more, smiling against them.

“I love you, (Y/N).)” “I love you too, Nev.”

---

TAGS: @theweasleyslut @violetravens @eunoia-kth @starlightweasley @minty-malfoy @glimmering-darling-dolly @slytherinsunrise

#neville longbottom #neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom x y/n #neville longbottom imagine #neville longbottom imagines #neville longbottom fic #neville longbottom fics #neville longbottom smut #neville longbottom fluff

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rae-gar-targaryen · 4 years ago

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alight with the lights out | diego hargreeves x reader [tua]

A/N: Thank you for all of your interest after I posted the teaser! It was VERY surprising and humbling; I’ve NEVER had so many people ask for a tag before. I only ask that if you asked for a tag, you interact with this fic SOMEHOW. And go find another story you love and REBLOG IT! LET THAT WRITER KNOW YOU LOVE THEM!

I’ll be honest, I’m very nervous about this one. I’m not sure if it turned out as good on paper as it did in my head. Please let me know what you liked and what you didn’t!

Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x vigilante, powered!Reader; this one may read a bit more like an OC because I’ve given the reader backstory, powers. She’s (you’re) a vigilante who regularly runs into Diego. I keep the physical description vague, so I hope you can still imagine yourself!

Warnings: Language; who doesn’t love getting a little sweary? Violence, fighting, references to a shitty childhood, and separately, implied sexual assault (nothing graphic, I promise); angst and angsty dialogue; SMUT-- 18+ ONLY PLEASE; lots of cocktease dialogue, fingering, pierced nipples (the reader’s not Diego’s-- sorry), biting, rough sex, choking. Romance is its own warning. Fluff.

Word Count: 12.1k of sexy, self-righteous vigilantism, half-baked metaphor and of course, at least one literary reference.

Summary: Diego Hargreeves, aka The Kraken, is secure about few things in life; one of those things being his vigilantism. He’s a hero. Until he meets a fighter who shares the same hobby, albeit with different methodologies. Diego isn’t quite as certain about her, but her mysterious abilities make him think he and his siblings aren’t the only ones in this world with power. If only she and Diego could just stay out of each others’ hair. It’s a good, old-fashioned ENEMIES TO LOVERS, lads!

Link to my playlist of songs that inspired this fic: here

NOT MY GIF

----

You wouldn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. That was rule number one. Hell, if you could get away with it at all, you wouldn’t hurt anyone.

But Mr. Adler hated children. And he had made it his mission to not understand you. To regard you with the utmost disdain. And unfortunately for you, Mr. Adler had married your mother when you were six years old.

You had never known another father. Your mother refused to talk about the circumstances of your birth, or of the man who had supposedly been responsible. The lack of identity loomed like a large question mark over certain portions of your life.

And Mr. Adler, that loud, controlling lout, was not about to fill that void.

When you were in elementary school, you began to feel like you were different from the other children. Watching them carry about their days with their steel-pressed pop culture lunch boxes and not a care in the world. While you sensed your music teacher’s sadness when her cat had died. You could feel every anxiety that passed through your classmates on the day of a spelling test. You didn’t know why you could feel these things. You just could.

Prominently above them all, you could feel Mr. Adler’s hatred for you, like a thick, toxic wall every time you passed through your front door and into what was supposed to be your sanctuary.

He shouted at you for inane things, like the pantry door being left open, or the fact that your mother was tired after cooking dinner, insisting you never did enough to help. As a child of eight, what did he expect you to do? You kept your room clean, cleared and set the table, helped your mom water the plants in her garden. What more could Adler want from you?

Still, Mr. Adler’s hate for you colored your every interaction with him, the world you saw him through tinged with an orange-red lens of rage.

You had never tried expanding upon your grasp of others’ feelings until you had witnessed a boy in your class push your pigtailed classmate, Annabelle, down on the playground. Anna’s shock, fear and sadness had bitten into you from the other side of the sandbox like an unwelcome spider bite, sudden and itchy.

It didn’t sit right with you. To you, how was this boy any different from Adler? Reigning terror over someone else just because he thought he could. You’d recognize that red-orange tinge in another person anywhere.

You stood, marching over to the boy, gripping his wrist firmly in your stubby, grubby fingers. Quick as a flash, you were met with every emotion this boy had ever felt -- annoyance at Anna (she wouldn’t share her toys. How selfish, the boy had thought); anger (how dare you grab him!); and finally, prominently, fear.

Fear looked different for everyone, you had noticed. For some, like this boy, it was an ugly green, so like jealousy. For others, like Adler when he’d been drinking, it was an inky black you could drown in. Fear was clearly the strongest. You knew that now.

You gripped the boy’s fear in your own mind, pushing it to the forefront until he began to cry, his eyes welling with the sudden fear he couldn’t understand.

“You won’t do that again,” you said. Turning to Anna, you offered a hand to help her up, but she just shook her head, pigtails flying, and scampered away from you.

Your teachers were clearly afraid of you after that. Could sense that something wasn’t right. Anna? You thought she’d be grateful ... but the chilly pale yellow of her fear, and everyone else’s, followed you wherever you went.

Fine, you thought. If they wouldn’t be grateful for what you could do, you may as well help yourself.

From then on, you exploited your teachers’ happiness -- pop quizzes became less frequent. Everytime they wanted to scold you for incomplete homework, they were left grasping at straws and with the daze of an emotion they couldn’t name.

Adler hated you for it.

“I knew there was something wrong with you,” he sneered over your mother’s weeping objections. “I don’t know what it is, but I know there’s something.”

Once you reached 18, you left for the neighboring bustling metropolis and didn’t look back. The world was full of people like Adler, like the boy in the sandbox, like your teachers, who tried to use their own fear to feed their hate, to exploit others. To exercise false power over them.

Well, you wouldn’t have it. If it meant a few of those assholes got hurt, well, so be it.

You lived like that for years. Until --

---

"I hope you choke on it," you hissed, watching the smoky black tendrils slither their way around the man, constricting -- bringing him to his knees, hacking and gasping. "I see your fear, I feel it all. You deserve this, you know you do," you lectured, advancing toward the man, your hands raised.

He was seconds away, you knew it-- and then one more scumbag would be off the streets for good ...

Things were going your way, you were in your favorite position in an altercation-- you know, the one where you had the upper hand? Everything was coming up you, until--

Your ears were met with a whizzing noise mere seconds before a sharp, shiny something nicked your cheek and lodged into the wooden beam just past you.

Your gaze left the piteous man before you long enough to see what looked like a small, but dangerously sharp, knife embedded in the beam. You reached up and plucked it from its resting place, spinning it in your palm before catching the hilt in a clutching grip. You turned to see where it had come from, your eyes catching a dark blur flipping from the fire escape of the opposite building, before said blur landed at your feet.

Standing at his full height, the blur-- no, the Kraken himself-- towered above you.

You had to admit, the stories didn't do him justice. Standing before you in head-to-toe black and a harness replete with shimmering, twinkling edges and danger, you could've sworn he was your knight in shining leather. His cropped hair and facial scars gave him the air that he was every bit as sharp and deadly as the many blades that adorned his body. His oilslick eyes so like mirthless pits of danger, daring to suck you beneath their surface. He was, in a word, imposing.

Regarding you from behind his Venetian domino mask, he spoke, "Miss I'm gonna need you to drop the knife and let this man go."

You snorted.

"You're joking, right?" Not giving him a chance to respond, you chuckled as you swung at him with the hand still holding what you now knew to be his blade.

You'd give credit where it was due, Diego Hargreeves, aka Number Two, aka the Kraken, was every bit as fast as they'd said. In this regard, the stories and Umbrella Academy-related media hadn't been wrong.

Diego dodged your swing, bending his body back before twirling around to strike at your torso, like a snake, with his heavy, hammered fist.

The hit knocked the wind out of you, effectively breaking your concentration, and, devastatingly, your connection with the previously fear-choked man cowering in the alley behind you. As you recovered from Diego's hit and swung around to check your quarry, you could only watch as he shook himself from your fear-induced trance.

He scraped and scrabbled to get up off his knees as Diego shouted at him to "Go, just get out of here!"

You snarled and swung a well-aimed high kick at Diego's head, connecting with just enough of his jaw to drop him. As soon as your proverbial window opened, you turned from Diego to run after the man. But even grounded from a blow, Diego was formidable. He shot his arm out and snagged your ankle, yanking you to the ground.

The gritty pavement scraped your palms as you attempted to catch yourself on your way down, growling as you glanced up to see that loathsome cockroach of a man slip out of the alley, huffing as his bloated legs carried himself far away from you.

You tossed a glance over your shoulder to see Diego righting himself as he stood up, looking down at you before shrugging, offering you his hand.

"Not a chance," you scoffed, knocking his hand away. You rolled slightly back, arched up, and used your hands to help you spring as you lept to your feet in one smooth movement. You landed with a thud of your boots, your feet spread apart, and arms raised in a boxer's stance.

Diego had the decency to look slightly surprised at your obviously-dangerous athleticism. He shook himself slightly as he regarded you.

Besides, he thought, taking in your stature, it's not as though you were any match for him. No way.

"Why would you get in my way, Umbrella douche?" You bit out harshly, glaring daggers at the knife-wielding Kraken.

"Come on, hot stuff," Diego shrugged. "If you know who I am, you gotta know it's not like I can just let you mug that man with … well, whatever you were doing to him." What he had seen you do in the alley seemed to be catching up with him as he cocked his head and queried, "What exactly were you doing to him, by the way? I mean, other than hurting a civilian?"

"A civilian?" You spat. "You don't know what you're talking about, do-gooder. If you knew what he was, you wouldn't be defending him so staunchly."

“And what was he?” Diego pressed.

“That dickless fuckhead would-be-rapist isn’t worth the shit on your shoe,” you snarled. “And you let him get away. Nice job, hero,” you sing-songed the last word mockingly, taking advantage of Diego’s lowered guard to level a swinging hit to his nose.

Your punch landed with a satisfying crack, Diego stumbling back, shaking his head.

“What in the ever-loving FUCK is wrong with you, lady?” Diego shouted.

“Take your hits like a big boy. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of ‘Big Deal?’ ” you asked, advancing toward Diego, fists raised.

“Honey, my reputation precedes me for a reason,” Diego quipped back, blocking your next swing and making one of his own toward your gut.

The two of you sparred in the alleyway, whirling and spinning in a very violent dance between two unwilling partners -- Diego, clearly pulling his punches, while you were obviously preoccupied with your rage at your escaped quarry.

Diego flipped and spun and swung his fists with a speed that bordered on unnatural. His jabs and kicks annoyingly landed, as you were really only able to block just about every other hit. Fuck him for being so fast.

So it was true, you thought, the superpower hype was real. Well, two could play that game.

At Diego’s next hit, you caught his fist, allowing the contact to create the connection you needed, feeling for Diego and any underlying emotion that would be his undoing, before latching onto your favorite-- past the overstuffed confidence, you tasted simmering rage. Beyond that? A tiny prickle of … was that??…Ah, yes, the stinging, burns-so-good zip of lust... File that one away for later … and beneath it all lay Diego’s stammering, stuttering, suffocating fear.

You dug your proverbial claws into it once you found it, bringing it to the surface, manifesting it into your signature smoky tendrils.

Drag them down with their own fear.

Diego’s eyes widened as he looked down to see his legs wrapped in what looked like snakes. Suddenly, his worst memories of fearful days under his father’s tyrannical reign were the only things in his brain. The shouting proclamation his own inadequacies in his father’s too-posh voice pounded within his skull. It was all he could think about -- Your presence before him seemed to dwindle, he couldn’t focus on you, try as he might-- when he was overcome with the feelings of every bad memory he had ever suffered through bearing down on him like the crushing weight of the ocean, pulling him under with the riptide of his own panic and inadequacies.

What the fuck was this shit?

He pushed through his sudden indifference toward you to regard you, the woman stood before him. Diego’s fist clenched as he took in your own grip clutching around his wrist. Your eyes were closed as your face was screwed up in concentration.

Repulsive. You were repulsive, he suddenly thought. How could he have cared so much about hurting you when his own terror and agitation sat heavy on his tongue, like ugly curdled cream?

But he hadn’t always felt this way-- not his usual modus operandi, was it? So what was this? Was this-- you?? Was this what you had done to that man?

Diego began to dredge himself through his own agitation, past his father’s lilting abuse… through the mire of never-quite-being-enough against Luther... dragging his proverbial feet through a bog of his own self-hatred. Just long enough to wrench his wrist from your grip, grabbing you by the shoulders and spinning around, slamming you probably a little too hard into the wall behind him. Your eyes snapped open as your head made a minor thwack off the alleyway-- you had just enough time to tilt your head to the left as Diego brought one of his knives down, driving it into the wall a sliver from the space your face had previously occupied.

Diego bore his weight on his toes, leaning his imposing height into and over you, panting and snorting heavily through his nose. You looked at his eyes behind his mask-- hardened flints of pissed-off-superhero glared back at you.

“W-wh-What the F-f-UCK was that?” Diego spit, lip curling over his teeth in a gruesome snarl.

A fleeting flicker of shame passed through you. He hadn’t really done anything to deserve that, had he? Before you shook yourself out of it-- No! He let that rat-faced motherfucker get away!

You fixed your face into an impassive mask of your own before you chirped, annoyingly, “What was what?”

Diego chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh. How did you do that?” Diego pressed, leaning even closer to you, if that were possible.

“Do what?” you chimed innocently, tilting your chin up, eyes meeting Diego’s from beneath your lashes. Maintaining your feigned ignorance.

“Don’t do that,” Diego snarled. “Don’t play dumb. I think we both know at this point-- you’re alot of things, and dumb isn’t one of them.”

“You’d know all about playing dumb, wouldn’t you, pretty boy? Or for you, is it not really playing?” You reached up and ran a finger along his sharp jaw before tweaking his chin and dropping your hand back to your side. You sighed at Diego’s stone face. Honestly, it was so boring when they didn’t bite back.

“I don’t know what to tell you, cutie pie. I can’t help it. People are just drawn to me,” you quirked an eyebrow. “Or repulsed by me. I really haven’t decided.” You fluttered your eyelashes at him, ever the pretty picture.

Diego leaned further into you, pressing your back further and further into the wall. All the while, his leather-gloved grip creaked around the handle of the knife he’d plunged into the wall next to your head as he gripped it tighter.

“Huh,” he mused, scoffing at you lightly. “Ya know something, doll? I just don’t fuckin’ buy it.”

“Babe, if you wanted to play bad cop, all you had to do was ask,” you smirked as the stone face slid from his features and gave way to "surprised face."

“Honestly, honey,” you slinked up Diego’s body, propping yourself onto your toes and brushing his lips ever-so-lightly with your own as you spoke into his mouth, “Did you really think you and your reject siblings were the only ones in this whole wide world with a little … taste … of power?” you purred.

Ah, you thought, and there it was.

The warming, zinging hum that your ability recognized as Diego’s lust crept through your fingertips that were currently resting on his chin. You were sure if you took the time to analyze exactly who was feeling what, that this feeling of craving wouldn’t be as one-sided as you’d otherwise have hoped. Diego was, you had to admit, very pretty -- for a man.

The swirling galaxies in his midnight eyes regarded you with confusionangerwant. Had you really just -- kinda kissed him?

You took advantage of Diego’s surprised state to knock his grip from your shoulder and shove -- hard. Diego toppled back, and you took off as fast as your enhanced body would carry you, cutting down the alley and away from your fascinatingly frustrating new rival.

Diego took in your retreating form from his final resting place in the disgusting alley’s concrete. Slamming his fist into the rough-gravel ground, groaning out his frustration and anger.

You were gone.

What were you?

Were you really like him? Like the others?

---

Diego shuffled into Hargreeves Manor, determined to see who else was around. Surely they, or Pogo, would know if there were others like them out there. Had he been the only one to run into one? Was it all a hoax?

As he wandered into the cavernous, but simultaneously stuffy, living room, sure enough-- there was Klaus, sprawled across the couch, arm slung over his face in a restless nap.

“Klaus!” Diego barked, startling the spindly man from his perch on the couch and onto the floor.

Klaus looked balefully up at his brother from his spot on the carpet. “Jeeeesus, Diego, really? What do you want that made that necessary,” Klaus grumbled.

“Have you seen Pogo?”

“I haven’t seen anything but the back of my eyelids for the last several hours, thank you very much,” Klaus replied, “Although, I did have a very good dream about running into an old friend of mine in the grocery store. He was always so convinced he was straight. But I think the rest of my dream calls bullshit.” Klaus chuckled to himself.

“Yeah, whatever, man. I need to talk to Pogo,” Diego stressed, turning to leave the living room.

“Well, wait, wait, wait. What is so important?” Klaus queried, clambering up and lumbering across the room to catch Diego’s arm.

Diego sighed, facing his brother.

“Do you think … Do you think we’re the only ones like us?” He asked.

“Well, there’s no one like you, brother,” Klaus chuckled, taking on a rumbling, Diego-esque mocking tone, “I’m Number Two!” He cackled to himself for a moment before coming back to himself with a sigh. “And honestly, we all know I’m an original. So I’m not sure I take your meaning.”

“I mean… it couldn’t just be the seven of us, right? There’s a lot of other people in the world… it just makes sense others could do things like what we can?” Diego pressed.

Klaus started. He had never seen this look in his brother’s eye before. The unhinged mania of a fight? Sure. Crushing doubt? Obviously. But not this … fierce certainty buried beneath a question. This was new for Diego. He must be serious.

Klaus blinked, regarding his brother, before slowly nodding. “I mean… sure… theoretically, there could be others. But I don’t know any. Why? Did you find someone?”

Diego drew in a breath, unsure of how much he wanted to reveal to Klaus. After all, you were his nemesis. His pain in the ass. His whatever you were.

Diego crossed the room again, back to the couch Klaus had previously occupied, before sitting down in a creak of leather and clink of blades still strapped to his harness. Propping his elbows on his thighs, he placed his head in his hands.

“I don’t know. I think so? I found her while I was out patrolling, and I … I don’t really know how to describe what I saw.”

Klaus placed himself next to his erstwhile sibling, tucking his feet beneath himself as he sat, reaching up to pat Diego on the shoulder.

“There, there, big guy. Just… tell me what happened,” Klaus crooned.

Diego launched into the story of finding you in the alley, choking the man with your smoke without even laying a hand on him. He described to Klaus how the two of you had fought, and how you had called the man a “would-be-rapist” before knocking Diego to the ground and making your getaway.

“Well, she sounds hot.”

“Helpful, Klaus,” Diego deadpanned.

“Oh, isn’t it obvious, sweet Dee?” Klaus chimed at the end of Diego’s story. At his brother’s nonplussed look, Klaus continued. “She’s just like you! She likes to put on her Batman underoos and fight crime,” he chuckled. “Even if she is like… us… she clearly can do something different. But I think the most telling thing is how obviously into her you are.”

Diego sputtered, “Wh-what?? I am not into that … psycho. Whatever she can do, that’s all I want to figure out.”

“The lady doth protest too much,” Klaus sing-songed. “Whatever you say, brother. But I think the only way you’ll really figure it out is if you run into her again. I mean, we know dad had his secrets. If he knew about other powered children, don’t you think the Umbrella Academy would’ve been a lot bigger? The world is a big place. I’m sure there’s more out there, but, um… we just didn’t know about it until now?”

Diego sighed deeply. “Oh, joy,” he muttered. Ignoring the tinge of excitement that passed through him at Klaus’s suggestion he seek you out.

Klaus clapped his hands joyously, cuffing Diego’s shoulder, shaking him.

“A nemesis, Diego! How sexy! How exciting!”

---

Your encounter with one of the Umbrella Academy had left you slightly shaken, to say the least. You were so careful when you went out. No one missed those assholes you took care of. Honestly, you were doing the city a favor.

Patrolling on any given night would yield one or two men who were plotting something less than savory. And all it took was a brush of skin to determine their true intentions.

You sighed angrily, ripping off your bodysuit and stomping across your apartment to your shower, yanking back the curtain and twisting the knob forcefully.

Hot water began to pour from the showerhead, steam filling your bathroom. You regarded your reflection in your bathroom mirror, a distinctly palmlike-bruise adorned your shoulder from where Diego had clutched it, not to mention the scrapes that lined your body from your repeated meetings with the concrete during your sparring.

You met your own eyes in your reflection, regarding yourself as balefulness gave way to venom.

Honestly, that toadlike little nobody had deserved what you were about to do to him. You had watched him from the back of the bar as he had annoyingly pressed his presence onto a poor girl who was just trying to enjoy her drink. Her drink that the toad had slipped something in when he thought she wasn’t looking. He even went so far as to grab her wrist with his stubby little hands. That was the final straw.

You steeled yourself, letting the lustful, rowdy feeling of the other bar patrons that permeated the air like thick smoke take you over. Putting on your best, beguiling smile, you crossed the room and brushed your hand over the man’s bare arm, letting him feel the tingling want that you had absorbed. Simultaneously, you felt everything of his disgusting intent-- the hateful, possessive desire for the girl, the hurt he intended to inflict to trample his own inadequacies and sadness.

Oh, yeah, you were right about this asshole.

He looked up at you, disgusting gaze lingering on you, before forgetting all about his intended prey, pushing back from his barstool and venturing behind you out into the alley.

The rest, as they say, is history. And an annoying vigilante type who had an ass that just wouldn’t quit once encased in black leather just had to rain on your proverbial pain parade.

Diego Hargreeves… Of course you knew who he was. Everyone knew about the Umbrella kids. And you knew the man once-dubbed The Kraken was still doing his best Caped Crusader (sans cape) and kicking ass by night. Annoyingly self-righteous, really, you thought. Choosing ever-so-delicately to ignore the hypocrisy laden in your thought. Is that not, in effect, what you were doing? Albeit with a little more emotional manipulation and bloodshed.

As you thought of Diego, your fingers traced the slim, sharp cut his knife had made in your cheek as it surged past you.

You let the remnants of Diego’s rage that you had felt overtake you, amplified by your own, as you slammed your fist into the small mirror over your sink, letting the shards clatter to the ground around your feet.

Payback was a bitch, and so were you. You didn’t know if Diego Hargreeves was a praying man, but he had better hope to whatever deity would listen that he didn’t run into you again.

You wouldn’t be so kind twice, you told yourself, climbing into your shower and letting the blood and grit from your body swirl down the drain.

---

As luck wouldn’t have it, your gods were decidedly not on your side. And clearly whatever deity you had mentally implored Diego to pray to was on vacation.

Because you ran into that maddeningly beautiful dipshit, several times over the following weeks. He would do his best to bust up your party, stopping you from exacting your special brand of vengeance. You’d exchange a few quips and blows before running off before he could ask you the question you knew was burning in his mind.

You managed to evade prolonged encounters with Diego until about another two weeks later. Too soon, honestly.

Or not soon enough? God, your inner voice was desperate and annoying.

You encountered Diego again while you were propped against the wall of a seedy dive on the other edge of town, assessing each person as they passed. While your power worked best if you could touch, some feelings were perfectly easy to pick up from a distance.

So far, nothing. Just a few gross, horny bikers and depressive barflies. It was a maddeningly slow night. And you doubted you were needed here.

Just as you were about to call it and head to another hotspot, a familiar prickle passed through you. You glanced up, across the street.

Sure enough, on the neighboring rooftop, perched Diego Hargreeves in the flesh, surveying you like some kind of Great Value Nightwing.

You sighed, pushing off the wall and crossing the street. Diego watched as you clambered up the fire escape to meet him on the rooftop.

“Of course you would be here,” you chastised. “Are you fucking following me? I’ve been a good girl. Haven’t killed anyone in a week. I promise!” You held up your hands in mock surrender, coming to stand in front of Diego’s gloriously firm, leather-clad figure.

“If you say so, Princess. Maybe I’m just here for a drink?” Diego cocked his head toward the shitty bar whose entrance you were haunting mere moments ago.

“Doubtful, Underoos. I think…” you trailed off, circling Diego, tapping your finger to your chin in a pondering gesture. “I think you’re babysitting me. Making sure I don’t do your job for you and clean up the streets too well.”

You ceased your vulture-like circling, coming to stand before Diego. His eyes bore into your own, once again partially obscured behind that stupid mask. As if you didn’t know what he looked like without it. Your eyes weren’t deceiving you when you saw Diego’s eyes flash a quick up-down of your body before resuming his stern visage.

Oh good, you thought. You recognized the latent feelings buried beneath Diego’s anger. A new one brushed over you-- confusion… He still hadn’t figured you, or, more than likely, your power, out…

You weren’t left in suspense too long.

“Tell me about what you can do,” Diego pressed, advancing toward you. You took a step back to maintain some distance… best if you can perpetuate some veil of advantage.

“Ah, ah, ah, baby. It doesn’t work like that,” you chided. “You think I’m just going to spill all of my secrets because why? You’re cute? Try again. Ask nicely,” you smirked, pushing your lips into a tantalizing pout.

Diego rolled his eyes. You weren’t going to play fair? Fine, neither was he. Honestly, his fuse was too-fuckin-short for your shit. He wanted answers, even if he had to beat them out of you. Quick as a flash, he strode toward you, jumping into a flip and kicking you down to the ground upon his landing.

You looked up at him, standing over your body as it lay on the gravelled rooftop, bringing your hand up to touch your jaw, where his boot had collided with your face not moments ago.

You grinned widely, savagely, around bloodied teeth and split lips. "So that’s how we’re going to play? Do your worst, Big Deal. I like when it hurts."

With that, you swung your leg at Diego’s, causing him to topple beside you, where you promptly rolled over, coming to straddle his hips, bringing your hands to his wrists, the direct contact allowing you to bring his fear to the forefront.

Just as you were about to choke him with the smoke of his own fear, Diego surged upright, his arms breaking free from the grip of your wrists, his own hands coming to close around your throat. He squeezed insistently, enough to break your concentration-- the smoke dissipating as soon as it had come. With that, he had managed to roll the two of you over, you flat on your back as one of his thighs came to rest between yours.

You gasped, looking up at Diego with fiery shock looming in your eyes.

“Wow,” you rasped, “I told you before-- if you wanted to play bad cop, all you had to do was ask.”

Diego removed one hand from your throat, bringing it to his own head and ripping off his flimsy excuse for a mask. He regarded you with nacreous, tarpit eyes that glowed and glittered with the streetlights, his breath coming in ragged, uneven puffs through his sinfully full lips. His cropped hair was glistening with sweat borne equally from the heat of the night and your encounter.

“Baby, I think you owe me an explanation first,” He pressed, squeezing your throat lightly, free hand pulling a knife from his harness that he spun in his fingers while gazing down at you.

You whined, rolling your hips against where his thigh rested between your legs.

“This would be so much more fun if you’d just do things my way,” you pouted at Diego.

“Maybe I would, if you would bother to tell me what your way is,” Diego retorted.

“I could tell you, or I could show you,” you purred, rolling your hips again. “I’m all about more fun.”

Diego sighed. The familiar buzz of lust radiating from your skin-- or was it his own-- that always seemed to hang over your encounters was pressingly prevalent and it was all he could do to not just give in. He gritted his teeth, and shook his head.

“No. Come on. I know what you’re doing… whatever it is. Just … tell me what it is you can do. Tell me why you’re hurting those people,” he implored.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, using your free hands to knock his grip from your throat and coming to a sitting position, as Diego remained crouched over you.

“All you hero-types. You’re no fun. You want to know what I can do? That pleasant little hum you feel? That’s you. Well, it’s me. But it’s you. I don’t make anyone feel what they don’t already… but I can use it against them. That first night at the bar? That,” you shuddered, “That rat was going to force himself on some poor girl. I could feel his every feeling as he was preying on her. I had to stop it. It’s simple, honeybunch. I do what you do, but better. I’ll make them choke in it, their own fear, their self-hatred, their inadequacy, their lust, I’ll drown them in it, and they’ll thank me for it. Because I’m nothing if not merciful,” you gritted out.

Diego’s mind reeled, jaw slack from your confession. He knew it! You were an empath, an enhanced emotional manipulator. Except you seemed to be able to manifest emotions into something tangible, something harmful.

Suddenly, the weight of your confession seemed to crush Diego, you had exploited every feeling of his during your encounters to gain an upper hand. And he hadn’t truly known about it until now.

You felt the surge of his rage, his disgust, his fear with you before he could say it--

“You c-can’t-- you can’t do that,” Diego said. “Kililng people who haven’t even done anything yet? It’s w-wrong. Y-you’re w-wro-wrong,” He stuttered out, clearly distressed, but advancing even further into your space.

“As opposed to you?” You bit out. “You wait until someone’s already hurting or hurt someone else to do something. How are you any better? Who are you to judge me,” you spit through gritted teeth.

“You’re a killer,” Diego pressed, pushing back from you and coming to stand.

“Sticks and stones. So are you. But I don’t hate you for it,” you snarled, jumping into a standing position, squaring your shoulders before Diego’s imposing form.

“You could always work with me,” Diego offered, “ We could take what you can do and just… re-tool it a bit.”

You ground out a harsh laugh.

“Unlikely, you absolutely patronizing dick. You don’t want anything to do with me other than to change me, control me. You’re just like them.”

With that, you unleashed a slew and flurry of attacks on Diego, swinging your hips around to level a kick at his gut, knocking him to his knees, where your arm was ready to strike a heavy blow against his cheek, your rage fueling the unnatural strength behind the hit.

Diego sprawled against the concrete of the rooftop, half conscious after blows you’d dealt him.

You stood over Diego now, looking down at his prone form.

“I would never want anyone who only means to stifle me. To take me apart until there’s nothing left. Never.” You spit a glob of bloodied saliva at Diego’s feet, leaving him in his semi-conscious, battered state-- the guilt only slightly prickling you.

His fear-- choking on half-gasped words from behind the tremulous task of tripping over his own tongue-- followed you like a stuttering stormcloud. It stung. Knowing that he was afraid of you.

---

Okay. The guilt was more than slight.

All he had wanted to do was help, right?

Years alone with your power, the sting of Adler’s rejection as a child, it all weighed down on you like the crushing magnitude of Atlas. You didn’t really want to hurt him.

You sighed, resolute. You just needed to make sure.

With that, you headed out in the storm. Headed toward Diego.

---

The rain pounded on the walls of the Fighting Lion, plunking heavily like half-hewn nails tossed onto the small window in Diego’s back bedroom. He could hear as it landed on the brick, the wet stone and stormy atmosphere making the air thick with the scent of sagebrush and rain.

A kind of whoosh passed through the room, prompting him to turn from where he was folding his laundry on the bed to see you propped against the door, legs crossed at the ankles, looking every bit as if you belonged.

“Wow, Big Deal. Nice digs,” you said as you sauntered in the room, staring at the case at the foot of the bed that was full of Diego’s knives. “Not what I’d expect coming from a dude who hails from the city’s biggest mansion. But still -- homey.”

Diego ignored the jab about his upbringing in favor of the real question.

“How did you get in here?” He asked, seemingly --and to you, maddeningly-- disinterested in your presence as he continued stacking his paired socks into their rightful place in his bureau.

“Uh, have you seen this place? It’s not exactly rigged with ‘Entrapment’ levels of security,” you snarked, folding your arms across your chest.

“Does that make you a cat burglar? Are you Catherine Zeta-Jones in this scenario?” Diego glanced at you from his socks, cocking a strong eyebrow.

“If you want me to be, sweetie,” you shrugged. “But, uh -- and don’t take this the wrong way, Diego, but you don’t exactly have anything I’d want to steal.”

“Then I’ll amend the question. What are you doing here?” Diego asked, finally turning to fully face you, taking in your form as you stood by his bed. The sight causing a pleasantly-unpleasant little something to prickle across his skin.

No, no, it’s not like that, he chided himself. Besides. You were an absolutely monumental pain in his ass. And his head. And basically every other body part of his you came in contact with. Nope, nope... Don’t think about her body parts “coming into contact” with anything of yours, he scolded.

“Aw, well now, Big Deal. Maybe I just missed you?” You mused.

“Doubtful. Did you come back to kick my ass with your freaky little homicidal chokehold some more?” Diego snapped.

Ouch. Maybe you had gone too far in your last little encounter. After all, wasn't that why you were there? To check on your favorite knife-wielding antagonist? To make sure you hadn't actually hurt him?

But what came out instead was--

"Is there any other kind of chokehold?" You hummed, arching your brow.

Before he could stop himself, Diego retorted, “Based on our last meeting, I think you know there is."

Momentarily stunned into silence, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks at the memory of his hands on your throat, you dropped your arms from where they were crossed at your chest down to your sides, hands flexing nervously. You chuckled.

"Heh. As tempting as that offer is, pretty boy, I only came to make sure I didn't ring your bell too bad."

Diego leaned against his dresser, tilting his head back and looking down his perfect, strong nose at you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I must be going fuckin' deaf. Did you just say you slunk in here with your little kitten tail between your legs to say you were sorry?" Diego snorted, obviously pleased with himself as he saw the obvious fluster cross your face.

Okay, now he was pissing you off. You came here with good will and he sasses you? Two can play at that, as you two so often do...

"You must be fuckin' deaf, dipshit. I didn't say I was here to say I was sorry. I did say I wanted to make sure I didn't kick your sorry ass into oblivion. Which, you're obviously fine, so I'll just be going." You crossed Diego's room, breezing for the door.

Honestly, why did you think this was a good idea? Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Diego caught your arm as you passed him in your hurried attempt at an exit. You gave a half-hearted tug to pull your arm from Diego's grip, surprised to find how firm it was. You turned your head to meet Diego's gaze, throat closing around your sudden nerves. Diego's eyes were molten, boring into you with quizzical questions and low-burning heat. His grip on your arm afforded you an insight into the unique blend that was his confusion and simmering passion.

"What are you doing?" You asked.

"Come on," Diego drawled. "You clearly know what I'm feeling. But I have no idea what you're feeling. You have me at a disadvantage. I don't like it."

"Every time we meet, I have you at a disadvantage," you snarked. At the brief hurt that flashed across Diego's face, you sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I meant what I said when I told you I was coming to check on you … I just--"

You looked down at your feet, the laces in your boots suddenly incredibly interesting to you. Diego's other hand gently gripped your chin, his thumb pressing into its apex, fingers curled beneath your jaw.

"D-don't do that-- keep going. Tell me what you're feeling for once," Diego implored, eyes meeting yours once more, lips ever-so-close to yours. “Please,” he added, softly.

Had your heart been thudding like this the whole time?? Was your jacket always this hot? All you could hear was the pounding sheet of rain, pressing itself into your brain, growing fuzzier. Diego's proximity to your person was decidedly distracting. Wholeheartedly overwhelming.

Could he really not tell what you were thinking? You were certain at this point it must be written all over your face. Were you not being obvious?? Your burning ardor for him creeping through every inch of your person, drowning your intentions and better sensibilities in anything and everything Diego Hargreeves. You swallowed the lump in your throat before speaking.

"I'm feeling-- was feeling … guilty. The last time I saw you.. I h-hit you... pretty hard. So, you win. I guess I am here to tell you I'm sorry." You brushed your fingers softly over the bruise that adorned his prominent, proud cheekbone. "I… I just wanted you to be okay. Because I think you were just trying to help. And that's stupid. It's stupid. I'm sorry," you hurriedly stammered.

Diego relinquished his grip on your arm, allowing his hand to travel down your side until it met your waist. He cocked his head and studied your eyes with his own mercurial ones-- searching for any hint of mistruth in your confession, but seemingly finding none.

After all, he too knew the honesty behind words that struggled to come out.

"You were… worried about me? You?"

"Let's not make a big thing of this, big boy. You're obviously fine. I shouldn't have come… An honest mistake. Won’t happen again," you started to turn your head, breaking his gaze.

But Diego's grip on your chin firmed, forcing you to look at him again before surging forward and crushing his lips to yours.

And, oh, this was bliss-- you were just sure of it. Your yearning manifested itself in the hand you had placed on Diego's cheek, cupping your hands to the sides of his face before dragging them back to thread through the closely-cropped hair at the nape of his neck, then passing your hands up through his longer hair toward the top of his head and tugging. You took advantage of the gasp Diego elicited at that sensation, sweeping your tongue into his mouth.

Your shared lust bled through your connected skin, hands on faces and elsewhere… washing over you both like warm static, a pleasant buzz akin to drinking just a little too much champagne.

Diego’s hands tugged at the hem of your rain-dampened hoodie, tugging it over your head. Your newly-exposed skin prickled with goosebumps at the sudden chill. You had run over here in the rain, after all. Diego’s darkened, honeyed gaze reverently took in your form.

Never one to waste an opportunity, you took the break in action as your chance to respond in kind-- peeling his skin-tight black crewneck shirt from his own gloriously-sculpted body.

The two of you stood, staring at each other’s exposed torsos, ragged breaths dragging through the air of passion so-stifling the room like incense you’ve left burning for too long.

Diego stared at your chest, breasts heaving from behind the scrap of lace that constituted your bralette-- were those piercings that made your nipples poke so prominently through the lace? WIth this realization, Diego felt himself harden. He lunged for you with a growl, scooping you by the waist and dropping you with a bounce onto his bed.

His mouth latched onto your throat, sucking insistently while his powerful hands rested at the edges of the delicate lace trim of your bra, passing almost reverently across your ribcage.

You gasped as he brushed a thumb over your nipple, feeling yourself growing wet beneath your leggings. You hmm’d a whine as Diego’s mouth found that spot on your throat, his thumb still rolling circles over your nipple.

“D-Diego,” you gasped, sucking in air like you’d never properly breathed before.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Take it off,” you glanced down at the scrap of lace that adorned your chest. “Please,” you intoned, sweetly.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Diego said,” creeping his fingers beneath the lace to lift it off your skin. Suddenly, with that preternatural speed he’d come to recognize as a gift of those who were enhanced, like himself, you seized his wrist and squeezed.

“It wasn’t meant to be nice,” you ground out. “Take. It. Off. Now.”

With that, you released his wrist, and Diego gripped the lace where it rested beneath your breasts with this two hands and tugged, ripping your bralette cleanly in two, exposing your tits to his roving gaze.

“There you go, Big Deal,” you preened in satisfaction, taking your own hands from where they had previously been resting along his strong abdomen, trailing them down to the top of his jeans. You popped the button on his fly and began tugging his zipper down, before Diego caught your hand as quickly as you had just done to him.

“I’ve got this, baby,” Diego assured.

With that, he brought his mouth down to your left breast, swirling his tongue around your nipple, taking the hand still clutching your wrist and planting it above your head. He released your wrist, trailing his hand, down your side until it met the waistband of your leggings. He pressed his fingers beneath the waistband, raking his fingers under your panties, to where you wanted him most.

As he dragged a finger through your wetness, you gasped out a keening sigh. Diego’s long fingers working magic against your center, rubbing up and down your slit before pressing one, long finger inside. He lifted his mouth from your breast, pressing it to yours to swallow your moan with a searing kiss.

After a few more moments, Diego slid his finger from your center, retracting his hand from your pants, his other hand coming to meet it, peeling your leggings and panties from you in one fluid motion. You lifted and wiggled your hips to assist him. As soon as the leggings were free from your legs, you wasted no time in wrapping your bare legs around Diego’s waist, locking your ankles behind him and pulling him to you, dragging your hands up his neck and into his hair, hissing in pained pleasure as you rolled your hips against Diego’s still denim-clad hardness.

Diego groaned as he felt your hardened nipples press against his chest, the microscopic bite of cold from your piercings as they touched his warm skin made him sigh.

The room felt like it was bordering on a hundred degrees, the previously champagne-drunk feeling of your shared lust now replaced with a frantic urge to taste and mark every inch of the other as their own.

As you continued to grind your hips into Diego, he kissed you deeply, tongue sliding into your mouth, running along your own tongue and teeth, tasting every bit of your want for him as he succumbed to the heated buzz of the room.

Your power had its benefits, he reasoned, if it meant this would feel so… resplendent.

The mutuality of your shared passion was enough to do you in. You couldn’t be imagining that Diego wanted you as much as you wanted him. If that wasn’t the case, you both wouldn’t be burning like this, writhing atop his bed with pent-up passion and aggression.

Diego broke his hands from where they had previously been digging bruises into your hips, coming up onto his knees to start shucking his own jeans and underwear off.

And oh, he thought, you were a vision. As he looked at you while he stripped himself, he was overcome. Your half-lidded gaze swimming with hazy, unfulfilled promises, swirling lazily like the drizzle of sinfully sweet syrup over something forbidden. Your lips were flushed, swollen and lightly bruised from the punishing pace of your shared kisses. Your wickedly luscious curves and the glimmering slick between your thighs on display for only him. In this moment, he felt he could die under whatever your power would dish out, if it meant he died feeling like this.

Now bared to you in his entirety, Diego positioned himself once more between your legs, his impressive length sliding to where he had guided it along your opening.

You tossed your head back, eyes closed at the glorious feeling of his skin finally meeting yours where you wanted it most… but, still, it wasn’t enough.

“Di- eh - go,” you panted, your glimmering gaze meeting his lustrously darkened one. “P-please, I need it. I need you,” you cried piteously, clutching his shoulders and grinding your hips once more against him.

Diego chuckled, only to happy to oblige. With a guiding hand and a smooth flex-and-thrust of his hips, Diego entered you with a powerful, needed thrust. You cried out, sound going straight to his cock, twitching from its rightful place inside of you.

“There, now, baby,” Diego crooned, bringing his mouth back to yours and humming into your open lips. “Doesn’t that feel ... So. Much. Better?” He punctuated each of his last few words with hard, firm thrusts of his hips.

You nodded, eagerly fusing your mouths together, rolling your hips in kind to meet Diego’s sweet, but punishing thrusts.

“After all that shit you pulled with me,” DIego ground out, “It’s nice to know-- this is what you really wanted. Fuck--” he broke off as you clenched around him just right. “This is what you needed.”

You whined your assent, keening and high-pitched.

“Mmmm, I want y-you, as much as you want me,” you gasped out, Diego’s brutal thrusting brushing your clit with his pubic bone, bringing you ever closer, closer, closer to that teetering edge. You lifted yourself up to balance on one hand and meet Diego’s face where he was hovering above you, your sweat-slicked bodies pressing into one another with a delicious, filthy heat. You looked into his eyes, your jaw slack with the stupidly good feeling of everything he was doing to you.

You turned your head to face his sculpted shoulder, and grazed your teeth there, biting into the apex of his arm. Diego hissed, obviously pleased with the feeling, bringing his hand to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat and tearing your teeth away from his shoulder, guiding your mouth back to his with the pads of his fingers lightly pressing into your airway.

You gasped, the combined feeling of his kiss, his pressing, insistent touch, and his cock inside you brushing repeatedly against that spot of your inner walls causing you to clench, crying out your sudden, gushing release.

Diego guided your head back to his pillow, clenching his fist, the same battered-knuckled boxer’s fist that had previously clutched your throat, now clutched around his bedframe as he hammered his final thrusts, pounding into you until he met his release, groaning as he came down from his sudden, bursting high.

He sighed into your neck, the lovingly sticky heat of your sweaty bodies pressed together as he eased himself from you, pulling you into his side.

You sighed in contentment.

Was everything Diego Hargreeves did punctuated with such beautiful, forthright power?

---

You both lie in the after, bodies pressed firmly together. It would have been romantically intimate had the primary motivator not been the lack of space on Diego's too-small mattress squeezed along the wall in his room.

Nevertheless, you lie there in complete contentment, basking in the afterglow and Diego's delightfully even, rhythmic breathing.

Said lothario had his head turned into your cheek, nose brushing against your hair. His arm around you, curling you to him and trailing his fingers up and down your side at a slow, steady pace.

Why couldn't it always be like this?

After all, fire doused with water still burns brightly at one time, but loses its penchant for destruction, tampered in cool, calming depths and leaving behind cooling steam. So, too, had you and Diego drawn a peaceable, but joyfully sweaty truce.

In that moment, you could see yourself loving him. You know he'd let you, if you gave him enough time and enough of yourself. The man had not had enough love given to him in his life-- he fought for it, tooth and nail. And had come up woefully empty, like clutching at soft sand that slips through your fingers. He'd had the love of his siblings, sure. But this was -- understandably-- different. You recognized a chasm in him that you often thought you'd never mend within yourself.

But he was so deserving of love. Whereas you? Well, the jury was still out.

When you think of Diego, you couldn't help but think of strength. Assuredness. Agility. His aura burned red in your deeper sentiments. Power. You do associate his memory with annoyance, sure, but also a biting wit that he so-oft concealed. And an endearing sentimentality. And an iron will suffused with stubbornness.

You had gleaned some of this from your foray into exploring his emotions, sure. But you don't use your power at every turn. The rest of it was every impression Diego had devastatingly left you with. You had learned so much of him, you yearned to share a piece of yourself, similarly eager for acceptance. Which then prompted you to share--

“You know,” you piped up in the dark, “You remind me a bit of the main character of my favorite books series-- Ever hear of ‘The Dark Tower?’ You know, the legendary Gunslinger?”

Diego scoffed at that.

“Guns are for pussies, real men throw knives,” he stated primly, but still unable to conceal the smile in his voice.

“That sounds a little rehearsed, Big Deal. But I’ll let it slide. Besides, you don’t know what you’re missing,” you acquiesced, turning your head to face him, your noses brushing.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m not into all that bookworm stuff. Cuz, ya know, I’m not a fuckin’ virgin,” he chuckled. Obviously pleased with his middle school-grade burn.

You met his eyes, yours widening in mock surprise. “Oh no?” you gasped. “Well, then why do you dress like one?”

Honestly, it had to be some kind of world record, how fast Diego’s face fell.

"I'm kidding, big boy. You know I dig the black leather," you crooned. Ever eager to smooth the waters of this moment, of his now furrowed brow, back to the placid lake it had been.

"You're goddamn right, you do," Diego chuffed, his grin now prominent in his voice.

You looked at him, your eyes travelling between his shining, ochre eyes and his full lips.

"I do not aim with my hand; he who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I aim with my eye.

“I do not shoot with my hand; he who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I shoot with my mind.

"I do not kill with my gun; he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father. I kill with my heart," you recited.

Diego regarded you for a moment before brushing his lips across yours, kissing you warmly.

"What was that?" He asked.

"'The Dark Tower,'" you replied. "What? I like to read. You really do remind me of him. Surly, but just. Lost, but ever-searching. Pinpoint accuracy. Deadly. But hasn't lost hope."

Diego kissed you again, running his hand down your body beneath the covers to grip your bum and roll your body over his, urging you to tarry with him on another burning exploration of one another's bodies.

Yes, you think, sighing as Diego's teeth graze that spot on your neck, his warm palm on your breast. You could easily fall in love with him… if you let yourself. You were probably more than halfway in love with him already.

Oh, no.

---

You awoke to the early-morning sun peeking weakly behind the remnants of fat, overstuffed rainclouds from the night before, purpling the sky as sunlight met grey.

You took in Diego’s, sweet sleeping form-- his long lashes fringing his sweetly-closed eyes, his cropped hair mussed from a night of tugging, rolling, writhing. He breathed deeply, evenly, peaceably, as evidenced by the repetitive motion of his muscled torso, his long-fingered hands resting along his stomach.

You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t taint someone so noble and beautiful with your special brand of poisonous manipulation.

You couldn’t stop yourself as you spoke softly to the sleeping man beside you, coming to sit on the edge of his bed and brushing one hand through his soft hair.

“You wanted to know about my power? It’s a curse. You think I want this? This? It’s isolation, Diego-- it’s eternal damnation. I shouldn’t be able to do what I can do … No one should. It’s not a gift, it’s a curse. And it dooms me to a life alone,” your voice cracks as your breath catches in your throat, hitching over tears that were now, suddenly pooling in your eyes. “There’s no trust. It’s what I … It’s what I deserve.”

With that, you left Diego’s room. Leaving him to wake alone to a cold one-half of his bed, fingers clutching over air and the warm memories of the night before. He blinked in confusion, the sting of your rejection settling beneath his skin.

---

When you saw Diego again, it was nearly a month after your last… encounter. The sharp knife of anxiety and longing you so regularly felt in yourself since that day, you recognized immediately as emanating from Diego as you watched him limp away from what you assumed was a particularly nasty fight.

“Big Deal!” You shouted across the street and through the darkness.

Diego’s head whipped up, head turning to the direction of your voice, before meeting your gaze. He shook his head, looked away, and kept walking. Away from you.

Ouch.

Honestly, you could understand why he would. You had done the same to him a month ago. Walked away. But the pinging sting of his rejection dug at you, like glass into the thin skin between your knuckles.

All you had ever wanted was for other people to understand. But mostly, now, you realized… You really only cared that Diego understood.

You took off after him, enhanced speed helping you catch up to his limping form outside of a boarded-up, long-closed bar.

“Diego!” You called, stopping in front of him, causing him to halt.

“What could you possibly want with me, after all this time?” Diego spit.

“I.. I deserve that, Big Deal. I do,” you glanced at your boots, scuffing the toe into the pavement. “Please, just… hear me out?”

You looked up at Diego. Really looked at him. His beautiful, tawny skin damp with sweat from a fight, his usually bright and mischievous eyes sunken under the weight of tired bags that sat beneath them. He looked drawn, more exhausted than you remember. You caught sight of a particularly nasty, jagged cut on the side of his neck that had clearly only recently stopped bleeding, the splotching clot like a raised, splintering cut from a large cat’s claws. A particularly nasty bruise was already forming around his left eye and onto his beautifully-sculpted, prominent cheek.

You rushed to meet him, your fingers coming to brush along his cheeks, mindful of the bruise. He closed his eyes at your touch, lashes fanning downward in defeat.

“Who hurt you? What did they do, Big Deal? Who the fuck did this? If anyone hurt you, I would make them hurt. I’ll make them pay”

Diego dropped the knife you now noticed was previously-clutched in his right hand, bringing his hand to meet your wrist.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered.

“Don’t do what? Kill the fucker who hurt you? Fine, I’ll just break their knees--” you started, before Diego shushed you.

“No,” he said, “Shut the fuck up. D- Don’t act like you give a shit. Someone who gives a shit wouldn’t bounce for a fuckin’ month. Not after a night like that.”

Your hand left Diego’s face.

“I… I deserve that,” you said. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” And with that, you plopped yourself onto the pavement, sitting on the sidewalk at Diego’s feet. Annoying? Sure. Dramatic? Sure. But if something is stupid and it works, then it isn’t stupid.

Diego sighed at you, rolling his eyes before coming to sit beside you, gasping out in pain and clutching an obviously bruised rib or two on his way down.

“Fine. Tell me what the fuck happened. Why’d you go?”

“Diego--” you started… “I-- I can’t be with someone when I’m like this. It never works,” you confessed.

“Like what?” He pressed, bringing his hand to your knee.

“I’m-- I’m a monster,” you cried. “Adler knew it. Everyone I meet knows it. It’s only a matter of time before you know it too. I just… I don’t know how to stop.” The tears you thought you could hold at bay were now creeping up and causing your throat to close around your words of contrition.

“You’re not--” Diego began, but you silenced him with a harsh wave of your hand.

“You don't understand. You wanted to know how it works? I’ll tell you. The power works based on the other's emotion, sure. I amplify what they feel. Cripple them with it, even. But that's not all… it only works, really works, if it's something I can draw on. They feel what I want them to feel-- because I feel it too …" you admitted. “Everything I ever do to someone else I can only do because I know how it feels. If I want someone to hurt, they’ll hurt… I -- I don’t want to do that to you, too.”

“You won’t. Not with me,” Diego pressed.

“And how can you be sure? Even now, I feel how pissed you are at me for leaving. It’s humming beneath your skin. I can feel it.”

Diego nodded, picking up the knife he had previously dropped and beginning to spin it around in his hand.

“I know it because I felt it. When we were together,” he sighed. “We both, we both can do these things. Anyone else would piss themselves if it was turned against them. But you look the danger of what I am in the face, and you laugh. When we’re together, we’re matched. The way that room felt? I know what that was.”

You sat, stunned at Diego’s read of the situation.

“I take back what I said the first night we met,” you said. At the question in his eyes, you continued, “You’re not dumb. That was… that was… something. But I know how to flex my power. I know what fells all men. Fear is a powerful emotion."

Diego smiled at you.

“I hate to break it to you, princess, but I’m not scared of you. I know you think I am, but I’m not. And you know what's even stronger than fear? Love."

You looked at Diego, blinked. He blinked back. You then turned your head with a mocking, retching, gag.

"Jesus, Big Deal. They teach you ‘Hokey Catchphrases 101’ at Dysfunctional Superhero Camp?"

“Hey,” he jostled your shoulder with his. “You know I’m right.”

You stood, offering Diego your hand.

“Come on, big boy. Walk me home?”

Diego acquiesced, coming to stand with a stifled grunt.

“You’re lucky I heal quickly.”

With that, the two of you walked down the street. You matched Diego’s stride, mindful of his injuries. As you walked side-by-side, your fingers brushed. Before you could stop yourself or think better of it, you took Diego’s hand.

When you reached your door, you turned to Diego, fiddling with your keys.

“Everyone’s distinct, you know? Everyone feels differently. Wears their hearts on their sleeve, so to speak. But with everyone, it’s a different emotion. Some flaunt pride. Some are more passive. Do you want to know what I feel when I see you?”

Diego glanced down to where your hands were still joined. He brought them up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“I want whatever you’ll tell me. You’re such an open book,” he admitted sarcastically. You rolled your eyes.

“Come on, I’m being serious here. You feel... you feel...”

At Diego’s urging look, you continued.

"You feel like warmth. Like I could wrap myself in you and never feel the biting cold of my heart again. And when you're not around? The absence of you is worse than any feeling I could ever exploit. I hate it when you aren't here."

Diego stared at you in silence for a moment, before he spoke, “I really think you should open the door now and let me take you inside.”

You smiled, pleased that your honest confession had gone over well, the smile morphing into a smirk.

“As you wish, Big Deal.”

And in the morning? Well, In the morning, you and Diego were still wrapped up in one another.

You looked into Diego’s swimming, honey-and-tar eyes, tracing your palms down the sides of his jaw and cupping his cheeks as you told him, “You have my whole heart. It’s yours -- crush it, hold it, bury it in whatever you feel ... Do whatever you want with it, I don’t care. Just say you want it-- that you want me.”

“I want you.” With that, he kissed you deeply.

---

You were a master of emotional manipulation. To do that, you had to have a decent handle on your own emotions. For years, you’d rested on your own laurels of your mastery of self, indulging only in the most passing of forays into others’ feelings for the sake of your own.

So why on Earth were you so fucking nervous? Why couldn’t you get it under control?

Yet, here you were, hand in Diego’s, fingers laced, on your way to Hargreeves Manor to meet his siblings, months after your mutual confessions of want. The two of you had been inseparable.

Diego clearly sensed your unease, because he turned to you, squeezing your fingers in his own, planting a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“They’ll like you,” he promised.

“How can you be so sure?” You worried, trying to keep all of them straight in your mind based on Diego’s stories, anecdotes and descriptions.

“Because I like you, and they love to annoy me. So they’ll definitely want to buddy up,” he chuckled with a shrug. “Baby, you’ll be fine.”

With that, you found yourself standing in the ornate living room with five nonplussed persons who introduced themselves to you one by one.

As the largest of the group approached you, you beat him to the punch.

“You must be Luther,” you said, pumping your arm in a handshake where his hand comically dwarfed yours.

Luther blinked. “How did you know?”

"Easy,” you said, “You look like a 'Number One.’ "

Luther straightened, obviously pleased. "Important?" he asked.

"Self-important."

This caused the lithe one with the smudged eyeliner who had introduced himself with a wink as, “Klaus, darling,” to howl with laughter.

“She’s fuckin’ got your number, Luther,” he gasped out between his chuckles. He turned to the seemingly-empty air beside himself and said, “I know! She is fun!”

The group found itself sitting around the living room on the various, overstuffed furnishings, in a fun little Q-and-A circle, which was only getting easier all the time, as you found the Hargreeves siblings’ obvious bond to be so endearing. The glamorous one you knew to be Allison had queried about your power, curious as to how you and Diego had met.

Diego had recounted your first meeting to the group, and proffered an explanation of your powers with, "She takes the idea of 'wrapped up in your emotions' and makes it literal."

“And how did this come about?” Klaus queried, gesturing his long fingers between you and Diego. “It’s not like that first meeting was full of warm-and fuzzies.”

“I don’t know … We’ve … run into each other a few times,” you offer with a shrug and a shy grin.

Klaus clapped his hands, a large grin adorning his face.

“Oh-ho! I like this. Diego’s girlfriend beats the shit out of him on the regular!” Klaus happily sang to the massive living room. “Or is that how you two, you know, keep it exciting?” he intoned to Diego in what must have been the world’s loudest and worst attempt at a whisper.

“She does not beat the shit out of me,” Diego protested, rolling his eyes at his brother’s swaggering antics.

“Right, right, you beat the shit out of each other. Honestly, I get it. Kinda hot. No judgment from me, you crazy kids,” Klaus smiled and held up his hands in surrender, flashing you the “Hello” and “Goodbye” on his palms. “Diego told me about you the day after you first met. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it myself when I’m ever-so-alone at night,” he added with a wink.

All you could do was chuckle. Who couldn’t love Klaus Hargreeves?

After that, the questioning from the gathered siblings dissipated into a casual little party, with people pairing off to speak in groups of just them, and with drinks from the open bar being passed around amongst the siblings. Even Five. If you were honest, it was strange to see a thirteen-year-old boy drink frozen margaritas. But you’d had to remind yourself that he was actually older than all of you. Honestly, you’d tried not to think about it too hard.

In between drinks, you found yourself engaged in silly banter with Klaus and Vanya, laughing at Klaus’s stories of eating bagels from dumpsters and his bantering memories with their brother Ben. You responded in kind with stories of your own-- making your elementary school teachers believe they’d had crushes on one another by exploiting their repressed desires, making your classmates piss themselves every Halloween with some prank or another ...

While Vanya was a bit more reserved with her amusement, you’d caught a smile playing at her lips. Klaus outright howled.

“Oh, you truly belong here, don’t you? Reggie would’ve haaaated you,” he gestured at the stern portrait of their father. “Which means you’re absolutely perfect for our dear Diego,” Klaus proclaimed, lacing his fingers through your own.

With that, Klaus turned to you with a conspiratorial giggle and hmm'd into your ear, "You know what they say, peaches. 'A scrub is a guy who thinks he's fly.' And if we're being honest, Diego deeeeeeefinitely thinks he's fly."

You laughed, choking on your sip of margarita. You’d never felt a kind of discordant unity like this one.

With Diego’s family… with Diego, you felt like you truly did belong.

As you and Diego lay together in bed after the day with his family, he’d asked if you felt comfortable.

“Of course, love.” You pressed a small kiss to the tip of Diego’s nose, nuzzling your own against his. “They were wonderful. You’re wonderful. Thank you for sharing all of this with me.”

Diego gazed lovingly at you, eyes, a deep, endless pit of an eclipse, brimming with golden honey streaks of mischief.

“I can’t wait to share everything with you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into your shoulder and settling beside you comfortably.

Ah. So that’s what that warm, soft, cotton-y, cloud-like feeling you had begun to experience since you’d began your relationship with Diego was ... Comfort. Funny how it blended so seamlessly into the burning, cinnamon-tinged, blooming one you’d come to recognize as his love.

---

Tagging: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @winters-buck @qveenbvtch @forever-rogue @ali-cide @fleetwoodmactshirt @stellarkyun @zeldasayer @ayeayecaptaingally @nappingtopknot @holographic-carmen @mandaloriane @pascalplease @phoenixhalliwell @white-wolf-buckaroo @melon-eyes @pancakepike @noturjacky @johnc0nstantine @amarachoren @outrebanx @yespolkadotkitty @agentpike @cryptkeepersoul @netflixandzayn @deadpoolcouldshootme @manchuria @flhorah @halerune @spideymanreads @athousandbuckys @imagining-constantly @dovesgrangers @ravenoussss @pyrosag @rzrcrst

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regrettablewritings · 4 years ago

Note

Fluff alphabet for Tadashi Hamada if you're stil writing for him, please. B, c,s w?

Indeed, I do still write for the lovely lad. Stuff is below the cut

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?):

Oh, most definitely. Tadashi is a very family-oriented man. Always has been, always will be. So it’s no surprise that he looks forward to the day he can start his own little branch of the Hamada family tree. We’ve already seen how he is with Hiro: He’s protective, he’s encouraging, he’s inspiring, he’s good at getting him to do things he may not want to do even if it’s for his own benefit -- imagine what wonders he could do if those traits were applied to a little mini-him or mini-you or mini-you-both!

Honestly, the subject goes more or less unspoken between you two because it’s kind of a given that Tadashi wants kids. You two would be taking a walk in the park or going to the mall and the moment a stroller passes by, he’s barely playing off how much he’s trying to crane his neck to gaze upon the chubby wonder resting inside. You can see the disappointment in his eyes when he fails. Some days when you’re just at the Lucky Cat trying to get some homework done, you’ll glance up and see him at a table with a baby at it, speaking all kinds of sweet words to them. You’ve seen his favorites playlist on Youtube -- it has a decade-old commercial for Legal Zoom on it. When you questioned why it was there in the first place, you had to witness your adoring boyfriend sheepishly admit that the baby in it was just too cute. And also he liked the pale purple walls and thought it’d make for good inspiration.

“Good inspiration for . . .?” you led, knowing exactly where it was headed. You watched at Tadashi’s eyes wandered and his cheeks and ears reddened.

“For . . . a nursery . . .” he responded. It was a mumble, but you heard everything you needed to know loud and clear.

Well, not everything, of course: You asked him what exactly he envisioned for the future.

He admitted he wasn’t exactly particular about whether he wanted a boy or a girl, let alone first or second -- he just knew he would like at least two children so neither one would be lonely. Corny and cheesy as it was, he would’ve preferred to live somewhere a little closer to the suburbs (“Hey, at least I don’t expect a white picket fence!” he justified). His reasoning being that he’d like a nice, quiet area in which many parks and libraries and schools can be accessible, and so any children of yours have room to grow. However, given the structure of the area, he knew that this was going to be a tough call for a multitude of reasons.

Bottom line, though, he’d be okay with living in the city if it meant he could still provide for you and your hypothetical kids the best he could. He just wants to make sure everyone is happy and healthy. But for now, he’s content with it just being the two of you . . . Emphasis on “for now.”

C = Cuddles (How do they cuddle?):

Usually with a prayer that Hiro doesn’t barge in. No, seriously: That bedroom of theirs offers only the most courteous of privacies by way of a tasteful but otherwise unpersuasive shoji. You want Hiro to see you guys trying to get cozy about as much as Hiro does -- which is not at all, given how he pretends to throw up every time he’s walked in on you two. And how he’s voiced his dislike of it.

Given that Tadashi is ever the caring brother and roommate, he can only get away with so many dry, “You don’t have to be here”s before he just feels bad about it. As a result, the two of you have actually had to create a cuddling schedule built with Hiro’s course times, your availability, and Tadashi’s availability in mind. And God forbid Hiro ever finds out about that schedule because all he needs is one more reason to call the both of you Ultra Nerds.

Worse-case scenario, you two get booted out and have to make do with the couch in the garage, cramped as it is. But you don’t mind: Usually, the reason you two are cuddling is because you’re so butt-tired from coursework that you need to relax and zonk out for a couple hours. Besides, for as lanky and more muscle-based as a guy like Tadashi is, his arm wrapped around you is unfairly warm and comforting. You’re bound to be conked out before you can even utter a complaint, or at the very least you’re way too relaxed to register the fact that you’re both awkwardly strewn about the furniture.

So if it had to be put in a different way (and less about worrying somebody might barge in), you supposed you could describe your cuddling as being the snug equivalent to how a college student eats, sleeps, or lives altogether: You both take what you can get when you can get it and try to enjoy it before it’s time to go to your next “adult obligation.”

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?):

Tadashi is a pretty optimistic person so it’s actually hard to get him completely down, let alone long enough for him to actually require a pick-me-up bigger than a brief inner pep talk. Normally all he needs to do is have a quiet moment to himself, some time to cool down, maybe remind himself that things can and will get better. But in the odd moment where this isn’t enough, Tadashi will often turn to his interests.

However, don’t assume this means he’ll hunker down in his lab and focus on one of his projects: He’s long since learned that it’s best to not robotically engineer with sad or frustrated -- way too many power outages have occurred from that.

Instead, he turns to his other hobbies: Living with Aunt Cass means he’s been knowing how to bake for years, albeit the baked fruits of his labors don’t always come out prettily; depending on how free his schedule is (read: not very at all anymore), he may go find a location to go surfing; or he goes to a park to get, like, a cart crepe. Usually being outside in a sunny place (with plenty of puppies and babies around) zaps him back to normal.

Which leaves him with plenty of time to figure out how to cheer you up!

Given his nature, Tadashi has become a wiz at cheering others up. He’s just got this nearly contagious brightness about him. And even if you don’t find yourself as readily bright as he, don’t worry: He’s not afraid to pull old tried-and-trues on you. Being an older brother/almost fatherly figure has allowed him the perfect position to perfect his trade: That is, the art of being goofy for the sake of cheering up his loved ones. He will easily pick you up and jump around with you, hollering about how he’s going to “turn that frown upside-down” -- by actually holding you upside-down.

Not your cup of tea? Then be prepared to witness the most tragic case of Dad Dancing ever recorded in a man below the age of 30, complete with cheesy disco music. You will be forced to witness his arms flailing, head bopping, mouth performing what you had once heard being referred to as “The White Man’s Overbite”. You will beg that he stop “for the love of Mochi.” You will try to have your pleas be heard over the speaker blaring “Got to Be Real” by Cheryl Lynn, only to be further drowned out by your boyfriend’s tone-deaf singing.

But the man will not stop: He must dance in your honor.

And once you’re done wiping away the tears left from cackling, he’ll treat you to some froyo.

If this still doesn’t work, there’s the slightest chance he might pull out the big guns: Tickling. It’s reserved strictly as a worst-case scenario, but he’s going to dance until his feet bleed if he can help it before he has to do that again. The last time he resorted to tickling a little too eagerly, it . . . didn’t end well.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?):

When? A balmy evening in May. How? With a bit of difficulty. Mind you, Tadashi is a generally organized man on the average day. But on the day he proposes to you – heck, the days leading up to it? He’s a bit of a mess. And it’s in no small part due to how incredibly involved his friends and family had tried to be the entire time.

Make no mistake, he’s very glad that he has such supportive loved ones. However, he found himself constantly fighting off a heart attack every time one of them treaded the line a little too closely for his comfort. (Sure, there’s little suspicion in Honey gushing over wedding magazines with you or Aunt Cass asking you to sample a “brand new wedding cake flavor” she was planning to use for some pastries, but Wasabi asking about your ring size and Fred talking about how kaiju costumes were better than tuxes until GoGo had to slam him down really wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.)

Hiro might’ve been the closest thing to normal throughout it all, much to the elder Hamada brother’s surprise. But even then, he was more of less gesturing for Tadashi to just go ahead and pop the question – albeit, at the most inopportune times in the latter’s honest opinion.

“I can’t propose to my girlfriend in the campus library!” Tadashi rejected Monday.

“There’s nothing romantic about being in the middle of a pizzeria and going, ‘Hey, will you marry me?’” he scoffed on Wednesday.

“Hiro, if you ever propose to somebody in front of a mall fountain, then I’ve failed you,” came his dry response Saturday. He knew his younger brother meant no harm by applying the lightest of pressures; he just wanted all the anxieties over with! But this was you Tadashi was proposing to: You deserved only the best. Only the most heartfelt . . . Which was why, in the end, the where of it all was the Lucky Cat Café. Was it the fanciest establishment he could have done it in? Not really. Thankfully, Aunt Cass was all too eager to oblige his request to have the café to yourselves one evening; it allowed him to properly decorate your favorite table with a tablecloth and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. It was admittedly a tad cheesy, but you certainly didn’t mind it.

But this was where Tadashi had grown up. It was where his family – the core of his being – was, where his friends congregated to relax. This was his home in so many ways and if he was to invite you into his family, he wanted it to be done here. Even if it meant Aunt Cass and Hiro were not too discreetly peeking out from the back. Or that the entire time Tadashi was trying to recite his proposal speech, he kept getting distracted by your friends, whose faces were mashed against a window behind you, waiting to bear witness to this milestone.

Suffice to say, it was a very group-oriented situation. But neither you nor Tadashi would have had anything less.

Thank you for your patience!

#tadashi hamada #tadashi hamada x reader #tadashi hamada imagine #big hero 6 imagine #big hero 6 imagines #tadashi hamada headcanons #regrettablewritings #fluff alphabet #fluff headcanons

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mrsfrecklesmarauders · 4 years ago

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James Potter Supremacy

“James Potter is a bully toe rag. He was a bad person”

“Peter followed him around like a puppy. James treated him like shit, that’s why Peter betrayed him”

James yawned laying back on the chair. He couldn’t study anymore. He was done.

“Alright, Wormy. We need to sleep a bit to be bright and fresh tomorrow”

James looked at Peter. He seemed pale, tired, stressed nearly about to cry.

“Go ahead, James. I’m gonna stay for a little while”

“Mate, you need to rest. We’ve been in The Library all the bloody afternoon”

Peter shook his head, staring at his book.

“Come on, I’m pretty sure Pads and Moony are done shagging by now” he laughed a bit at his own joke.

But Peter didn’t laugh.

“That’s my point” Peter sniffed “We’ve been here the whole bloody afternoon and nothing seems get into my brain….” Peter was pulling his hair “I’m so stupid”

“You’re not stupid”

“I’m probably gonna fail. You guys are gonna get tops marks in everything and I might have to repeat the whole year again”

“Hey, hey…” James said facing his friend “Don’t discourage yourself Pete. You’re very intelligent”

Peter snorted.

“Yeah you are” James said “You’ve done incredible pranks with us…”

“None of them were my ideas…”

“What about the time we changed gravity in The Great Hall?”

“Moony’s idea”

“You turned into you know what, for Moony’s you know what furry little problem”

James turned around to see if someone was around, luckily no.

“I had your help”

Shit. Peter was so negative and down. James knew perfectly well that to cheer Pete up, they had to preach him, tell him he was doing things right. James tried to do that all the time. But there were times when Peter just didn’t believe him. That nothing could make him cheerful again.

“Okay” James said opening his own book “Page one hundred and forty what was it?”

“Forty-two”

James opened the page.

“Conjuration. Let me guide you up” James said

“I thought you were tired…”

“I’m gonna revise again, this test is gonna be difficult you’re right”

It would be easy piecey. Minnie usually asked a few questions and then they were supposed to write a little essay on the topic of their choice.

“But…”

“I made this helpful summary, I’m gonna read it. You should write this down”

Peter looked at James, then he smiled.

“You’re an imbecile”

“Don’t need to insult me Wormy, I’m bloody studying…”

“You…”

“Shh”

And James began reading. He didn’t have a summary but he tried to explain the subject as easy as possible.

Peter nodded and scribbled things on his parchment.

After a few hours. James pretended to study again. Actually, he was reading the same line over and over again. He already knew this stuff. And he was so bloody tired. But Peter seemed to be concentrating more, he muttered things to himself as he wrote them down. James smiled.

I knew you could do it, Pete.

Finally, both boys were kicked out if The Library by Madame Pince.

As they headed back to The Gryffindor Tower. Peter seemed to be relaxed. Cheeks flustered and a little smirk on his face.

James’ heart warmed up.

“Wow, thank you Pete. I needed that revision. I had so many things wrong”

He didn’t want Peter to think he had made James stay with him for nothing.

“Cheers James. You’re a good friend”

James smiled as he rubbed his friend’s hair.

“Come on, I deserve a kiss”

“What?”

“Just a little peek on the cheek, come one” James joked as he pointed to his cheek.

“No way”

“You said I was a good friend”

“Keep dreaming…” Pete rolled his eyes and walked away.

“Oi! Pettigrew! Just give in to my sweet face and give me a kiss”

“Shut up Potter” Peter laughed

“You shut up” James laughed as well

“Remus just stands James for what he did for him. But James was a bully. Remus should’ve stopped being friends with someone like that”

“Where’s Sirius?”

Remus asked as James approached him after Charms.

“With another girl” James rolled his eyes.

Moony’s face went down adopting a sad expression. It had happened before, when James mentioned Sirius’ girlfriends. James knew something was happening. James was no stupid. He knew his boys pretty well.

“And Pete?”

“Chess club”

Remus just nodded.

“It’s just you and me handsome” James winked.

Remus smiled a little.

“Why are you so gloomy to spend an evening with me? Am I that horrible?”

“Yes, James. You’re a nightmare” Remus said smiling

“Oi!”

“As long as you don’t talk about Quidditch, or Lily…”

“Bloody tosser”

James and Remus had dinner together.

“Did you notice how pretty Evans looks?”

James couldn’t avoid noticing her hair was longer, with soft curls all over it. Pretty.

“Why did I say about the Lily talk?”

“Fucking twat”

Remus laughed as he chewed.

James noticed he looked kind of sick and pale.

“Do you want my chocolate tart?” he asked “I think I’m full”

Remus beamed at that “Yes, please”

James smiled as he passed him the dessert.

Good Moony, eat up. You look miserable.

Sirius entered The Great Hall. His hair was a mess and his shirt slightly opened. Cheeks kind of red. Fucking wanker.

“Hello lads” he sat down serving himself some Pumpkin juice.

“I’m guessing you already ate, Padfoot” James commented

Sirius smirked.

James noticed Remus flinched beside him. He looked pissed.

“I have to say it, Ravenclaws might be studious and all, but they definitely know what they are doing” he winked.

James hated when Sirius behaved like this. He was an imbecile, playing to be cool and a fuckboy.

“You’re a wanker”

Sirius laughed.

“I’m glad you had fun, Padfoot” Remus said sarcastically.

“Don’t worry, Moony. I’m all yours now…”

“You know what? I was fine without you. Enjoying my tart, and you needed to come and ruin it”

“Lads…” James said

“Wow… Someone is not in a good mood. I thought the full moon wasn’t until next week…”

“FUCK YOU SIRIUS”

“Rem…”

“What am I doing? I just came here to share dinner with my friends, and you started insulting me”

“Then go! Bloody go with your new sweetheart or whatever…”

“Prongs…” Sirius complained

James raised his shoulders “I don’t know what’s going on…”

“You know what? I might go with Pru and have dinner with her…”

“I’m not stopping you!”

“You’re such a tosser Moony…”

“Thank you very much…”

“I can’t believe you’re on his side, James”

“I’m not in anybody’s side”

Sirius rolled his eyes and left furiously.

“Sirius…” James called after him.

But Sirius ignored him.

James raised an eyebrow to Remus.

“What was that all about?”

“I’m sick of him bragging about girls”

“Moony…”

“I’m not longer hungry” he stood up “I’m gonna go to the dorm”

“I’m coming with you”

As they were walking back, Remus stopped. And he leaned on the wall with pain.

“What is it Remus?”

“I’m fine.”

“Remus…”

“My hip hurts a bit”

“Let’s go The Hospital Wing”

“James, it’s nothing…”

“Don’t be stupid, Remus”

James hated when Remus didn’t take care of himself. He was clearly in pain, and he didn’t want to do anything about it.

“Remus…”

“Jus’ take me to the dorm, James”

James let Remus leaned on him as he placed his arm around him.

“This is ridiculous”

“Shut up, Lupin. You should be pleased you’re in this position with me. Anyone would kill to be on your shoes”

Remus laughed “Tosser”

James was smiling now. He loved making his friends happy.

“I’m still worried though”

“I’m okay…”

James didn’t insist. They got to their dorm and James helped Remus lay down in bed. James made Remus swallow a relaxing potion his mum had given him in case of any stress. Remus needed to sleep for a bit. Remus must’ve known what it was because he didn’t complain.

“Cheers”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to…”

“I’m fine, really” Remus smiled

“Moony…”

“Prongs…”

James sat down on Remus’ bed. He rubbed his friend’s hair gently.

“Sirius will stop seeing all those girls” he said “He’s gonna come back to us”

To you.

James saw Remus closing his eyes, the potion was taking effect now.

“You’re a good friend, Prongs” Remus said before drifting to sleep.

“James and Sirius were a pair of stupid boys who didn’t give a shit about anyone. Popular rich boys in a good position to bully others”

James waited for Sirius to come back. The letter he had received from his parents this morning must’ve been bad, because after that, Sirius disappeared all day. Remus seemed to be bloody worried, he had insisted on coming with James, but he didn’t let him. He had instructed Pete to take care of him. Remus needed to rest. The full moon had been the day before.

James considered having a smoke while he waited. But he thought better of it, he didn’t know how. And he didn’t want to go back and ask Remus for one.

Finally, James saw the figure of Sirius coming to the castle.

“Where were you?”

Sirius’ eyes looked puffed. He had been crying.

“Having a romantic moonlight walk by myself” Sirius laughed “You didn’t have to wait for me, Prongs”

Sirius wanted to walk by but James stopped him.

“Just stop with this, Pads”

“With what?”

“You can fool anyone in the world. Not me”

Sirius snorted “I don’t know what you’re talking about”

James was getting impatient.

“I’m very offended, Pads”

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think I ever did or said anything to make you believe that you have behave like this idiot fuckboy who doesn’t give a shit about anything or anyone…”

Sirius looked hurt “I…”

“Why are you behaving like this around me?”

“Prongs…”

“I KNOW YOU CARE, PADFOOT”

James didn’t mean to yell but he didn’t know what else to do. Sirius jumped.

“I know you care about your parents and it affects you whatever they say on those letters… I know you miss Regulus that you love him despite all….”

Sirius looked down.

“I know you don’t give a shit about any of those girls… You know? You’re hurting Moony…”

Sirius looked up at that. His eyes were glittery. He was biting his inner lip to avoid crying. James knew him too well.

“I didn’t mean to”

“Sirius you’re not made of stone. You’re allowed to feel”

Sirius shook his head.

“You…you don’t understand…”

“I do…”

“I have… I have expectations… Everyone is looking at me…”

“Fuck what they think…”

“I’m so…I’m so scared” Sirius had tears on his eyes.

“Pads… I’m your best friend. I don’t care if you break down…”

Sirius kept shaking his head.

“Sirius…” James said more softly “Come here…” he opened his arms.

“I…”

“Come here”

James hugged Sirius. His friend seemed to be tense between his arms.

“It’s okay to cry, Sirius. I’m not gonna judge”

“James…” Sirius whispered before bursting into tears.

“It’s okay Pads. I’m here” James whispered “I’m always gonna be here”

Sirius sobbed even more on his shoulder. Letting out everything he had been accumulating.

Later, as they approached the Portrait Hall, Sirius stopped James.

“Why would do without you James?”

James smiled.

“I honestly don’t bloody know. I take you ass out of the worst situations”

Sirius laughed.

“I do care about Moony” he said looking down, and kind of blushing? “I never intended to hurt him. He is one of my best friends…”

“But not your best friend, right? That’s me”

Sirius smiled “That’s you”

James smiled back “You should tell him then. Just fix things with Moony…”

Sirius nodded.

James entered the Common Room, climbing up to their dorm. Sirius followed. Before James opened the door, he turned to look at Sirius, he smiled and winked, letting him know everything was okay. And back to normal.

Then James opened the door.

“Hello boys…. Who fancies having his ass beaten by me in an Exploding Snap Game?”

“Lily should never have chosen James. He was a bully who molested her best friend and couldn’t take a no for an answer”

James didn’t particularly like Petunia. And he knew she hated him. And then it was Vernon, Petunia’s fiancé. James seemed to irritate Vernon with only his mere presence. He was eyeing at James with such furry and disgust, and he wasn’t even trying to be discreet. James felt uncomfortable.

Petunia was talking about their apparent perfect life. They had bought a new muggle car, that seemed to be a thrill for muggles. Vernon had been promoted on his job; James didn’t know what he did. He had explained but James didn’t seem to understand, it sounded boring. They were talking about the preparations for their upcoming wedding.

Lily seemed tensed. She had tried to comment and congratulate her sister. But that bitch shut her up. James was about to take his wand out and jink the shit out her. But he didn’t want to look like a mental on Lily’s house. And they were all muggles. James had to behave like a gentleman.

Lily’s hand moved nervously under the table. James took it on his own. Lily finally looked at him. James smiled. Lily smiled back grateful to have him here.

After dinner, James thanked Mr. and Mrs. Evans over and over again for the delicious dinner. Mr. Evans was nice. Mrs. Evans seemed to be a bit awkward around him. Lily had told him she acted like that around everyone magical.

The Evans started to be very busy with Petunia’s wedding. Her and her mother discussed about dresses and other stuff. They talked about decoration, food, music all that. As if James didn’t know some spells to prepare a ceremony in seconds. Poor muggles, James loved having magic.

Lily seemed sad, she felt out of place as she watched her family discuss those things.

“James, can we go somewhere else?” pleaded

“Of course”

James took Lily’s hand and dragged her to the kitchen. They needed to hide from the muggles to be able to apparate.

“Where do want to go?”

“Anywhere but here” Lily said with tears in her eyes.

James wiped them up gently, before apparating. James took Lily to The Potter’s beach house. It was the only place he could think of. It was his happy place. He had so many memories there. As soon as they got there, Lily began pacing.

She snorted

“They have the nerve… They just keep celebrating and being happy about Petunia and her wedding… And they don’t have any idea of what a horrible world we are living in”

James knew what she was talking about. The war. James and Lily had decided to join Dumbledore’s Order after graduation and fight.

“I have explained it to them… I really have. What I would do” Lily continued “And they just don’t understand. They don’t seem to care actually”

“Hey, Lils…”

“I mean until they don’t see something on the telly they won’t believe it, but there won’t be something on the telly… Fuck…”

“Lils…”

“And Petunia is now the golden girl because she is going to get married.... Since when getting married is better than giving up your life to fight for something good…”

“Lily…” James had reached her. He made her stop and look at him.

“And I’m doing this for them! James! I’m fighting for them!”

James smiled, stroking her hair.

“You need to yell”

“What?”

“You need to let it all out”

“I don’t…” Lily snorted

“Let me show you”

James took out his wand and performed a silent charm on the house.

“Now you can yell all you want without no one bothering you”

“I’m not gonna do that” Lily smiled

“Why not? You’re gonna feel better, trust me”

“James…” Lily bit her lip

“Like this… Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah”

James yelled. Lily laughed at him.

“Your turn”

Lily shook her head. She was smiling behind her sweater sleeve.

“Come on, babe. Trust me”

Lily took a deep breath before yelling.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

James laughed amused at his girlfriend.

“FUCK YOU PETUNIA!! FUCK YOU SNAPE!! FUCK EVERYONE!”

“FUCK EVERYONE!”

“FUCK EVERYOOOOONEEEEEE!!”

They both laughed. Then James pulled Lily towards him.

“Fuck everyone but you” she whispered now

James kissed her.

“I’m so in love with you Lily”

Lily smiled so beautifully that James’ heart jumped on his chest.

“How long that spell lasts?” she asked

“An hour or so, why?”

Lily blushed “Perfect. Let see if you make good silencing charms”

James’ face was on fire, he was sure he was bright red.

Lily laughed. And then she kissed him so fiercely, like she never had done before.

James heart was jumping on his chest. He was so in love with Lily that sometimes it scared him.

Lily began unbuttoning James’ shirt. He took it off.

Oh, bloody hell. He had had sex before but not with Lily. He was bloody nervous. What if fucked it up? James found himself breathing nervously and shaking for some reason.

Lily took off her sweater and dress. And she stood there only on her underwear. Lily smiled embarrassed.

“Oh shit…”

James sighed because he had no other words to say. But before he could say anything else, Lily kissed him again.

They laid on the nearest couch. James on top of her. He was still shaking, like a tosser. Why did this happen to him? He was supposed to be confident. But James was nervous, he really didn’t want to fuck it up.

Lily didn’t seem to notice. She seemed to confident and sexy, even though James knew it was her first time.

She smiled stroking James’ cheek. They stared into each other’s eyes.

“Are you sure about this, Lils?”

James was surprised on how shaken his voice sounded.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life” she said “I love you, James”

James was out of breath for a second.

“I love you too”

And James proceeded to kiss Lily’s lips, then Lily’s neck and breasts… He needed to warm up his body to avoid shaking.

“Oh James…” Lily sighed as he kissed her body.

This would be one of the most precious moments in James’ life. He was completely in love.

#harry potter #Marauders #maraudersera #James Potter #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #peter pettigrew #Lily Evans #jily #james potter supremacy #marauders fanfiction

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berrynarrybanana · 4 years ago

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deck the halls pt. 3

A/N: This one is a little shorter, and it has a lot of angst and sadness towards the end, and I can’t promise that it’s going to get better as the story goes on, but I do promise there is a happy ending. Please enjoy this little chapter filled with soft Harry (Until he’s not) and let me know what you think of the story so far. I love you all bunches, and thank you for reading!

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Angst, mentions of smut, mentions of bisexuality and naughty things.....hehe

November 12

Harry woke up with Holland’s head tucked into his chest.

For a brief moment, he was actually confused by the body pressed into his side. It had been ages since a girl had stepped foot in his flat, and even longer since one stayed the night in his bed. His eyes took a second to adjust to the darkness of his bedroom as Holland stirred, pushing her nose further into the collar of his shirt with a tiny whimper. Harry turned his head, softly shushing her as he pressed a firm kiss to her hairline. He let his palm rub up and down the center of her back before he tightened his arm around her body to keep her close.

For the first time in sixteen years, Harry didn’t have a nightmare about Holland or Jack Frost.

So far as he knew, he didn’t even have a dream at all.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of Holland as his lips curved into a smirk. He pressed a soft series of kisses over her hairline and her forehead as he slipped his hand to her upper back. He felt her fingers tighten in his shirt, pulling it just a little as her whimpers turned to soft hums. He still couldn’t believe that she was really here, living just across the hall from him.

Never in his life did he imagine they would be tucked in bed together like this, holding her while she slept peacefully. For years, he was convinced that he was absolutely insane, hoping that some girl from a nightmare existed in real life, but as he continued to feel her chest rise and fall beneath his palm, he felt sane and calm. She was here, alive, and beautiful. He couldn’t ask for anything more than this right here….

Except for one thing.

His parents.

He could only imagine how his Mum would take to Holland, the two women similar in more ways than just one. The two would probably have Harry running around without his wits, hanging up decorations and baking dozens of cookies during the Christmas season. If he closed his eyes, he could see his Mum standing next to Holland in the kitchen, both mixing their own separate bowls of chocolate chip cookies to see who had the better recipe. Harry’s heart ached at the thought, but this time, it wasn’t in pain. It was a weird feeling that made him feel almost happy and hopeful instead of angry.

“It’s still dark outside.” Holland muttered, her voice quiet and scratchy. “Why are you awake?”

“I could ask you the same, couldn’t I?” He whispered, clearing his throat. “I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“What were you thinking about?” She lifted her head, pressing her chin to the back of her hand, her fingers digging into Harry’s pectoral muscle in a delectable way. “Thinking about me?”

“Might be, yeah.” He chuckled, sliding his right hand under his head to prop himself up so that he could properly look at her. “You look really pretty in the morning.”

“You’re being silly.” Holland lazily rolled her eyes at Harry, but he just frowned back at her as if he was offended by her words. “I probably look really gross, Harry.”

“Shut your pretty mouth right now.” He said, his voice raising in pitch ever so slightly. “I think you’re bloody gorgeous, and I’ll not hear another word about it.”

“See, I knew you were a big softie.” She chuckled, ducking her forehead down to the back of her hand as Harry’s faux expression of offense faded. “You’re a little rough around the edges, but I know who you are on the inside, Harry Styles.”

“Do you?” He asked, watching as she lifted her head up with a quick nod. “Who is that?”

“You have the kindest heart of anyone I’ve ever known.” She whispered. “And you would do anything for the people you love, even Niall.”

“That’s a bit far.” Harry snorted, rolling his eyes again. “Let's not be dramatic.”

“You would do anything for him, I know it.” Holland pinched Harry’s side gently. “I know that you’re scared of living your life to the fullest because something terrible happened to you...but I promise that no matter what life throws at you, you’ll be alright.”

“How do you know that?” Harry swallowed around the lump in his throat, watching Holland press her lips together to hide a smile. “You are a psychic, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not.” She laughed. “But I do consider myself an expert on all things Harry Styles. I’ve known you for sixteen years, even if I haven’t really known you. No one else that I know would try to continuously save a drowning girl in a nightmare if they didn’t care about life and the people around them. You try so hard to act like you don’t care, but I know that you do.”

“Now I’m starting to think that you’re like, worse than a bloody psychic.” He mumbled, trying to lighten the mood. “Sometimes I feel like you can see right into my soul.”

“Something like that.” She mumbled, avoiding his gaze. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

Harry paused, looking at the ceiling as Holland rested her cheek on his chest again.

“I’ve never really thought about it.” He hummed softly. “But I would really like it if they were real.”

“Would you want me to be your soulmate if they were?” She yawned at the end of her sentence, sliding her palm just above Harry’s beating heart.

“Yeah, actually.” He whispered, tilting his chin down as he felt her smile against his chest. “I would pick you every time, no questions asked.”

“Why?” Her voice was slowly fading.

“Because…” He licked over his lips, inhaling. “Because sometimes I feel like you’re my other half in a very literal sense. I feel everything you do, or at least I think that I do. I know when you’re upset, and when you’re happy. I can feel when you’re close by, and I can feel when you’re far away. I would pick you because...well, you’re a piece of myself that I’ve always wanted to find again.”

“Here I am.” She giggled softly. “You found me.”

“No, darling.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “You found me.”

Harry felt himself start to drift off with Holland, his eyes closing as the sound of sirens starting blaring in the distance. Holland didn’t budge, and neither did Harry.

For the first time in sixteen years, he felt at peace.

❄️❄️❄️❄️

Holland’s POV

Someone was knocking on Harry’s door.

Holland lifted her head, her blurry eyes trailing over his tired face.

He was still in a deep sleep, his lips parted as a small bit of drool collected at the corner of his lips. She smiled, kissing his chin before she quickly pulled away from his body. She slipped out of his bed, stumbling around in the dim morning light until she found the bedroom door. She sprinted down the hallway, unlocking the knob and pulling the chain down before opening the door with a wide, but sleepy smile.

“Good morning, Gemma.” Holland looked at Harry’s sister before her eyes trailed down to the little boy buckled into a pram. “Oh, hello there!”

“Hi.” The little boy waved a chubby hand, his gummy smile pulling at Holland’s heart strings.

“Is...where is Harry?” Gemma peered around Holland’s shoulder, but she didn’t see her grumpy brother coming down the hall. “Is he home?”

“He’s still asleep.” Holland moved aside, holding her arm out. “He didn’t even budge when you knocked.”

“That’s unlike him.” Gemma mumbled, pushing the pram into Harry’s flat. “He’s usually a restless sleeper.”

“So am I, but we had a really nice snooze last night.” Holland chuckled, shutting the door behind them before crossing her arms over her chest. “I can go wake him up-”

“Don’t it’s okay.” Gemma turned back to Holland, biting at the inside of her cheek before she looked down at her son. “He deserves a good bit of rest.”

His eyes were glued to Holland, as if he was absolutely mesmerized by the mystical woman.

“Are you good with kids?” Gemma asked.

“I have five brothers and sisters.” Holland chuckled, nodding her head. “There’s even one that’s probably about the same age as this handsome young man, actually. Her name is Avery.”

“Oh.” Gemma was almost shocked by the number. “That’s a lot of kids.”

“It is.” Holland shrugged. “But I love having a big family, so I don’t mind. Did you want me to take him off of your hands until Harry is up?”

“I don’t want to be a bother-”

“Nonsense, Gemma.” Holland waved her hand about. “What’s his name?”

“Noah.” Gemma watched Holland as she crouched in front of her two year old, a bright smile on her face.

“Hi Noah, I’m Holland.” She said. “But you can call me Holly if that’s easier.”

“Holly, hi.” Noah said. “Holly, hi.”

“Hi.” Holland chuckled, reaching out to tickle his side. “You’re a lovely little lad, aren’t you? All smiles, just like your Mum.”

“Mum.” Noah looked back at his mother with a beaming smile. “Mum, hi!”

“Holy fuck.” Gemma whispered, catching Holland's attention. “Holland, he’s never been able to say anything other than Harry and Hi.”

“Really?” Holland gasped, looking back at Noah. “You’re making Mum proud today, aren’t you?”

“Mum!” Noah cheered the name again, lifting his hands towards Holland. “Mum, hi!”

“You’re an angel.” Gemma mumbled. “Or like, a miracle worker.”

“Nope, just really good with babies and kids.” Holland laughed as she started to unbuckle Noah from his pram. “If you need to go, you can. I’ll probably take him back to Harry so they can both nap for a little longer.”

“I think I love you.” Gemma blinked at Holly, watching as she settled her son onto her hip with a soft laugh. “I owe you big time, Holland.”

“You owe me nothing.” Holland reached out, taking the diaper bag from Gemma’s shoulder. “You should get going so you aren’t late for work.”

“Um, yeah.” Gemma nodded. “Harry can reach me if he needs anything, and if he can’t get ahold of me just tell him to ring Niall. He’s got Noah’s schedule down pretty well and he knows all of the emergency numbers-”

“Go, Gemma.” Holland instructed. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, okay.” She nodded, walking around the pram to place a kiss on Noah’s forehead. “You be good for Holly and Uncle Knobhead, okay?”

“Harry!” Noah cheered out. “Holly, hi!

“I love you.” Gemma kissed his forehead one more time before shooting Holland another grateful glance. “Thanks, Holly.”

“Anytime!”

Holland waved Gemma off before looking down at Noah with a bright smile.

“You seem like a smart lad, Noah.” Holland said. “Do you want to hear some stories about Santa and his elves?”

“Santa!” Noah cheered.

“That’s the Christmas spirit I’m looking for.”

❄️❄️❄️❄️

Harry’s POV

When Harry opened his eyes a second time that morning, Holland was gone.

Immediately, panic flooded his veins, and he shot up out of bed.

He reached for his glasses as he fumbled from under the duvet, his feet hitting the ground with a thud before he moved towards his bathroom. He poked his head into the small room, his heart nearly stopping when he realized Holland wasn’t in there. So he took off down the hallway, towards the kitchen in a sprint. Halfway to the open concept living room/kitchen combination, he smelled something sweet. He stopped when he heard tiny giggles that sounded all too familiar.

He waited for a beat, holding his breath as he heard Holland talking softly before the giggles started up again. Harry slowly moved forward, his eyes landing on Noah in his booster seat at the breakfast bar with Holland next to him, her body twisted towards the ginger haired toddler as he waved his little plastic fork around. Holland tossed her head back in a laugh when Noah gurgled something akin to a full sentence out of his mouth, but it was all gibberish.

Harry smiled, shaking his head as he walked towards Holland.

“You were supposed to stay in bed with me.” His morning voice rumbled through his chest, and both Holland and Noah snapped their heads back.

“Harry, hi!” Noah cheered out, swinging his legs in his seat.

“Hiya, bubs.” Harry’s palm landed on Holland’s back as he stood between the chairs, his lips going to the top of Noah’s head before he turned to look at Holland. “Did you make pancakes?”

“I did.” She nodded proudly, smiling up at Harry with bright eyes. “I also learned how to use a coffee pot, but I’m not sure exactly what coffee is supposed to taste like.”

“I’m sure it’s perfect.” Harry leaned forward, pressing his lips to Holland’s before pulling back ever so slightly. “I think I could get used to this.”

“The pancakes or-”

“You know what I mean.” He rolled his eyes, pressing another kiss to her lips. “You taste like maple syrup.”

“You could taste like maple syrup if you fixed yourself a plate, Harry.” Holland giggled, ducking her chin down in an attempt to avoid more kisses from him. “Harry-”

“Why would I do that if I could just keep doing this?” He asked, pouting his lips out ever so slightly. “Holland, please.”

“Later.” She said, pressing her palm to his warm and sturdy chest. “I was thinking that we could take Noah out to the park today, and maybe to visit Niall.”

“I don’t want to see Niall on my day off.” Harry groaned, dropping his head back. “He’s such a wanker.”

“Wanker!” Noah cheered out, a giggle following after. “Wanker!”

Harry snapped his head around to Noah before looking at Holland with wide eyes.

“Did...he...when did he learn that?” Harry squeaked out. “Mate, don’t let your third word be wanker, your Mum will kill me.”

“That wasn’t his third word.” Holland popped a maple syrup drenched piece of pancake into her mouth, smirking at Harry. “Holland was his third and-”

“Mum!” Noah called out. “Mum!”

“That was his third.” Holland pointed towards Noah as Harry blinked at her, his eyes still wide and slightly glazed over. “I think you might need some coffee, gumdrop.”

“Yeah, I might.” He mumbled. “I missed all of that in just a few hours?”

“You needed some rest, Harry, it’s fine.” Holland laughed, eating a few more pieces of pancake as Noah tried his best to spear one piece with his plastic fork.

“You did too, but you were up making enough pancakes to feed the royal fucking family.” He looked down at the plate, and then back at Holland. “Why did you make so many?”

“I only know a few pancake recipes and they’re all for my family.” She shrugged. “There are a bunch of us, so it makes sense.”

Harry looked back at Holland as he reached for the coffee pot, a curious gaze on his face as she continued to eat her pancakes in silence. He watched her munch on the sickeningly sweet breakfast food, soft little hums tumbling from her lips as she got lost in her own little world. His chest felt warm, and his hands were shaky as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“You’re not gonna put anything in that?” Harry watched Holland sit up on the leg that she had tucked under her bum, peering at his up as he lifted it. “That’s gross.”

“It’s not gross at all.” He rolled his eyes. “We don’t all have an obsession with sugar.”

“I don’t have an obsession, Harry, I just prefer sugar.” She shook her head at him, stabbing her pancake.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He hummed out, reaching for a plate as Holland giggled to herself. “What’s so funny?”

“You help me sleep at night, gumdrop.” He glanced over at her, watching her cheeks tinge a darker shade of pink. “I guess I really do have to move in.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Harry mumbled. “I’ll go across the hall right now.”

“Maybe after your pancakes and the park, gumdrop.” She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Oh, by the way, your sister said that she loves me. I think I’ve been adopted into your family!”

She’s not the only one that loves you, baby.

Harry bit his tongue, holding the words back.

“Guess we’ll have to hang a stocking with your name on her mantle.” Harry mumbled, tossing a few pancakes onto his place.

Holland beamed at him, her eyes just as soft as her smile.

Yeah, Harry was definitely in love.

❄️❄️❄️❄️

November 14 Holland’s POV

Holland and Harry ended up pushing their pizza date back a few days.

They spent an entire day with Harry’s nephew, playing at the park and eating lunch in a small cafe just down the street from Harry’s record shop. Holland figured out that Harry actually owned the business, and that he’d been running it successfully for three years. He bought it after spending an entire year working morning, noon, and night. He spent most of his time babysitting Noah while interning for a digital media company, so most of his time was spent in Gemma’s flat. He saved up enough money to put the deposit down, and then he got a loan to buy off the rest. He broke even the first year, his shop booming with uni students and the like.

Holland could see just how proud Harry was when he talked about the shop, and that little glimpse of passion for something other than Noah and Gemma told her a little more about Harry’s personality. He had a hard work ethic, and he chased after the things he wanted in life without hesitation. That was an extremely admirable trait for him to have, and Holland had to admit it made her want him just a little more than before. But it was only one of the things that had her head over heels for the long haired lad she’d been spending so much time with.

Seeing him with Noah made her heart ache, but in a good way.

Holland was only slightly afraid that she might not be able to have that kind of life with Harry. It sucked, but she had to think about the negative outcome that could occur if she didn’t get to work on increasing Harry’s Christmas Spirit. He was slowly coming around to certain things, and his little comment about hanging a stocking with Holland’s name on Gemma’s mantle made her think that maybe he was finally coming around to the idea...but then some kid in a santa hat nearly knocked him over at the park and he went right back to snarling about Christmas.

It was two days later now, and they still hadn’t sat down for an official talk about everything that was going on. After their park day, Gemma had fallen asleep on Harry’s sofa before they got back with her son. Harry ended up tucking Gemma in his bed with Noah before sneaking off to Holland’s for a much needed night of peaceful sleep. The next morning, they decided to take Noah off of Gemma’s hands again, and they ended up going to the city part of London to be a bit more touristy. They rode the London Eye, and stood outside of Buckingham Palace with all of the other tourists visiting London. Harry hated it, but Holland and Noah loved every second.

That night went exactly like the night before, but Gemma was awake when they returned to Harry’s flat. They ended up inviting Niall, Mitch, and Sarah over to enjoy some Indian takeout while they watched Frozen on Harry’s tv. Noah sat in Holland’s lap the whole time, and they both tuckered out about halfway through the movie. Niall quickly removed Noah from Holland’s grasp before tucking him into his pram with a thick blanket. After everyone left for the night, Harry cleared up the takeout containers before convincing Holland to climb into his bed.

Now, she was sitting on his lap with her fingers pressing against his chest and he was dying.

“Why are you awake? He groaned, tossing his arm over his eyes to block the bright light of the sun from his eyes. “It’s too early for you to be this happy.”

“I’m well rested, Harry!” She giggled, patting his pectoral muscles. “And I think I have a few ideas about our situation, but I need to go out for the day to figure them out.”

“Okay.” He slowly moved his arm. “I’ll go with you.”

“You work at the record store today, you can’t.” She shook her head, her ponytail swinging back and forth. She could see the look in Harry’s eyes when it did, the soft swaying catching his attention. “What?”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat, adjusting his hips ever so slightly. “Um, Holland, you might want to get off of me.”

“Why?” She asked, tilting her head to the side as her fingers slipped down to his abdomen, resting gently by his butterfly. “Am I too heavy? Oh my garland, I’m so sorry!”

“No, you’re not too heavy, baby.” He grunted when she shifted her hips, her center brushing against his cock in a way that had his head spinning. “Fuck.”

“Oh.” Holland whispered, her lips pressing together in amusement and her eyes growing wide as she stopped in her tracks. “Pippa told me about this.”

“Oh my god.” Harry let out a breathless chuckle. “What is this exactly?”

“Um, your situation.” She glanced between them. “Back home, one of my friends named Eira dated this really mischievous elf, and he was a proper bad boy. He taught her a whole bunch of stuff, and she told me everything.”

“An elf?” Harry said slowly, his brows furrowing. “Holland-”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She lifted her hands to her lips, a soft gasp flying past her lips. “I keep forgetting that we still have to have the talk.”

“Well, I’m a little more interested in this talk.” He sat up, brushing his lips against hers. “What exactly did Eira teach you?”

“Well, she just explained that sometimes guys get really...stiff when they’re attracted to someone, and that it’s a good thing.” Holland shrugged. “She also told me about blowjobs and like...other things, but I swore I’d never talk about that because we could definitely get in trouble.”

“What do other things mean, baby?” His brows lifted as he looked at Holland’s bright pink cheeks. “You’re not gonna get in trouble with me, I promise, but if you’re not comfortable talking to me about it then you don’t have to.”

“Harry.” She said his name softly, ducking her head down. “I can’t really say, because it was more of a demonstration if you know what I mean.”

“Did she go down on you?” Harry asked, his lips curving into a smirk as Holland’s lips parted, her breath stuck in her throat.

Holland wasn’t that innocent.

There were a few boys back in the Pole that she’d kissed, but she’d never done anything sexual….not until Eira. She was the only person that Holland felt comfortable showing that side to. They were just friends, and though Holland found Eira very attractive, she knew that they would never actually date. Eira was more of a lone wolf kind of gal, and she didn’t plan on settling down with someone like Holland. She preferred more seasoned people with experience, because teaching really wasn’t her thing.

“Um, kind of.” She c;eared her throat, lifting her hand up to scratch at the back of her neck as Harry’s smile grew. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“I thought you were so innocent.” He whispered. “And it was hot, believe me, but this information might make you slightly hotter.”

“Shut up.” Holland groaned, dropping her head forward to rest on his shoulder. “I’m technically a princess, Harry, I’m not meant to be with anyone before my husband.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun, Holland.” Harry brushed his palms up and down her back, his lips pressing soft kisses into her shoulder. “You weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“Thanks, gumdrop.” Holland lifted her head up, giving him a tiny smile. “You’re not upset with me, are you?”

“No, I’m not.” He reassured her, pressing his lips to hers. “I mean...I’m not exactly a saint, Holland. I’ve had my fair share of one night stands in the past.”

“And did you enjoy them?” She asked.

“When I think about it now, not really…” He hummed out, tilting his head to the side. “But I remember liking it back then.”

“Would you ever…” Holland felt the embarrassment creeping up, her face heating up again as Harry stared at her. “Would you ever want to do anything like that with me?”

He didn’t say anything, causing Holland to look down at her hands.

She started picking at the polish on her nails, a soft burn starting behind her eyes.

Of course someone like Harry wouldn’t want someone like her.

She was a nuisance, and an intrusion in his life. She still had so much to learn about the modern world, and it wasn’t fair that she was dumping it all on Harry. He had a lot going on in his life, and it wasn’t his job to keep her entertained. She shifted on his thighs, suddenly uncomfortable in her own skin as his palms stopped rubbing against her back.

“Look at me.” Harry whispered, the tone of his voice stern, but gentle. “Holland, show me your eyes, baby.”

“I don’t want to.” She whispered. “I’m embarrassed.”

“You don’t ever have to be embarrassed around me, Holland, I promise.” He slipped a hand around, gripping her chin lightly before he guided it up. “I would very much like to do that kind of stuff with you, I really would…”

“But-”

“But I’m so fucking scared to get too attached because I know where this is going, and I’m fucking petrified.” He inhaled, his jaw tensing up. “I already feel so much for you, and I can’t stand the thought of losing you as it is. If I give you that part of me, losing you will literally destroy me, and I won’t hesitate to go under that water with you.”

“You can’t do that to Gemma and Noah-”

“I know, that’s why I’m suggesting that we hold off on that aspect of our relationship.” He whispered, brushing his thumb over Holland’s chin. “Because even though I want that with you, I have to learn to be selfless for once in my life. It would be too much, and I’m a weak man when it comes to you baby.”

“Can I tell you something without you freaking out?” She asked, causing Harry to nod. “Do you remember when I asked you about soulmates?”

“Yes.” He said softly.

“The reason that we have shared dreams, and this strong connection, is because we’re like...the highest form of soulmate there can be.” She watched his face as she spoke. “Most souls are made from the ash of one star, but we were made from a really special star, so it’s really intense for us.”

“Why is our star so special?” He asked.

“Because it’s the Christmas Star.” She looked into his eyes, holding her breath as his face twisted and contorted. “Your soul, and mine, are both souls with true Christmas spirit. It’s really rare for people to keep their Christmas spirit as they get older, but you still have a little left, and that’s what makes you vulnerable to Jack Frost.”

Harry stared back at her, his eyes trailing over his face as he tried to process her words.

She could see the gears turning in his mind, the conflict clear on his face.

“Harry?”

“I just need….” He shifted under Holland, and she moved until she was on the other side of the bed. She watched him slide off the mattress, his feet moving quicker than his mind. “I need some time, Holland.”

“Don’t shut me out.” She pleaded. “We need each other-”

“I don’t need anyone.” He snapped, turning back to look at her with wet eyes. “I don’t...I don’t need you.”

Holland felt her heart turn to ice as she stared at him.

“My life was fine without you in it.” He said. “I didn’t ask for you to come here from whatever fucking dreamland you live in to remind me of the things I hate most in life. And you’re one big fucking reminder, Holland. I don’t see why Christmas is so fucking important to everyone or why it’s so important for me to like it!”

Holland flinched, shrinking in on herself as he paced at the foot of his bed.

“Why do you hate it so much, Harry?” She asked. “What happened?”

“You don’t get to know.” He seethed, brushing his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, I can’t do this.”

“You have to, or-”

“I don’t care.” He shouted. “Whatever it is, I don’t care.”

Holland felt her eyes well up with tears, her fingers tense and her muscles tight.

“Okay.” She said. “I’m gonna go.”

“I think that’s best.” He said, turning his back towards her before he walked into his bathroom, slamming the door shut.

Holland felt the tears flowing down her cheeks before she even made it to her own flat.

She knew that he was hurt, and this was his defense that he put up to protect his heart, but that didn’t make his words hurt any less. She knew that he cared about her, that he needed her just the same as she needed him. He just needed some time to learn these new feelings that he had, and Holland had to give him space to do that, even if it hurt.

So she climbed into her bed, and she cried into her pillow until she fell asleep.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles christmas fic #harry styles original fic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry imagine #harry one shot #harry writing #harry smut #harry fluff #long haired harry #deck the halls

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themagicalmysticalboy · 4 years ago

Note

Rarepair week, george&paul? Angst/comfort maybe? Let it be era? Hurt my soul :)

a/n: you’ve got it babe! i actually did some research for the flashback scene so it’s pretty accurate to reality, according to Ringo’s and some crew member's accounts.

Don’t Let Me Down

For as cold as it had been for the last month, the sun was shining high in the sky. A peculiar sight that brought a hint of warmth to Paul’s face but did not extend further than that. He could be in a summer's day desert and still feel the cold churn in his stomach. Looming tall and strong over him was the Abbey Road studio. The uncharacteristic beams of sunlight lit the many windows with a yellow glint. A million-eyed monster ready to tear him to shreds if he dared step closer. And he did dare. He peeled himself off his car and stiffened instantly. He’d been leaning against the passengers' door so long that when the wind hit his back it sent a shiver right through him. Or maybe it was solely his nerves. Either way, he didn’t plan to dwell on it.

A few Scruffs were waiting outside with paper coffee cups in hand and drink carriers stacked against the wall. So George was in. He had really come back. The cold churn rose to his chest. At this rate, he’d be a human popsicle by lunch.

There was a disjointed chorus of “Hi Paul” and “Good Morning” which he replied to with a courteous wave. He’d been largely turned off by the Apple Scruffs for some time now but there wasn’t really any malice. Having your house broken into was more than a bit off-putting, though. So he felt justified. George was the most tolerant of them, buying them coffees and breakfast foods every so often. They must have missed him while he was gone. Yeah. Surely they did. Because I did. Paul pushed the sentiment to the wayside. They still had an album to make. They still had songs to record and a documentary to be part of. He couldn’t let his emotions get the best of him again. That had only led to an explosion.

Preparing himself with a stiffened posture and pushed back shoulders, he walked into the studio with a smile. It was almost painful to keep up but the cameraman was already in his face and he refused to let on to his nerves. He needed some inkling of control here and there was so little of that to grab hold of these days.

When he walked into the recording room, he found people scattered across the room but he didn’t find John or Ringo. It was still early in the morning so it made sense but he was undoubtedly rattled by the realization, becoming more rattled when he noticed George looking at him. Paul didn’t dare meet his eyes, drifting down to his feet. He looked soft, despite his sharp features. Cozy in his furry boots and warm jumper. He missed looking at that face and touching that body and kissing those lips. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d been able to do any of that. Too long.

George gave a thin-lipped smile before turning to Billy Preston at the piano. Was that a good sign or was this small sign of grace feigned for the cameras?

Whatever it meant, it drove Paul mad. He didn’t think he deserved forgiveness but he sure as hell would take it. There was no helping the intrusive memories of the aftermath of George walking out. He had done it so nonchalantly that no one was sure he had actually left until they got to the recording room and found him and his guitar missing.

Something had shifted in the room as soon as the three remaining Beatles looked at each other. John was breathing heavily with an icy glare. There was a glint in his eye that screamed danger. It was focused on Paul. Picking up the bass with a death grip on the neck, Paul just stared John down. There was a mutual understanding in the moment. The rage in both of them was bubbling over more and more by the second.

John yanked his guitar from the rack and they both plugged into the amps. No one seemed to remember the camera crew was still around. They just turned to Ringo, who was already at his drums, drumsticks in one hand, rubbing his eyes with the other. He was pushing so hard it had to hurt. And that was it. John squared up to the mic and began to scream the lyrics to a song they'd already wrapped up but they all threw themselves into it without question. Screaming, banging, and heavy riffs filled the studio. Nothing made sense and every fiber of Paul’s being hurt so much that he didn’t care. He wasn’t alone in the feeling, at least. They all felt some level of hurt.

Ringo was even mad- at the situation or at George or at Paul, it didn’t matter. He banged and slammed away like never before. It sounded so wrong coming from him but at the moment it was the only right thing to do. They sounded perfectly horrible. There was a distinct addition to the vocals and Paul turned to find Yoko sitting on George’s little blue stool, wailing along with John’s screams. Yes. Perfectly horrible.

When the song was up the energy was still poisonous and thick in the air. They weren’t done, not by far. Paul stepped up to the mic and John did not move away. With little notion of what he was doing, he went at the lyrics of another song. The words spat from his tongue with vitriol and fire.

They all needed to scream. Ringo was at the mic at some point, coming up with random words on the spot. Really just to have something to yell about.

When they finished, panting out the last seething breaths, Paul felt empty.

“Way to fucking go,” John yelled, eyes fixed on Paul. “Way to go.” his voice was drastically quieter, more tired and sad and hoarse, eyes drifting to his feet.

Paul’s bass suddenly felt a thousand pound heavier, pulling the strap down against his shoulder painfully. Maybe it was more the weight of his mistakes than the bass. Everything felt painstaking and dreadful for the rest of the day. The anger was gone and the screaming was done. There was nothing else to keep his mind from wandering into a wall of depression.

In the present, sans John and Ringo, he shyly grabbed an acoustic guitar and went to sit in a corner. He worked on one of his own songs, quietly strumming and murmuring. He didn’t like it yet, keeping it to himself. The awkward air in the studio only exemplified his need for privacy. So he stayed tucked away, only speaking when spoken to, like a good little schoolboy. George had even come over to ask about the song but Paul told him it wasn’t right just yet. There was no way he was about to embarrass himself on top of all this.

He went back and forth for most of the day. Playing several takes of various songs before turning back to his own song. There was a part on one of the songs that Paul found needed a quieter guitar part. The thought of addressing this issue to George was met with resistance. Was he really ready to address him? The guitar part could be addressed later, maybe. He could suggest another take tomorrow. But the song. It just wouldn’t be right. And maybe no one would be willing to do another take later. That struck a nerve in Paul that rang louder than the rest of his rationale.

“Maybe,” Paul started, resolving to look directly at George for the first time since he walked in. “The guitar could be a bit quieter next take, y’know? Just sounds a bit heavy.” He tacked on quickly, glancing at Ringo, “The drums too.”

Ringo gave him a pained expression. Paul looked George dead on with a weak smile, though he could see John’s cautioning glare in his peripheral vision. George’s eyes were dark and apathetic. His jaw was set tight.

George Martin came over just when he was about to respond. Oblivious to the tension between them, he clapped a hand on John’s shoulder with a grin. “That was a great take, lads. Why don’t you take a lunch break with the film crew.”

“Wasn’t good enough for Paul,” George huffed, leaving first. “But what is?”

George Martin didn’t hear the remark and walked off to talk with Mal.

“You’re really going to cock it up already?”

“What!” Paul went quickly to his own defense. “It was a suggestion, is all. I’m not treating him with kid gloves just because we had a row.”

“A row? He left the bloody band.”

“Not being a prick for one day isn’t kid gloves,” Ringo suddenly chimed in.

Paul gaped. “Caring about the songs is being a prick now, is it?”

John huffed an indigent laugh. “You’re painfully stupid.” He left with Ringo in tow before Paul could ask for any clarification. Not that he was sure he wanted any.

Stunned by the attacks, he stared blankly at George’s guitar. He had absolutely none of his friends at his side. He had managed to push them all away when all he wanted, so desperately, was to bring them together. They were slipping through his fingers like grains of sand and all he could seem to do was open his hands to quicken the fall. He’d lose them forever. It was all his fault. How long would it take? When would they figure out he wasn’t worth the trouble?

He just wanted them to be alright. He wanted to go back to how they were and just tour a bit. Play on stage like they all used to love. The band couldn’t rip apart. It just couldn’t because Paul would tear apart with it. And yet here they all were, at wit's end with one another. The connecting link to this free fall was Paul, of course. He had made Ritch leave and then George. It was all too obvious that John wanted out - surely Paul’s fault as well.

He couldn’t imagine a world without Ringo, John, and George playing at his side. He didn’t want to. It was something new and terrifying that had no qualms with keeping him up at night, even when three glasses of scotch in. He couldn’t recall the last time he slept without drinking. Even still, nightmares filled his dreams and made sleeping seem worthless and just as tiresome as not sleeping at all. What a poor excuse of a man he was becoming.

With a tight chest and burning eyes, he got up. Thankfully, the film crew had truly gone to lunch. He was mostly alone with a few straggling technicians in the booth.

There was no way in hell he could go to lunch now. Not while it felt like the world was out to get him. Not while he felt on the verge of crying. Instead, he decided to go outside for a smoke. The cold winter wind cooled his hot skin. He fell against the wall with a thud and bit his lip. His eyes were pricked with tears but he wouldn’t let them fall. Not here. Not now.

Dragging a hand down his face, he dove into his pocket and pulled out a spliff he’d rolled that morning for this very reason. His hand was caught on his chin as he eyed the thing. A beacon of hope.

He wasted no more time in lighting it. The earthy taste coated his tongue and warmed his throat. He relaxed on the exhale and repeated the process until his mind was a little numb. The carefree smoke floated high above before disappearing into the brisk wind. It would be so much easier to disappear with it.

“Stay gone too long and they’ll think you quit too.”

Tension pulled at his neck and traveled down his body. With an involuntary jerk of his fingers, the spliff fell to the concrete. He didn’t look at the newcomer and didn’t need to. The calming drawl could only be from one person.

“So?”

Paul reluctantly turned his head to find George’s steady gaze on him. Words abandoned his brain. “So,” he asked stupidly.

George’s features suddenly dropped and Paul noticed there had been a hint of lightness seconds before. Great. Already cocking it up.

“Oh, fuck you, then.”

“George! No, no!” He jumped forward and grabbed George’s wrist. “Please, love.”

There was hesitation in George’s step. He shook Paul’s hand off but did not leave. “Do you even care? Care that I left.”

His brow furrowed and his mind swirled back to life. “Of course. We were all-”

“I didn’t ask about the others. Did you care?”

It seemed like such an absurd question. There was nothing to suggest he didn’t. He was downright miserable. Was that not plain to see? Something inside him made him want to switch back on the defense. Deflect and reject. But he couldn’t let himself slip anymore. Everything was on the line now. His entire relationship was up to bat. He’d just be honest. And honesty wasn’t all that hard when your heart wrenched at the thought of this charade continuing for another second.

“Yes! I cared. I thought you’d never come back and I was terrified.” He was desperately searching George’s face for any recognition of belief. “You didn’t answer my calls for weeks and I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. If you don’t I can't even blame you at this point. Just tell me what I did wrong.”

There was no hint of emotion from George. He had a corked brow that could mean anything. The time passing with no answer couldn’t be good. Maybe he wouldn’t answer at all and just leave Paul standing here like an idiot.

“You want to know what you did wrong?” A look of contempt screwed up George’s features. “I don’t even know where I’d start.”

A weight crushed every bone in Paul’s body. He deserved this. He deserved the heartache and pain. The more it hurt the better George might feel. He just had to hold his asinine tongue.

“You treat me like I couldn’t find writing talent if it bit me in the arse.” Paul tried to interrupt, despite himself, with an explanation. “Shut up and listen!” George moved closer, sizing Paul up. “When’s the last time you took any suggestion I’ve made seriously? You’ve been screaming from the damn rooftop about staying together and getting back to basics yet you sit in your little fucking corner like a punished child, ignoring us to work alone. What’s the point, then? Just to show how much of a pain you can be? You act like you don’t want me- any of us- near your songs and then boss us around on our own.”

George was pulling in unsteady breaths. He leaned forward slightly, really looking into Paul’s soul.

“You weren’t even the one to ask me back. Had Ritch do it for you, you coward.” George pushed him into the wall and Paul took it. “And you have the gall to ignore me! Even when I came to you like a stupid loyal puppy! That’s how you see me, isn’t it? Your little puppy that you get tired of when it makes too much noise. Well, fuck you and your damn songs. Fuck whatever you think you’re doing. You’re not keeping us together and you never could.”

Just punch me. The thought was screaming at the forefront and wouldn’t settle. Too angry with himself to stop, he yelled back, “Don’t you think I know? I see everyone slipping away and turning from me and all I can do is push you further! No matter what I try or how good I think I’m doing, you’ll just leave me out cold.” Caught up in it all, he shoved George back. “And you’re not a puppy! You’re my mate. You’re- I love you, alright.”

His voice cracked and, god, he was crying. He was actually crying and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Really just didn’t think you’d come back if I asked. And if that makes me a coward then sure. That’s what I am. If being a coward is what I need to have you near, fine.”

A muscle in George’s jaw tightened. He was stiff and his eyes were damp. His voice was so soft when he said, “Why didn’t you look at me? When you walked in you wouldn’t even really look at me. And when I tried to talk you just buried your head in your notebook.” He laughed mirthlessly. “But as soon as you have an issue with a song you go in with those big eyes of yours and I don’t want to hate you. It’s not fair.”

“You’ve said it, y’know. I’m a right coward. Scared to lose you if I speak and losing you just as fast when I don’t. Shouldn’t have turned you away. I shouldn’t have ignored you. The song- the stupid song. Don’t know if I even cared about how loud your guitar was. I just wanted to look at you, I think.”

“Looking at me now, aren’t you?”

And he was. They had been staring relentlessly and it felt good, no matter how much yelling they’d done. He wiped harshly at his cheeks to clear them of tears. “I’m sorry for being a prick.”

“Aye. You should be.” The words might have hurt if the corners of his mouth didn’t twitch up. He rubbed Paul’s shoulders and arms. “Just talk to me, okay? I won’t disappear, I promise.”

His smile was sad but genuine. All Paul could ask for. He nodded but then realized he already missed the point. “Okay,” he voiced. “Talking. Always been my strong suit.”

George’s smile grew and he pulled Paul into a hug. He hugged back fiercely, balling his hands up in George’s jumper.

“I don’t deserve this.” The words weren’t meant to leave his mind but they seemed to come of their own accord.

George moved him back and Paul almost pulled them right back together. “What do you mean?”

Bringing a hand up to caress George’s cheek, he tilted his head. “I don’t deserve to have you. Don’t deserve to have this band. Wouldn’t you be better off without me? I’m just here to cock it all up.”

“You… really mean that, don’t you?” With a shaky breath, George brought him back into the hug and gently held Paul’s head to his shoulder, petting down his hair. “No matter what happens to the band, it’s not because you don't deserve to have it. It’d be because we all need space, alright?” He held Paul a little closer. “And you don’t get to decide if you deserve me. That’s my decision.”

Paul nestled into the crook of his neck, scared to ask but not willing to keep it back. “And you think I do?”

“No. No. I just fancy hugging people I hate.”

Paul smiled into his neck. “Arse.”

#beatlesrarepairweek #mcharrison #mcharrison fanfiction #the beatles #George Harrison #paul mccartney #John Lennon #Ringo Starr #the beatles fanfiction #the beatles one shot #the beatles rare pair week

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threadsketchier · 5 years ago

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So I saw the prequels prior to the Originals and it always bothered me how Luke got dumped on a death planet of Tatooine considering the state of that environment and shot that when down in the previous films while Leia got a life of privilege. I was hoping Bail would argue against splitting the twins. I obviously knew why it had to go that route because it had to align and follow up with the Originals. I guess it came off that Luke wasn’t really wanted...?

I already wrote a ficlet somewhat addressing this misconception.

Also, frankly, I’m getting kind of tired of rehashing the same issue - why do people keep assuming that the Larses don’t matter and don’t have a right to be in Luke’s life just because they live on Space Australia? Why do their feelings not count just because they’re low-to-middle-class moisture farmers who don’t live in a palace on Space Switzerland-Utopia? Why the fuck do people assume that Luke wasn’t wanted just because the Organas have a personal preference that was obviously previously established before shit hit the fans and they wanted a daughter and Bail, as a senator and Viceroy - essentially co-leader of his planet - is a fucking rational guy who understands the necessity of making hard decisions dictated by logic over emotions?

The twins weren’t just “split up because that’s how the movies have to go,” it does make internal sense within the narrative that it was safer to hide them in vastly separate locations to prevent both of them from being discovered at the same time and thus lost together, or for their latent Force bond to make them a psychic target if they grew up together and established it, acting like a beacon for Vader and Palpatine and any minions of theirs. It sucks, it’s painful, it has awkward consequences for them later on when Leia’s a bit too loose with her lips, but that’s why these movies have a tragic backstory. It has to suck real hard before it gets better.

Does it seem crazy that Leia wound up raised in such a screamingly obvious position as daughter of a then-Imperial Senator and princess of a highly prominent Core world being trained to follow in her biological mother’s footsteps and become a senator herself, thus occupying a very exposed role in the Empire, right under the Emperor’s and Vader’s noses? Yeah. But also remember that the Superman/Clark Kent illusion can actually work in real life. Assumption is a powerful thing. Your average Joe Citizen would assume that someone as otherworldly as Superman, an alien with the ability to fly, strength to bench-press skyscrapers and jumbo jets, heat vision, and other amazing things, would never stoop to living as a normal, humble, inconvenienced human being. It’s not merely the hiding behind a pair of glasses and hunching over a little with a nerdy tone and habits - it’s the entire idea that a Clark Kent could even exist in the same person of Superman. They don’t understand that he was raised as a human and actually desires this life, and doesn’t feel the need to lock himself away permanently in his dope Fortress of Solitude and never interact with the very people he wants to save and protect.

Vader was lied to by Palpatine about the nature of Padmé’s death, but there was no disputing that she actually died. In his crushing despair, Vader accepted with heaps of self-flagellation that his child was dead. He didn’t even know he had two children. In his mind, whenever he saw Leia - surely they were in each other’s circles at least at a distance before Rogue One and ANH - even if she reminded him of Padmé six ways from Sunday, he would not assume she was his daughter, because as far as he was concerned his child was dead. The OT establishes that latent Force-sensitivity also does not automatically make two related Force-sensitives consciously aware of each other until they mutually know one another as being related and Force-sensitive, so not even torturing Leia revealed this to him.

But I’m going off on a tangent. Let’s break this down:

Tatooine is nothing but a source of anguish for Anakin and his personal loathing for the place made it ideal as a hiding place. And no, I’m not just haha joking about sand. He was a slave there and buried his mother there after slaughtering an entire village of natives he knew in his heart that he shouldn’t have. It holds nothing but misery and failure for him.

Yes, Tatooine is abso-fucking-lutely a galactic cesspit. It’s ruled by the most vile mob boss in the galaxy, is rife with nasty wildlife that’s out to kill you, and is haunted by the troubles brought about by strife between colonizers and the native population. It is indisputably a dangerous place. But it wasn’t Tatooine that killed the Larses. It was the Empire. Just because they look like Soft Folks™ doesn’t mean they were - Owen and Beru knew how to take care of themselves, and they certainly knew how to take care of a child in this environment. They survived to middle age just fine, and would’ve kept going if it wasn’t for those fucking stormtroopers. Just because they didn’t live a life of luxury also doesn’t mean they were dirt poor either. When we meet Luke in ANH, he’s a healthy young lad who still has the privilege to fuck off with his buddies around his farm duties. Life may be tough but it’s not squalor and deprivation for him.

But honestly, even if they WERE dirt poor, they’re still Luke’s family, and they very obviously loved him. I almost feel like I shouldn’t have to restate it, but I will: Owen and Beru loved Shmi, and upon hearing that Anakin died and left behind a baby son, why wouldn’t they be moved and compelled to take Luke in, and why wouldn’t they deserve to have the chance to raise him in their memory? Even though they’d be sad that Luke was orphaned, they might even see this as a blessing to be able to raise Shmi’s grandson and Anakin’s son.

As much as he bitched about chores as a teenager, Luke learned damn valuable skills growing up on a Tatooine moisture farm that, coupled with the Force, saved everybody’s asses at the Battle of Yavin, and went on to make him an ideal squadron leader. Wealth and privilege are not always the best foundation, or at least certainly not the automatic one, for a person to learn good character either.

The Organas are human too. Faced with a difficult choice, they decided to take this poignant opportunity to fulfill a dream they’d been deferring for some time. Sometimes parents wish for a specific child, and that’s their prerogative (except IRL they don’t actually get to pick, they get whatever kid they gestate). If they’d taken Luke and let Obi-Wan take Leia, we’d be having the same argument about Leia growing up on Tatooine. There was no inequality in this decision. Bail and Breha wanted a daughter, there was a daughter present among the twins, so they chose her. This does not mean they valued Luke any less. Since the twins couldn’t be raised together for their own safety, it might as well have come down to a coin toss. Bail isn’t evil for exercising a shred of his personal emotions and desires in a situation where he otherwise knew he’d have to restrain himself. Also, he’d be smart enough to respect the fact that both children had actual family elsewhere in the galaxy and wouldn’t think any less of the Larses just because they live on Tatooine. The only way his decision would be careless or heinous was if he knew Luke was being taken to people who were abusive or so destitute they couldn’t even care for themselves, much less a third person, and he did nothing about it - but we know this is not that situation.

How do you feel about non-wealthy people living in harsh places here on Earth raising their children? Would you expect all the rich people in the world to go take those children away from them and adopt them just so they could grow up “privileged” instead? Think about how that sounds for a moment or two.

Honestly, if Bail had tried to argue about taking both twins because he felt taking Luke to his legal family on Tatooine was “cruel” or “neglectful” because of the planet’s “risky environment and poverty,” I’d hope either Obi-Wan or Yoda would have enough sense to smack him upside the head for being so thoughtless as to insult these people for being seemingly beneath him.

There is more to life than money and power/prestige, and Leia’s upbringing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. She was no pampered, air-headed royal spending her days sitting idle being hand-fed space grapes while her “poor” brother ate sand cookies. She had to undergo intensive academic, political, and physical training from young childhood in order to prepare her to become a covert Rebel agent while she was still a teenager, as if being a child senator wasn’t already stressful and demanding enough. Sure, she never lacked for anything, but that is an incredible amount of responsibility to saddle on someone who wasn’t even an adult yet (like her bio mother). Luke was blessed with far more freedom and peace in his childhood than his sister. And him living on Tatooine with his father’s surname wasn’t nearly as dangerous as Leia existing within the heart of the Empire while actively engaging in Rebel activities that could have cost her her life, even without getting into the whole “daughter of Anakin Skywalker” business.

Also, just because we joke about Tatooine being Space Australia doesn’t mean every single day of Luke’s childhood was THAT eventful. It was more likely 80% dull farm life and 20% mayhem, and that 20% would be mostly Luke’s fault for being a crazy nut like his parents and getting himself into trouble he could have avoided in most cases. In other words, growing up there might not have been nearly as “deadly” as we make it out to be.

#i am in a Mood™ about this tonight & i don't care #high-sodium post ahoy #i know i have the tag #aunt beru is metal af #but honestly i need a tag for #the larses are metal af #my meta #star wars #luke skywalker #grew up in space australia & it shows #leia organa #owen lars #beru whitesun lars #bail organa #breha organa #classism

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jaeminscoffee · 4 years ago

Text

Misunderstood | T. Lee

Pairings- Ten Lee x Reader

Genre- Angst, slight fluff,

Warning(s)- Character death.

Word count- 1.88k

Type- requestedddd

It was a whole cat and mouse game at the beginning.

You know how it's always portrayed that all cats and mice despise each other? Well maybe it's because the friend and foe never really go together since they indulge in a much predator and prey relationship. That's how you and Ten's blooming relation started.

Just like any other fable, or the famous cartoon, might as well be a life lesson, Tom and Jerry; Ten and you never got along. You weren't meant to get along. After all, which super agency's top sniper would befriend a wild criminal? Apparently you did. You'd always find yourself letting Ten off the hook each time in the last minute. The lad was fun to have around. And just like any other untold truth of the behinds of a story, the mice in your story was also only just a misunderstood soul. Ten was more than what he portrayed himself to be.

Chasing Ten and catching him, the first glimpse was your mission. Bringing him back to the headquarters dead or alive was your mission. To turn a deaf ear to anything and everything he'd let out was your mission. To heartlessly end him if he pulled a smart stunt was your mission. But having him voice out his thought processes and you gladly listening to the entirety of it was most definitely not your mission.

You'd been known as the top all rounder sniper of your agency, one for your amazing skills, two for your ability to make ends meet, and three for being a kind soul yet thick skulled if the situation called for it. Your boss, the head, of course ended up assigning a very confusing mission to you as, for the matter of fact, were a very trusted pawns of his. It was intriguing yet confusing because you weren't given much insights on why you're asked to serve summons on him.

Ten on the other hand was to this point, tired of running. Hurt. Wounded by having to bear the weights of his family when all he'd wanted was to lead a normal life of his own. To not wake up in cold sweat, fearing for whether his days would shorten the next second. To make it until arvo without anyone, or anything hot on his trail. To make his way back home from his work space; a small corner dance studio where he'd teach the one's who'd not be able to afford trying to learn at those fancy known dance studios who charged way more than what's required, without having someone tackle him to the floor. To sleep after supper without having to wake up every other minute, paranoid whether one of those people trailed him back home and somehow managed to sneak in.

"He's still watching ,you know?" Ten rasped out loud enough for only the two of you to hear his voice which helped you step out of the cloud of guilt for what you were about to do.

You, just as assigned, started immediately. Still confused, of course. The boy seemed little to not harmless at all. But nevertheless, you went about it. Watching the boy feed stray animals on the way, smile brightly at passerby's, buy a drink or two for the hungered on the pathway, keep the dangered ones accompany on a night walk, he seemed like a moral, ideal member for the lacking society, nothing like the heartless murderer he'd been described to be.

"I know, b..but i can't, Ten" you sigh out, shutting your lids tight to clear up your blurred vision.

He seemed to be the only calm in the chaotic, messed up world you lived in. Now obviously, you did try catching him each time only to let him go, thinking of all those out in the streets and beyond waiting for their daily dose of hope in this dark realm. And to keep a close eye on the said predator, of course.

Finding him crouched down by the alley turn towards his usual workplace, you found it a little heartbreaking to continue heartlessly end him. He seemed so.. vulnerable, broke, and nothing like the walking sunshine he'd been since the beginning of your mission and definitely nothing of that of a murderer. He seemed just like the misunderstood feline in all fables who are usually portrayed as the predator and heartless and only wanting to fulfill their needs type. But much matured and smart you'd finally, spiritually understand the personality of the character, hurt, scared, 'does want to care and show it to all but scared to be misjudged again is what they really are.

"Oh? That most definitely wasn't how you felt when you'd first initially pointed the same rifle at me, remember?" Ten chuckles from in front of you, still in the uncomfortable, cornered, back pressed to the brick wall with your left arm on his chest the other pointing straight to the middle of his skull. His retort making you let out an airy, shaky laugh of your own.

The first time you'd done it, your eyes were fueled with determination, you'd get this done and there would be nothing bold enough to dare stop you, except Ten, he was bold enough apparently. "That department store just got mobbed and you're going to stand with a stupid toy gun pointed at me who's not proven guilty of anything? Seems right enough for me that you work as a puppet for that messed up government," your eyes widen at his statement, turning back to see nothing but a tranquil customer filled store, turning back to the lad to find him out of sight. Ten lee had relatively gotten much more experienced and better and running out of sight, "Ten, You drive me crazy," you speak through gritted teeth.

"You were the first one to outrun me, you know?" you lean closer, only to hear your colleagues get their own weapons off safety and ready to fire any second,

"Now, isn't that why you're so drawn to me? Your work would've been so much more boring if it weren't for me, if anything, you're welcome." Ten replied smugly, proud of all his interactions too absurd to be categorized as normal, nevertheless the few of moments in his life that makes him happy thinking back at it. "Tsk," you slightly pout, feeling your eyes glaze over the nth time that night, this would all soon fade into memory and for what? For the fact that no one was ever ready to listen to the wrongly framed.

"Is the target acting hard to surrender, Agent 02?" you hear from your in ear piece, immediately responding with the most stable voice you could muster, "No, Sire, not at all," you reply, "Then why is it taking you so long, Ms. Y/l/n?"

"It's time, isn't it?" Ten asked with a sad smile on his face. All the days of running were finally coming to an end yet he felt like that wouldn't make up to all his lost days. Yes, he was more than grateful to you. For showing something humane exists where no one ever tried caring for what the other does or says. He liked that, though with the choice of path or career that called for some serious human emotion control, you nevertheless wanted to remain human. Ground to earth, and kind enough to valid his feelings. Valid his existence. Valid him and not see him as a target of any sort.

"I don't want to, Ten. I could try explaining this to them-but-"

"But they aren't like you, they work for those on a higher post and won't stop even when given a solid reason to and you know that better than anyone else," Ten explained rather calmly.

"Yes, but you don't deserve this.." You let your voice waver, finally, gripping the deadly weapon tightly, mindful to keep your fingers away from the trigger, "Agent 02, pull the trigger when I count down to 1." you flinch at the sudden voice interrupting the intimate moment between you and your now, friend.

"15.."

"I shouldn't have accepted the tasks, then i wouldn't have had to be the one doing this, and i wouldn't have had to meet you, and right now, at this moment, more than anything, I wish i'd never met you," You scramble through your words to form coherent sentences and the stipulated time you're given,

Ten laughs out a closed mouth laugh, "14.."

"Really? But i don't wish so," He hums, closing his eyes to fully indulge in your warmth. The same familiar warmth that embraced him during one of the most vulnerable nights of his life. The same warmth that kept him company on each day following all while still radiating coldness of suspicion, "13.." which slowly but surely turned into nothing but warmth all after uncoiling what most before you didn't even bother to, "12.."

"It's not that I wish i didn't meet you, it's just i wish we'd met in different circumstances," One where you wouldn't have to go for all the cat and mouse chase all over again, where he'd be, "11.." a normal bachelor and you'd be one too, who'd oh so much in a cliché manner meet at a café,

"Well, we don't get everything we wish for now, do we?" His voice sounded so exhausted, yet, no hints of fear or despise or cruelty shone through. Just exhaustion, and maybe a bit of….relief? "10.."

"Ten, we still have a chance. I can still give it a..-"

"Y/n, look at me."

"You being ready enough, human enough to study me thoroughly before conclusion has been more than enough for me to prove that humanity still exists, that listener still exists. And I wouldn't want anyone, rather you put an end to this little game of ours,``''9.."

"You need to do nothing else other than stay the same, " he started once again, this time, finally allowing his vulnerability to shine through his voice, "8..", "And to do the same you'd done with me with all those potential targets of your people," "But Ten, just-" "7.."

"It's either you or me, doll. Your helpers there look more than ready to shoot any betrayer," "Then so be it! But i can't.. I can't get myself to- I love you, i car-" "6.."

"There. The only words that were left for me to hear," "5.."

"Your people seem generous enough to let me go in this much of a, how do I put it? Grand.. Way?" "Ten I've got 5 seconds to change my mind, I can do something you know?-"

"Y/n, my love. You're making this hard for both of us, so.. "

He did the said stunt move your head had warned you about, swiftly shifting your positions so that you were the one pressed against the unbelievably uncomfortable wall making your eyes widen, words "I love you too, doll" and "Fire!" mixed together, all you could see the next moment was a small smile on the lads face, red seeping through the material of his white hoodie before his now lifeless body slouched and fell right in front of you.

The misunderstood had been deprived of their life once again.

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fromtheo-withlove · 4 years ago

Text

Pt. 4 - A Reunion

Finally get to bring in a bit of comfort, I hope you guys enjoy! It’s been such an amazing experience getting to share this story with all of you. Apologies in advance - it’s a bit of a long chapter but I’m hoping it’s worth the read.

TW: prisoner shackled, emotional whump, guilt and self-loathing, mention of injuries

Tag-list: @ihaveacrushonjester @tears-and-lilies @starnight-whump

Masterlist | Previous | Next

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Even before her mother had passed away 4 years ago, Princess Aurelia had always been incredibly close to her father. She treasured the time she got to spend with him and wanted to be like him when she became a ruler herself. Stories of the adventures and bravery of his youth were legendary and he had a way of charming everyone he spoke to. And Aurelia loved him.

But after watching Bennett and Gabriel’s arrival unfold and hearing about her father’s plans for them, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to see him in that light again. He had been different since the war began, quicker to anger, quiet, but she didn’t think he’d do something like this.

He had admitted Gabriel was an innocent in all of this, yet he let him think he was going to die, left him terrified and blindfolded while he played mind games. He had even whispered to her that he wasn’t going to actually let him die, but told her that he’d make it worse for him if she was uncooperative. She just couldn’t forgive him for all of this.

“Well,” she thought, “he may be acting like a stubborn monster, but I inherited every bit of that stubbornness and I’m not backing down either.”

She didn’t have any ideas on how to get Bennett and Gabriel out of this mess, but she was determined to see them at least, take care of them as much as she could.

It ended up being relatively easy to make it happen. She sought out Robert, the head of the castle guard, and he had ultimately agreed to let her visit the dungeons while one of the guards he trusted was on duty. He had known the princes when they were young. He had even given them sword lessons for a time and had been a tough teacher, but had a soft spot for them as well. It appeared he still did.

“Aye, war is war, but those boys were good lads. It’s a shame it’s come to this. I’ve told my guards to take it easy with them, but half this damn castle is hungry for their blood. They could use a friend in this mess.”

The guard’s first shift was that night, just past sundown. She passed the preceding hours pacing her room, gathering food and medical supplies to smuggle in, and trying to mentally steel herself for the reunions she was about to have.

The dungeon was vast, spanning the length of the castle. The king had ordered the princes be kept separately to avoid conspiring, as if they posed any threat in chains, shackled down. She was worried about Gabriel, but she decided to visit Bennett first. She needed answers and she needed a clear head for this conversation.

As the guard let her into Bennett’s cell, he reassured her that the prince would be shacked down and wouldn’t harm her. She almost laughed at the absurdity of the reassurance before remembering the crimes everyone believed Bennett committed. Rather than laugh, she nodded politely and thanked the guard as he closed the door and went back to his post.

It had already grown dark outside and the cell would have been pitch black if not for the glow of the lantern that Aurelia held. Luckily, she thought, there isn’t much here to light. The cell was small – enough space to pace in circles if the prisoner wasn’t shackled and enough room for them to lay down, but not much beyond that. Bennett sat in the corner looking tired and wary, his hands shackled behind him on a chain bolted to the floor.

He was the first to speak up. “Why are you here?” he asked, his eyes mistrustful.

She didn’t blame him for such a blunt greeting under the circumstances.

“I needed to see you, talk to you. Apologize. What happened earlier, the show my father put on…. It… shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.” She slowly walked closer as she spoke, then kneeled down near him.

She raised her hand to place it on his shoulder, confirm to herself that he was real and there, but he flinched and pulled away from her reach.

“I don’t deserve your time or pity, Auri. I wish I did. God, I wish I did. Please just go to Gabriel, he’s the innocent one in all of this. And do you want to know the worst part? He has every reason to hate me and he’s probably more worried about me than himself.” He let out a bitter laugh. “You know how good he is and you’ve already heard how much of a monster I am. Just go.”

Aurelia gave Bennett a hard glance. “Benn, stop it with all the self-loathing and self-sabotage. I’m going to see Gabriel after this. Let’s not waste time with you trying to convince me to leave, unless you truly have no wish to see me.”

In truth, he desperately wanted her company and in that moment he couldn’t bring himself to lie and say otherwise. When he stayed silent for a few seconds, she continued talking.

“I came here because I wanted to see you. I’m a grown woman now, I can make my own decisions.”

He finally spoke up, more quietly than before. “I know you can, I’m sorry… You have every right to stay here, but I don’t know what to say.”

“Well I didn’t come here to throw around accusations, you faced enough of that today, but, please, help me understand how things got to this point. Did you really murder innocents in those villages? I- I just can’t believe that. I need to hear it from you, without an audience. How could the same boy I knew, the one who wouldn’t hurt a fly, ever do something like that?”

She said that she couldn’t believe it, but Bennett noticed her stumble on her words, saw the fear in her eyes at his response. He knew her doubt in him was deserved, but it still somehow hurt.

“That boy you knew was pathetic, weak, naïve. When I returned to Lianhar, I had to see that and grow up. It’s the way the world works, Auri.”

Aurelia shook her head sadly. “Your father really did a number on you.” She stayed silent for a moment before asking quietly, “Do you remember the baby bird?”

“Obviously I do… why?”

“Humor me, what do you remember about that day, Benn?”

He knew what she was trying to do, but it had been so long since he’d been spoken to with compassion and a part of him wanted it to last as long as possible. “Okay… We were probably 11, maybe 12. It was springtime. It was that time of year when it’s finally starting to get warm but the weather keeps changing. There was that crazy wind and rain storm. The day after the storm we were so excited to collect fallen sticks and build our own little fortress.”

“We never did get around to building one,” Aurelia remarked with a small smile.

Bennett paused for a moment at Aurelia’s remark, but didn’t want to dwell on unfinished childhood dreams. It hurt too much to think about. He continued.

“Gabriel was inside, probably reading some textbook. We went down to the old oaks, and there was the baby bird, almost hidden in the tall grass. He was so small, and cute in an ugly way, with his feathers still growing in.”

Aurelia smiled genuinely at the memory. “You were amazed by it, shouting at me to come over. Until you saw its broken wing. I told you there was nothing we could do, tried to comfort you, but you were so upset about it.”

He nodded. “I was sad. I think I named him Momo.” He felt the corner of his mouth creep up in a smirk, the closest thing he’d had to a smile in weeks.

“You weren’t just sad, you were heartbroken. You laid near it crying and talking to it for almost an hour.”

“Auri, I get it, I was an overly dramatic child.”

“No Benn, you were loving and hated to see anyone or anything suffering. That bird would’ve died without you.”

Bennett scoffed. “No, your memory is way off. Gabriel was the one who saved him. I just sat there like a blubbering idiot.”

“I know he mended its wing, but he wouldn’t have even known about the bird if you hadn’t refused to come inside for lunch. He did always have a knack for medicine, but it was your heart that saved the bird.”

Bennett’s slight smirk was gone. He grew silent and leaned against the cell wall, no longer looking at Aurelia. When he spoke again, his voice had hardened.

“Well, regardless, real life isn’t like that bird story. And like I said, I had to grow up.”

“So you’re saying that you did kill them? Those innocent people?”

“No Auri,” Bennett snapped, his tone more annoyed than he intended. “I didn’t myself, but what difference does it make if I held the blade or my soldiers did? I didn’t stop them. That blood is on my hands.” He finally looked back at her, eyes narrowed, “I’m sorry if that gets in the way of you reminiscing on idyllic childhood memories.”

Aurelia raised her eyebrows, but didn’t take the bait. “So was it your idea? A plan to show strength? Did you want to do it?”

“Stop, it doesn’t matter.”

Aurelia stood up. “Just answer the question,” she commanded angrily. The sight of Bennett flinching at her demand was like a bucket of cold water on her anger. She quieted. “Please Benn, I need to know. If you still have any feelings of friendship towards me, tell me the truth.”

“You’re going to play that card?” Bennett said angrily. “What do you want me to say? That I never grew out of my weakness? That I didn’t want to lead a battalion, but conceded after just 10 minutes of pressure from my father? That my men never respected me, that they resented me for not allowing them their fun? That they killed my squire and pretended he died in an enemy attack? That they made veiled threats when Gabriel visited with medical supplies? That they were ready to stab me in the back because they felt my tactics were too passive? And instead of stamping out the disloyalty or, even better, dying for my own morals, that I gave up and handed my second-in-command the reigns?”

As he spoke, the anger in Bennett’s voice began to soften, but the bitterness and pain remained. “It doesn’t matter if I didn’t want them to pillage villages or harm civilians, I took a coward’s way out and convinced myself that what they did was out of my hands. I didn’t think they’d go so far.” His voice started to break.

“I really didn’t think they would, Auri. It will haunt me for any days I have left. But I should’ve known what I was doing. A good leader would’ve avoided that bloodshed. When I was a child, I’d cry about the injustices of the world, but then I actually had the power to change things and I was too much of a goddamn coward.”

Aurelia stood staring at her friend, tears in her eyes. “So, now you know,” he whispered. “You can leave with your answers.”

Instead of turning to the door, the princess knelt down face to face with Bennett and wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. The gesture broke down his last barriers, and he began to cry into her shoulder.

“Benn, listen to me. You were forced into an unfair situation from the start. You didn’t ask for any of this. You avoided innocent bloodshed for a long time. They killed someone close to you, threatened you and Gabriel. Put you in an impossible position. You do not deserve this.”

He continued to cry for a few minutes as Aurelia stroked his hair. It was better than he deserved, but he needed comfort more than he ever had and he knew there was a chance this embrace would be the last he ever received. He only regretted not being able to hug her back.

Eventually, he began to breathe more normally and Aurelia let him go.

She looked at him with sadness in her eyes. “I’ve been trying to change things for you both, I swear I’ve been trying, but… my father….”

“Auri, the fact that you even visited is more than I can ask for. I’ve already accepted that I’m not getting out of this mess, don’t anger your father over something impossible.” He paused, then continued, “But my brother…. I know it’s unfair to ask and it’s probably not doable, but if there’s any chance for Gabriel, if you see any way to convince your father to spare him, please try.”

“I promise I’ll keep trying, but I don’t want to give any false hopes about the odds.”

Bennett just nodded.

Aurelia’s eyes suddenly lit up as she remembered what she had smuggled in. “I almost forgot, I brought you some food!”

“I’m not sure I can stomach it right now to be honest.”

Aurelia looked skeptical. “When’s the last time you ate?”

Bennett didn’t even bother to answer the question. He sighed dramatically. “Fine, you’re right, I need food.”

“I knew it! You always hated to eat when you were stressed out, but then you’d end up exhausted and feeling worse.”

“I guess some things never change. Like you acting like a mother hen, trying to take care of me. “Benn, wear your jacket it’s cold. Benn, eat your breakfast. Benn, it’s not a good idea to jump off the stable roof into a tightly compacted bale of hay.” I guess I should’ve listened to you on that last one,” he said with a grin.

“And I guess I should just lean into the mother hen for today – I also brought medical supplies. Your shoulder and head looked injured earlier. Can I see them?”

He nodded. “They’re from the fight when I was captured, but they’re really not bad. I’ve had worse.”

She examined the wounds for a moment. “Okay tough guy, but they’re still pretty bad. I can’t leave anything visible like bandages unfortunately, but I’ll clean them out and apply some ointment to help numb them a bit. I’ll ask Robert if he’s willing to have the guards bandage them before tomorrow night, maybe under the guise of appearances for the banquet or something.”

The mention of the banquet brought Bennett back to reality. “Do you know what your father has planned?”

“No more than you do, I’m sorry. But I do know he plans to keep you both alive for a while, for better or for worse.”

Auri spent some time treating Bennett’s injuries, trying not to think about how many more she’d be caring for over the next few weeks. She needed to take things one day at a time.

When she was finished, she packed up her things and wrapped Bennett in one more hug. “I should go see Gabriel now, I can’t risk wandering around too late and having my father discover I’ve seen either of you. I’ll come back though, as much as I can.”

As she headed to the door, Bennett felt overcome with gratitude that she planned to come back. “Hey Auri?.... Thank you.”

-----

Keep reading: Next

#whump #royalwhump #emotionalwhump #guilt #fear #comfort #bonding

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nandoor · 4 years ago

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20 for Nandor and Guillermo

20. things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

a/n: this takes place right after 1x07 (the trial)

...

The aftermath of the trial is a tiring affair. The vampires, returning to their human forms once they are safely within the darkened confines of the Staten Island house, immediately start bickering.

“Vampire-only conversation, Guillermo!” Nandor says, pointing in the general direction of Guillermo’s room.

Guillermo slinks obediently to his room as the three vampires bicker much too loudly in the foyer. Colin Robinson had caught a taxi to go to work, noting that he would recover much better if he went to his usual feeding ground rather than moping around the house. So it seemed that it was only Nadja, Laszlo, and Nandor yelling, from what bits and pieces of the conversation Guillermo could hear from his room.

“Nandor, and I mean this with the utmost sincerity: you are a fucking idiot! You were really going to sell us out for Gizmo, a human familiar? Get a grip, old chap--you’ve known Nadja and I for centuries. Little Gizmo? He’ll be fertilizer for my apple trees in half a century--perhaps even sooner, if he keeps getting himself embroiled in vampiric matters.”

“Laszlo is right,” Nadja agrees, her sing-song voice taking on a subtle, darker tinge. “If you do something like that again Nandor I swear I will feed your intestines to the koi fish. You can’t just sell out your housemates for a human! Even if Guillermo is a good familiar it does not matter; he is not a vampire.”

Something like a frustrated groan slips past Nandor’s lips. “But he was willing to sacrifice his life for us--his little human life. What did you expect me to do? Let him die?”

“Yes!” Laszlo and Nadja say at the same time. Guillermo can imagine the exasperation plainly on their faces.

“Oh...” Nandor trails, going silent for a moment. Guillermo knew the vampire well enough that he was almost sure that Nandor was giving the pair an awkward smile. “Well next time I’ll make sure to let Guillermo take the blame then. There--are you both happy now so I can go to my coffin already?”

“Nandor,” Laszlo says, clearing his throat. “I’ve been meaning to ask you this for awhile now, and I hate to pry, but--”

“What is Guillermo to you?” Nadja finishes smoothly. “Come now, don’t give me that look. It’s a fair question considering we all almost died for him, you big bloody turkey!”

“Guillermo is my familiar, obviously.”

Nadja lets out a groan. “Yes, but he’s obviously something more. I’ve never heard of a vampire willingly laying down their life--and their friends’ lives, you absolute piss snake--for a familiar. So I think Laszlo and I deserve an explanation.”

“Quite,” Laszlo agrees. “So what is it? The lad still smells like a freshly plucked virgin so I know you two aren’t succumbing to carnal pleasures in the dead of night.”

Nandor hisses. “My relationship with Guillermo is personal! And I do not need to explain myself to you two perverts.” There is a pause before Nandor’s voice bellows loudly through the estate. “Guillermo! You can come back to the foyer! I am ready to go to coffin now!”

Quick as a viper, Guillermo stumbles out of his room and towards the booming voice of his master. By the time he arrives, Nadja and Laszlo had already ascended the stairs to their crypt, leaving Nandor alone in the foyer.

When he notices Guillermo down the hall, there’s a sadness in his eyes that almost makes the familiar freeze. In his decade at Nandor’s side, he had never seen such a vulnerable look on the vampire’s face.

I really don’t know you at all, do I? Guillermo thinks, holding out a hand expectantly.

Nandor only hesitates for a moment before taking it, allowing himself to be guided back to his crypt.

“Guillermo... I am glad you did not die today,” Nandor admits as Guillermo brushes his hair. “But please do not kill any more vampires. Even accidentally. I don’t think the Council will be happy with a repeat performance.”

“Yes, master. I’ll do my best, I promise,” Guillermo replies softly.

The camera pans to Guillermo’s back, the fingers of his left hand crossed.

And you don’t know me at all, either...

#southernsexynstuf #wwdits #what we do in the shadows #guillermo de la cruz #nandor #nandor x guillermo #nandermo #i know laszlo & nadja had to have grilled nandor abt how the trial went down #maybe we’ll get flashback footage at some point? i’d love that

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babylooneytoonz · 4 years ago

Text

(A/N- Not my gif. Found this lovely one on Google and have no idea who it belongs to. Let me know if it's yours and I'll credit you.💕)

Warning(s) - ANGST, WAR & mentions of violence, character death.

Quick links- For those who haven't read the Prologue & Part 1, you will find all of them here.

Trip Mines & Broken Hearts [Tommy Shelby x Reader]

Part 2

It wasn't until weeks after that day you saw that blue eyed boy again.

It would have been a lie to say he didn't cross your mind once since then—

When you weren't treating casualties or you were curled in your bunker, your reading glasses plastered to your eyes and an old , tattered book that belonged to your elder brother rested against your thigh, you found yourself thinking of him, wondering if he was doing okay, if he was alive —

A part of you felt guilty— you should have thought of your brothers, prayed for their safety, prayed for the war to get over so you could all go back home, but you couldn't stop yourself from wondering if Thomas Shelby had made it so far, since the last time you saw him.

A few miles away, in a basement of an almost crumbling building, the soldiers of the 8th Service Battalion were trapped. The only exit was blocked by piles of rocks that had come crashing down when a trip mine had exploded, taking the life of a fellow comrade. Tommy stood by the stone wall, leaning against it, holding his body for support, a lit fag in his fingers, his lips belting out smoke as he exhaled. Right in front of his eyes, three of his comrades, which included his brother John, were digging with their bare hands, trying to burrow a hole into the ground so they could get into the other side and get out of this godforsaken place.

Tommy's fingernails were soaked with blood and dust, his nails almost broken for he had been the one trying to dig with his bare hands an hour back and had only taken a break to take a little rest. His observant eyes scanned through the men that were tumbling in and out of his vision, yelling amongst themselves, talking or trying to come up with a plan but his eyes were fixed on one person— Jasper.

He looked just like you, his raven black hair was just the same shade as yours, only shorter. If you decided to one day chop off your locks, you'd pass as his twin. Tommy dumped the cigarette butt to the ground and at the same time, his hand flew to his neck, clasping his fingers against the locket that you had given him. It felt warm against his palm and he knew he should have given it back to the black haired boy in front of his eyes.

Maybe this was meant to be his lucky charm, a token of love from his sister, something that was meant to protect his life. Although he wanted to go and talk to the black haired boy, a part of him did not want to part with the memory he had of you— a part of you that was now clinging to his neck.

Maybe it was his selfishness, or it was just his thoughts of you, the fact that you occupied a corner of his mind more than anyone these days, he bit on his lip hard and kept his mouth shut. He will talk to Jasper, but later — once they were out of this place.

And they did.

Only how—

It was almost twelve hours; the men were hungry, starving beyond their wits and the basement smelt of piss, sweat and blood. Finally, a yell rang through the lads' ears. A hole had finally been dug. They were free— they could go to the other side now. One by one, the men started crawling through the hole and their heads emerged on the other side of the basement, where bright moonlight shone though the glass windows, providing them with respite. There the door was, right in front of their eyes; all they had to do was get out and breathe the fresh air. Anything was better than the stale, bloody air in this place.

Tommy was speaking to his brother when from the corner of his eye, he saw three boys, one of them (Y/N)'s brother. They walked up to the front door, placing their hand on the doorknob, they pulled it open when suddenly, there was a click.

"DUCK!" Tommy screamed at the top of his lungs, as loud as he could, jumping to the ground, shielding himself underneath a table when a loud explosion happened and the screams of the three men in front of him drowned into his ears. His palm flew to the locket that dangled from his neck and a sudden guilt hit him.

"Jasper, no! Fuck, fuck. No." Tommy slid out of his hiding spot, cowering slightly just in case there was any more explosion to happen, making his way through the furniture that was lit on fire around him. There, in front of his eyes, lay the young man, covered in blood and soot, coughing.

Tommy fell on his knees, sliding his hand underneath Jasper's head to lift it up as he could see that he was still breathing, although very faintly.

"Jasper, hold on. We're going to get you to a bloody hospital, you know?"

Breath by breath, Tommy could see life sliding out of the young boy's body and it hurt him.

"Listen, mate, I met your sister, she's at the camp, she's a nurse, a fuckin' good nurse and she will —"

"She has no - no one except m-me and Johnny—" Jasper's breathless voice cut him off, whispering, his voice cracking, his chest heaving up and down.

"Come on, don't you fucking die on me here. I promised her I'll take you to the camp the next time I need fuckin' stitches."

Tommy placed his hands on the young boy's chest, pumping his heart, trying to get him to open his eyes.

"Tommy—" John's voice called out to him but he ignored him.

"Tommy" This time John's voice was loud, causing Tommy to sharply turn his neck towards him. Underneath the layers of blood and soot covering his face, he could see the sadness in John's eyes. "He's gone, Tommy. He's dead." John whispered, his voice barely a whisper.

The darkness surrounded you, but it wasn't peaceful; you could hear the sounds of occasional grenades and trip Mines somewhere at a distance and you could sometimes hear a cry of pain. You had to force yourself to clench your eyes shut and press the pillow tight against your ears to block out any sound. You wondered if life could get any worse than what it already was—

Letting out a frustrated groan, you sat up in bed, rubbing your tired, sleep deprived eyes as you snaked out of bed, your feet touching the floor. Without making any noise, you sneaked out of the bunker, not wanting to wake up anyone inside as you walked out. You looked up at the sky, the moon was shining bright — it was a beautiful full moon; a lovely starry night, but it was ironical how no one could see beauty in it. All we could see was blood, death and cries of pain.

Your arms wrapped around your body instinctively as a chilly breeze hit you, causing a shiver run down your spine. It was then when you heard the sound of the crunching of leaves somewhere across you, causing you to sharply look forward, until the familiar silhouette of the blue eyed boy came in your view.

"Tommy!" You exclaimed, your voice expressing a sudden joy you didn't know you could even feel.

You didn't know why; what connection you had with him but it felt like someone you'd known for ages had finally come back back to you. You ran in his direction, wanting to embrace him.

"You're back! You—" Words stopped from your mouth when you saw him up close. He wasn't happy. His face looked worse than how you'd seen him the last time— yes, physically too but more so, emotionally. You could see a scar in his eyes; you knew something had happened. His eyes were sunken, hollow, his face devoid of any emotion.

"Tommy—" You whispered his name, your words dripping with pain; it was strange to say that you felt it, genuinely, whatever it was that was bothering him. There was a connection and you could feel a pain building inside you as well, looking at him— so distraught.

"Say it," you pleaded with him.You knew he knew that you were in no mood to play games; that you knew that something had happened and you weren't the type of a girl to beat around the bush.

Your eyes moved along with Tommy's hand as he slid it into his pant pocket and pulled something out. Within the next second, you felt his fingers brush against your hand, his hand finally taking a hold of your hand and turning it so your palm was wide open. He then placed something cold against it and you looked down, the silver glistening against your now tear clouded eyes.

Your locket—

You bit your lip.

He was dead, of course he was.

You didn't cry or break down. You looked up at the sky and your lips curled into a weak smile. He was finally free; free of the torture, of watching countless people die and he had died a martyr. You were proud, needless to say. But your heart felt heavy. It didn't matter if he'd died a martyr's death, what mattered was that he was gone— your baby brother was gone and he was never coming back.The next minute you knew, you were on your knees, your face buried against Tommy's chest, his arm holding you gently as he let you whimper against his chest, his hand stroking the back of your head.

"I'm sorry, I'm fucking sorry. It should've been me maybe. I didn't give him the locket, I thought—"

You kept listening, all the while you had your face buried in his chest, a stabbing pain rising in your chest.

"I wanted to keep it for myself. I should've given it to him."

It didn't matter anymore. He was dead.

You don't remember how long you cried for—

It was probably minutes—

But once you were done, you wiped any traces of tears left in your eyes and put on a brave face. You were still sitting on the ground but Tommy was now standing, wondering, if there was anything he could say to you; to comfort you.

You didn't need it—

No amount of words can comfort you, and he knew it.

So he slid his hands into his pocket and turned away, slowly walking away from you.

"Tommy, wait." You weakly called out, and he froze, not turning towards you. You stood up and with slow, dragged steps, you walked up to him and placed your hand on his shoulder, nudging him to turn towards you and face you. He had to fucking face you, you deserved that much. "Look at me, for fucks sake." You hissed, your voice harsh, his body immediately stiffening in response to it. But he did what you asked him to do. Slowly, he turned around and your eyes met his icy blue ones.

He had expected you to slap him, scream at him and curse him but he had least expected you to do what you did then. You swallowed the bile forming in your throat and brought up the locket to his neck, clasping it around, letting it hang from it.

"Although it didn't protect him, I always hope it protects you."

You took a step away from him but this time, he caught your wrist, pulling you back towards him.

"Y-you don't hate me?" His voice was filled with anguish.

"It wasn't your fault. Maybe this was how it was meant to be. If there's anyone to blame, it's me. Instead of praying for them to be safe, I hoped and wondered if you were okay—" You softly whispered, looking down at the floor.

Tommy left the wrist he was holding reluctantly and this time, you gave him a weak smile and turned away. Watching you leave tore through his heart but your words providing his aching heart with a medicine, your words which he'd heard, the fact that you had thought of him, the fact that you'd wanted him to be safe. The fact that you cared for him. You wanted to be alone; to grieve. So he let you be. But he kept standing there, watching you with awe in his eyes. He wondered what he'd done good in life, to meet a woman as pure as you were. And now, a sudden selfish desire filled him up completely.

He wanted you. He needed you now. And he had to have you.

A/N: thank you for all the love I've received so far. And thank you to the creators of the lovely GIFs. 💕

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x reader fanfiction

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voiceless-terror · 4 years ago

Note

Prompts? This is a happy day! If you wish! I'm writing something similar but I need more cakes in the flavor and you write emotions so well! But early days in the archives and Tim and Sasha are giving Jon the cold shoulder and maybe there's an accident or something Jon really needs help with but he doesn't think he can go to either of them and he doesn't know Martin. And the next day he rolls up sick, or beat to hell, or has a cast, or a black eye, and Tim and Sasha are like WAT? And then feels!

Here you are! How do you know EXACTLY what to prompt me??? This is so my speed. So here you go- I hope you like!

“You’ve survived your first month in the Archives! That’s cause for celebration, Martin. Drinks on me!”

Tim’s cheerful tones weren’t hard to miss. Perhaps he didn’t notice Jon standing in the doorway, small and timid. He realized it was the middle of a rather stressful work week, but he just needed a little bit of help with some boxes. He’d been tired and worn out for the better part of the week, and the small ladder in Document Storage was rickety at best. Martin and Tim were both much taller and stronger than him- hell, even Sasha could’ve probably gotten the job done. Just a few minutes and then they could be on their way, to wherever they planned to go. Without him.

Sasha was the one who noticed him. “Oh- hey, Jon. Did you need something?”

He looked at the other two, twitching with clear impatience. Martin opened his mouth to speak but Tim made some sort of hushing motion with his hand. A sinking feeling made its way through Jon’s chest and to his stomach- the thought of asking for even the smallest of favors filled him with anxiety. He didn’t think he could bear seeing their faces when they said no.

“Er, no, just- have a good night, yeah?” His voice sounded off, even to him, but they didn’t seem to make much of it, nodding awkwardly.

“You too!” Martin called after him as Jon scurried down the hallway, biting down whatever sadness stuck in his throat. He’d be here all night most likely.

It didn’t bother him.

______

Jon stared up at the boxes looming tauntingly on the shelf, filled with statements that were likely just as disorganized as the ones on the shelf below. But these were labeled with the most recent dates in the Archive, and that’s what he planned on going through for the rest of the week.

Back in research, Tim used to prank him by putting things on the highest of shelves- books he needed, tea he wanted. It irked him but Tim would always be right around the corner to lend a helping hand and a teasing word. It got Jon out of his head for a moment, something very few people could accomplish.

Tim still put things on high shelves in their break room but it just felt cruel, now that he wasn’t comfortable enough to ask for help. Now that Tim was never around the corner.

He put a tentative foot on the step ladder, grimacing as it leaned to the side. He’d put in an order for a new one at the beginning of his tenure but Elias never responded. He felt bad bothering the man with such a petty request when he could just ask his assistants for help. What was he supposed to tell him? ‘Hey my assistants seem to hate me and I’m too scared to ask them’ didn’t inspire much confidence.

Jon took another step forward, willing the ladder to stabilize. He needed to get to the fourth step to even have a chance of reaching the box, high up as it was. Just a bit further.

He made it to the fourth when everything went to hell. As soon as he reached his hands toward the box the ladder creaked and listed dangerously to the side, throwing him wildly off balance. He flailed right off the side, landing with a yelp and a crack on the cold concrete floor of Document Storage.

The pain emanating from his left arm was almost paralyzing-it had taken almost all his weight in the fall and was lying awkwardly across the floor. It brought tears to his eyes as he tried to move it so he just laid there for a bit, willing himself not to pass out from the pain. How ridiculous he must have looked, lying prone on the ground, defeated by a fucking stepladder.

When he finally decided to sit up his head spun- he only got as far as scooting back and leaning his head onto a shelf, trying to control his breathing. He had his phone in his pocket. If he needed help, he could just call Sasha or Tim or even Martin. His arm didn’t feel right and he would probably have to go to a clinic or the A & E, something he hated doing. He didn’t think he could brush this one off.

But what if they didn’t answer? He thought about the three of them at the bar, laughing and talking. Tim would be regaling them with some ridiculous story, his phone would ring. He would glance down at it, see Jon’s name and flip it over, ignoring it.

Or worse, they would come, see him huddled on the floor and laugh. They would try to hold it in at first- they weren’t that rude. But as they helped him to his feet they wouldn’t be able to contain it. How embarrassing he was, how ridiculous. Jon couldn’t bear to be laughed at.

Two weeks ago he had walked past the upstairs break room on his way back from a meeting with Elias. It was entirely unproductive; he could sense Elias’s growing frustration with his lack of progress. Jon wondered if he regretted making him his Head Archivist, if he was already thinking of suitable replacements. Jon wouldn’t blame him.

And that’s when he heard it- an odd, mocking voice that he knew belonged to Ryan from research. Ryan and Jon never got on- Ryan was talkative and prone to gossip, and every attempt he had made to talk to Jon had been shut down by his inability to carry a conversation. On the odd times they were paired together to work, Jon took the brunt of it with utter silence, unwilling to complain about the man lest he be deemed more difficult than he already was.

But the voice he put on- stuffy and posh- was a caricature of Jon’s own. And sure enough, when he glanced in the doorway he saw Ryan hunched over a table, someone else’s glasses on his face as he screwed it up in a scowl and carried on as “Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute” to his captive audience.

His captive audience which included Sasha and Tim.

He felt his heart shatter as the group laughed at the impression. It was accurate, why shouldn’t they? God, why hadn’t he realized how much everyone hated him here? Any respect he thought he earned faded quickly with this showing. He found himself sprinting down the hallway and locking himself in his office, ignoring Martin’s concerned inquiries as he desperately tried to blink back tears.

Remembering the incident brought the shame and embarrassment back tenfold. No, he would deal with this himself. That was the best course of action.

He took fifteen minutes to properly wallow but once his heart rate lowered and the pain was at manageable, dull roar he got to his feet and staggered down the aisle, constantly searching for a handhold. He had everything he needed on him- it wasn’t so cold that he couldn’t go without a jacket, and he knew he wouldn’t get any work done this evening.

Making his way down the hallway and up the stairs was almost tortuous; he paused several times and took deep breaths to avoid passing out and making the problem worse. By the time he got to the lobby Rosie was already gone for the day and Ed, the janitor, was idly mopping by the front door.

“‘Ave a good night, sir,” the man said without looking up. “Careful though, s’slippery over-whoa there, Sims!”

He must have looked as awful as he felt because the man dropped his mop and made his way over to his side, his face the picture of concern. Jon was holding his arm at an awkward angle so as not to jostle it. “S’fine,” he wearily started. “Have a good night, Ed.”

“Don’ look fine to me, Jonny.” Jon hated this nickname, but he never let on. He didn’t want to upset the one man who still greeted him day and night, no matter how stressed and irritable Jon looked. It was a nice, comforting routine. “Somethin’ happen?”

“Just took a fall, nothing serious,” he lied, well aware that his palm was scraped and crusted with blood. “I’ll just be going, got a train to catch-”

“Let me get you a cab, son,” he said, a paternal hand on his shoulder. “Shouldn’t be on the tube looking like that, bound to make it worse.” Jon began to voice his protest but the man was already out the door, waving and stamping in the street. He would smile at the scene if he had the energy for it. Instead he just staggered after him, wincing with every step.

“Over here!” the man shouted, standing by a cab a little ways down the road. Ed opened the door and ushered him in, hands helpful and gentle and so kind that Jon has to blink away tears. “There’s a good lad. Take ‘im to the closest A & E, will ya?” Jon watched as he shoved a pocketful of bills in the cabbies hand.

“Ed, you’ve already done enough-”

“Nonsense,” he waved Jon off, still looking at him with that mix of warmth and concern that Jon so desperately needed. “You just get that checked out, y’hear? An’ come back in one piece!” With that, he shut the door and gave him a wave, standing in place until the car was out of sight.

Jon couldn’t hold back his tears after that.

_______

Jon comes in the next day, arm freshly broken and in a sling, medicated to the gills. He paused at first, considering not taking the pain medication but he eventually gave in as the pain progressed throughout the morning. He’s a little late and he’s going to have to march past his assistants’ desks and attempt to avoid questions.

“Whoa there, boss! What happened?” Tim says immediately upon his arrival. Jon avoids his gaze and looks to the ground, walking as quickly as possible to his office and shutting the door. He deserves a bit of peace before the inevitable interrogation.

Of course, he would never be so lucky. All three assistants are soon hovering around the doorway, looking at him with a worry he doesn’t deserve. He sighs as he casts his eyes to the desk and slumps down in his chair.

“Took a spill yesterday, nothing serious,” he mutters in as staid a tone as he could manage. “Now, if you could please get back to work-”

“You’re not getting out of this that easily,” Sasha says, coming over to his desk, Tim not far behind. Martin stays in the doorway, ever polite. “You were fine we left!”

“It happened shortly afterwards. I advise none of you to use the stepladder for the time being.” He manages a weak smile that none of them return.

“Stepladder? Boss, I told you not to use that anymore!” Tim plops down in a chair, legs immediately going over the arm of it. Jon always imagined them talking in the office like this- a stupid fantasy he entertained when he first got the position. No one had ever sat in those chairs, they just stood in his office and counted the seconds until they could leave. ‘Why didn’t you ask us for help?”

“I-I was going to,” he begins, feeling instantly guilty at the thought of making them feel bad. “But- well, you looked like you had plans.”

Tim and Sasha exchanged a look. “You should’ve at least called us when it happened,” Sasha says, a hand on his desk. Jon aches to take it. “We were right around the corner.”

“I know,” he says. He feels out of it, vulnerable and loose and unmoored. Likely from the meds.

“You knew and you still didn’t call?” Martin this time, his voice incredulous.

“I didn’t think you would come,” his voice is no more than a whisper and his chest aches something fierce. His hands tighten into fists at the silence that follows; he nervously starts to fill it.

“I know-look, it’s fine we’re not friends any more,” he starts, trying to keep his voice level. “But it- it just seems like you don’t want me to be your boss either?” His voice goes higher in pitch and he can’t seem to stop babbling. “I just- I need to know where I stand. So I know what’s okay to ask. I know this isn’t ideal but I- I need help sometimes. Not a lot, just...just sometimes.”

“Jon,” Tim has a hand on his arm and an urgency in his voice. “That’s not- of course we would have come. Of course.”

“I didn’t want you to laugh at m-me.” Christ, could he not get a handle on his emotions for five goddamn minutes? Why was he still talking?

“We would never laugh-”

“But you did!” The words burst forward, almost a yell. “I-I saw you the other day. With Ryan- laughing at me. You know I don’t-” The breaths come quick and he can feel the tears coming down his face. God, what a mess he was. “I don’t understand where it all went wrong. If- if you don’t like me, why did you accept this job? Why are you here? What- what do I need to do better? Why were you laughing at me!” Jon dissolves into a mess of sobs as he slams his chair back from his desk, desperate to put as much space as he could between himself and his assistants.

But Jon never gets what he wants. Tim has his arms wound gently around his body, taking care to avoid the sling. And Sasha is there, a hand on his back as well.

“We- we weren’t laughing, Jon,” Tim tries, but Sasha cuts in.

“But we didn’t exactly tell him to knock it off, did we?” Her voice is angry and Jon doesn’t know who it’s aimed towards. He feels so stupid, so childish for breaking down like this but he knows what he saw. What he heard. “Ryan’s a jealous dick, he was just being mean. And...I guess we were being sort of mean, too.”

Tim takes over from there. “Look- things have gotten messy since we came down here, yeah? We’re...adjusting, that’s for sure. And I’m sorry that we made you feel like you did something wrong.”

“I- I did though, I must have-”

“No- Jon, look at me,” He hazards a glance at Sasha’s face, looking anywhere but her eyes. “You know me. Emotions aren’t particularly my forte. It’s- it’s a lot easier not to talk about things, but that doesn’t mean it’s right. It was a lot easier to hold onto my anger at being passed over, y’know?”

“If you told me- I would’ve had Elias switch us, I swear-”

“We don’t have to switch. To be honest, I don’t think I know how the fuck an Archive is supposed to be run either. At least not one like this,” She gestures to the room and Jon manages a weak smile.

“I’m not very good when things get messy, either,” Tim admits, leaning awkwardly on a file cabinet in order to keep an arm around him. Jon hopes the gesture is genuine, and not just an attempt to placate the man having an emotional breakdown in the middle of the office. “But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’ve been a right ass. So while I’m trying to make it up to you, how about you let me and Martin handle the top shelf from now on, yeah?” The joke feels familiar. This is territory Jon can manage.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jon wipes a hand across his face, finally feeling a bit more stable. “S’fine. I forgive you.” He takes the tissue Sasha offers. “Sorry for being so- er, dramatic. The pain medication is quite something, to be honest.”

“Oh God,” Sasha is suddenly all business. ‘“You shouldn’t be at work right now. Not like this- Tim’ll take you home, right?” Tim nods, tightening his arm around Jon’s shoulder.

“Yeah- you’re not going to get anything done like this, Jon. Have a rest, Sasha’ll tell Elias what’s going on, yeah?”

“Of course.”

There it is again- of course. Maybe if they keep saying that, it’ll make it true.

Jon doesn’t argue as he’s ushered out of the Institute- whatever that was took a lot out of him, and he knows he’s useless to his team like this, dazed and unstable. Martin follows them outside- Jon had almost forgotten he was there. He had slipped out of the office during the worst of it, kindly giving them some space. He wants to thank him but he doesn’t know how. Instead he listens as Martin rattles off all the things Tim should watch out for, like a nervous mother hen.

“I got it, Martin,” Tim says patiently. “But I’ll call you if anything happens.” Martin reluctantly backs off, giving the two of them a wave as they drive out of the parking lot.

“Jon,” Tim begins, putting a special emphasis on his name. He missed being called Jon. “You know I’ll always come when you call. I promise. I’d- I’d never laugh at you, not like that.”

You know. Of course.

“Okay,” Jon responds, staring out the window. He hopes it’s true. If not, well- the words are a start, right?

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27334912

#my writing #prompts #tma #the magnus archives #angst #whump #some hurt/comfort #jonathan sims #tim stoker #sasha james #loved this prompt!#janekfan

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